#i almost didn’t post this because I wanted to draw all three of them and post them

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

The 49 days are dangerous, monsters will come get you. The darkness of every corner of the streets, will come take you away. So, bring me flowers everyday. Don’t forget to change the water, please. Go through the winding bumpy alley, come visit me everyday.

[1][2][6]

[levshany]

how do I put this. Even those who actually track our blogs and are interested in our Aus can get a little confused about what's going on here. but I'll try to explain anyway

we already mentioned the crossover between Anarchists and Tandem and even DRAWED them once, back when Tandem was in development (and by the way, this crossover is canonical for both AUs). Now this story has been continued >:D

Here's some context: It so happened that the Colibri wanted to see what alternative timelines looked like and ran into the king and the jester. Phil was delighted with Colibri and wanted to flirt with them. Jester Collie was categorically against it. so he immediately possessed Phill and tried to fight Tandem. he didn’t succeed because his fusion with Phil is extremely unstable. and here we are

Initially, @angstyhikka and I just drew these three pages, but then @lasymit supported the idea and made a drabble which she allowed me to add to the post :3

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

"Let go, bitch! I'm not done with you yet!"

The savage creature desperately squirmed in Philip’s hands. It grabbed onto him, trying to either break free or, on the contrary, rush closer, glaring furiously and baring its shark teeth.

He held the clumsy, collapsing fusion at arm's length and looked at it with slight disgust. His tandem with the Collector was a strange but harmonious union. And what was writhing in front of them right now was the direct antipode of the word harmony.

“Well, I am,” he said distantly.

And with his other hand he grabbed the one sitting inside the demon’s body. Under the flesh soaked in titan blood, he felt a soft essence, like rubber or hot wax. The Collector from this universe felt completely different to the touch.

He stretched them, pulling them away from each other, disentangling them from each other. Paradoxically, bodies that should repel each other by the nature of their forces, like unipolar magnets, clung to each other very stubbornly. But Philip was still stronger with the power of the Collector in his hands, power which he clearly used better than the local... king of demons...

“Ouuuuch ouuuuch,” a boy in the robes of a jester, painted in red and black, shrank on the ground, wrapping his arms around his own chest.

He was not at all like his Collector. Philip had never seen his friend's material body before. But he knew he looked different. For some reason he knew this for sure.

"Who pulls a guy out like that!? Fuck!!", the now-green demon yelled nearby. And he clutched his head painfully.

What Idiots. They vomited three times while chasing him. Philip did them a favor by stopping this outrage.

Now these two were lying helplessly at his feet, groaning and gasping, trying to catch their breath and come to their senses. Now they are separated.

"What were you trying to achieve?" His question was almost rhetorical.

"It wasn’t me, it was all him!" like a child, pointing a sharp, protruding finger towards the Collector, the demon yelled. "I didn’t want to fight at all!"—here he gazed up at Philip with some strange look and batted his eyelashes expressively—"I wanted something else– something more interesting."

"Ohh fuck off, Maggie! You traitor!" came the shout from the red Collector. Philip silently decided to call him the Jester and the demon, by analogy, the King. Philip had already guessed his name. But he couldn’t bring himself to call this savage by that name. Not even in his mind. 

He ignored the King's vague attempts to take a tempting pose while still lying on the ground and grinding his teeth from the headache. He turned to the Jester.

"So you're in charge?"

Judging by King's behavior, it would indeed be reckless to put him in charge. But, having always been the decision-maker when paired with the Collector, by right of being the adult, Philip is accustomed to his friend almost never taking the leading role unless circumstances require it. Like a couple of years ago...

“Nuh-uh,” the Jester raised himself up on his elbow and rubbed his chest, inhaling deeply, greedily. "We're bros! Equal rights and stuff."

And he twirled his funny yellow gloved hand in the air.

Something in the Jester’s words pricked Philip. He didn't fully understand what exactly.. Until the King said, in a dramatic whisper:

"I no longer have a brother. You’re dead to me!"

And Philip stood there, trying to remember that the air was not hard, dense lumps, that it did not clog in the throat and did not press in the chest with a dull phantom pain. Meanwhile these two idiots, after a couple moments of aggressive looks, laughed out loud.

“Yes, I would strangle such a brother,” the King squeezed out, wheezing and squinting through laughter, “with my own-"

And he bent over, swallowing the end of the sentence with a cough as the toe of a boot hit him in the stomach.

"Philip! Philip... They've had enough... He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Philip's cheek twitched.

"Ouch... bro, save me!" the King squeaked hoarsely.

And this completely infuriated Philip. He swung his foot again, this time at the face. But he was met by an elastic wall. And the ground under Colibri’s feet, along with all the space, suddenly curved.

If it weren't for years with the Collector in his head, he wouldn't have realized what happened. But now he clearly saw how a couple of dimensions were distorted, folding space into a loop. He suddenly found himself not between the King and the Jester, but at a considerable distance. And these two were already close together. The boy helped his “brother” get up from the ground; King was now leaning on Jester’s shoulders, clutching his stomach. Perhaps Philip miscalculated his strength a little. This happens sometimes... Especially when it comes to emotions.

“Hey! Hitting people who are down is against the rules,” the Jester frowned. "Give us a timeout!"

Philip felt his jaw tighten. How the nodules rolled across his face. But the flaring rage, as it often happened to him, went away as easily as it filled the air in his chest, leaving reddish streaks before his eyes and pulsating power in his fingertips.

“Get out of the way,” he let his hands glow slightly.

"Ohhhh, what about a last kiss, star boy?" the King whined, clinging to the Jester and trying to straighten up next to him, as if hoping to reach Philip from a distance of ten steps and still get the coveted—

A kiss? Seriously, what the hell? Philip directed a confused, irritated look that bore all these unspoken questions at the Jester. He awkwardly shrugged his sharp shoulders, caught in the King’s grip.

"Don’t be mad... Philip, right? Don't be mad at him, Philip. His Majesty has a reason to be an idiot. And he didn’t mean it out of malice about the ‘brother’ thing.”

Philip looked at the Jester more carefully. The collector in his head was silent. But Philip sensed something from him. Philip also noticed the King’s uncomprehending expression.

“What’s wrong with ‘brother’?” The King sounded surprised.

And then Philip understood. And his face froze.

Yes... yes, what need is there to remember such things? He himself tried to forget for a long time... If he succeeded, would he be the same now as the king in front of him?

Looking at this wretched shell of a “King” who’d forgotten everything important about himself and the loyal “Jester” still standing steadily at his side, the Collector in Philip’s head began to sob. They both, it seems, had the same thought. It’s scary to look at the reflection of a future that never happened.

The jester smiled at him guiltily- at both of them. And then he confidently and widely showed about fifty teeth to his King.

"People don’t like such familiarity, you fool! You can’t just kiss someone the first time you meet."

"But it's okay to fight them when you first meet?" Philip was indignant...

Yes, it's Philip. He cannot refuse to call this man by his own name. Philip himself could one day become such a “king.”

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

also @kenku97 helped us with translation and added this comment, I gotta show it to you ;v;

"I thought “The collector in his head sobbed” needed more context for people who aren’t as tightly wrapped up in these AUs as we all are. To understand why Collie’s crying, you need to point out how Tandem Collie sees himself in the Jester. They’re both caring for a Philip who is forgetting himself and the people closest to him. Jester is living out Tandem Collie’s worst fear: what will happen when Philip can’t remember anything anymore? What will become of their friendship? And it’s bittersweet because the King and the Jester are still friends, even though the Jester basically had to start over from the beginning. Jester Collie is quietly carrying all of those memories inside his heart of a friend who has basically disappeared while still learning about and loving the brand new person his friend has become. It’s so sweet and so sad.😭"

that's pretty much all for now It’s hard to return to drawing after the holidays. and this is not even a new art you see, but last year’s. therefore this comic cannot be considered the first work of this year sadly

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,593 Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: not really specified, but Negan calls you "doll" and "darlin'" often Warnings: language (the usual), some flirty!Negan Era: Alexandria, post-Negan Summary: Negan and the reader must weather the storm and the horde overnight and find someway to get back to Alexandria. A/N: Sorry this came later than I hoped to get it out. This is why I try to 1.) never write two series at once and 2.) never make a posting schedule because I usually can't adhere to it haha some parts just take longer to get right... so thanks for your patience and HAPPY WICKED WEDNESDAY! Previous part - Part 3

The storm overhead was still raging. Tucked away in the basement mostly underground you heard it only as a dull roar. The wind occasionally whistled and howled lending a haunting soundtrack to your sheltering.

Negan had dug out a couple sleeping bags and used one to cushion his seat on another box of supplies, his back leaned up against the wall and his long legs kicked out toward you.

“Can I have that?” you asked, gesturing to the other bag. You were sitting on the floor and the concrete was cold. He tossed it over to you and you folded it and placed it underneath yourself, sitting down in more comfort. You sighed and leaned back against the wall behind you, shutting your eyes for a moment. You could feel Negan looking at you.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything about you?” You cracked one eye open and looked at him, drawing a laugh from deep in his chest. It was resonant and warm, like the sound from a rosewood guitar. “We’ve been doing this for—I don’t know, three months now and I don’t know a damn thing besides your name,” Negan said, twirling the fireplace poker in his hand.

You sighed and sat up again. “What do you want to know?”

“What’d you do before all this?”

“Before the outbreak?”

“Yeah. Before everything went to shit.”

“Uhh… actually, I was a stripper.”

Negan froze, a shit-eating grin growing on his face. “Really?”

“No!” you laughed. “But it seems like you were hoping for something juicy like that,” you said with a self-satisfied smirk. “God, it’s so easy it’s not even fun!”

He laughed heartily. “Alright, smartass… But can you blame me? Shit, I was about to ask for a private performance.”

“I’m sure you were,” you retorted.

“I noticed that you still didn’t answer the question,” Negan said.

“Oh, that’s funny,” you said with a smile. It crinkled the corners of your eyes and Negan found himself suddenly gulping, nervous. He was nervous? “You know, it’s not like I really know a ton about you either.”

“Well, you know about my Savior days. That’s more than I know about you.”

“Is it?” you asked, one of your eyebrows arching.

Negan felt as if a continent shifted inside him when you looked at him like that; inquiring and graceful and steady. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “I think—and this is just my opinion, but I think that was a mask,” you said. “It’s almost as if you were playacting. But maybe you convinced yourself that it was the real you or maybe it was in some ways, for a time, and so everyone else around you believed it. It was convincing to watch.”

Negan gulped. He had that same sensation again, as if you were seeing into his core, his true center. “Jesus, doll, maybe fucking warn me before you say some shit like that again.” But there was no trace of jest or sarcasm in his voice and his expression was sincere as he stared back at you. His hazel eyes looked like there was a glow in them that was shifting like the heat moving over the coals of a fire. Was it turmoil? He drew in a deep breath. “Well, what’s the difference, if I was pretending or not? I still did what I did.”

“It matters,” you replied softly. “First of all, because it’s painful to not be seen, to not have your true self perceived, to be invisible in a way. And—when you’ve been hiding in any kind of shadow for a long time, like behind a mask, it’s all the more painful to—to seek out the light, to feel. To be awake. It’s easier to just—pretend.”

Negan’s brow furrowed heavily as you spoke and his hands were still on the iron rod, fingers curled around the chill of the metal. “You’re talking as if you know something about that,” he replied.

You smiled at him vaguely, sighing a little and leaning your head back against the wall again. “Maybe I’m just observant.”

“Alright,” he nodded. His tongue swept out over his bottom lip. “Well, you know about Savior Negan, whether it was a mask or not… and you know that I was a high school gym teacher and coach, and I still know absolutely fuck-all about you,” he said.

“Correct,” you replied.

Negan sighed, looking disappointed. He stared around the room aimlessly for a moment, clicking his tongue thoughtfully and spinning the iron rod in his hand. “What’s your favorite color?” he asked suddenly.

You laughed. “So, you’re switching to small talk now?”

He shrugged. “What the hell else are we gonna do?”

It seemed harmless enough. “Green,” you said.

“Green,” he nodded. “Hmm. Favorite food?”

You shot him an amused look. “Is this even entertaining?”

He only shrugged again and smiled at you expectantly.

“Raspberries,” you said.

“That’s lucky,” he said, scratching at his beard. “You can still get those. In fact, aren’t there a bunch of raspberry plants back home?”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Did you just say back home?” you asked.

“Oh. Shit! Fuck me sideways, doll, I think I did,” he laughed, looking stunned himself. He let out a scoff and shook his head.

“That was… unexpected,” you replied.

“Well, how long do you have to live someplace before you call it home? Even in a cell, I guess time matters.”

“I don’t know. Home has always been a feeling for me, more than a place,” you said.

“Hmm. That seems like it could be telling,” Negan said, absently rubbing a hand over his beard again.

You rolled your eyes. “Now who sounds like a shrink?” you retorted. He laughed a little and shrugged.

“Alright. Green. Raspberries. Got it. Next question…”

“Negan…” you laughed, rubbing a hand over your face, feeling suddenly bashful at his probing and focused interest in you.

“Come on, doll. Just humor me.” He sighed and stretched, thinking. “Favorite season?”

“I can’t choose a favorite. I like different things about all of them.” Then, you paused thoughtfully. “But fuck southern summers.”

Negan smiled widely. “I can agree to that. What was your first car?”

“Pfft… the city bus,” you said. “You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here on the questions.”

“I’m—working up to the really interesting ones… But really? You never had a car? Not even a rusty shitbox?”

You shook your head. “Nope. In fact, I didn’t even learn to drive until after the outbreak.”

Negan’s eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell. That must have been terrifying. Everything shut down and you were just—”

“—stuck,” you finished. You were staring down at your hands and fiddling with a loose string on the hem of your shirt. “Though, most of the roadways were pretty clogged up quickly so it probably didn’t matter all that much. The only people who got out of the cities anyway were the ones who left as soon as there was a whiff of trouble. And then came the riots and the bombings and—”

A shadow darkened Negan’s face. “Fucking hell. You were in a city city when shit went down.”

You suddenly realized what you’d revealed and looked up at him, your breath caught in your throat at the sudden rush of memories unbidden. You gulped at the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. I was, um—I was in Atlanta.”

“That’s where you found Rick’s group,” Negan said. It wasn’t really a question.

You nodded. “More like they found me,” you said, ducking your eyes again. It wasn’t lost on Negan that you were avoiding his gaze. He sensed that there was still a wound there, unhealed, deep down. Perhaps it was one that would never truly heal. “But it also wasn’t really Rick’s group then. He’d just met all of them too, like the day before. But Daryl, Rick, T-dog, and—and Glenn,” your voice broke when you said Glenn’s name, but it wasn’t just for him that your voice wavered. “They found me. Helped me.” You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment. “Now, it’s just me, Carol, and Daryl left, out of all of us at the beginning.”

There was a soft frown on Negan’s face, creases in his forehead, when you looked back up, but it wasn’t pity. It was just… sympathy and no small amount of guilt. “I’m—sorry,” he said. His deep voice somehow seemed to cut through the air between you and right to the bone. “I know I had a part in that. And I’m truly sorry.” You were startled to see that his eyes were slightly glassy.

“Yeah, well… you don’t owe that apology to me. You owe it to Maggie and her son far more,” you said, shifting on the sleeping bag you were sitting on. A shiver suddenly wracked through you and you hugged your arms around yourself. The fingers of the cold, damp of the cellar seemed to be slowly finding their way in under your clothing. “I thought you were supposed to only be asking me small talk questions? How’d we get here?” you said with a wry laugh.

