#i have a good amount of sketches that i did on days id go in for my jpn2 class | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemissingmask · 1 year ago

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[ID: Sketch of Jake Stone and Eve Baird in the annex, Stone sitting on a stool at the table and pressing his right hand to his head, wincing slightly, while Eve is turning to look at him. His right arm is covered with black symbols. End ID]

Day 31: Cheeky bonus headache to finish off the vampire!Stone series because it got out of hand 😅 I had only planned two arts with accompanying ficlets

Fic below the cut. This overlaps slightly with the mind games fic from yesterday, starting during that one and continuing past where it ended.

“Flynn!” Eve called up the stairs, “If we don’t leave now there won’t be time to get popcorn!”

“There’s always time for popcorn!” came the disembodied voice from somewhere above.

“Not if we arrive fifteen minutes after the movie starts!”

No reply.

Eve sighed and grabbed her coat from the rack, shrugging it over her fancy-ish date night jumpsuit. As she turned, she found Stone at the table - not surprising since he had covered half of it with various portfolios - but he was oddly neither engaged with them, nor watching her.

She had yelled pretty loudly, and usually this might be met with a smirk from him and some joking comment about Flynn’s punctuality or maybe a reference to the last time they had a movie date, and things went less than smoothly.

But he was facing away from her, and from the table, his posture tense.

As she watched, he brought his right hand up, pressing it to the side of his head.

“Stone?”

After a too long pause, he opened his eyes and squinted up at her, one hand still against his head.

“You okay?” she lightly touched his arm, but he flinched away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking at her hand and then back to her, “Yeah. Jus’ a headache.”

She withdraw her hand and offered a sympathetic smile, “I guess Tylenol isn’t going to help?”

“Not sure it’s been tested on vampires,” he replied softly, then smiled a facsimile of his usual smile, “Date night?”

“It’ll be date morning if Flynn doesn’t hurry up,” she replied, “I swear if he…”

“I’m coming!” Flynn interrupted, running down the stairs with one shoe on and the other in the hand that wasn’t holding a bundle of cravats, “Which do I wear? What shoes are you - okay, orange it is.”

Several of the cravats fell to the floor and he began to finish getting dressed, “We still have time for popcorn?”

“Yes, we still have time for popcorn.”

She had told him half an hour earlier than the film actually started, so they actually had a good amount of time.

“Try not to get sucked into this one,” Stone smirked tiredly as they set the back door.

Eve took Flynn’s offered arm and glanced back over her shoulder, “No promises.”

She saw a ghost of a smile, and then she and Flynn were walking out of a toilet cubicle into the movie theatre.

That got them some amused looks from some other visitors, but it wasn’t the first or probably the last time she and Flynn would exit a toilet stall or changing room or other small enclosed space together.

They got popcorn, they got to their seats, and they watched the entire movie through without getting sucked into it, attacked by ninjas or snake monsters or anything, or even getting told to be quiet too many times by other movie goers.

It was a nice normal date. They did manage to have those from time to time these days.

But their lives weren’t normal and inevitably their conversation, as they strolled around a park after the movie was over, fell into less normal things.

“I’m worried about Stone,” she said.

He nodded, “His headaches?”

“You noticed too?”

“I’m very observant.”

She sighed, “He says he’s fine, but I’m worried he’s just trying to not be a burden.”

“You’re thinking it’s something vampire-y?”

“Honestly, I’m thinking it’s more something trauma-y,” she replied, stopping and dropping onto a bench, “He went through hell and we dealt with the weird magical supernatural part, but we never helped him deal with the rest of it.”

“You think he has PTSD?”

“I’m not ruling it out. You saw how bad he was when we found him.”

“Well,” Flynn said, taking her hand and linking their fingers, “Though your opinion may be plausible, I don’t think we actually dealt with the weird magical supernatural part.”

“What do you mean?”

Flynn mused for a while, expressively mused, his face taking on a thoughtful expression so she couldn’t possibly doubt that he was thinking.

She smiled slightly and waited.

“You’re right,” he said at last, “Stone did go through something horrible. The question is, why did the vampires do that to him only to turn him?”

“For fun?” she shrugged, “Because they were hungry? We could be here all week trying to justify the extreme brutality of a bunch of evil vampires.”

“Maybe, but something…something just feels…I can’t place it.”

“I’m not sure if I’d rather it be PTSD or some long game vampire trick…”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Eve shot him a glare, against which he raised his hands in surrender.

“Hopefully not both.”

“I really hope not either,” she sighed, “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow…how about dessert before we go back?”

This last, with an attempt to dispel the dark mood she had pulled over their date.

Flynn smiled and raised her hand to his lips, “Yes to dessert, and don’t worry about Stone. Whatever it is, we’ll solve it.”

Eve planned to talk to Stone when he went to train in the morning. He had a routine of morning martial arts training before the vampires took him, and recovering that had been part of his efforts to regain a sense of himself.

In the past, she and him had had most of their more serious - serious so far as it didn’t relate directly to the library or imminent threats against the world - conversations while hitting the bag or sparring. It was an easier place for them both to be open than sitting down and being still.

She didn’t find him in the gym when she expected he would be there, nor did she get an answer when she knocked on his door.

Walking into the annex she vaguely glossed over the incongruent presence of a large wicker giraffe or long-necked horse or something, and scanned the space. Jenkins, Cassandra, but no Stone. She knew Flynn was still asleep and guessed Ezekiel was.

“Anyone seen Stone?”

“No,” Cassandra frowned, “Isn’t he in the gym?”

“I checked there.”

“His room?”

“No answer.”

Jenkins pursed his lips, “You believe something is amiss?”

“I just want to check he’s doing okay,” she replied, “He's been having headaches lately.”

“Not just headaches,” Cassandra added quietly, “He’s been spacing out, getting jumpy for no apparent reason. Ezekiel and I noticed it, but he shuts any questions down.”

She looked down at her hands, and added in a whisper, “It’s been getting worse.”

“Alright,” Eve said, “I’m going to go check his room again…”

“Don’t bother,” Ezekiel walked in, “He’s not there. Just checked. Not in the gym or with the chupacabra either.”

“Why would he be with the chupacabra?” Flynn asked, wandering in with a piece of toast.

“They’re mates,” Ezekiel shrugged, “But he’s not there.”

“Okay,” Eve pushed back her rising concern, “We split up and search the library. Whatever’s going on, we can’t let him try to deal with it alone.”

They searched, not the entire but the likely parts of, the library, but they didn’t find him anywhere.

“Time for a locating spell?” Ezekiel asked when they were all back around the table having failed in their task.