But Negan wasn’t really listening. He was digging out the jacket he’d shed earlier and tucked into his pack. “Here,” he said. He tossed it over to you.

You caught it, and then fixed your eyes back on him. “Oh. I’m okay,” you tried to argue.

Negan smiled at you, a small one that had his hazel eyes looking bright. “I just saw you shiver. I already think you’re a badass, doll. A little chill isn’t fucking changing that.”

You sighed, and relented. “Alright…” you murmured, pulling on the jacket. It swallowed up your frame, hanging on your shoulders and bunching around your wrists, and Negan couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling that suddenly manifested in between his lungs.

“Thanks,” you murmured, huddling into the fabric.

“Of course. Seems like we’re gonna be here a while,” Negan said. “Actually—” he pulled the top off a bin beside him and grabbed a camping stove and lighter. “We’ve got a stove, water… MREs. You’ve got those tea leaves we foraged on the way in?”

You quirked an eyebrow up at him. “Yeah?”

“Perfect,” he said. “It’s about dinnertime by now. Sit back and relax!”

You laughed a little skeptically at him. “You’re gonna… cook me dinner?”

“I don’t think heating up some MREs and tea qualifies as cooking. You should see me in a real kitchen. It’s a real panty-dropped,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus…”

He laughed heartily and started setting up the stove. “No, no. You can still call me ‘Negan’,” he quipped, winking at you.

“Okay… don’t ever wink at me again,” you retorted, which only made him laugh harder.

“That is a promise that I am not willing to make. Or keep,” he joked. “Now, hand me some of those raspberry leaves you picked.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You stretched lazily, your eyes still closed for a moment, before you shot up straight, remembering where you were and the events of the previous day. Your eyes were wide as you realized that at some point over the course of the night, you’d fallen asleep. Part of you expected to see that Negan had somehow gotten ahold of your gun or knife, despite them always being stored securely on your person. But you didn’t have any need to worry. When you looked across the small, dingy space, he was still perched on the same box of supplies he had been the night before, though his long legs were now stretched out and up on another box.

He was smiling at you serenely, the fireplace poker resting across his knees. “Morning, doll.”

You gulped. “I—I fell asleep.”

“You sure did,” he said. You could tell he hadn’t slept at all. His voice was a bit gruff and undeniably tired. He’d kept watch all night. “You snore by the way.”

You hastily smoothed your hair and clothes, staring back at him. “What? I do not!” you argued.

He laughed. “Yeah, you do. But it’s okay. I found it strangely comforting actually. Nearly put me to sleep.”

“Shut up,” you said, standing up and stretching again.

“Don’t flirt,” he retorted, still smiling serenely.

You paced over toward the one narrow window in the basement and looked up at the quality of light filtering through the dirty glass. It was clearly early morning and the storm had passed. More than that, you couldn’t see or hear any of the dead outside. “Seems like the herd moved on.”

“Mhm,” Negan hummed in agreement. “It all got quiet in the early hours of this morning.”

“You stayed awake all night?”

He nodded, standing now too. “Yeah. Somebody else was slacking off after their gourmet meal,” he teased you.

You ground your teeth together, angry at yourself for falling asleep. “You should have woken me up. And ‘gourmet’ seems like a stretch for an expired MRE don’t you think?”

“With locally sourced tea? Come on, people would have paid a pretty fucking penny for that shit in the old world.”

You laughed a little and shook your head, then turned and fixed your eyes on him with a deeply perplexed expression on your face.

“What? That’s quite a look for first thing in the morning,” Negan said. “I can’t have fucked up that bad already!”

“Why—why didn’t you leave?” you said. “As soon as the herd cleared and the storm settled… you could have disappeared, taken some supplies.” The jacket he’d given to you the night before was still hanging on your smaller frame. The sleeves had slipped down over your hands and you hastily pushed them back up. “You know what you’re going back to.”

He just kept smiling back at you, his expression surprisingly soft and genuine, no trace of his usual jest or masking. It was doing something to you, stirring up a whir of fluttering just below your lungs that was impossible to ignore. You gulped, trying to clear the sensation. He paced toward you, stopping within a foot. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why I stayed,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed even more deeply. “You’re a prisoner,” you said plainly.

Negan shrugged. “Am I? I think I’m starting to fucking forget that…” His hazel eyes were flickering over your face, studying your features. You were the one to fell a sudden wave of emotions cresting up within you and you backed away from it.

“We should—see if the coast is clear,” you said softly, ducking your eyes. “Get back to the car. Everyone back home will be worried. They may even have come looking already.”

Negan smiled to himself. He’d felt something in the air profoundly, but he’d also seen how you’d stepped away and the spell was broken. “Okay,” he said simply.

The two of you gathered up your essential gear and headed up the steps cautiously, listening at the barricaded basement door for any noises on the other side. You pounded on the door with your bandaged hand and pressed your ear to the wood. Nothing. Steady silence.

“Okay,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I don’t hear anything. You can hang onto that poker until we know for sure the house is clear, but then you’ll have to leave it behind. Got it?”

Negan agreed, a little hesitantly, but he wasn’t going to argue with you this time.

You unblocked the door, lifting the wooden board you’d secured it with the night before, being careful to avoid the sharp metal brackets this time. The next moment, you slowly pushed it open.

The house was clear and once you’d thoroughly looked out through windows on all sides of the house, he begrudgingly left the iron fireplace poker behind. Stepping outside, the destruction from the storm and the horde were blatantly evident. Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings, including the house you’d sheltered in, were busted or hailed out. There were large branches blown down off trees and the leaves of many were also shredded in the hailstorm and wind. Shingles and scraps of siding and wood were lying in the scraggly patches of grass.

“Good thing we didn’t try to make it out in the car. I’ll be surprised if the windshield is intact when we get back to it,” you said, nudging a shingle with your boot.

“Yeah,” Negan agreed. “What’s the plan? We still have all those supplies to load up.”

“Um… I guess we can try to get the car in here and load them up. That side road didn’t look too bad on the way in.”

The two of you headed that direction immediately, still on guard and wondering where the herd had gone to. Knowing only hours had passed, it was possible they weren’t far at all. But you arrived at the car safely. However, there was another problem.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you swore, staring at the scene in front of you.

Negan stopped beside you and all he could do was laugh wryly. “Well, shit.”

A huge old cottonwood tree had come down in the storm and the trunk had entirely crushed the car. You sighed and dropped your pack down beside you heaving a huge sigh. “Well… Daryl and Michonne will have noticed by now that we aren’t back. Let’s hope they’re already on their way.” The two of you waited by the car, and luckily it wasn’t long before you saw an approaching vehicle down the old highway. The two of you scrambled into cover, just in case it wasn’t who you were hoping for.

But it was. A truck pulled up and you saw Daryl behind the wheel as it stopped behind your smashed vehicle. Aaron, Rosita, and Daryl piled out and quickly ran to check the car. That’s when the two of you stepped out of cover on the side of the road.

“Hey!” you called out to them. “Can’t tell you how happy I am to see you all,” you said, jogging over. Negan walked over more slowly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Hell of a storm,” you said, gesturing at the smashed car.

“Goddamn, ‘m so glad to see ya in one piece,” Daryl said, pulling you quickly into a one-armed hug, his crossbow in the other hand. “We were worried sick, but figured it was the storm. Are ya okay?” he asked, shooting a tense look in Negan’s direction. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, noticing the bandage.

“I’m good. Just cut it while scavenging. It’s fine. How’s Alexandria? Everyone okay after the crazy wind and everything?”

“Yeah, all good. Definitely better than yer car,” he said, looking at the crushed vehicle.

“Thank God you weren’t inside,” Rosita said, slinging her rifle over her back.

“No. Instead we were trapped by a horde in a house,” you explained, crossing your arms.

“A horde?” Aaron repeated. “You’re serious?”

You nodded gravely. “Yeah. I was worried you were going to run into them on the highway to be honest. They moved on overnight.”

Negan was standing nearby, looking out of place. Daryl kept shooting him tense glances.

“We found a pile of supplies though, in a hidden survivalist cellar. I bet we can get a vehicle to the house and load them up, especially with your four-wheel drive vehicle.”

“At least something good came out of your trip then!” Aaron said cheerfully, patting your shoulder. “Glad you’re safe.”

You nodded and you all started back towards their truck. Daryl fell into step beside you. “Hey—” he started in an undertone. “Everything really went okay? Even with him?” he asked.

You nodded and felt your cheeks flushing inexplicably. “Yeah.” You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should even tell him this… but you did. “I—I didn’t mean to, but I fell asleep overnight. Negan stayed up on watch the whole time, Daryl. He could have—taken my weapons, overpowered me—the herd and storm were clear. He could have left, disappeared. But he didn’t. He stayed,” you explained in a low voice. “I—I don’t understand it.”

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, his brow furrowed deeply, shadows cast over his blue eyes. He looked up and caught Negan staring in your direction. “’M glad yer safe, especially considerin’ that. But ya gotta be more careful.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m already angry at myself. I just—I don’t understand why he stayed,” you said, hesitating with your hand on the door handle of the truck.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “‘M startin’ to have an idea.”

[em-harlsnow]

short mini-fic 🫶

ian mainly gets tiktok because Debbie won’t shut up about it. She tells him it’s simultaneously terrible and really good, and starts posting videos of Franny to her private account. She whines that she doesn’t have enough followers, so okay, ian will bite the bullet.

he downloads it, only to see Franny. it’s pretty boring at first because the FYP hasn’t caught up to what he likes yet. eventually, though, he gets a bit more into it.

he starts following some gay or lesbian or straight (although there are fewer of those) couples on the app, watching some of their content because it’s funny. he follows people who know about gardening and people who aim to motivate you to run and eat healthy.

he’s been on it for around three weeks when he starts understanding trends. They don’t last very long, and some are kind of interesting. It’s almost like an inside joke but for the whole internet. one trend in particular, ian thinks is actually hilarious.

it’s a couple trend. it involves one person asking the other to leave while they get changed. maybe the beauty’s in the simplicity, because the reactions to it are wildly entertaining.

he just has to try it on Mickey.

he’s not gonna record, because he doesn’t really care for people knowing their private life.

Mickey’s sat on their bed on his phone when ian comes in, happily chuckling away to YouTube. ian walks over to the draws, grabbing his pyjamas so that he can change for bed.

“hey, can you leave while i get changed?” he asks Mickey, and the reaction is immediate.

“What?” eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Can you leave the room while i get changed?”

Mickey scoffs. “No.”

“Come on. I’ll be quick.” He tries to persuade.

“Then you can change here.”

“I just want privacy, i’ll literally be ten seconds.”

Mickey all out laughs at him, putting his phone down. “Privacy? fuck off with that bullshit. i’ve been up close and personal with both your cock and your ass, fuck privacy.” And then in a move ian doesn’t expect, mickey sits himself up and watches him.

“Mickeyyy, just please let me get changed. or at least turn around.” He pleads.

“No. I’m watching you get changed now.”

“Why?” Ian’s sort of running out of excuses as to why he wants to get changed away from Mickey, but he needs to continue.

“Because I like watching you get naked.”

Ian scoffs, then turns to go into the bathroom and change. Mickey grabs him by the back of his jeans and gently tugs him back to the bed.

“Is this an insecurity thing? coz you know you’re the hottest guy i’ve ever seen.” he says, blue eyes staring up at ian.

ian smirks. “thank you, and no, not an insecurity thing. i just don’t want to get changed while you’re watching me like a perv.”

Mickey smiles back. “i am your husband, we have been together ten years, i am perfectly fucking entitled to watch you like a perv. now get changed.” he grins, smacking ian’s ass to make a point.

“i feel like you didn’t do it right.”

Mickey’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Didn’t do what right?”

“It’s a tiktok trend where you tell your partner that you want them to leave so you can get changed. you made it sweet.” Ian argues lightly, finally getting changed.

“fuck off. i’m not sweet. and fuck off with your toktik bullshit.” Mickey replies, and watches Ian like a perv as he strips down and pulls on his pyjamas.

“sure mick, you’re definitely not sweet.” ian states sarcastically, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

[palenutbasement]

(all scenes are depicted as platonic)

So every Inktober I try to do something more challenging, and this year I thought I would make a short comic/fanfic. I think I got the idea for this one a year ago but I was already wrapped up with another Inktober. Eventually I solidified the idea by making my own prompt list some time ago.

This comic is split into three parts with 10 days focusing on each of them, 30 in total, everything is compiled here. I wanted to post them after October in case I wanted to change anything.

This first part takes place in the summit.

The comic is basically all improvised, that means no planning for the composition, plot, or sketching any drawings. The most planning I did was write a few scripts ahead of time within the month to save me some time but most of them would be changed last minute anyways.

As for the plot, I won't go too deep into it because I don't want to talk too much, so you'll just find commentary on the making of the comic and stuff.

This first part is a little gimmick-y compared to the next two, with new elements appearing almost every day. It’s because I relied a lot on the prompts (dog, milk, etc.) to keep things happening, eventually I move further away from them.

What is surprising to me is how much the art changes as the days go by especially within the span of one month. I did refine a few things to keep it more consistent but this is nearly indistinguishable from the original drawings.

I should also mention that my favourite aspect of this project was adding references to the game and subtle details (if you can find it all, awesome!!) This may have been done quickly but I like to have those things and put at least a bit of effort into the dialogue.

Part 2

Eventually I figured that drawing the same setting for 30 days straight would drive me insane, hence why this comic is split like it is. I’m glad I did because it makes the story a little more interesting, seeing the characters have different attitudes in different places and whatnot.

This one takes place in the cave directly after pt 1. Admittedly I do better drawing outdoor settings, it's what I'm used to, but the cave wasn't so bad to figure out.

I remember these two days I was streaming drawing the comic to my friends, so I kinda zoned out while we were talking lol

One of the prompts was about napping, so I made Dwarf sleep. I believe I was tired that day too and it was therapeutic to draw and include that. Also they look cute, I think.

18 & 19 have some of my favourite drawings in the comic. The campfire lighting is what we'd get if I had a bit more energy each day, and I like the perspective in the first panel of 19.

I find this last section interesting, because of all the 30 days, it’s the only one in Dwarf’s POV. I felt like it was fitting to do something like that at the time.

Part 3

Since we were approaching Halloween, I wanted to have a special part for it. It’s related to the other two parts but it takes place some time after. I’m really sorry it’s out of season, if it were up to me I would have had this post out earlier (thank my midterms for the delay)

Out of all the other parts this one is my favourite. Maybe because it’s more recent I’m inclined to think that way but it has some of my fave moments that I've written here.

Other than that I don't have much commentary for this part. More thoughts at the end!

I was caught up everyday atp, but I didn’t have much spare time to prepare for the ending (I wrote it the morning of that day). I think this is a decent conclusion though.

I intend on coming back to this story, maybe next year to make a continuation but we'll see what happens. There are definitely things that I want to come back to someday.

Thank you for making it this far btw. It's been an eventful month for me beyond this (Untitled) comic, but there wasn't a single aspect of this that I didn't enjoy doing. It's a silly project and I care about it.

Also, I'm not going to neglect the 31st of October! That day will get an illustration, where I will pick my favourite panel and redraw it. I want to take my time with this one so it's not out yet, but hopefully I can finish by Christmas.

[gluion]

here’s much to do with hate, but more with love ➵ lee sangyeon & lee hyunjae

non-idol!lee sangyeon x reader, non-idol!lee hyunjae x reader

when you land the lead role for your university's upcoming play, you expect your scene partner to be your best friend, lee hyunjae. but when your eyes discover a different lee beside romeo montague's, you're certain that the universe is not on your side.

genre/warnings ➵ enemies to lovers, slight friends to lovers (kind of), afab reader (they/them pronouns), university au, theater au (?), suggestive themes, drinking, pet names (sweetheart), huh yunjin is your bestfriend, i don't remember much from physics so my bad if angular momentum is not taught in college (or probably a basic lesson), kevin moon is the director and kibum from shinee is the teacher advisor, three different scenes and one flashback, p1harmony cravity twice and ive cameo too, theater kids do know how to have fun!, sangyeon macbeth burn, the scottish play is macbeth btw, theater superstitions mentioned!!

word count ➵ 6.1k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu

a/n ➵ here's my submission for the secret santa fic exchange of the deoboyznet! i got daisy @daisyvisions <3 i hope you enjoy this, and i hope i got to fulfill your request (and did justice to sangmil) <3 thank you to @vernyangel and @winterchimez for betareading this <3 also thank you to @shegotthewoobies and @sizzlingdino for sharing your theater knowledge <3 much love <3 i'll definitely consider writing a part 2 for this fic if anyone wants it :') for everyone, please don't forget to reblog (even if it's in your tbr) and leave feedback <3

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

To exist is to perform. At every waking moment—every second, every location, every play—is an audience ready to witness an act, regardless of whether they attended the first act or came in the middle of the third. To exist is to perform. No matter what role you signed up for, you’re left to act as your own backstage crew, cast, and director. To exist is to perform. There’s no such thing as intermission for the crowd remains rooted in their seats. To exist is to perform. You’re born an actor; nothing can change that.

There’s an unwritten contract that comes with being an actor; it is to understand your role and scene, and then immerse in what your character is undergoing. Let the curtains draw back and feel. And most of all, never allow the audience or your castmate to disrupt the show.

(It didn’t matter if you were performing for someone or no one. The roles you undertake are made for you, after all; it’s only right to perform, perform, perform.)

(And regardless of the nature of the role—ensemble or lead, it didn’t matter because they held their own value—you knew to perform it as if it were your last show. But you’ll never allow yourself to be a ham; you would rather have someone exclaim the official name of “The Scottish Play” in the theater—scratch that, you would rather hear “good luck” at every opening night.)

For today’s play, you’re left with a monotonous role—a university student forced to listen to the blabbering of a lecturer as they teeter on a tightrope. At any second, you swear you could almost slip and fall into slumber, but the sound of your professor clearing his throat is what has you scrambling back into focus. 

“So, angular momentum.” God, you need to get out of here.

Before you can find yourself falling back into your thoughts, the table vibrates. You look down at your phone to see a text from your best friend.

jennikirin: GIRRRLLL… jennikirin: i just heard that sir key posted the casting list

Your eyebrows shoot up. With hands quick to grab your phone and type out a reply, the voice of your professor turns into elevator music.

y/n: HUHHH isn’t that supposed to be coming out next week??? jennikirin: YEAA but zuha told me that sir key and kevin wanted it up early just so they could start preparing for the production jennikirin: jichang told her btw HUEYIQEYE y/n: IMCRYAINDG!?!@?@ y/n: fuck ME now i have to sit through the rest of this class knowing that the list is out already??? jennikirin: DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED i’m stuck with sir son in stupid econ…  jennikirin: like I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU GREGORY MANKIW!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! y/n: i’m learning about stupid angular momentum under sir won… y/n: like i’m only here because ITS A GENERAL SUBJECT!!! I’M AN ADVERTISING MAJOR?? jennikirin: nvm sir son is dismissing us early 💗 i’m bolting to that corkboard see ya y/n: FAWK YEWWWW

All you have to do is follow through with your role until the curtains draw close—a simple task that seems impossible to complete. If your knees were to hit the ground and your hands would come together in a prayer position, would the performance be life-changing that the show is cut short? Could you be free from your duty as an actor playing a student?

(And it’s funny because you spent countless hours studying and praying to get into this university; you were in no position to complain.)

“That’s it for today’s class! Please make sure to read up on—”

You were out of the classroom before you could hear your professor’s full announcement. The details of your next assignment don’t matter when your fate is stored in a paper posted on a corkboard.

(Though, you know it is a lie. You did need to pass Mr. Won’s class to get your degree, and you didn’t want to go through Physics a second time.)

The hallway is filled with rumbling students, off to go to their next class or itching to get some food during their break in between. As you made your way through, you could only spit out half-hearted excuses—Sorry! Just passing!—as you bumped shoulders with strangers. Different looks were thrown your way, apologetic and scornful ones to name a few.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you look down to see a text message from Yunjin. A sigh leaves you as you type out a reply while walking.

jennikirin: I JUST GOT HERE jennikirin: WRU y/n: OTW WAIR FIR ME jennikirin: BITCHHHH OKAY

Once you’ve made it out of the sea of extras, you can spot the brown corkboard surrounded by a crowd of students, and you can see your ginger-haired friend looking down at her phone. She’s pacing around, struggling to not look at the cast list.

“Huh Yunjin!” Her eyes land on you as you call out her name. You scurry your way to her. “Sorry! The hallways were packed.”

“It’s fine! Now, we need to check the casting list. I was practically dying not looking at it.” She tugs on your arm, maneuvering you both closer to the paper plastered on the corkboard. As she says excuses, you spot familiar faces leaving with different expressions—joy and disappointment to name a few.

You can spot Yoon Keeho and Hwang Intak walking away, sighs of relief leaving them. Shoulders down are what Kang Minhee and Ham Wonjin sported, a teary-eyed Song Hyeongjun trailing behind the two. Faces of those you knew during your time in countless productions, and others you’ve only met during auditions; they’ve read the paper that had their fates.

Every step is a dreadful one as you trudge your way through the crowd. (Or you could say being dragged by your best friend.) But before you can attest, you find yourself facing Yunjin, both of you only one look away from finding out your fates.

“Okay, are we ready?” Be still, your heart.

With one nod, you both look at the piece of paper that holds the names of those participating in the Romeo and Juliet production. As you spot Yunjin’s name beside Rosaline Capulet, your heart leaps at the sight.

“Oh my god, Yunjin, you GOT IT!”

“Y/N, YOU’RE JULIET!” You lock eyes with your best friend, eyebrows raised in confusion at her words. “Girl, look!” She moves your face with one hand and has the other pointing right where your name lands—Y/N as Juliet Capulet. Your hand reaches to your face, palm covering your mouth as you hold back a gasp. Mind jumbled, you didn’t know what to say.

Yunjin pulls you into an embrace, jumping in her place. “WE GOT IN!” Her cheer sounds throughout the hallway, earning stares from those surrounding you two and those passing by.

Your eyes trail down the list, trying to find someone’s name. The sight of your other best friend’s name has you smiling, but you’re pulled out of your utopia when you find it situated beside a character he didn’t audition for—Lee Jaehyun as Count Paris.

“Hyunjae didn’t get Romeo?” The whisper has Yunjin halting her actions.

Her eyes rest back on the casting list. “What? He didn’t get in?”

“No, he did, but he’s playing Paris.” With furrowed eyebrows, your eyes look to who your scene partner is; who is your Romeo Montague? And when you see the word “Lee”, you expect that Sir Key might’ve made a mistake and inputted Hyunjae’s name twice.

That is until you read the word that trails after the first—Lee Sangyeon as Romeo Montague.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lighting erupts within you. The air current moves at a speed fast enough to form a tornado, and it just so happens that you’re in the eye of it. You’re face-to-face with a natural disaster, wondering its next course of action—to consume you whole or to leave you be.

Lee fucking Sangyeon; oh how you couldn’t even say his name without your blood boiling. Is there anything even good to say about the cocky motherfucker?

You shared the tragic fate of attending the same high school as Sangyeon. And just like you, he was in the theater club. At first, he was just someone like you—a student with a passion for acting. But the thing about Sangyeon is that he presents himself well, earning gushes from those part of the club, students and teachers alike. It seemed that he was the perfect actor, always landing the leading roles. At one point, you wanted to believe that it was because he was a good actor, but the reality unraveled itself when you saw what was behind the scenes.

Lee Jaehyun, or Hyunjae as he goes, shared the same dreams as Sangyeon. They both wanted to act, ideally landing leading roles. The passion the two shared should’ve fostered friendly rivalry, a way to propel them to reach heights never imagined. But the more Sangyeon received countless opportunities to play the lead role, the more Hyunjae’s determination started to crumble. What makes the whole thing even bleaker is that Sangyeon knew what his rival felt, and made the most out of that opportunity to tear him down.

What started off as genuine words of encouragement had turned into two-faced statements. And it hurt to see your best friend believe he was incapable of becoming an actor. If anything, you could name countless roles that he deserved to play the leading role, and many could agree with you. As your best friend started to crumble, you were driven by the desire to protect him. With every appearance Sangyeon made, your hostility towards him grew, and it didn’t help that he solidified it with only one interaction.

Scratchy; that’s what your sweater feels like against your skin. Perhaps it’s the heat of the hallway that has you wanting to strip your knit sweater off, or the material has just worn off. You tug on the collar, hoping that the discomfort will dissipate. Eyes trained on the corkboard that held the names of productions your club has done throughout the years, you wonder what role could you land for The Scottish Play.

It’s unlike you to audition for a big role, a leading role to be exact, for you found yourself growing comfortable in minor ones and ensemble. Yunjin has never been able to convince you to audition for the big roles, and your other friend, Kim Younghoon, could never find the right words to push you to sign up under a main character. But Hyunjae held some power over you—If you audition for Lady Macbeth, I’ll try out for Macbeth—and you couldn’t find it within yourself to say no, especially when Hyunjae was considering giving up auditioning for leading roles overall. 

You can feel the coolness of the concrete wall against your nape. Hamlet, Three Kingdoms, Sweeney Todd, and more are the productions you’ve hesitated to audition for the lead roles. You close your eyes in an attempt to calm your nerves. One audition wouldn’t kick you out of the club, right? If Ms. Jang learned that you were unfit to be an actor at that moment, you put the blame on Hyunjae.

(But in reality, you knew you would blame yourself. Hyunjae wouldn’t be at fault for what Ms. Jang decides to do with you. Every failure you face is caused by you, and you need to take responsibility for each one.)

Then, the door swings open, and the cold air that the air conditioners of the theater expel hits your skin, causing goosebumps to form. A shudder runs down your spine. Your eyes peel open, and you’re ready to greet the person who exited the theater, about to wish them luck. But when you catch sight of the one person who has done nothing but tear your best friend down, the taste in your mouth is like acid.

His head whips in your direction, catching sight of you seated with the sample script that Ms. Jang provided resting on your lap. His eyebrows shoot up and his eyes trail you from top to bottom. “So, which one?”

The question catches you off guard. Although you didn’t like Sangyeon, you two didn’t really talk for there was no reason to do so in the first place. So, when he does decide to talk to you—like this moment, and it’s not like you two really talked until now—you find yourself surprised at the interactions.

When you tilt your head in confusion, he chuckles with a smug look plastered on his face. “Which of the Three Witches?”

And with just one question, you feel your resolve snap. For him to assume that you were auditioning for one of those roles felt like an insult. It’s not that you didn’t see the value of these roles; you know that the production is nothing without the people to fulfill the minor roles. But to hear such a question from him with his record of humiliating Hyunjae, you cannot help but believe he’s trying to do the same to you.

“I’m auditioning for Lady Macbeth,” you answer, venom laced with your tone. It doesn’t help that shock casts on Sangyeon’s features.

“Oh, I see,” he starts. He clears his throat, an attempt to hide his bewilderment, and shoots you a smile. “Well, I’d like to have you as my scene partner.”

Cocky—that’s all Lee Sangyeon will ever be. His ego has been inflated with all the leading roles he’s landed. You’ve never met anyone filled with pride like his; how could he prance around with confidence that he would get the role he auditioned for every single time?

You roll your eyes as you stand up from your seat, the script now in your hands. “I can’t believe you’re so confident that you’ll be playing Macbeth. Have you ever considered that maybe you won’t play the main role for once?” The glare you shoot at him does nothing to his pride.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty confident about the performance I gave just a few minutes ago.”

It baffles you. Sangyeon continues to prove that he’s never been given a reality check; maybe you should snap some sense into him.

“I’d rather settle for being part of the ensemble—no, having no role than play your scene partner.” If Sangyeon is thrown off by your statement, he does a good job hiding it, just like the supposed perfect actor when it comes to handling ad-libs on stage. He would never understand what it means to be an actor—what makes a production successful—if he didn’t appreciate the minor roles. 

If he had something to say back to you, you don’t give him a window to do so for you have taken your leave. You first came with a desire for the auditions to be over, but now, you come with a desire to prove you’re an actor capable of any role. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, especially whatever Lee Sangyeon seemed to think about you.

For the first time, you and Hyunjae played the leading roles in a production. Sangyeon was left as an understudy.

Although you were in university, it’s not that you could escape Sangyeon for you two were in theater. Thankfully, the productions you’ve had a chance to work on didn’t always have Sangyeon playing the leading role.

(Though, he did still play a handful. Perhaps he still held some charm over the university crowd.)

But due to the bigger cast and production team, it was usually easy for you to avoid him. You know when to take your leave, and you know to tune him out if you can hear him act (or speak, really). Nothing good ever comes out of interacting with Sangyeon; it’s best to limit your interactions with him for it would preserve your sanity.

But the universe seems to have other plans for you. Face-to-face with his name situated right beside the name in which your character is romantically interested, you cannot help but read his name again, and again, and again.

You wish that this is just a nightmare, that you fell asleep in the middle of Mr. Won’s class, and that you’re paying for the consequences by your consciousness presenting you with the worst outcome. God, you really did mean it when you said you would rather settle for no role than play Sangyeon’s scene partner.

Stupid Sangyeon, Sangyeon, Sangyeon. And as if it were the curse of the Bloody Mary, saying his name three times brings you to your demise.

“Huh, guess you ended up being my scene partner after all.”

You whip your head to where the devil stands, right beside you with arms crossed as his eyes remain on the casting list. His gaze lands on you, and a smug grin rests on his face. “I’m wondering if you’ll talk to Kevin or Sir Key about withdrawing from the production.”

His words make you frown. Before you can retort, he walks away, your eyes burning holes into his back. Yunjin could sense the rage within you and kept her hands on your shoulders in an attempt to calm you down. 

An exasperated sigh leaves you. “I cannot believe that guy.” You look at your best friend who only holds an apologetic look. “Can’t believe I have to deal with his shit even ‘till now.”

“I know.” She bites on the inside of her cheek. Before she could say more, her phone vibrated in her hand. As she reads out the notification, she groans. “Fuck, I need to go. I just remembered I have a project to work on.” She stores her phone away. “Where are you headed?”

“Uhm, I’m gonna wait for Hyunjae,” you say as your shoulders sag down. As you hear your best friend hum, you spot a teasing smile resting on her lips and you roll your eyes. “You’ve got to stop that.”

“Stop what? I’m not saying anything,” Yunjin attempts to defend herself but you both know she’s far from innocent.