“It won’t work,” Cassandra frowned, “The spell we put on him is cyclical. It isn’t emitting any signal that can be detected from outside. And even if we could find a way around that, we’d need something with the same magic signal here and we don’t have anything like that.”

“But we did it before,” Eve questioned, “Using the Monkey King’s staff?”

“The magic isn’t the same anymore. We modified it too much.”

“Then we solve this old school,” Flynn said, “Where would Stone go? Back to Oklahoma?”

“No.”

“Although if he was gonna go killy, his dad…”Ezekiel mused, breaking off when Cassandra nudged him angrily.

“Jacob Stone. Is. Not. Killing. Anyone!”

Ezekiel raised his hands in surrender, “Okay. He’s not gonna go killy. Obviously he’s not. He’s still the same Stone.”

“Assuming he left of his own free will,” Jenkins interjected, “I would wager Mr Stone would go somewhere with as few people as possible.”

“What do you mean ‘assuming he left of his own free will’?”

“There is precedence in parts of vampire lore…”

“Which varies a lot depending on the cultural context. Vampires are not actually as uniform a group as generally perceived and…” Flynn held up his hands at Jenkins’ glare for the interruption, smiling sheepishly and gesturing for the former knight to proceed.

Which he did, after allowing the glare to linger a little longer, “It is believed that some vampires are capable of mind manipulation, especially strong when it comes to the vampire who turned them. There is a sort of psychic connection, or not quite…something conceptually rela…regardless, it is conceivable that Mr Stone did not leave entirely by choice, in which case we have to presume his location was also not his own decision. The vampire who turned him, most likely The Angler, decided.”

“But we don’t know whether or not he chose, so how do we decide where to search?”

“Well, if he chose to leave, at least we know he’s probably sort of safe? But if he was taken or forced then he’s not,” Eve began, “So without a way to be certain which it is, I say we try and track down this Angler guy. If he has Stone, we get him back, and if he doesn’t we at least finish the job we began last time.”

“Colonel, need I remind you that The Angler is not your average vampire? He has persisted for so long without being killed for a reason.”

“He hasn’t had three librarians and a guardian to face at the same time before,” she replied, “If he has Stone or is a threat to him in the future, we take him out.”

“And save the lives he would definitely keep taking,” Ezekiel added, “He’s not exactly going to stop.”

“And if Mr Stone is the bait specifically being used to lure all of you in?” Jenkins warned, “We do not know his plan. He turned Mr Stone for a reason, and it could very well be his intention to lure all the librarians and the guardian into a trap, and I do not believe I need to elaborate on just how disastrous the consequences would be were he able to get all of you.”

“It’s difficult to imagine another reason for him turning Stone,” Flynn agreed, “Unless he needs an eternal companion who happens to be an expert in art history or oil rigging.”

“You’re acting like there’s logic here,” Ezekiel argued, “We’re talking about a guy who for centuries lured people in to kill or turn them. Basically a serial killer, and that comes with whole other areas of logic and psychology that don’t exactly make sense to everyone else. I mean, he killed, not turned, the librarians who tried to stop him before, but he’s turned other people. Why? And has he used people as the bait before?”

“Ezekiel’s right,” Cassandra frowned, “We’re looking at this from our perspective. The library matters to us, but The Angler might not care about it. If he wanted any of us, he could have tried when we rescued Stone the first time.”

“We didn’t see him there the first time.”

“But he might still have been there. Jenkins said Stone was turned shortly before we arrived, right? And probably by The Angler.”

“So he let us escape with Stone?”

She shrugged, “Maybe. But, the point is, I think we need to look more into his history. Who The Angler targeted, and how and why. Where he operated, other than the places we already know.”

“We should also check the locations we know already,” Eve continued when no one objected to this approach, “Just in case Stone’s there. Ezekiel, you and I are on that. Surveillance and enquiries, and if we think there’s a lead we’ll figure out a plan of attack that includes all of us.”

“The rest of us will look into what we can on The Angler,” Cassandra nodded, “See if we can guess his plan.”

And hope that they could do all quickly enough to get Stone back before he could be harmed beyond their help. Maybe he was just hiding out somewhere very safe on his own, and he would turn up sometime when they were still looking into The Angler, or after and he’d just have been taking time to clear his head.

The basement where they had first found Stone was completely empty. No surprise there. After their attack, it seemed that the vampires left had cleared out.

The first two of their other possible locations to search were less empty and more just completely devoid of anything resembling a vampire. Or anything weird or magical or supernatural. Just a normal apartment building and a normal shop.

But the third was more promising.

Scoping it out beforehand from a distance showed that they never once opened the blinds or curtains on the windows, people only came and went at night, and those people just so happened not to be reflected in the dark windows.

“Okay, so,” Cassandra set down a tray of shot glasses containing a pink liquid, “Jenkins and I mixed this up. It should disguise any sound or scent we make from the vampires. We’ll still be visible, but it might at least give us an advantage.”

“How long does it last?” Eve asked, raising one glass and sniffing it, something she immediately regretted, “And what is in it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“It should last an hour,” Jenkins said, “And it will not be easy to make more.”

“So, we know the plan?” Flynn asked, “We go in, clear each room, take out any vampires that are hostile and attempt to get a jump on The Angler if he’s there. Easy!”

Before they could say anything or, really, overthink the plan, he grabbed a shot glass, downed the potion with a grimace and turned to grab Excalibur, “Let’s go!”

From the outside, the target looked like a normal apartment building locked in between two other normal apartment buildings in a normal street.

Three stories high, steps up to the front door, foliage hanging from a balcony above, an intercom with four names listed beside the buttons. The only slightly conspicuous part of the building was that blinds were closed in every window. Not that odd in California, but it supported the theory that this was one of the vampire’s residences.

Then the names all matched one of his known victims.

The fact that it was bright daylight gave them a clear advantage.

The cloaking spell gave them an even greater one. Ezekiel could pick the lock on the front door, and they could walk in, knowing that the vampires would be unable to hear or smell them.

Eve gestured to the first room, stake held tight in her right arm.

Cassandra knocked and then ducked out of the way.

Eve waited.

The door opened, a brunette in a blue dress stood there, for a moment annoyed, and then angry. She threw herself at Eve too quickly for her to react and fight back, slamming her into the mailboxes behind and making an attempt to bite her, but the vampire hadn’t sensed anyone else, hadn’t seen them, and wasn’t prepared for Ezekiel to drive a stake through her heart from behind.

A moment of shock dispelled the feral expression, and then the vampire dissipated into sparks and ashes.

That noise had been heard, and now there was another vampire running at them, but not for long. Excalibur sliced cleanly through their neck and destroyed that one too.