You shake your head, a giggle leaving you. “Whatever, go! I’ll see you later.” You’re left staring at the cast list as she takes her leave. Busy hands fiddle with your phone, clicking one of the contacts marked as a favorite. You bring it close to your ear, waiting for him to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hyunjae-ah, where are you?”

“I’m on the way to where the cast is posted!” His hurried reply signals that he’s running to where you are. “I just heard from Joshua that it was released early.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I heard the same from Yunjin. I’ll wait for you.”

“No need to wait too long.” You look behind you to see your best friend standing a few meters away. His hair is tousled up from all the running but still falls back perfectly in place. His hand combs through it, a grin resting on his lips at the sight of you, as he jogs towards you.

“Hey, where’d you come from?”

His arm finds its spot around your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. All while he is transfixed on the castling list, your gaze rests on your best friend. “I just had Ethics—oh my god, YOU GOT JULIET!” He spins to face you and brings you into a hug.

“Yeah,” your arms find their place around his shoulders as his limbs rest on your waist. “But, you know, you got Paris.” When you lean back, you only see a grin on his lips.

“Yeah, but who cares? I mean, my sweetheart got the part she wanted.” There he goes again, using the pet name that started as a quip but still sticks years later. You roll your eyes at his remark, but before you can say any more, he beats you to it. “Don’t think about backing out now.”

A sigh leaves you. “But,” you glance at the name of your (and Hyunjae’s) enemy, “I’ve gone through enough of him in high school. Can’t I live my uni life in peace?” You pout at your best friend, and he chuckles at your behavior, cheeks dusted with hues of red.

“Do you really want to give him the satisfaction of making you quit such a big role?” Would it be that bad to say yes? “C’mon, playing Juliet is a huge deal! You’re destined to play that role! And, I mean, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Sir Key and Kevin…”

God, it did hurt you to agree with Hyunjae. You didn’t want to waste the time and effort Sir Key and Kevin Moon, the teacher adviser and the director, must’ve put into crafting the cast list. But to go through months with Sangyeon, all for a university play? It’s not that you were pursuing a career in theater, or acting for that matter.

But would you from a few years back—a high schooler who treated every theater production as if it were a Broadway one—say the same thing? Is this the role you wanted to take on as an actor, one willing to step down over a nuisance? 

With one sigh, Hyunjae knew what your answer was. He smiles before dragging you away from the piece of paper that seems to only bring downpour. “I don’t know if this will make you feel better but I heard from Changmin that there’ll be a house party. Maybe we can drink the sour mouths away.”

“Drink the what away?” You chuckle at his choice of words. “Hyunjae, I’m so glad you aren’t a scriptwriter.”

He scoffs at your insult, “But you get what I mean.”

“I do not.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully shoving you which causes you to giggle. “Let’s just drink the bitterness away. We could be meeting our other castmates and the prod team, maybe getting to know them more.”

You cannot help but hum as you ponder over your schedule for the rest of the week. “I don’t know. I have this one homework for Mr. Won’s class that I sure as hell don’t know how to answer. I mean, I don’t even know what the instructions are!”

“Ah, just trust me! I’ll help you out with that. Just,” he stops you two in the middle of the hallway. There were barely any students for they scrambled off to their respective classrooms or looked for lunch. He pouts at you, his hands now holding yours as his fingers draw circles on the back of your dorsals. “Go with me, will you?”

It doesn’t take you a moment for you to make up your mind; you’re sure the trade-offs that come from that party won’t save your ass from Physics or Sangyeon.

But when Hyunjae leans in, his lips ghosting your ear, your breath hitches. “I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.” You’re nothing but a puddle (and a sheep). So once he leans back, you nod. At the sight of your confirmation, he smiles. “Okay, let’s go have lunch.”

You can only hope that Hyunjae (or any of your friends, really) understood annular momentum, or whatever it’s called.

(You truly are a lost cause in Physics, and you’ll be blaming it on Sangyeon. Every inconvenience is caused by him, anyway.)

For anyone who thinks theater kids couldn’t party, they’re wrong (partially, only). Sure, there were the occasional show tunes that played from Kevin’s playlist, and a certain someone named Ju Haknyeon who belts out of the blue, but no one complained.

With only a few drinks in, you and Hyunjae are buzzed. And although you both agreed on using this party as an opportunity to get to know the other members, you still found yourselves sticking together—shoulders bumped, hands laced, or arms wrapped around each other.

Now, you two along with Yunjin and Younghoon were hanging out in the kitchen, not away from where the crowd was but quiet enough to have your own conversations.

“You know, I finally got to talk to Jihyo,” Yunjin says before taking a sip from her drink.

Younghoon tilts his head. “Park Jihyo? The one playing Lady Capulet?” A hum of confirmation leaves her as she continues to drink. “Did you see her audition for The Baker’s Wife for Into The Woods?”

Yunjin nods, letting the rim of her cup leave her lips and smacking Younghoon’s arm repeatedly. “I was able to sit in for the auditions because I signed up for prod team instead. Girl, I can’t believe she didn’t get the part.”

“Yeah, didn’t Rei get the part instead?” Hyunjae asks to which Younghoon nods.

“Didn’t she audition for Little Red Riding Hood?”

Yunjin shrugs at your question. “I’m not sure, but I do see her playing that role versus the wife.” She sets her cup on the kitchen counter behind her. “Don’t get me wrong, though. They’re both outstanding actors but I would’ve changed the casting. Some of them would’ve played different roles that suited them vocally and acting-wise.”

“Well,” you sigh. “You know that some directors are just batshit blind.” Hyunjae cannot help but elbow you, earning a whine from you as he chuckles. “I’m serious, though! Like, look at Hyunjae! He’s the perfect example.”

“Ouch. Thanks for reminding me of my tragic history.”

You roll your eyes at Hyunjae’s words, the playful tone evident in his words. “I’m just saying, some directors don’t know what they’re doing.”

In no way did you have anything against Kevin. You’re certain that he knew what he was doing; it didn’t sit right that Hyunjae lost a huge role to the same prick who couldn’t get off his high horse. But there is no point in contesting because your best friend wouldn’t allow you. All that mattered to him was that you got the role.

“Yes, but I trust Kevin. Honestly, I’m just glad I still landed a role,” Hyunjae shrugs as he sips.

Younghoon hums along. “Exactly! I heard Hyeongjun didn’t even make it to ensemble.”

A groan rips out of your throat, knowing that the two made a good point. “Yeah, I trust him, too. I just,” you shake your head at the thought of your enemy. “I’m just sick of Sangyeon.”

At the mention of the devil’s name, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders, your shoulder hitting against something firm. And when your eyes drift to the stranger, you’re met with the bane of your existence.

“Talking about me, sweetheart?”

To hear Sangyeon use that pet name had your stomach churning. You plant your hand against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but you feel his pecs through the white, cotton material, and you quickly retract it. Instead, you shrug his arm off.

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze rests on the boy beside you, shooting him a smile. “Shouldn’t we use this time to build our chemistry?” To others, Sangyeon may have genuine enthusiasm to get to know his scene partner, but you and Hyunjae knew that his grin held nothing but arrogance.

You move closer to Hyunjae and his hand finds its spot on your waist. Sangyeon’s eyes flicker to your best friend’s hand but he still holds the same smile.

“Sangyeon, it’s just acting. I can easily fake chemistry,” you shake your head, trying to scoot even further towards Hyunjae. There’s barely any space between you two. “Unless your supposed great ass can’t fake it. Did all those years spent in theater not teach you anything?”

There’s no way to fake chemistry; everyone knows that, from actors to audiences. But when you’re face-to-face with Sangyeon, you would take any opportunity to get back at him for what he’s done—not only to Hyunjae but to you, as well.

Despite your words, Sangyeon’s expression never wavers. Stoic Sangyeon—he always knew how to get on your nerves. “Isn’t the point of this party to get to know each other?” You roll your eyes, looking away to give your eyes a break from the nuisance.

But when you feel his breath fanning against your left cheek, you’re afraid to say anything. The distance between you two right in front of your friends makes it feel like it’s forbidden, especially when Hyunjae has his arm wrapped around you.

“Especially with our kissing scenes.”

A chill runs down your spine. You know what he’s doing—embarrassing you in front of your high school friends just to rile you up, and rubbing it into Hyunjae that he got the lead role once more. Whatever place Sangyeon first held in your life didn’t matter anymore; he’s dug himself deeper into the pits of hell that you never knew of until this moment.

You want to push Sangyeon off and drag Hyunjae out of the house, alone together and far away from him, but a booming voice breaks the tension.

“Wow! It’s nice to see our Romeo and Juliet getting to know each other,” Kevin comes into the kitchen with a grin and gains everyone’s attention.

Under the gaze of your director, you don’t think twice about what you do. “Yeah!” Your arm quickly links with Sangyeon’s, and you notice Sangyeon freezes up. It’s out of character for you to do such; you can only imagine the expressions of your friends. “Just old friends catching up, right?” When you look at Sangyeon, you notice a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but your forced smile is enough for him to get the message.

“Yeah,” he smiles at Kevin. “I’m just glad that my Juliet is someone I know.” My Juliet? Oh, you’re going to be sick. 

Kevin is amused with the newfound information. “I didn’t know you two were friends! I never see you two interacting.”

Perhaps your animosity towards Sangyeon is obvious but you weren’t going to allow the feud to get in the way of the role of a lifetime—Kevin can never know about the water that has gotten stained with red.

“Oh, we all went to the same high school.”

“Same theater club, too,” Sangyeon chimes in.

Kevin looks at everyone with amazement. “Oh, that’s so cool! From the same high school to the same university. I’m sure you’re all happy to see each other in the theater scene again.” Everyone but one, really.

“I’m looking forward to seeing everyone work in the production,” his eyes rested on you and Sangyeon once more. “Especially the chemistry between you two.”

When Kevin takes his leave, you all bid him farewell. And once he was an earshot away, you shrugged Sangyeon off. “See? I can fake chemistry.” Your glare finally causes a small reaction from him—the startled expression on his face makes you reign victorious. “Clearly, you need to work on that.”

If Sangyeon wants to retort, you don’t allow him to do so as you leave the kitchen with Hyunjae’s hand in yours.

A few hours have passed since Sangyeon decided to come and dampen Hyunjae’s and your moods. Thankfully, you haven’t seen him since but it could be because you were too drunk to care, or maybe you were too distracted by the boy whose lap you sit on.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” Your best friend’s lips graze your ear. His hands hold onto your hip, his thumbs drawing patterns on the exposed skin that’s starting to peek. You giggle as you shake your head, earning a chuckle from him. “Why not?”

His whines have you dizzy (or it’s probably the effects of the alcohol), but you do your best to answer. “Hyunjae, we’re supposed to be getting to know our castmates better. Isn’t that why you asked me to go with you?” As you looked at everyone in the living room, you know for sure there was no chance to talk to them anymore for they were too intoxicated to remember tonight’s events.

When he presses his lips to your jawline, you cannot help but close your eyes at the sensation. “Yeah, but we aren’t even talking to anyone. Why don’t we just go back to your place and just, I don’t know, make out?” He whispers the last words as if it were taboo.

This is what you and Hyunjae were—friends who couldn’t help but enter territories that blur the line between platonic and romantic. Since you two first entered university, you and Hyunjae couldn’t seem to keep your hands to themselves, always finding their places on each other. It started in such a blur—at a party just like this, both intoxicated—but both of you couldn’t help but keep it going. You still limited your relationship to occasional make-out sessions and snuggling, but you never went past such stages with him. The two of you didn’t mind the unclear boundaries, anyway.

“I don’t know,” you finally look at your best friend. His eyes seem to glimmer, and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “I haven’t gotten to talk to Daniel.”

His eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “Kang Daniel? The one playing Lord Capulet?” As you hum, he chuckles. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of another man while you’re on my lap, sweetheart.” There he goes again, using that pet name.

“What do you mean? I just want to get to know my castmates better.” The teasing tone is evident. You crave the attention—the possession—Hyunjae seems to have for you.

And when his nose brushes against yours, all thoughts are knocked out of you. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to know anyone else, not even their names. You already have me.”

For a moment, you almost think this is it—the two of you will enter domains never traversed and there will be no way to go back from it, but you don’t mind, not with him, anyway.

His eyes flicker to your lips, and you hold your breath. “Don’t do that,” he chuckles. “You need to catch your breath before I take it away.”

Before he can do anything, you feel the couch move as someone takes a seat beside him. You’re ready to put some distance between the two of you, but when your eyes land on the stranger, you realize that the universe is not by your side or Hyunjae’s.

Hyunjae scoffs and his hand cradles your face, an attempt to get your attention back, but your blood boils over the sight of the same guy who always ruins everything.

“I didn’t know Juliet gets so touchy with Paris.” Sangyeon’s comment has you rolling your eyes. Clearly, you’re too distracted by him, and Hyunjae can’t do anything but give up. Instead, your best friend just settles on holding you close to him while your gaze remains on the devil.

“What’s with you? We don’t have to talk to each other unless it’s for rehearsals.” A frustrated sigh leaves you. “Don’t you know that all we have to do is act?”

When all you’re met with is the same cocky smile he flashed Hyunjae back at the kitchen, you shake your head. You’re about to glance at your best friend, prepared to tell him that you two should leave and retreat to your place.

That is until you feel someone’s fingers hold onto your chin, redirecting your gaze to Sangyeon. Now, you’re face-to-face with Sangyeon, the distance between you two is even smaller in comparison to when you were in the kitchen. 

The air is knocked out of your lungs, your eyes looking right at Sangyeon’s. Whatever you looked like had him smirking—you were defenseless against him for once.

“Can’t handle it?” The question is meant to provoke you, have your blood boil so that you scream profanities at him. You’re sure he’s pertaining to all the little stunts he’s been doing; teasing you to get a reaction from you, acting like you two are friends, and making comments about your acting experience.

But for a second, you almost think he’s talking about himself—could you handle him not only on the show dates but also be surrounded by him for the upcoming two months?

And once more, your brain turns into mush. The lights become streaks of different colors, and they do their job of making Sangyeon look different—still the same cocky motherfucker, but now, you want a taste.

Your mouth goes dry and you’re scared to exhale, but Sangyeon only smiles before letting his hand leave your chin. It’s clear he’s happy by your soundless reaction. When he stands up from the couch, he glances at Hyunjae, and his smile turns almost sinister.

You would’ve said something like you always do, but you’re unable to form a coherent sentence. You’re intoxicated; the alcohol’s still in your system, but Sangyeon’s gaze shows that the drinks you’ve had are nothing compared to him.

With that, he takes his leave. Whatever moment you and Hyunjae shared is now lost—all thanks to Sangyeon, once again.

if you enjoyed reading this, please do reblog with feedback!

[talenlee]

Goblin, Vandal, Sugg

Every word you’ve ever used comes from somewhere. The structures you use to discuss ideas is informed by ideas that came before it. I’m not getting all Sapir-Worf about this (and if you don’t know what that is, you don’t have to know because it’s probably not true), but rather wanting to draw your attention to the way the world you live in is in part defined by the words you use. If you’re an English speaker, there are ways you describe food that are a byproduct of French invasion centuries ago. Words like ‘technocrat’ and ‘hyperspecialised’ are constructions that borrow from how intellectuals used to use Latin. Your swear words are almost all from the poor working class, and used to describe sex, god, or excrement, and that’s not how all swear words work in all cultures!

Your world shapes your language.