The plan was that they stick together. Their strength in this moment relied on them being together, one or two of them hiding to get the jump when the vampire’s attacked someone they saw. Which meant they had to decide between the upper two floors or the basement.

A sharp, agonised scream from the latter decided it for them.

“Was that…” Cassandra whispered, not finishing the question because it and the answer were both perfectly obvious.

That was Stone’s voice.

“Come on,” Eve breathed, readying herself to open the door. Just as she did, she felt herself dragged forcefully back, hitting yet another wall, hard enough this time to have her vision blurring for a moment and her head ringing. More vampires were on them now, but Flynn was already running down towards the basement. Eve struggled up, dodging the vampire and surging forward to get her stake through the back of a vampire that tried to follow him. The one that had attacked her was already ash by the time she turned around, Jenkins wielding a sword as smoothly as he must have done as a knight. She gave a brief nod of thanks and went for the vampire that had backed Ezekiel into a corner and knocked Cassandra into the wall. It nearly managed to get her down too, but suddenly stopped abruptly, long enough for Eve to get her stake through the heart of that one too.

It disappeared and there was silence again.

Too much silence.

She checked them all over in one sweeping gaze. Ezekiel was helping Cassandra to her feet, checking on her, Jenkins was intently scanning the stairs for signs of more enemies, and the door to the basement was still open, Flynn somewhere beyond.

“Cover me,” she said to the others, moving quickly towards the door and down the dark enclosed stairs to a metal door, beyond which was a surprisingly well-lit concrete chamber.

It was really nothing more than that. Lights overhead and concrete floor and walls, which were completely bare other patches of dried or drying blood.

In the corner farthest from the stairs, she saw Flynn and Stone, just stood there for a second before suddenly Stone launched himself at Flynn, throwing a punch that she really hoped the obvious blood loss was going to make relatively weak.

Stone had a strong punch before she started training with him. It had become genuinely impressive after he worked on it.

As a vampire, it was potentially lethal.

The blow sent Flynn flying backwards, landing hard on the concrete. Jake was on him almost immediately, and Flynn was definitely out cold, no way was he going to be able to summon Excalibur to defend himself.

But Eve had been in motion too ever since she saw Stone about to attack, and now she threw all her body weight into dragging him off Flynn.

She readied herself for an attack, steeled against the emotional burden of having to potentially use serious force against her friend.

But no attack came.

Jake was stumbling back away from her, his expression so terrified she could barely stand to keep her gaze on him. But his eyes didn’t leave her face, even when he tripped and fell back into the wall.

There tears carving paths through the blood on his face as he finally looked away from her and towards Flynn.

Behind her, Eve heard the others running down the stairs, and within seconds, Ezekiel and Cassandra were sprinting over.

"We got him," Ezekiel said as he passed her.

Eve nodded and tore her eyes away just as Cassandra dropped to her knees in front of Stone.

Jenkins was knelt beside Flynn, propping him up gently as he started to come to, groaning and mumbling something incoherent.

"Flynn?" she said gently, tugging off her jacket and folding it to place under his head, "Flynn? You okay?"

"You gotta stop teaching him martial arts, Eve," Flynn muttered groggily, wincing as he opened his eyes and immediately closing them again.

She let out a soft laugh and moved over to try and get a better look at the injury. The punch had landed just below his right eye and he would probably have a horrible bruise by tomorrow. He almost certainly had a concussion, but he hadn’t been out for too long, which was the most reassuring thing.

"I'll get Mr Carson back to the library," Jenkins said, looking up and beyond Eve, "I believe you are needed here."

She looked back over her shoulder.

All three of the other librarians were kneeling on the floor now, Stone with his head buried against Cassandra's shoulder, and his right hand tightly gripping the fabric of Ezekiel's shirt. She couldn't see Cassandra's face, but from the hunch of her shoulders and the tears on Ezekiel's cheeks, Eve knew she was crying.

"Take a look at his head," Eve turned back to Jenkins, "Stone punched him hard. I don't know if he might..."

"I will take care of him, Colonel," Jenkins said calmly, "This is not the first serious head blow I have tended. Nor do I expect it will be the last."

She nodded, gave him a small smile, and bent to kiss Flynn lightly, "Try to be a good patient."

He mumbled something between "No promises," and "Always good," as Jenkins helped him to his feet.

Eve waited until she had watched them both disappear, and finally turned back to their other serious problem.

Finding Stone chained up and physically brutalised had been horrific, but right now Eve felt even that was preferable to seeing him like this, with his mind having been torn apart by whatever tricks that vampire had been playing.

As she walked around to kneel with them, she caught Cassandra's desperate expression, confused and afraid and desperately upset. Ezekiel's differed only in that some part of those emotions was subdued by a barely contained frustrated anger that had nowhere to be directed now The Angler was dead.

"Stone," Eve said softly, "Jake?"

He looked up, bright eyes seeming impossibly blue, and almost fumbled to release his grip on Ezekiel, half-falling forward to reach for her. Eve almost flinched back, but this was no threat. He didn't grab her neck, but touched it. Fingertips touching. Pressing lightly.

"You're alive," he rasped, eyes searching her face as his fingers remained on her neck.

She reached up and took his hand in both of hers, "Yeah. I'm alive."

"I-I thought...I saw..." he looked from her to Cassandra, to Ezekiel, seeming confused like he only just was realising they were there too.

"Is this real?"

Exactly the same question he had asked after he had first been turned, the words even more broken than they had been then.

"It's real," she replied, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back her own tears.

He suddenly pulled his hand free of her’s, shifting away and looking between them as tears still streaked his face, “How the hell do I know?!”

"Ask me something only I would know," Eve suggested, remembering the forest and how she had been convinced it was their Jacob Stone talking from within the tree.

"Y-you're in my head. You know all the answers!"

“But only the ones you already know,” Cassandra said, struggling to find her voice through the sobs she had barely been holding back, and then letting the words tumble desperately from her, “Like, your mind couldn’t explain to you why the priors and likelihoods are effectively interchangeable in Bayesian inference, except in the rare instances that the likelihoods are in fact derivatives, albeit implicitly, of the input…”

Eve followed the stream of words she didn’t actually understand for about as long as she ever did, and quickly lost the thread. It didn’t matter, because she saw a look of hope flicker across Stone’s features as he listened, probably as utterly confused as she was.

“Did you get any of that?” Ezekiel asked, almost managing to make himself sound calm and casual, “Because I didn’t.”

“No,” Stone whispered.

"This is real. Whatever you saw before is gone," Eve continued, "The vampire who was making it happen is gone. Flynn killed him..."

"I saw him kill you."

That explained the punch Flynn had taken.

"He didn't," she continued, "I'm right here. But that vampire is not."

“Come back to the library with us. We’ll help you figure out what was and wasn’t real," Ezekiel added, lightly squeezing Stone's right shoulder, the left side being unnervingly soaked with blood, down the entire sleeve of his hoodie.

Slowly, Stone nodded, his eyes still shining with tears.

He stumbled to his feet, holding his left arm close, and let Ezekiel help him walk unsteadily with them to the back door, and back to the library.

Jenkins was waiting in the annex, already facing the door with the first aid kit set on the table behind him.

"Where's Flynn?" Eve asked, walking ahead and speaking quietly.

"Resting off his concussion," Jenkins replied, "I gave him something to help with the pain and swelling, but he will have a nasty bruise."

She nodded, "He's okay though?"

"He is," Jenkins replied, "And is..."

Eve glanced back to the other three, Stone leaning against a desk and looking no less shaken up than in the basement, "I don't know."

Jenkins inclined his head and stepped closer to the group, "Mr Stone. Would you kindly allow me to look at your injuries?"

Stone looked up, confused and then nervous.

“Here?”

“We can use your room if you’d rather.”

“Can you put the sigils back?”

Ezekiel was already shaking his head to object, “You want us to trap you again?”

“Please.”

Eve nodded, catching Cassandra and Ezekiel’s eyes significantly, “For now. Until you’re feeling more like yourself again.”

Cassandra stood, lightly touching Stone’s shoulder and hurried off to get what she needed for that spell, while Ezekiel began to help Stone towards his room.

Walking a pace behind them, Eve heard Stone ask quietly, “Where was it? Th-that place?”

“Just now?” Ezekiel had adopted the tone he used when he was trying to act calm and unconcerned, “LA.”

“Thought it was Portland…”

“Definitely LA.”

“Were there any,” Stone hesitated, stopping outside his room and looking in, “Have there been any murders? In LA or Portland or…or anywhere else?”

He didn’t really react as Jenkins ushered him inside to sit on the bed, looking to Ezekiel for an answer.

Eve found she was too.

Watching and hoping he would find nothing. The question alone made very clear what Stone believed he had done, and Eve hoped desperately it was a lie.

Stone had either been made to think he had killed people, or he had done so, and one of those was so, so much preferable to the other.

“I’m looking for animal attacks, stabbing with neck wounds, and anything else that a vampire attack might show up as,” Ezekiel pulled out his phone and explained before he began his task, “Across all states since I’m guessing you didn’t cross an ocean…adding to that Canada and Mexico to cover north and south…there are a lot of reports to sift through so this might take a while.”

“Nothing showed up in the clippings book,” Cassandra offered, looking in through the door with a stick of chalk in one hand, “Usually it would show us if there was something like that going on, right?”

It was unclear if that applied to incidents because of the librarians themselves, but thankfully no one brought that up to weaken Cassandra’s reassuring words.

“While Mr Jones peruses the Internet,” Jenkins said firmly, peeling off the bloody fabric of the hoodie sleeve he had cut while Ezekiel was talking, “Will you allow me to take care of that arm before it starts healing incorrectly?”

Stone lowered his gaze to the arm, ��It’s broken.”

”Yes, I can see that,” Jenkins replied with a touch of familiar sarcasm in his patience, “We can immobilise it for now while we deal with your other injuries. Resetting it will not be straightforward, although I do believe I have done so before…not for some time, admittedly…Colonel if you would assist.”

There were two puncture wounds, deep and wide, on Stone’s left arm, near the shoulder. Stone thought they were gunshot wounds, but they definitely were not. Not from fangs either. Like he had been stabbed with something pronged.

They were bad, had bled a lot and that couldn’t be helping his fractured mind, but the worst part was that Stone thought Eve had done it. Had shot him, broken his arm.

“I would never,” she began as he explained quietly what he had seen, and what she wasn’t sure he entirely disbelieved yet.

“Even if I was a danger? If I lost control an’…an’ if I hurt one of you? Or worse?”

“We will never let that happen,” she said seriously.

“What if it already has?”

“If you mean you losing control and going feral vampire?” Ezekiel said, “I don’t think it has.”

He moved forward to sit beside Stone on his bed, showing him the phone screen while Jenkins and Ever finished dressing the wounds on his arm.

“I still have like twenty states and Mexico to search, but other than a lynx attack in Alaska, stabbings in Minnesota and Nevada, and a domestic dog attacking someone at a park in LA, there’s nothing so far that looks like even remotely like vampire killings, and half of those ones have victims who survived or who’s attackers were found,” Ezekiel said, “So, cowboy, if you’re thinking you went on a killing spree, you didn’t.”

“I saw them. Their blood…” he looked down at himself, his bloody t-shirt and arm held in a rigid splint, held firmly in place against him.

“All the blood on you right now looks like yours. From injuries we can see,” Eve said, “I agree with Ezekiel. It doesn’t seem like you killed anyone.”

Stone looked only half convinced, but that was still half better than a moment before.

“But I must’ve drank something,” he murmured, “I felt it. The…”

He cut himself short, a look of fear briefly overcoming his features.

“Conceivably you were given blood to drink by other vampires in the house, or the sensation may have been another trick,” Jenkins replied, carefully reaching over to pull the edge of Stone’s duvet over his right shoulder. He had started shivering.

“But what you think you did isn’t real,” Cassandra finished for him.

“Why?” Stone pulled the duvet as far around himself as he could with his right hand and without getting in the way of Jenkins’ medical work.

“To weaken you mentally and physically at once, to make you believe you had already slipped,” Jenkins replied, “I imagine The Angler was attempting to break you so that would join him.”

“That’s stupid,” Stone growled, a sudden animation and alertness in his pose and eyes, “Already slipped? Killin’ thirty people sure as hell doesn’t make killin’ the thirty first okay!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Eve said, “But we’re talking the logic of a centuries old serial killer here.”

“Our perspective doesn’t apply,” Stone whispered, all of that anger dissipated back into exhaustion.

He was going to need time to process everything, and to sort out what was and was not real.

Stone might not have been entirely convinced, but he accepted for now. Or, at least, didn’t have the energy to ask more questions or recount anything else of what he had seen.

He looked utterly drained. With the confusion and fear fading, be succumbed to the mental and bodily exhaustion from the past days. , The pain of resetting his elbow seemed to sap what little energy he had left.

Almost before Jenkins had finished stabilising his elbow, he was starting to fall asleep. They managed to keep him awake just long enough to be convinced to drink a bottle of the blood they still had stored to help with recovery and, more importantly from his perspective, staving off blood lust.