In any given fantasy setting you work on, you don’t usually have the same linguistic history to justify why the people there talk like we talk now. In fact, to be completely fair, they probably don’t talk like us at all: you have fantasy languages, across fantasy constructions. Any given phrase a character in your world says is probably not using the exact same words as we are and we’re all working with a sort of fictionalised fantasy that makes the concepts reasonably translate across.

There’s a whole treatise then about how we handle Native American names and loanwords that we italicise like etouffee.

Point is that you have words, in your world, and you can attach stories to them. You’ve probably seen me talk about Orcs and how they relate to language and stereotypes, along in my long post on the word ‘Orc’. Here’s another set of examples I like for my world of Cobrin’Seil, as they pertain to the best little evolved raccoons, the Goblins.

The word ‘Goblin’

In Cobrin’Seil, most people speak two languages. Most people who speak only one language speak Common, and Common is full of loanwords from other languages. ‘Orc’ and ‘Beast’ are well known loanwords. There is a word that has risen in prominence throughout all the common-speaking countries in less than seventy years, and the word it displaced is still even in functional and legal use.

The word is both new and old; new to common, but an old word to the language it’s from. This word is Goblin.

Goblins are by no means new. They’re one of the three great old cultures of the world, a social symbiote culture that pretty much exists in any given settlement of any size. It’s usually seen as a sign of health that a community can sustain Goblins — in the same way that communities that lack pets are probably culturally alienated from all the cultures that do keep pets — and if you encounter an enclave that lacks goblins, it’s often because that enclave is specifically for a purpose and has done proactive things to drive out Goblin presence. Goblins are a culture that’s as old as Orcs, older than Ogres and even most of what you’d consider modern-day Elves.

But the word Goblin was not a word in common language and descriptors that was used in dictionaries and education and technical words, until what are known as the Peoples Reform. Not People’s Reforms – but the legal system of the Eresh Protectorate (which tends to set precedents most of the rest of the world follows) formalised the idea of Peoples. For most cultures, this didn’t make a lot of changes, but it did peel out of the laws one of the largest and long-standing carve-outs for Goblins that eroded the idea of their own cultural identity and heritage. The word Goblin is encoded as the term Goblins use to describe Goblins.

Linguistically, Goblin is a funny word. It’s an omniterm; without modification, it serves as noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb and preposition and it does so in entirely intelligible ways to those contextually familiar. The sentence ‘Goblin goblin goblin goblin goblin’ is a meaningful sentence describing a party taking care of a third party because they see the commonality they have with one another. Good luck making that make sense in a sent letter though.

Goblin is possessive; in a lot of ways it can be translated to the common term ‘us,’ with some wiggle room. It’s also a comical non-answer; guards asking a Goblin ‘what are you doing?’ will often get the answer ‘goblin,’ which in this case means something like ‘being myself and doing what I should be doing,’ which is an answer but it is also unhelpful, and you have to understand how goblins communicate to get a handle on what that might mean. Goblin language is simple but contextual and it tends to highlight that goblins are extremely prosocial. Goblin language makes very little sense without the context of who is talking and about what.

There’s a real truth to the fact that many Goblins who have taken to theatre or art will write dialogue in Goblin but stage directions in Common.

But the word is new, legally, but the people aren’t. What was the change? Well, prior to the Peoples Reforms, the term the human kingdoms used for the people known as Goblins was the term Vandal.

The Word ‘Vandal’

You can’t kidnap a Goblin.

Legally, I mean.

This isn’t because Goblins were protected under the law, no no, the laws were way too racist for that. The crime was that, wherever you transported the Goblins to, the people didn’t want Goblins there, so you were committing a crime by inflicting Goblins on them. Basically, it was considered a crime to take a Goblin from one place to another, because the place the Goblin arrived didn’t necessarily consent to the presence of a Goblin.

The term for transporting a Goblin was based on an archaic term for Goblins that operated on the assumptions that Goblins were just a problem and a pest brought into any space. They were known as Vandals, a term hypothetically meaning all nonhuman troublesome cultures including Gnolls and Bugbears, because if those people arrived in a place, they’d wreck things. Funnily enough, Gnolls and Bugbears got removed from this term over time because they would usually, if it rose to legal levels, be committing much more dire crimes, and also, guards didn’t like just bullying them at random, since they were very big and tough people by comparison to the much smaller Goblin. Over time, ‘Vandal’ came to mean ‘Goblins, and behaving like a Goblin,’ and that association meant the legal term got ensnared around it. Ultimately, dropping Goblins off in a space that did not want them was the act of Vandalism. Vandal then, was a term used to not to refer to the Goblins themselves; much funnier, instead, it was the legal term for a person who committed the crime of nonconsensual transporting of Goblins.

During the Peoples Reforms, since this law already existed, the crime of Transporting A Goblin Nonconsensually remained on the books, but Kidnapping, as defined under laws, had its historical Goblin Carve-Out. Nowadays, kidnapping a Goblin is typically treated as Vandalism (Kidnapping), because tidying up old and technically incorrect laws is a lot of a pain in the butt. This even applies when the Goblins are lawyers, who as it turns out, delight in getting non-Goblins in trouble for ‘Vandalism,’ which is a catch-all term under Eresh law for ‘general goblin-like behaviour.’ And we’ll talk more about what makes something Goblin-like in the context of Cobrin’Seil another time.

The word ‘Sugg’

But there is a word, ambiguous in meaning and origin that exists in common, that most people know and that word is ‘sugg.’ It seems to indicate a sort of laziness, a restful state. If you see a Goblin curled up on a pile of playing cards, ears out, eyes closed, you might say ‘can’t use those cards, there’s a goblin sugging on it.’ Or ‘sorry man, I’m pretty sugg.’ The word is extremely ambiguous but it has a thread throughout it of being:

Indulgently lazy

Very relaxed

Overwhelming and absolute

The thing is, nobody’s too sure what it means, and when you ask people who would know, they tell you to ask a Goblin. Goblins, after all, are where the word comes from. In fact, if you ask the right goblins in the right trail you’ll find that while Goblins use the word ‘sugg’ in the same way, they think it comes from Common. Why?

Because Goblins got the word from this thing they found in established human communities. There’d be a nice small dark box, full of paper that you could just curl up in and nest in, and on the outside of the box, there’d be a notice: SUGGEST IN BOX. So they assume the Goblin who enjoys that box the most must surely be their sugg-est Goblin. Which meant paying attention to how they all sugg, and from there, the neologism was born.

Now, non-Goblins and Goblins alike use ‘sugg’, each convinced they got it from the other.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[kaiijo]

BLUE LOCK PLAYERS AS DEMIGODS (ii) — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin content: gn! reader, demigod! au, inspired by pjo/camp half-blood but you don't have to have read the books to read this! notes: bachira’s is longer bc i’m a bachira lover, read the original bllk demigod au concept post here + part 1 here!

⋆｡° child of hermes! bachira meguru x child of aphrodite! you

like all campers who initially come to camp, unclaimed by their godly parents, you stayed in the hermes cabin, which was where you met bachira originally

you two became best friends very quickly and it didn’t change when you were claimed as a child of aphrodite and moved out of the hermes cabin

you two were absolutely attached at the hip together. you did everything together, even when your cabins technically weren’t paired together; you and bachira gave zero shits about that. arts and crafts, sparring sessions, sing-a-long, free time — where there’s one of you, there’s the other (lowkey the only time you’re not together is if it’s a competition like capture the flag or canoe racing bc you two may be bffs but you’re also both crazy competitive)

as a child of aphrodite, you had a natural charisma and charm that drew people into your orbit. you were also most definitely seen as one of the most attractive people at camp due to your parentage as well so it wasn’t uncommon for people to develop crushes on you or your other siblings

and bachira was no exception

you never reciprocated people’s feelings, mostly understanding that a lot of the attraction was only skin-deep

but it was different in bachira’s case; he knew you at a much, much more personal level. you two had spent long night together sharing your hopes and dreams and fears and everything in between

when he figured out he liked you, bachira was a little unsure of what he should do. normally, he would’ve just told his crush that he liked them but this was you, and you were a little too precious to him to lose

on the very rare day that you weren’t with bachira, he was practicing archery with isagi when he overheard a group of campers gossiping that, supposedly, karasu tabito was going to confess to you

bachira almost hit isagi with an arrow when he heard

with a rushed apology and goodbye to isagi, he immediately set out to find you. you were sitting on the porch of your cabin with two of your half-brothers, aryu and chigiri when bachira practically crashed into the three of you

“i need to tell you something,” bachira announced loudly, drawing the attention of other campers within the vicinity l

“okay… what is it?”

“i like you”

you blinked at him. “i like you too?”

“no, i like like you”

“oh!” you gazed at him and bachira was starting to feel like he messed everything up but then you leapt to your feet and practically launched yourself into his arms. “i like like you too, meguru”

nothing between you two changed majorly. you still went practically everywhere together and spent most of your time together, only now bachira kisses you and holds your hand

(bonus: aryu told bachira that his confession was very “glam” and that he approved of your relationship + the rumor that karasu was supposed to confess to you was a lie orchestrated by some of your half-siblings bc they’re aphrodite kids and saw bachira’s crush on you from a mile away)

⋆｡° child of demeter! nagi seishiro x child of hades! you

you were in a major dilemma. you really wanted to brighten up your cabin given that it’s all dark and heavy and brooding and that kind of atmosphere isn’t great for relaxing so you got some plants to place on the windowsill and around the cabin

this is the thing: you lacked any type of green thumb. if anything, you were the anti-green thumb (you were like seventy-five percent sure that it was because you were a hades kid and thus had no ability to grow anything)

you groaned in dismay as poked yet another dying plant and your half-brother, niko, asked, “can you please just go to the demeter cabin and ask them to help you? i’m getting sick of your whining”

okay why hadn’t you thought of that first?

you knocked on the door to the demeter cabin and who else should answer it but nagi seishiro?

he had a little cactus in a clay pot in hand and he stared at you, asking, “can i help you?”

“how do you not kill a plant?”

nagi blinked and said, “you take care of it properly.”

“yeah but how do you do that?”

“water it, give it the right amount of sunlight. why?”

“because i can’t figure out how to keep plants alive” “how? it’s not that hard.” “because children of hades aren’t exactly associated with sustaining life”

nagi sighed and mumbled something like “what a hassle” but he followed you back to your cabin to take a look at your plants

lowkey was kind of horrified by the sight of all the dead plants

but being a demeter kid, nagi easily revived them and cared for them with a special tenderness and then he looked at you so seriously and said that he’d come by everyday to check in on his “new kids”

he taught you the proper way to care for the plants and you two got closer with every one of his visits

you managed to overcome the curse of the hades kids and actually managed to keep the plants alive with nagi’s help

he gifted you new plants from the demeter cabin’s greenhouse and let you name them too

he also started calling you his “plant co-parent” and it has your heart fluttering every time

⋆｡° child of zeus! itoshi rin x child of hephaestus! you

you really didn’t know a lot about itoshi rin beyond people either gushing about his abilities or trashing his superiority complex (and about his less than stellar relationship with his brother)

you were working in your cabin’s basement when one of your siblings came running to you, frazzled. “you need to come upstairs. now”

“why?”

“because itoshi rin is here”

your eyebrows raised but you followed them up to where itoshi rin was. he looked you up and down and said, “you’re the best blacksmith?”

“i guess?”

“you guess or you are? i won’t let some lukewarm nobody touch my sword”

you shrugged and said, “i don’t think i’m necessarily any better than my siblings”

“but you are,” one of your siblings piped up. “you’re the most talented one of us all”

as rin continued to size you up, you asked, “can i see your blade?”

he relented, showing you the shattered weapon and you took the hilt, examining the damage

“what even happened?”

rin scowled. “broke against the nemean lion’s pelt”

you nodded and said, “i can work with this.”

“how long will it take?”

“a day or two”

rin left your cabin and returned the next day to find that you were true to your word. you handed him back his sword and told him that you reinforced it with a new metal alloy that should make it more durable. when he used it in a sparring session a couple of hours later, he was admittedly impressed by the way you improved his weapon

since then, he always came to you to fix his weapons and only allowed you to touch his weapons

seriously will not let anyone else touch his swords and daggers and shields

has also formed a habit of watching you work and just starts spending time with you, seeking you out and inviting you to observe his training and sparring sessions to “see how your alterations worked out”

(he’s a liar, he just wants to show off his battle prowess to you)

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 6/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

(FYI Chapter 5 was only post two days ago so maybe check you've read it if it's been a few days...)

CHAPTER SIX

                “Shh. Shh. Shh. You’re sick.”

                Bradley can barely open his eyes, his entire body aching, feeling weighed down, taking all his effort to turn his head toward the voice. Silvia is sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing his hair back from where it’s sticking to his forehead, her hand feeling nice and cool and he thinks he might have a fever.

                “Here. Drink this…”

                A straw is put to his lips and he takes a sip, the sudden sharp sourness of lemon hitting his tongue and he pulls a face and then takes another sip, suddenly reminded of just how thirsty he is. Silvia draws the straw away and replaces it with some plain water and he gratefully sucks down several mouthfuls.

                He’s bullied into the shower, and when he comes out he finds Silvia remaking his bed, tutting and mumbling under her breath and it’s too quiet to catch but he suspects she has opinions on his bachelor lifestyle. Then he’s back in bed, falling back to sleep almost immediately. Later when he wakes it’s to the smell of something savory cooking and then Silvia is at his bedside again, this time spooning broth into him and he feels dreadful making her come and look after him. He’s a fully grown adult. He doesn’t need this treatment.

                “You didn’t have to do this…”

                “And let you die?”

                “I wouldn’t have died.”

                “You’ll get better faster with care,” Silvia says, patting his face. “Plus you’re family, and we look after each other okay?”

                “Okay.”

…            …            …

                Bradley had, despite everything, gone and gotten Jake sauce. He doesn’t want to come on too intense or too fast, but god does he want to. He hasn’t felt this comfortable with someone so quickly in… years, he realizes after thinking about it. He’s not going to look at the fact that Jake is a naval aviator too closely, because that’s not something he wants to confront right now. He’s had a couple of boyfriends in the past, is still friends with them, but there are little mannerisms that Jake has which remind him of both Ice and Mav. Remind him of home in a way he had forgotten about.

                Right.

                Not thinking about it.

                That’s going great.

                He distracts himself by turning his attention to Jake’s body, it’s a nice distraction and Jake preens under the attention. An idea is formulating as he places little butterfly kisses over the curve of Jake’s shoulder. He’d have to make calls, but he doesn’t have to go back to New York with the others. But he wants to make sure he’d be welcome if he stayed around.

                “So, you said you’ve got about three weeks left of leave. You got any plans?”

                Jake turns and he can’t parse the look at all, isn’t used to all the different ways Jake looks at him. This is a new one, which isn’t surprising, he barely knows him, but rather than make him nervous he simply wants to learn them all.

                “Only plans I have are helping my sisters on the farm and soaking up the sun. Unless I get a better offer.”

                Bradley licks his lips, shuffles in closer.

                “I don’t have a spare three weeks. But I do have two weeks.”

                “Two weeks huh? You need a big vacation after all the work you’ve just done?”

                “Yeah. Something like that. Wanna help keep me busy?”

                “Well, I think someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

                “Yeah? You think you’re up for the job?” Bradley asks with a grin as Jake sucks at his neck and hums before pulling back.

                “I mean, it’s messy work. But someone’s got to do it.”

                “Well, better get to work then…”

…            …            …

                Jake does leave, eventually, just before lunch. Tells him he needs a change of clothes at the bare minimum. When Bradley makes a comment about his plans not requiring Jake to be wearing clothes he gets tugged in for a filthy kiss and slap to the ass and told he’s going to be taken out for some dancing. Bradley finds he’s looking forward to it, that he’s just, on a fucking whim, changed his plans. God. What is he thinking. This isn’t like him. Except it sort of is. Going to the airport and just getting on the first flight had taken him to Italy and then the Gallo family. He trusts his gut in the kitchen, and in front of the camera and everything right now is screaming to take a chance with Jake. Against all common sense and rationale thought he wants to.

                “He’s coming back?”

                “Yeah… I need to make a couple of calls.”

                “Wait… I’m confused. Why is he coming back when we’re meant to be leaving tomorrow? Oh my god. You’re not coming home?”

                “Not this week,” Bradley says, and he flinches in anticipation for the arm slap Vi lands on him. “Vi…”

                “So much for catching up on Orange is the New Black.”

                “I can do that here.”

                “We’re meant to watch it together remember?”

                “You could stay too…” Bradley suggests with a grin, knowing that’s going to go over like a lead balloon and sure enough she gives him the finger and swears under her breath in Italian and Bradley grins.

                “I’m sorry, but I’ll be back home in a couple of weeks…”

                “It’s fine. I’ll make the most of the empty apartment and wander around naked and drink directly from the carton.”

                “You know neither of those things bother me right?”

                “Because you are a disgusting human being.”

                “High praise. I’m a human this time huh?”

                “Maiale. Anyway, I’m meant to make the phone calls. It’s what you pay me for.”

                “It’s also how you keep tabs on me.”

                “And I’m about to set you up for two weeks of debauchery with your Cinderfella, so you can be grateful for those tabs. Let’s talk logistics.”

…            …            …

                Jake bangs the door open and steps inside, knows at least one of his sisters will be inside.

                “Honey I’m home!” he calls out, kicking his boots off and he knows he’s grinning and also that he’s no doubt going to get so much shit but he cannot bring himself to care. Leo wants to spend time with him. More time. That they somehow both have free together and he isn’t religious at all but it definitely feels like some higher body is letting things go his way.

                “The prodigal son returns…”

                “He does indeed,” Jake says, taking a bow and grinning at Maria, his third-eldest sister.

                “Oh, you are in far too good a mood. Was it that good?”

                Jake quirks an eyebrow, because he might overshare with Nicola and Amanda, but Maria has never seemed interested before.

                “Yes. It was. And I’m going back for more.”

                “He’s local?”

                “Uh. No. But he’s staying in town for a couple of weeks. Taking his vacation time in our little home town…”

                “Convenient. What’s his name?”

                “Leo. Actually, funny story. I actually met him years ago, when I was first deployed. Had some shore leave and took a risk going to a club…”

                “He’s Italian?”

                “No. American. But he was there. He’s actually the first guy I ever kissed.”

                “Bullshit.”

                “No. Seriously. Weird coincidence, right?”

                “That’s some romance novel bullshit right there. Ugh. Why does my brother get the romance novel?”

                “Uh…” Jake starts, because it’s a little too early to be discussing grand romances.

                “Oh relax. I’m not expecting you to bring him home with a ring on his finger. You’re just planning on screwing each other’s brains out for a couple of weeks. Right. And that’s still better than my love life. You know this is going in the group chat right?”

                “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Jake says dryly, having long given in to being the main topic of conversation in his sister’s group chat. No doubt Nicola will be calling as soon as she sees the message, and she’s the only one he told about Leo specifically, she kept so many of his secrets before he was ready to share them with the world. He loves all his sisters, but Nicola has a special place in his heart having come out as a lesbian years before Jake had even realized that he might not be exactly straight, giving him someone he always felt was going to be in his corner.

SEVEN

[candycorncremator]

Unfortunately lower visual quality than I wanted be because Tumblr only allows 10 images so I smushed them into three canvases instead of two post. Anyway beta trolls Headcanon and some thoughts below the cut.

Aradia

Aradia is the design I probably have the most experience drawing of the beta trolls purely because of how many zines I’ve drawn her in the last year. I like thinking of her hair similar to Pinkie Pies’ in g4 of mlp, where it’s very curly bouncy in her alive and godtiered forms but straightens out more when she’s ghosting up the place and in Aradia-bot form. I didn’t realize until a recent zine I had been drawing her horns ways too low for comic accuracy but I am a creature of habit so I keep drawing them like that.

Tavros

I’ve grown to love this kid because of my recent reread but I do not like drawing them. Between the Mohawk and the long, straight horns, I don’t care to draw their most important traits so he unfortunately only gets drawn in these group drawings. As for the one ear being pierced, it’s kinda a reference to cow tags but also I think it just fits them.

Sollux

Sollux a pretty easy character to design. I just have to imagine a greasy nerd kid growing up too fast for him to put on weight, add his troll bits and voila. The snake bites are definitely a hold over from the humanstuck I made for him last year but I think it just kinda add to his whole vibe. The undershirt comes from someone who also sits in a hot-ass room most of my days and will wears a second layer so leaving the room won’t feel like stepping out into a frozen wasteland.

Karkat

Karkat for me has always been short and stout guy. Other than that most of his facial features are taken from me, being someone who also over exaggerates their faces and nearly always is squinting a little.

Nepeta

Between all my designs of Nepeta the only thing that ever changes with any consistency is her hair. Like giving her cleft lip scar because I gave it to my fan-descendent of her and it’s cute.

Kanaya

Like two months ago I saw a post on here saying give that girl a nose (in reference to Kanaya) and it was the single most true HC I have ever seen. I also like completely throw out any references I have of her when I draw her hair because I think she should have 1930’s waves and curls. I typically only have to draw the super simple eyes so the only thing I had to change was giving her actual eyes.

Terezi

Got pretty comic accurate but probably would erase some of the chin to imply she’s fat a little better if I wasn’t doing this more rigid style.

Vriska

Also pretty comic accurate with the exception of the snake bites which is probably because I don’t draw her a lot and I don’t think about her much enough looks wise to have any specific head canons.

Equius

Goodness his hair gave me a struggle, kept on looking like a balding metal head until I added the pushed back stuff. Also returned back to drawing pseudo animal ears by giving him horse ears only angle to better fit a humanoid head.

Gamzee

I hate their make-up but every thing else about drawing them is a dream; goat ears, not straight hair, simple horns, silly little guy. What more could I ask for.

Eridan

And I’m almost done but unfortunately this doofus is next and requires the most detailed bust even in canon. Due to drawing them in this year’s 413 countdown I know how I like styling their hair and fins so I basically just chop the hair up since this is suppose to be during comic hcs and then follow their canon and Pesterquest designs with a few added features and boom. I was drawing everyone with the dark grey lips but I forgot for Eridan so I’ll just say they use concealer on their lips.

Feferi

Yippee! Back to ignoring canon and just giving her the biggest eyes on account of her glasses and cute piercings. I originally based her fins off of lion fish fins but they’re definitely more based off of betta ventral fin now.

[ambrossart]

Welp, this experiment was a total failure

I'm extremely disappointed with myself right now. I didn't accomplish anything I was hoping to. Nothing at all.

To be perfectly honest, I almost didn't post anything tonight. But I will because I said I would, and because I want you all to see how much of a hack I am. I want you to see why it takes me months to finish a single damn chapter.

I spent over a week working on this. I even took the day off from work today, and I spent half the day staring at my screen, utterly paralyzed. And the saddest part is, most of this is recycled from something I wrote months ago. Months. I couldn’t come up with a better opening, so I just pulled this out of my scrap bin. I was hoping to add to it. To build upon it. But all I ended up doing was rewriting it a bunch of times.

I’m a hack. I’m a horrible writer.

And I know you’re probably thinking I’m being overdramatic, that this is just fanfiction, who cares, but it isn’t just fanfiction to me. This is what I want to do with my life. Ever since I was a kid, all I wanted to do was be a published author.

I’m starting to think that’s never gonna happen. Maybe my college professors were right, after all.

So here it is: the product of all my efforts. It’s not long. It’s not good. It’s not interesting. And it’s probably gonna get deleted again at some point.

Sorry you all waited for nothing.

_____________________________

Evelyn stared down at her folded hands, willing them to move.

You have to do it, Evie…

Even if you don’t want to, you have to do it. 

A tear landed on the back of her hand and gleamed there. She closed her eyes, counted to three, took a deep breath, and opened the door…

but the girl who came out the other side wasn't Evelyn at all. She was just this pale, lifeless husk—a cheaply made, mass-produced doll that someone had painted to resemble her. It wasn’t right. None of it was right. Where was her smile, the one that lit up her whole face and made you feel like the only person in the world? Where was the little twinkle in her eyes? That friendly glimmer? It was always there, always, even when she was really mad, even when she swore that this was the last time, Henry; I’ve had enough of your bullshit! Where was it now? Where? Where?!

What happened to the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes, the ones you could only see when the sun was angled just right? Her eyes were precious, perfect, but now they were gone, just… gone!

What happened to all her color? All her light? Her life? Her spirit? Someone had snuffed it out—killed it. Now she was nothing more than a corpse.

That's not Evelyn, Henry thought, angry and disgusted. This was a joke, a cheap trick, but he wouldn’t be so easily fooled. That wasn’t Evelyn. Wasn’t. Couldn’t have been. The real Evelyn was fine, safe, and drawing smiley faces on Mrs. Lafferty’s quizzes.

She was waiting for Henry to come back. He had walked out, said fuck you and stormed off, but she knew he would come back eventually.

… didn’t she?

Henry always came back. He pinky promised.

I have to go, Henry thought anxiously, his left hand reaching and finding his right, fingertips circling his right pinky. Evelyn’s warmth was still there—little more than a memory now, but still there.

Meanwhile, the false Evelyn was standing beside the minivan, her hair collapsed and disheveled (wrong), makeup running muddily down her cheeks (wrong!), staring out with glassy, hollow eyes (doll’s eyes, false eyes, not Evelyn’s). She nudged the car door with her hand and it swung back on its hinges, closing with an unaccepting click. (Not right. Not right. Try again.) She ripped open the door, heaved it closed with all her strength, and then staggered backward, panting, her backpack slipping off her shoulder, sliding down her arm, off her hand, and slumping to the ground. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed, an ugly, horrible sound.

I have to go, Henry thought harder, trying to drown out the sound of her cries. Evelyn's waiting for me at… at the park. She went to get me some bandaids and she's gonna be really mad if I'm not there when she gets back. I made a promise. I pinky promised. I…

(the closed door squeaking open)

(Evelyn's eyes rolling up, reaching for him)

I left her.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Katniss not realizing it but post war her boobs get big after she has secure food for a extended period of time and Peeta is just like 🤤 over her but she’s oblivious to why

Okay I wanna know what kind of weight gain program you’re on, Anon. Because I’ve had small boobs my entire life and every time I gain weight, it’s literally everywhere except the boobs. I will have rolls on my back and jiggly arms long before my boobs get bigger. The only time they’ve grown is when I’m pregnant and eventually those puppies shrank back down. Didn’t realize you were signing up for kdnfb’s weekend tmi, did ya? So this is adjusted to that because I couldn’t push the “I believe” button on the more food equals bigger boobs train, but the idea is there. Rated M for shameless ogling and sensual content.

+++

They’re in the kitchen preparing dinner on a Monday evening, just like every other Monday since Peeta came home to Twelve. Peeta steps behind her to get to the sink, his hand brushing lightly over the small of her back as he goes, pinky dragging underneath the exposed waist of her pants as she leans forward to drop a pile of vegetables into the pot on the rear burner. His touch barely skims over the swell of her butt, and Katniss shivers slightly, but doesn’t think much of it. Ever since she told him “Real,” Peeta’s taken every chance, used every excuse in the book to touch her.

So all she does is roll her eyes and glance back at him. “Distracting me while I’m working over a hot stove?” Peeta simply grins at her and continues on with the dinner preparations.

On Tuesday, she draws a bath for herself, wanting to soak after a long, arduous day spent trekking through the woods and then trading her haul throughout town. She’s leaning over the tub to adjust the temperature of the water foaming out of the faucet, her body wrapped in nothing but her short cotton robe when she feels Peeta’s eyes on her.

Glancing back, she smirks at the sight of him, staring at her exposed legs and almost exposed butt. His toothbrush hangs limply in his mouth, his grip on it loosened, and his lips foam a little with toothpaste. And his eyes have that glazed over look they get when he’s a little turned on.

But she doesn’t think anything out of the ordinary has happened. Peeta has made no secret of the fact that he likes to look at her, drink her in, and he admitted to her once that he found her legs incredibly sexy. She hadn’t understood how legs could be sexy, but she’d accepted his statement as being true in his mind, at least.

“Care to join me?” she asks and splashes slightly at the water’s surface. Peeta spits out his toothpaste and wipes his mouth with a towel before stripping off his shirt.

On Wednesday, Peeta bakes too many cheese buns. Which means Katniss eats too many cheese buns. She snags one on her way out of the kitchen, after greeting Peeta when she returns from helping build one of the new houses in what used to be the Seam. Peeta calls a warning after her.

“Don’t burn your tongue on the cheese!”

She clamps the bread in her mouth as she strips out of her clothes and waits for the shower water to warm up. Then she scarfs it down in three bites before stepping into the shower, annoyed that she didn’t savor it enough to taste the cheese, let alone find out if it was still hot enough to burn her tongue.

She snares another two after her shower, while she and Peeta fix dinner to take over to Haymitch. Two more during dinner and one right before they head home.

“You know I hate wasting food,” she practically whines at Peeta when he smirks at her as she’s moaning around the still deliciously warm roll. Peeta warmed them in the oven before dinner and this one somehow maintained the perfect amount of heat.

She’s about had it with his arrogant look, his knowing just how easily he can turn her into a salivating mess for food. But then, as she’s washing dishes, he cups his hand on the curve of her butt and Katniss pauses. Glances over her shoulder and watches him as he caresses her, his blue eyes heated and fixed to where he’s touching her.

Then, still caressing the same spot, he bends his head to kiss along the side of her neck. Up to her ears where she expects him to whisper some pretty words, and instead all she gets is a deep rumbling, an almost tortured with desire moan as he pushes his hips into her other butt cheek.

Katniss turns off the water and it’s only much later that the dishes actually get washed.

Still, that’s not all that out of the ordinary either.

And when she wakes on Thursday morning to Peeta’s hands skimming over her bare skin, that’s not unusual. Not at all unusual for him to trail his fingers over her waist and hips and thighs as she lays on her back, he on his side, while they start the morning with long, lingering kisses.

Not at all unusual for them to greet the early morning birdsong outside their open window with their own softly sighing songs, the bed accompanying them with low creaking moans. And it’s not unusual, when Peeta comes first, that he slides from her and moves down between her legs, nipping and kissing and gripping at her thighs for several minutes before settling in to kiss her swollen, wet lips until she too sings softly in release.

Nor is it unusual on Friday evening when he slides his palms around her thighs and hoists her into the air before carrying her to bed, both of them laughing.

Or Saturday when they relax by the lake, and he starts caressing her ankles but eventually works his hand up beneath her dress, all the way to her thighs where he spends so much time caressing her that she’s the one who gets frustrated.