“We should keep watch,” Cassandra said as they left him sleeping apparently soundly, “I know we have spell but, just in case he thinks he’s back there again. Or it’s a trick or something.”

“Cassandra and I will take first watch,” Ezekiel volunteered, “You should check on Flynn.”

Eve nodded and squeezed his shoulder before turning to leave. She had checked on Flynn already, and when she walked into their room now, she saw him sleeping still. In a different position. And the ice pack she had removed from his head because it was melting was back on his head and melted.

It made her smile. It was very Flynn and very familiar.

She managed to catch maybe a few hours of sleep after climbing into bed, but the clock showed it can’t have been more than that.

“Can’t sleep?” Flynn mumbled sleepily.

“Not really,” she sighed, “How’s your head?”

“Painful. You have to stop teaching that man martial arts.”

“You said that already.”

“It merits saying twice. He hits like a 32 pound canon ball,” Flynn replied, “You find out why he did it?”

“He thought you killed me. The vampire made him think I was the one attacking him…”

“So when I killed The Angler, what he saw was me killing you,” Flynn summarised, “Combined with the pain and blood loss and whatever he was made to see before, he followed instinct and attacked…suppose I was lucky he didn’t do worse.”

They were very lucky. Stone could easily have killed Flynn. He must have been weakened a lot more than they realised, or had enough of his own consciousness to keep him from putting all his power into that punch, or biting straight into Flynn’s neck.

“How bad was he?” Flynn asked into the silence.

“I can’t tell…he thought he had gone on some sort of killing spree or something. Who knows what else that asshole made him believe. How does someone recover from something like that?!”

“With help, Eve. And we will help him.”

The question was how to help. All they could do was try to pick apart the tricks the vampire had played on him, and be there for him when he needed them.

Eve didn’t know if it was enough.

It didn’t feel like enough. Stone still had nightmares, still questioned whether this was real or yet another trick, still didn’t trust himself not to harm them, and he behaved like an echo of the man they knew.

She had decided, after almost two months of barely any progress, that she would reach out. One of the people she had served with had gone on to open a clinic and treated people who had suffered trauma. He might have some advice on how Eve could help Stone better, even just whatever vague ideas he could offer from the necessarily incomplete description of what had happened.

Or maybe Cassandra’s idea about talking with an existing vanpire wasn’t such a bad idea, as long as Stone agreed to it, which he probably would not. Or maybe the Monkey King could help with some wisdom or something…

Maybe she could just talk to Stone. Ask him if there was anything he could think of that might help.

Eve was a couple of paces from his door, intent on doing just that, when she heard voices already inside and paused. Ezekiel and Cassandra were on a job the clippings book had sent them on two days before.

Except it was definitely Ezekiel’s voice saying, “There’s gotta be a connection, right? I mean, they all suffer the same symptoms within weeks of each other, all of them completely unexplained. No cause the hospitals can identify.”

“And all but two of them live in the same town,” Cassandra continued and Eve leaned back against the wall to listen, “The only point of complete overlap is a museum. They all either visited it or work there.”

“The museum have an online gallery?” Stone asked tiredly.

“Yeah.”

There was silence for several minutes. Eve considered moving to join them, but didn’t want to interrupt what sounded like the closest to normal she had heard in months. Nor did she want to leave, to miss what came next.

“This, right here,” Stone broke off with a slightly pained sound, suggesting he had just done something to hurt his still healing arm, “This pot. Look at the red pigment, an’…an’ the finish.”

“Looks like a painted pot…”

“This pigment, the red, it doesn’t match the pigments used in the region this pot’s from. An’ look at the finish. The way the light plays off it…look at that…I’d need to see in person to be sure but it sure as hell doesn’t look like slip.”

“So…”

“It’s a fake, but nothin’ here says anything about a fake being on display,” Stone replied with genuine excitement in his voice, “An’ didn’t you say the victims they all had smallpox symptoms but not one tested positive for smallpox?”

“Yeah,” Cassandra replied, “The symptoms alone perfectly but no biochemical or microscopic method was able to identify the virus associated with any of them.”

“The region where this pot was made was nearly totally wiped out by smallpox.”

“So, you think maybe the real pot’s somewhere? And it’s giving people smallpox?”

“I dunno, maybe? To make a fake this good, an’ it is pretty good, someone’d need access to the real thing. Close up. An’ time.”

“The real one might be in the museum, just not on display,” Ezekiel said, “Museums only show a fraction of what they have. The rest is on archives just sitting there getting looked at maybe once every few years, and with really pretty shoddy security. Much easier to get into those than the museum if you forge the right pass.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to the museum,” Cassandra said, adding with just a hint of nervousness, “Want to join?”

Eve held her breath waiting for the answer.

Stone wasn’t healed up yet. Most of his injuries had faded almost entirely, but his arm had started to heal wrong after he banged it during a nightmare and Jenkins had to do a very painful-looking procedure to get it back into the right position.

It didn’t help that he refused to drink more than a minimal amount of blood each day, never a drop more. He needed to prove his own control to himself, and Eve understood that, but it delayed his healing and maybe made his mental struggles worse too.

And now he wasn’t replying.

He had withdrawn again, slipped back, but then he quietly replied, “Sure,” and Eve had to hold back a laugh of unexpected relief.

She quickly retreated before they came out, back to the annex, where Jenkins was working on something odd-looking.

“Stone’s going to go with them on this job,” Eve said quietly, grinning across the table at him.

The former knight smiled, a fondness in his expression as he looked up at her, “I dare say he is. I thought I saw some improvement of late.”

“I hadn’t…I thought…” she broke off, “You think he’s up for it?”

“I think only Mr Stone can know that.”

She nodded, and tried to bury her concern and her more outward relief, so that when the three eventually walked in she looked calm and casual and not at all on the edge of both utter joy and extreme worry.

“Hey guys,” she looked up from the papers she had not been reading on her desk, “Going somewhere?”

“To a museum!” Cassandra grinned, “Gotta find what’s giving people smallpox.”

Stone’s expression was guarded, giving away none of the anxiety he was surely feeling, stepping out of the library for the first time since they’d brought him back.

“You need back up?” Eve asked, looking pointedly at the sling supporting Stone’s left arm to hide the real reason she was asking - to know if they needed more people to help in case Stone’s mind fractured once out of the safety of the library.

Ezekiel and Cassandra both looked to Stone, who finally replied with no hint of false confidence. Just soft, calm, resolution.

“No, thanks,” he smiled softly at her, “We got this.”

The words held little meaning really, but his expression as he caught her eye, Eve understood perfectly what he really meant. Whether or not he felt ready, Stone needed to do this. He had to take that step now, before fear of leaving the library settled too deep.

She smiled back at him and nodded, let him know she understood, before the back door opened and in a moment all three were gone.

#the librarians #cw violence #cw blood #vampires because it’s spooky day #vampire!Stone #headaches #trauma #whump #masks whump art

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worldofgoo · 2 years ago

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yayayay yippee (≧◡≦) i love how vibrant & lively your art is, i think my fav pieces are Horse Surgery & hanyuu (even tho i have no idea who that is) but that one wip with the rainbow is also v ery special 2me because it reminds me of my fav kind of weather ^_^ generic Which Program Do You Use question & also which programs have you tried so far? which one would you recommend for someone whose only experience so far wiht digital art has been scribbling in ms paint -_-? on topic, what do you draw with (mouse, phone, drawing tablet, ??) & was it easy for you to get used to digital art? i always get overwhelmed by the amound of different functions available so im not sure where to even start, any advice? which physical art forms do you like / would you like to learn (anything at all, i personally have been getting into air dry clay... well actually ive been using my sisters playdoh but maybe ill purchase smthn fancier :3) & final question how do you come up with poses to draw? your characters (+creatures) seem very animated and i really like that :)

HI okay i guess ill answer these in a list. actually will put it under the cut since i ended up saying a lot (and dw i enjoy being able to talk a lot so thank you!)

-THANK YOU im glad some of my more recent works (in my more current style) are appealing 2 people! like i wanna draw my own way even though i think it gets less notes... the higurashi fanarts (hanyuu and shion) r very memorable pieces to me because its when i started doing the loose sketches with the thin lines and block colors and thats the direction i reallyreally wanted to take my style in. also the rainbow is rian my friend rian

-i draw in paint tool sai! the only program i used before that was sketchbook pro, which i didnt like because the brushes were kind of... blurry/smudgy? sai allows you to zoom in and draw pixel by pixel which is something i like, and i like the way it does its blending. its also just easier for me to understand. i didnt pay for it i think i found some deviantart page that had the link, id have to find it again

-i draw with a wacom intuos tablet! its lasted me... almost 10 years now. ive heard newer ones are poorer quality in terms of at least the nibs needing to be replaced constantly, so idk what the most recommended tablet these days is. ive drawn with my mouse and tbh it caused awful hand pain so i would not recommend this. i draw on my phone with my finger sometimes but i find doing it on my laptop easier, however it is doable once you get used to it

-the way i got into digital art... well. i still have an archive of my earliest art if you wanna see! i was 14 n just drew random shit, often lining over doodles i did on paper and coloring them in. i think esp if youre overwhelmed start with making like throwaway experimental pieces, scribble around, doodle stupid things and color them in with different brushes and see what you enjoy. and then you can just keep the files to yourself if they dont look too good or maybe itll look interesting, it depends i guess haha. the other thing that ive always found helped me was telling myself id draw every day even if it was a little scribble or the tiniest amount of work on a wip bc getting a habit going helped my art a Lot beause it helped me spend more time thinking n focusing on it

more specific advice for sai that i found useful- using clipping groups & the preserve opacity functions are both lifesavers in terms of not spending so much time trying to color in the lines. if you color in a base layer you can just put everything above it as a clipping group and just not worry about it anymore. i also really like using the filters (like multiply) to mess around with the colors a drawing has, though sometimes its more effective to just select a layer/individual color and fuck with the hue/saturation/etc until it looks good. when i color, esp when its not turning out how i wanted to, i rely on shifting colors A LOT. n also mixing colors together using a blending brush and then colorpicking the intermediate color. very useful

-for the most part i stick to uncolored pencil doodles on like, notebook paper (even though i have some fancy supplies X[ one day) but i LOVE making things with clay, wish it was more accessible to do at home. i have a handful of clay animal statues and stuff that i made in my ceramics class in high school. would looove to do more

-because my poses tend to be very pushed/cartoony using references of real people isnt always useful (though obv knowing the basics of anatomy always helps) so in those cases ill use other cartoony art i like as inspiration, i try to see what i like about their poses nd emulate that with my own. sometimes when im struggling ill just do a bunch of studies where i copy art i like to try to get a feel for what im missing. mostly ive realized i like when the pose conveys some level of like, volume and taking up a 3D space (which im still definitely not a master of but bullshitting it can be fun). and i also like to have a balance of curved and angular shapes. sometimes i try to just do a pose that conveys a specific emotion or i just make shit up lol

alsooooo i cant reccomend aimless doodling enough! just random shapes, turning the random shapes into creatures, trying and trying and trying different ways to draw something until you like it, i feel like the things my hand makes when i shut my brain off and just scribble can inspire me as well, and i try to emulate whatever i made by chance while doodling. and if your doodles turn out better in traditional i tend to consider using a photo of a drawing as a way to skip the "preliminary sketch" phase nd drawing a rough sketch over that which i then use for my drawing (or just directly color since i draw very fast/lazy...)

#long answer but i wanted to give good answers to everything!!!#thank you again!!!#and i hope i helped #yayyy talking about art #ask

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phoenixblack89 · 1 year ago

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Ya know you'd think someone who does a lot involving the Internet for their work (promotion and selling etc) would be aware of reverse image search.

Rant ahead.

Especially when they're claiming they're the original artist.

I mean I knew for sure id seen some of the art my friend claims she's the original artist of is by other people. I figured that it was merely practice (this was a few years ago now bare that in mind it's around 2014 time before I even started posting mine online again)

However around 2020 she began selling pieces she'd drawn on fb and at car boot sales (think of craft fairs but not just craft if youre not from the UK) and made a fair amount of money. Enough to begin to do her current business of handmade paint as well as her actual legit job of being a promotion assistant for a disco/bouncy house/dj business.

And she stopped selling her art and didn't post it anywhere but would show me. And it got me a tad suspicious cos she seen me posting mine and while I don't have a massive following for my art the few people who interact make me smile if I've had a bad day.

She recently began asking if I'd help her get back into the swing of social media for her artwork. She said she didn't have time for taking photos of her art and do the business photography, I offered to go and take the photos and send them via email. Which I did because I'm a good friend and wanted to be supportive.

However....

I did notice that her style was inconsistent. You can tell when my friend has truly drawn something and when she's copied. I mean this in the nicest way but she can not for the life of her draw faces.

All her humans look like pugs. There's not a lot of facial definition around key structural places like the eyes and nose. The nose is always a big give away for me. I have given her pointers on them in the past and I can see a little improvement. And she does have some sketches that I can see she's worked on and made notes on to make progress.