Peeta’s laughing and teasing her when she shrugs out of her dress, pushes him onto his back, and climbs on top of him. And Katniss still doesn’t think there’s anything unusual about the way he watches her body moving on top of his. Or the way his broad palms and clever fingers circle her waist to hold her steady, cling to her hips and guide her closer to her own spiraling release, then cup and grip her ass so she doesn��t stop moving until Peeta joins her with a shout.

And it’s not even that unusual when, after a short nap and a swim in the cool lake water, their kisses turn ravenous again. Only this time, Peeta kneels behind her on the blanket as he makes her sing with pleasure and follows her into bliss.

Even a lazy Sunday spent on the couch, Peeta’s left hand holding a book he reads out loud to her, his right hand tracing lazy patterns over her legs where they rest in his lap, is nothing to note. At least not beyond the fact that just a few years ago, this sort of domestic tranquility would’ve been a nearly impossible scene.

They wind up wrapped up in each other. Left winded and breathing hard on the rug, Katniss’s back and shoulders stinging with how vigorously they rubbed against the carpet while Peeta was inside her. His skin almost too slick for her to cling to when he hoists her up into his arms to carry her upstairs. She curls into his chest and almost falls asleep on the way upstairs, only to be awakened when they’re in the shower. Katniss sits on his lap and he bathes her, making her shiver when his touch feels like the tickling caress of flower petals on her inner thighs.

But then they fall asleep and wake up to make love again. Fall asleep naked after, and by the time they wake for good, stomachs growling for dinner, Katniss laments that they didn’t get their laundry done like they normally do on Sundays.

“We’ll have to make time tomorrow,” Peeta points out, looking not nearly chagrined enough over how they spent the day.

But that means that when she rises early to go into the woods on Monday morning, the only clean pants Katniss can find are an older pair. From after the first Games but before the Quell. She runs her hand sadly over the fabric cut and sewn by Cinna’s hands before finally stepping into them.

Only… she can’t get the pants up past her mid thigh. She tugs on the fabric and wriggles, pausing only when Peeta’s loud gait warns her he’s done in the bathroom.

Looking up at him in distress, she gives the pants another tug. “They don’t fit. How could they not fit?”

“Well,” Peeta says carefully, “If those are from before… you’ve gained some uh… some weight in certain areas.”

Katniss flushes and kicks aside the pants, moving to stand in front of the mirror and examine her shape.

“Where? I’m still scrawny,” she complains, cupping her still small breasts that the Capitol would probably still want to augment if they could get their hands on her body, or if they still existed.

Peeta steps up behind her, his breath shorter and faster than usual, his fingertips skimming over her thighs the same way he moves a frosting tip over a cake.

“Here,” he whispers and she shivers at the heat in his voice. Fingertips swirling up higher until he lifts her shirt with one hand and traces patterns over her belly, which she does notice looks slightly more plump than it used to. “Here.”

He kisses her temple and holds her gaze in the mirror while his hands cup her hips and his fingers dig into meaty flesh she hadn’t realized was thickening on her own body.

“Here,” he growls and he tugs her hips back, so that she can feel him thickening too, in desire as he thrusts slightly against her ass. “And here, Katniss, love.”

This time he’s moaning the words and then he shifts one hand to grip one cheek, an entire handful that he sinks his fingers into and kneads, like her body is now dough and he’s eager to shape her to his desires. But then it occurs to her… this new shape of hers already fits his desires.

Happy, healthy, hungry only for him and not food. She hasn’t had a hollow day in years. And as Peeta’s kisses and touches wander even more, she notes in the mirror all the places and ways she’s gained. She’s smiling when she turns her head to meet Peeta’s kisses with her lips, when she pushes her heavy hips back into his.

[ryuichirou]

GreenViolet NSFW HCs (a little of…)

Anonymous asked:

Do you have any nsfw headcanons for greenhill and violet?

Anonymous asked:

Hey ryuichirou I don't know if anyone has requested this yet but do you have any nsfw greenviolet headcanons?:3 (ps. I ate your headcanons and art and it tastes divine(⁠^⁠^⁠)

Anonymous asked:

Nsfw greenviolet headcanons when? (not trying to be rude it's just for my next art)

Anon! First of all, I am genuinely very happy you like our Greenhill/Violet stuff, both art and hcs. And it’s very cool that you get inspired to draw while reading these (I’m assuming, but still, it’s very nice).

Second of all, I am going to scold you now: please don’t rush me. Even though I am trying to reply to everything as quickly as possible, replies aren’t my only priority in life, so it takes quite a while.

You are lucky because this is a very special ship, and even though I don’t have much new thoughts about them, I have some old ones that I (probably) haven’t posted, so I’ll give you a couple of new hcs. But I don’t want to set a precedent here, so let me be clear: the more I am asked to write about a certain thing, the less likely I am to do it fast or even do it at all, because I don’t like forcing this stuff.

(Unless we suddenly got 3 separate GreenViolet Anons asking for hcs, in which case… damn. GreenViolet nation strong)

Anyways, a couple more HCs about these two!

Greenhill was super worried about Violet’s ass being too small and tight for him, so he wasn’t even sure if they were going to have sex like that at all… But Violet was way ahead of him and prepared himself. Unfortunately though, three fingers weren’t quite enough… Maybe Herman’s own fingers would’ve been better, since Violet’s are pretty thin compared to his.

One time Greenhill was lucky enough to get a sudden blowjob right before the prefect 4 meeting at the gazebo, and they almost got caught. Violet was pretty quiet that day, and Greenhill thought he was embarrassed about it… Redmond even commented on Violet being more quiet than usual. At the end of the meeting Greenhill realised that Violet was holding his cum in his mouth this entire time for some reason. Violet didn’t explain why…

Greenhill “ruined” one painting of Violet’s by taking Violet from behind while he was painting it. He wanted to just sit and watch him paint, but something about his fragile frame and dirty hands made Greenhill fall in love all over at that exact moment, so he ended up kissing his neck, and then somehow that lead to them having sex. Violet always complains about Greenhil not knowing when to stop, and he smacked him with a brush a bunch of times for that, but also… he kept that painting. With their hand prints, suspicious smudges and all.

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Twelve

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

The server room was in the basement, and Spencer followed his own advice to take the stairs. He took a few moments to clear the floor he was on first, making sure there wouldn’t be any guards to tail Nate and Sophie, and then jogged down the steps to the basement with an excuse ready on his lips. He’d keep it simple and direct, clean and quick—as long as the hacker didn’t blow the story by reacting to his presence the way Sophie had.

Hardison. The name didn’t elicit any kind of emotional reaction, but then, neither had any of the others. It had taken seeing Nate’s face and hearing Sophie’s voice to bring back the vague memories of their presence in his life—feelings, mostly, and the desperate need to get them out of the building. Spencer would have to lure the guards away before Hardison saw him if he wanted to avoid a fight, and if he only had twenty minutes—fifteen, now—that would be the quickest way to do things.

The security guards had reported up to Lancaster the moment Hardison reached the basement. Per Spencer’s directions, they’d stayed out of sight until Hardison was inside the server room, and then they’d simply closed the doors behind the hacker and left him trapped in the glass-walled room. He’d be safe there—Spencer’s orders were not to engage Ford’s team beyond capturing them—but his anxiety rose with every step he descended. It was almost over. Once he got Hardison and Parker free of the building, they could regroup, figure out a new plan, and then... And then what? Would he go back with them, or to Sunny?

Could he go back with them? Would they want him? Nate and Sophie had seemed glad to see him, but that was only because they didn’t know what he’d done. What would Parker think when she found out he’d left the LanCast building while believing she was inside? The fact that she wasn’t was irrelevant; if it was his job to protect them, he’d failed.

What good was he to them if he couldn’t do his job?

The door to the basement loomed at the bottom of the stairs, and he shoved down his misgivings and focused on the task at hand. He hadn’t been in the basement himself, but he’d studied it on the security tapes; the layout was mostly open, giving anyone in the server room a visual of the hallway leading to the stairwell. If he wanted to avoid Hardison’s attention, he’d have to call the guards toward him and hope they didn’t think it was suspicious.

And if they did, he’d handle it. Either way, he was getting Hardison out of that basement.

Spencer blew out a breath at the bottom of the stairs and pulled open the door, standing out of sight of the server room. “Hey,” he called, drawing the attention of all three guards stationed in the hall. “Why aren’t you answering your radios?”

One of the men moved toward him. “What do you mean? We haven’t heard anything.”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but movement over the guard’s shoulder caught his attention. Two more men were crouched by the support beam outside the server room, their backs to the stairs.

Unease clawed at Spencer’s gut. “Who are they?”

“Contractors,” answered the first guard. “Something about checking the foundation. What about the radios?”

Spencer spoke without taking his eyes off the men. “Come here. Let me check your frequency.”

The nearest guard came over, but the others stayed where they were. Spencer reached out a hand to take the man’s walkie-talkie and switched the frequency. “Ground level,” he said. “This is basement level. Radio check, over.”

“Basement level, this is ground level,” came the reply. “Roger that. Over.”

“Standby,” Spencer said.

“Roger.”

Spencer lowered the walkie-talkie.“You were on the wrong channel,” he snapped. “You two, get over here so I can fix it before Lancaster comes down here himself.”

He backed up, inviting the first man to follow him through the door and letting it close behind him. He didn’t have the time to choke him out, so he resorted to a quick, sharp blow to the side of his head, catching him when he crumpled and easing him to the floor beside the stairs.

The other two were at the door before he could do much more than straighten up. One shouted before Spencer’s elbow silenced him; the other reached for his walkie-talkie, which only gave Spencer an easier opening.

He took their radios and clipped them to his own belt, then stepped through the door and made his way across the hall toward the men. There was a strangled sound from inside the server room, but Spencer kept his gaze on the threat.

And they were a threat. He could feel it in his gut, and he wasn’t about to second-guess that now. Not if they were doing what he thought they were doing.

One of them lifted his head, setting his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Problem?” he asked.

Spencer nodded at the support beam. “What are you doing?”

“Routine maintenance,” the man said.

“With C4?” Spencer asked.

The man stood, cracking his knuckles while the other rushed to finish attaching the explosives to the beam. Spencer came closer, close enough to draw a punch—and the man obliged, swinging wildly—Spencer caught his fist and countered with his own, and the man dropped. The other shot to his feet, but Spencer danced back a step, his hands raised.

“Who sent you here?”

The man threw a punch, but Spencer dodged and stepped around him. “Was it Lancaster?”

“Shut up,” the man growled. He swung again, missed again, and stumbled when Spencer drew back.

“How many of these did you plant?” Spencer asked. The man tried to hit him again, and Spencer pushed him away. “Come on, man, think about it—when I knock you out like I did your friend, you’ll be inside when the building blows.” He waited a moment, giving his words a chance to sink in, and pressed, “Are there any other charges?”

“You won’t find ‘em,” grunted the man, leaping forward with a sloppy jab.

Spencer hit him in the jaw, letting him land at his feet and jumping over him to crouch beside the beam. An empty duffel bag confirmed Spencer’s fears—there would be more explosives in the building, probably set at different levels to make sure the whole thing came down. It was the LanCast site all over again, only this time, Lancaster would make sure all of them were inside. Then he’d pin the attack on Ford, collect the insurance money, and move on to his next high rise.

The C4 on the beam was set with a cellphone detonator. He disconnected it and stuffed the charges back into the bag, but that only solved one problem. He didn’t know where the other charges were, and he didn’t know when they were supposed to go off. Searching the entire building would take too long—he had to find Parker and get her out, get everyone out, before Lancaster could give the order to bring the building down.

First things first.

He turned to face the server room.

The man inside was tall, and though his face seemed faintly familiar, Spencer was disappointed not to feel an instant rush of recognition. Hardison was watching him, one hand raised to cover his mouth, and when Spencer tossed the hair out of his face, he let out a deafening whoop and slammed his hand against the glass.

“I knew it!” he yelled, punctuating his words with another slap. “I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead—no weak ass explosion gonna take you down—I told them! Whoo! Man, you had me worried, you had me—nah, man, I ain’t gon’ cry again. Open the door, man. C’mon, open it up.”

He’d repeated himself another dozen times before Spencer got to the door to punch in the code, and he practically fell through it when it opened. This time, at least, Spencer expected the hug—everything in Hardison’s stance warned that it was coming—but he wasn’t ready for the intensity of it. Deceptively strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, crushing their chests together as Hardison launched himself through the doorway.

“Where the hell were you, man?” he said, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you call?”

Eliot locked his arms over Hardison’s back, holding him so tight that he couldn’t take a full breath and feeling like there was still too much space between them—and Hardison was shaking, clutching at his shoulders like he was afraid to let go—and Eliot didn’t want to let go, not until he could make him understand how much he’d missed him. God, he’d missed him—all of them.

He wasn’t himself without them.

“What happened?” Hardison asked, without letting go, without even loosening his grip. His fingers dug into the scrapes and cuts on Eliot’s back, but he didn’t care—he pressed his forehead against Hardison’s shoulder and shook it, fighting for control over himself.

“I forgot you,” he managed, his voice muffled. “All of—all of you, I forgot you, and—”

Hardison pulled back, and Spencer turned his face, pretending to look at the stairwell, checking for more guards—and Hardison shifted to put himself in his line of sight. “You hurt?”

Spencer looked the other way. “I went into the LanCast building, but when it blew, I was thrown clear. Mostly. I hit my head.”

Hardison ducked his head, forcing Spencer’s eyes back to his. “What, you—you lost your memory?”

Spencer nodded.

“And you found us anyway?”

He nodded again.

“Dammit, Eliot,” Hardison said. He pulled Eliot into another hug, this one even fiercer than the last, and burst into tears.

They stood like that for a long minute—Hardison crying and Eliot trying not to—before a crackle from one of the walkie-talkies made Eliot pull away. “Basement level, this is ground level,” said the voice on the radio. “Come in, basement level.”

Hardison let go, and Eliot tried not to miss the contact. He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and cleared his throat. “Go ahead, J.B. Did you find them?”

“I got ‘em right here,” J.B. answered. “They came out the side door like you said. Did you find the hacker?”

“He’s here,” Eliot said.

“And the thief?”

Eliot looked at Hardison, who shook his head. “We split up when we got inside. I haven’t seen her.”

“Not yet,” Eliot said into the walkie-talkie. “But we’ve got a bigger problem. I just stopped a pair of Lancaster’s guys from planting C4 in the basement. Looks like they may have put some on the other levels, too.”

J.B. swore, and Hardison held out a hand for the walkie-talkie. “Hey man—uh, Hardison here, or whatever—can you put Nate on? Over?”

There was a pause, and then Nate’s voice came over the radio. “Go ahead, Hardison.”

“I found some stuff on the server,” Hardison said, his eyes finding Eliot’s. “Lancaster definitely means to blow this place up, along with a bunch of his other properties. I found some more threatening letters drafted up in his files, and guess who they’re from.”

“Okay, so he wants us to take the fall,” Nate said. “We’d already figured that much out.”

Hardison nodded. “Right, but what we didn’t know is that he’s also been talking to some pretty hinky people. And he’s given them a new target.”

“June?” Nate guessed.

“He must’ve accelerated his timetable,” Hardison said. “He’s done waiting for her to sell.”

Eliot took the walkie-talkie. “J.B., get back to Sunny’s. Tell her to find some place to lay low until we can get this taken care of.”

“She won’t do it,” J.B. answered. “But I’ll call to give Miguel a head’s up.”