It's kinda like she gave up on her art and didn't improve past senior school with it. That is probably the best way I can describe how I see her skill level. It's stuck in final year of school.

Now the art thief issue is that she loves anime, and Disney, and pokemon, and digimon. And I have reverse image searched her art work of these fandoms.

All are available to find online with much better quality of work.

There's also a rather well known youtuber whose arkwork she has taken and sold for her own profit. Which I cannot prove as she cleared the fb profile she used to sell it on completely recently.

And I know she is still doing this type of behaviour currently.

I really don't know what to do about this. I've asked her point blank before are you tracing/using this person's such and such as reference and got told a short sharp no. Same as when I ask if she's still sleeping with her employer really.

I rarely show her what I'm working on for this exact reason.

She's also the reason why I don't have any of my artwork prior to 2006. She borrowed my file to draw one of my earliest ocs and her mother threw it out cos she had the bright idea to put my artwork (a very full arch lever file full) into a carrier bag to bring back to me instead of leavijng it on her desk. Her mother assumed it was trash and away it went. It's the one thing I will never forgive her mother for EVER!

#art theif #phoenix rambles #fml #Best friend is a moron #Who lacks several morals and needs a good lot of sense shook into her

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mpathicoracle · 2 years ago

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ok so i havent actually drawn out this place yet, been meaning to, might do it in the meantime while my shitposts about this non-canon boiling isles town of mine get traction. (set it under a Keep Reading for TOH season 3 spoilers). gonna underline places and stuff so its easier to follow along (so i can sketch it out properly later). if anyone wants to attempt at drawing this place tho have at it id love to see dsghgfj i did my best at describing it

but anyways ive dubbed it Harper's Haven, it's known for it's predominant population of Bards, and has what's considered the Bard Coven Center. the Bard Coven Center was once known as the Bard College, and was once a place where both Bard-magic practitioners and Illusionists would attend to further their knowledge, essentially a higher education place for music and arts (INCLUDING THEATER *coughs at illusionists being good at that shit, i.e. Graye*). but when belos took over, he insisted it would be solely for Bards and made it the central location for Bard Coven witches

nowwww another fun thing is that, not only is Harper's Haven a sole location/gathering place for Bards of all genres, it also has a pretty strong population of Construction witches. cuz. yknow. gotta have event staff to make concert spaces as needed

Harper's Haven is located by the left shoulder of the Titan (a good distance away from the arm that belos made rise into the sky. talk about destruction in the nearby area lmfao), but a good enough distance away from the Titan Skull. So during the Day of Unity, they could somewhat see what was going on. and damn was that terrifying. There's a good amount of woods about 2 miles outside of the western side of town, including a good sized clearing...which used to be smaller...like. a lot smaller, but it got bigger thanks to a certain someone (aka my oc, who will be explained in a lotta lengthy detail in a separate post lmfao). Across from the Bard Coven Center building is a 12-story hotel, properly named the Harper's Haven Hotel, but more commonly called Triple H. A Construction Witch by the name of Caric Thorne created the hotel, having been a huge fan of of Bards and their magic (his son, Eran, also being a part of the Bard track at St. Epiderm's...yea he travels a good distance but its worth it, fairly certain Epiderm's has the best Bard track compared to Hexside and Glandus). Caric Thorne and Crane were. Close. sorta. havent rly decided but hey, he's favorable with the Bard Coven as a Construction witch so good enough lmfao. It's not a super giant town, compared to Latissa and Bonesborough, but it's still a decent size, with plentiful of concert halls and locations.

Bard Coven Center and Triple H are right about in the center of town, directly across the street from one another. For some reason Triple H is the only sorta inn/hotel/etc in the entire place. that just means Triple H gets hella good business...and is constantly busy. but eh, worth it. probably why a lot of the Bards like Caric Thorne so much lmfao. He's also super friendly, acts like a dad/grandpa to pretty much everyone. We stan One(1) somewhat elderly Construction witch.

Post-WAD, the Bard Coven Center returned to its origins, but deciding on its new name: Harper's Haven University of Music and the Arts. The aforementioned clearing 2 miles outside town greatly enhanced in size and became a later well-known outdoor concert space, and once a year, starting about 3 months after belos's defeat, it's host to the Bard Collective Charity Concert, an annual gathering of Bard musicians; the concert lasts all day from morning to the middle of the night (and sometimes into the early morning of the next day depending on length of songs...and excitement lmao).

anyway if anyone wants to know more bout Harper's Haven lemme know. look out for the rant about my Bard oc bc theyre a fckin legend and i love them dearly, theyre the reason for the clearing existing (was their practice area at first for Reasons) and donated it for the annual charity concert.

#m rambles #owl house #the owl house #toh #owl house fandom #toh hcs #technically it counts as a headcanon if i made it up lmfao #the boiling isles #gonna tag it as ->#harper's haven #so i can keep this post saved lmfao

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orcsamizdat · 2 years ago

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fuddworld

when mom told me we were going to fuddworld over winter break, i couldn't believe it. for as long as i can remember i've idolized elmer fudd. every year for halloween i'd dress up as him, the rumpled hat, hunting jacket, i even borrowed my dad's gun. i would imitate elmer fudd at school. "say youw pwayers wabbit," id say, holding out my arms in the shape of a rifle. it never warded off the beatings from my classmates, but at least i kept my pride intact.

as the day of our trip approached, i experienced severe insomnia. id pace around my bedroom, chanting "kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit" under my breath. in my sketchbook, i drew a few crude sketches of my hated rival, bugs bunny, and crossed out his eyes with a black sharpie. in the light of moon outside my window, his savage grin filled me with erotic disquiet.

the drive to fuddworld took three hours. the park was located on the grounds of an old factory where they used to make processed lasagna. rumor had it the facility had shut down because the ground beef in the readimeals was actually cat. as we drove, i played the game where you pretend the shadows you see beside the ride are creatures, chasing behind you. one of the shadows looked to me like a feral bugs bunny, slavering after me on all fours.

when we got to the park, my mom handed me my ticket and told me she waited in the car. i wasn't particularly surprised. she's always supported my interests, but i know she can't stand elmer.

the attractions at fuddworld were about what you'd expect. i rode the fuddcoaster, played a few rounds of wack-a-wabbit, and bought a themed dessert in the shape of elmer fudd's head. some kids might have found the experience disappointing, but i knew that true fudd-enthusiasts were few and far between. the park must've been working with a limited budget, and i was just grateful it existed.