Eliot nodded. “All right, fine. Then we just need to make sure we get everyone out of the building. Hardison, pull the fire alarm when you go out, and let the firefighters know there are guys down here and in the office on the fourth floor. J.B., I’m sending Hardison out to you now.”

“Roger that.”

Eliot pressed the walkie-talkie into Hardison’s hand and pulled another from his belt, switching the frequency before handing it over as well. “Take these—give one to Nate. I’ll get Parker.”

“Hang on—” Hardison grabbed his arm, holding him still when he tried to move toward the door. “She could be anywhere. We have no idea—”

“She’s going after Lancaster,” Eliot said.

Hardison frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did.”

“Eliot, wait.” Hardison kept his hold, his eyes still red and wide with worry. “You’re—you’re hurt, right? And if you don’t remember… It’s too dangerous. Let me go after Parker.”

“No.” Eliot’s voice was low, distracted as he tallied up the time he’d already lost. “Lancaster’s guards will find him any minute now. You have to be outside when that happens.”

“I can help, man, I can—”

“You have to be outside,” Eliot repeated desperately. “I have to know you’re outside. Please.”

Hardison hesitated, setting his jaw as he searched Eliot’s eyes, as the time ticked away.

“I won’t lose her again,” Eliot whispered.

Hardison swallowed. “All right,” he said, gripping Eliot’s hand and then releasing it. “I’ll head outside. You go find Parker.”

Eliot went.

[mrspeedwagon]

I like Chosen One a lot- because I made him another deign! I might just end up using the three I have made whenever because they’re all cool!

I think Chosen One is grumpy, aloof, is awkward when interacting with others, and is a bit paranoid and jumpy. He is mostly negative, finding it hard to find the joy in things, especially when he’s in a bad mood. He prefers to stay away from Alan but doesn’t mind going to him for help if he needs to or wants to, but he doesn’t really respect or like him all that much. But he respects his relationship with the others and believes he truly does care about them.

And his eyes work the same the last design did. He can choose to have eyes or not, when he does there’s color and when he doesn’t it’s just hollow but he can still see but only in black or any other dark gray color.

He, King Orange, and Dark Lord are in a poly relationship!

And then there’s this! I like to think that after this, Chosen One shocks Agent Smith and he falls from an overload of electricity or something, but he’s saved by Primal.

Drawing this was difficult because I don’t draw dynamic poses like this and the background and shading was hard. But I’m learning, lol.

And I had these guys all done but didn’t wanna post it for whatever reason.

So, Ballista is a little wild and arrogant. She doesn’t get along with Agent Smith and they have sibling-like spats quite often, to the annoyance of the others. Ballista cares a lot about Primal, her girlfriend, and they’re very cutesy almost all the time.

Primal is a gentle giant, looking intimidating but is truly a sweetheart. I like to think that during battle she apologizes constantly feeling guilty but knows it’s something she has to do. The others are annoyed at this but Ballista thinks it’s charming and a good strategy for a false sense of security for their target.

Hazard is.. well.. weird to everyone but Agent Smith who likes them. They’re incapable of showing emotion but they feel it and wish they could express it like others can.

Gosh this is a lot- but uh- just some things for what I think is now an au? Anyway yeah.

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Sweet Little Killer

Ghoulcy | Cooper x Lucy | post S1 | touchstarved | hurt\comfort | angst | sometimes he's an asshole | there was only one bed | overprotective and jealous Ghoul | eventual smut

Those big eyes, Cooper thought, his anger rising. Those big eyes of hers were glistening with tears, and twice as pretty for it. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men with those soulful eyes of hers. If she did, she was damn well making those tears brim on her dark lashes on purpose, trying to wrap his withered heart around her pretty little finger.

As Ghoul and Lucy journey across the wastes to New Vegas both of them learn a helluva lot more about each other, and circumstances and mutual attraction drive them into each other's arms.

Start with Chapter One

CHAPTER THREE

The ghoul shouldered into the washroom with his thumbs tucked into his belt. A moment later he came out holding a skinny, grey-haired man by the scruff of his vest and shoved him down the corridor.

‘But I haven’t finished my bath,’ the old man protested, clutching his scrubbing brush on a stick against his chest.

‘Come back later,’ the ghoul told him.

‘I’m so sorry. He wouldn’t listen. I’ll only be a minute,’ Lucy called after the poor old man.

‘Go on, vaultie.’ He jerked his head at the door. The ghoul had refused to allow her to be alone in the communal washroom unless he was with her or he cleared it out and stood guard by the door.

‘You didn’t have to kick that old man out,’ she scolded him, entering the empty washroom. There were several hip baths scattered around, and a shower in the corner.

‘The alternative is me standing over you while you bathe,’ he called after her as the door swung closed, ‘so I’m being mighty reasonable.’

This was the ghoul, being reasonable. Lucy turned on the shower and was pleasantly surprised by the clean, warmish water. The tiles were cracked and moldy, but this bathroom was luxurious compared to the rest of her existence on the surface.

‘You all right in there, vaultie?’ the ghoul called through the door.

‘yOu aLL riGhT iN tHeRE, vaULtiE?’ she mocked under her breath, soaping her hair.

‘Vaultie!’ he barked. ‘I’m coming in.’

‘I’m fine ,’ she hollered back. ‘Don’t come in.’ How could the man go from forcing her to fight Radscorpions all day to practically not allowing her to breathe without his permission? Because the man was an asshole, that’s why.

A different thought occurred to her that cooled her temper. Just what was another bounty hunter going to do to her that was worse than Radscorpions?

Probably best not to think about.

Lucy emerged a few minutes later, clean, but annoyed with the ghoul. ‘Are you going to tell me why you’re being so jumpy?’

He flashed her a glare that told her that he was less in the mood for talking now than he ever had been.

As they passed the bar on the way to their rooms, the ghoul dug in his pocket and slammed a key on a battered keyring onto the counter. 

‘We only need one room.’

Lucy took a deep, angry breath, preparing to holler at him. It was only the last-minute memory that she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself that made her whisper-shout instead. ‘One room? I can’t even sleep by myself?’

Predictably, the ghoul took her wordlessly by the elbow and steered her away.

When he unlocked the door to what was now their room, there was only one bed. Lucy sighed heavily. Of course. A double, but it was a small one. If he lay down, the ghoul’s feet would be hanging off the edge.

‘I hope you enjoy sleeping in the chair,’ she told him sweetly, gesturing at the hard wooden chair in the corner. ‘If that doesn’t suit you, I hear there’s another room available somewhere else.’

‘Chair’s fine by me,’ he muttered, sitting down and folding his arms. He stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankle, taking up almost all the room in the small space.

Through the grimy window, Lucy could see that it was already dark outside, and the room was chilly. She dove into bed beneath the one blanket, and took off her bra and pants under the covers. Her hair was damp, and she shivered as the bed slowly, slowly warmed up.

Muffled coughing woke her from slumber sometime later. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, and then she saw the outline of the ghoul in his chair in the darkened room. He had a fist to his lips as he fumbled inside his duster for his inhaler. His coughs grew desperate and wracking before he managed to hold the inhaler to his lips and take his medication.

The ghoul lowered his head once more with his arms folded tightly across his chest.  

As Lucy exhaled, she saw her breath. The room was freezing and the ghoul…well he wasn’t sick, but he was suffering.

Lucy got out of bed and padded toward the door.

The ghoul lifted his booted foot and placed it on the wall, blocking her way. In a gravelly voice he asked, ‘Where do you think you’re goin’?’

‘I was just going to find you a blank—’

‘Get back to bed.’ The ghoul coughed again.

‘But—'

‘Bed.’

She stood shivering in front of him. This wasn’t right. ‘Your lungs don’t like the cold, do they?’

The ghoul answered with a surly cough. He looked up at her, his eyes traveling from her bare feet, up her bare legs in just briefs, to her pebbled nipples in her tank top, and finally to her face.

She reached for his hand, coaxing him to stand up. ‘Come on. Just for a minute until you warm up.’

His dark eyes glittered in the darkness. He slowly got to his feet, shrugged out of his duster, lay his hat on the chair, and pulled off his boots.

Lucy got back into bed and scooted over to make space for him. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She’d never slept in the same bed as a man before. It had always sounded so nice. If you wanted a cuddle, there was a warm, loving body right there.

‘Just until I warm up,’ he said, getting under the blanket. The bed creaked as he lay down. Lucy moved closer and was surprised to feel heat radiating from him even though he was shivering. Ghouls must run hot.

Slowly, his body relaxed, and his eyes drifted closed. He fell asleep, which was what Lucy had hoped would happen. She drank in his face as he slept. As ravaged by radiation as he was, the ghoul was handsome. Full lips and high cheekbones. A strong body. She’d been roughly manhandled by him, but what would it feel like if he was holding her?

Lucy rolled onto her side and scooted back against him, wiggling her ass until she made contact with as much of him as possible. He was blissfully warm. She fell asleep, pretending that this was her husband, and she was safe in bed with him.

She awoke sometime later to darkness, and with a heavy arm over her hips and wrapped around her stomach. The ghoul had awoken and pulled her closer.

‘Now you’ve done it, vaultie,’ he muttered sleepily.

Biting her lip, she nestled back into him even further, and he responded by squeezing her tight. Something hard and thick nestled into the cleft of her ass.

Lucy’s eyes opened into the darkness. ‘I thought you…’

‘You assumed I couldn’t get it up because I didn’t want one of the working girls? Real nice of you. Ever think that I’m just picky, sweetheart?’ His breath was hot on the side of her neck.

This was new information.

New, interesting information.

‘Is there anyone?’ she whispered.

Heavy silence. ‘Not in this world. Not anymore.’

Before the bombs, then. ‘You remember her?’

He sighed. ‘Shit, can we change the subject? I was enjoying myself just now.’

She turned slowly in his arms, keeping herself pressed tightly against him. ‘You remember your name, don’t you?’

‘I do,’ he finally admitted. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to tell you what it is.’

‘Please,’ she implored him. ‘Please tell me.’

The ghoul opened his eyes. They were nose to nose cavity in the darkness. Her hands were against his chest. His bare hands were ever so slowly kneading her hips.

‘It’s Cooper,’ he finally said.

She smiled. ‘Cooper. It suits you.’

‘Not anymore it doesn’t, and I’m getting up.’

Cooper tried half-heartedly to get out of bed, but she clenched her hands on his shirt. ‘Please don’t. This is the most comfortable I’ve been since coming to the surface.’

He gazed at her lips. She eased her hips closer to him, needing to feel his erection against her sensitive flesh.

‘You’re gonna need a dose of RadAway if you don’t stop doing that.’

‘Then I’ll take RadAway. This sure feels nice, doesn’t it?’ She lifted her hand and touched his face.

He closed his eyes as her fingers stroked his cheek. ‘No, vaultie,’ he lied.

‘What were you like before this world?’

‘Naïve.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Me, too. I’m trying not to be so stupid anymore.’

‘Me, too.’

‘How’s that working out for us, do you think?’ she whispered. 

He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with parted lips. She moaned softly, and when his tongue slid against hers, she opened her mouth wider for him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pressed her breasts against his chest. From the way she was arching her back, this girl was turned on. By him. A ghoul. Was this vaultie so sheltered she just didn’t know any better?

Cooper broke the kiss. ‘Does that feel good to you? I don’t know what this body feels like to anyone else.’

‘So good, Cooper,’ she whispered breathlessly. ‘What feels good to you?’

He drank in her beautiful face. ‘Anything you do, darlin’. You nearly made my heart quit beating when you touched my shoulders and compared me to my wanted poster. I’m—not used to this.’

Fuck. That’s too vulnerable. He needed to shut the hell up.

She reached down between them and pushed her hand up beneath his shirt. ‘This heart?’ Sensation exploded across his chest.

‘Mmm,’ he says, dragging a ragged breath into his lungs.

‘You feel so good, Cooper. Warm and strong.’

He was drowning in her soft, sweet adoration. It was so much. Too much.

With a groan, he rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him as he devoured her mouth. He had no right to get his hands all over the prettiest, sweetest woman for thousands of miles around, possibly anywhere, but he was going to be selfish and do it anyway. His cock was harder than ever and he thrust it against her pussy through the thin fabric of her underwear. Lucy moaned. The sound of her made him crazy, and he slid against her again and again, both of them delighting in the friction.

He pushed her tank up and saw that she’d taken off her bra before bed. When he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth, she gasped and hitched her knee up to his hip, inviting more.

Pulling her briefs to one side, he slid two fingers across her sex, and discovered so much slippery wetness.

‘This for me, darlin’?’ he asked, admiring the wetness on his fingers.

She bit her lip and nodded, and then cried out as he sank his middle finger into her up to the third knuckle.

Mine, he thought, clenching his teeth on her shoulder right by her neck, and circling her clit with his thumb. Lucy moaned louder. 

He added a second finger, and that really made her yelp and clutch at him. He wasn’t trying to make her come yet. He just wanted to explore her, watch her, listen to her, as he pumped his fingers slowly in and out of her. The sweet grip of her on his fingers was making him ache to be inside her. He probably shouldn’t. He probably should make sure they had some RadAway before they did that, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull out of her once his cock was hammering into her and his orgasm was barrelling down on him. No way he had that kind of self-control around her, and he would end up filling her with radioactive cum.

Unsteadily, she pulled at his belt while he kept thrusting with his fingers, and it made him smile at how clumsy he was making her.

When her hand wrapped around his cock, it was his turn to lose focus. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sight of her touching him. There were radiation scars even on his cock, but she didn’t seem to care, her slender fingers caressing his girth.

‘You’re so thick, Cooper,’ she whispered as he thrust into her hand.

‘Fuck, stop saying my name,’ he panted.

‘Why?’

‘It’s too much, vaultie.’ He could feel his heart softening. All the protective anger he carried around was melting away. If he didn’t stay angry, he would die. Chems and anger were all that were holding his ruined body together.

‘Lucy,’ she corrected him with a caress and a smile. ‘Call me Lucy. And I want to say your name. I love your name.’

The sunshine was going to burn him alive, and it wasn’t even daylight yet.

They continued to caress each other, focusing on whatever made the other one breathe harder and moan. She came first, her thighs squeezing his hips and her pussy squeezing his fingers in a death grip. The sight of her head thrown back in pleasure was enough to make him lose it. He cupped his hand around his cock as he came, making sure he didn’t splash her with any of his cum.

After, they lay wrapped around each other with their legs tangled together. Lucy was asleep, but Cooper's mind was racing. The clarity you experience after you climax, he’d once heard it called.  

What about your man ? he wanted to ask her. That Knight in a tin can. If she wasn’t going to think about the canned Knight or talk about him, then Cooper wouldn’t either.

Cooper’s arms tightened around her. I don’t want him to have you.

He gritted his teeth, wondering what the hell he was doing, being possessive over a woman. He’d only ever felt this strongly about a woman once before in his life, and it had all but destroyed him.

Hope hadn’t been part of his life since the bombs fell and he’d lost everything. It was probably best if he and Lucy never talked about what had just happened between them. As much as it hurt him, they probably shouldn’t touch each other again either, and focus on getting to New Vegas.

With her pretty hand lying against his heart and her semi-naked body tight in his arms, Cooper knew he was in the danger zone. 

-

I just finished playing Fallout 3 and I loved it! These games have been on my list for ages but the show bumped them to the top. I started New Vegas and I'm having so much fun imagining what Cooper and Lucy are going to do there in S2. Thank you for reading!

Read Chapter Four here.