the sun began to set. i turned to walk towards the exit when i felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. "hey kid." it was Blue Fudd, one of the heroes from the short lived super sentai show "Fudd Force Five". or a guy dressed up like Blue Fudd anyway. i raised my hand in a Fudd salute, and he returned my gesture. then he asked: "you hate the wabbit, right?". i nodded. there was no way to be sure, but was certain he smiled at me. "good. thewes something i want to show you."

i followed him, past the Fudd Tank, through the hall of Fudds, and behind a concession stand into a hallway marked "staff". the air inside felt intensely muggy, and as we pressed on i started sweating profusely. "how much further is it?" i asked. he ignored me.

after what felt like hours, we reached another door, this time unmarked. Blue Fudd turned to me. "this is whewe the magic happens," he said. he stepped back, and gestured at me to turn the knob. with some amount of trepidation, i did, and stepped into a dimly lit room with mechanical equipment everywhere.

stepping further inside, i looked up to see a large winch operated trolley. something was lashed to the rail, and as my eyes adjusted, i realized it was bugs. his eyes had been painted over, just like in my drawing. he wasnt moving. suddenly, the trolley mechanism started moving, carrying bugs towards what appeared to be a series of hydraulic arms. it took a few seconds for me to realize they were saws, and by the time i did, the job had been done.

Blue Fudd tapped me on the shoulder again. i glanced up at him, ashen-faced. instead of saying anything, he handed me a package wrapped in brown paper, and gestured again for me to leave.

i wandered back to the car in a daze. my mom didnt ask me where id been, but i could tell she was concerned. by the time we got home, it was nearly midnight. without saying "sweet dreams", i dashed up to my bedroom and locked the door tightly. lying on my bed, heart pounding, i opened the package.

inside was a single package of frozen lasagna. on the front of the box was a cartoon version of elmer fudds face. the speech bubble trailing from his lips read "made fwom one hundwed pewcent weal beef!"

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sleekervae · 4 years ago

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The Neighbour [2.1]

Masterlist

A/N: OH MY GOD I LIVE!!!! Also, spoiler ahead for The Bastards graphic novel; not so much plot-wise but there are a few lines from the book. Indented paragraph is credited to Emerson Barrett and XoBillie.

“I have loved you from the moment you first smiled at me,

Giddy, mischievous, not ever looking for trouble yet somehow

Trouble has a way of always finding you.”

Remington stared wistfully at the view from Eva’s balcony, knowing how self-conscious she was when he watched her as she read a piece. In his lap sat Pluto, satisfied to have his ears stroked while he took his afternoon nap.

He couldn’t explain it, but somehow Remington found he was always transported to a new dimension when he heard Eva’s poetry. It was so soft and delicate, he could appreciate it the same way one does the petals of the first flowers of spring. Everything about her writing was so soothing, now a familiar notion that he never wanted to let go of.

“You’ve ignited a fire in my belly with embers sparking and popping

Under the intense pressure of your dark eyes

And the bubbling pearls of your laugh.

I loved you when I first ran into your open arms and marvelled

“My God, you feel just like home”

And with a few simple touches the open sores on my skin

Recede and heal, and their pain is a faint memory in comparison

To the electricity your fingertips carry.

I loved you when we were flying over the streets,

Vibrant yellow, orange and purple coating my eyes and

Painting you into Monet’s Twilight, Venice.

You’re a renaissance masterpiece that has been imprinted

Into the soft folds of my brain...”

Eva set her book down having finished the incomplete piece, watching her boyfriend with a dazed smile on his face as the echo of her prose sunk in. She simpered to herself with giddy.

“You know, I always have mixed feelings about reading you my poetry,” she said.

“Why’s that?” Remington asked, “It’s very good,”

“I know that. And you know that,” she smirked, “And I know that you know that I’m low-key inflating your ego with this shit,”

Remington chuckled, reaching out across the small table to take her smaller hand in his, “Would it put you at ease if I told you my ego is too far gone?”

Eva rolled her eyes and snapped her notebook shut, “Maybe I should start writing poems about the things you do I find annoying?”

“You say that like it’s bad,” Remington shrugged, giddy when she shook her head in dismay at his teasing.

Pluto continued to lie motionless in Remington’s lap, assuming the sphinx position as he had his ears rubbed. However, the tabby’s eyes sprung open when a guttural vibration shook through the small wooden table, disturbing the peaceful afternoon.

Eva glanced at the familiar glare of ‘Blocked Caller ID’ appearing, refraining from showing little disdain as she declined the call. Remington however was curious; for the past few months he’d seen Eva decline calls like that over and over again. The first few times he figured it was telemarketers, or scam calls. However, he noticed how they came frequently in the weeks; more prominent on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “It’s blocked for a reason,”

“But if you blocked the caller... then you have to know who it is so you could block them,” he reasoned, “Right?”

Eva responded in silence, taking her phone and quickly tucking it beneath her thigh. Remington stared at her pointedly.

“Eva, you get these calls nearly every day,” he said, “If it’s something bad... you know you can trust me with anything,”

“I know...” Eva nodded slowly, exhaling, “It’s my mom,”

Eva had been exceptionally non-forth coming when it came to her life back in Seattle, only remembering hearing about her friends and family once or twice. He respected her privacy, though he couldn’t help but be a tad curious. She fit the overall profile as someone who was running away from her problems.

“You blocked your mom?” he asked, somewhat in disbelief though from what he understood of their relationship he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Eva nodded, “Yep. Either she can’t take a hint or she’s way more stubborn than I am,”

Remington looked across the street to his own house, the gentle breeze billowing through the sheer curtain in the living room he remembered his mom helping him and Emerson pick out.

“Why don’t you speak to her?”

“Why don’t you speak to your dad?”

“I told you already,”

Pluto then leapt off of Remington’s lap and landed on the table, crossing over to his owner and staring at her with his big, soulful eyes. Eva smiled and gently scratched his ears.

“She showed up to my graduation, which would have been fine... but she showed up with her new husband and a kid,” she admitted.

Remington raised his eyebrows, “Her own kid?”

“Yeah. She got married to her co-pilot and they have a ten-year-old son together. She abandoned our family and started a new one,” Eva shook her head, “I guess being married to a chem teacher wasn’t as exciting for her,”

“What did your dad do?” he asked.

“That’s the best part. He knew about it and chose not to tell me. I just couldn’t believe it,” she replied, “But the fact that she just... she disappeared for years and then showed up again with a new family -- at my college graduation! How could I possibly celebrate after seeing that?”

“And you haven’t spoken to her since?” he asked tentatively.

“No. The way I saw it, she walked out of my life with no qualms. So... I walked out of hers. And it doesn’t matter how much she phones me; I don’t have time for disingenuine people,”

Remington reached over to take her hand that was resting on the table, stroking gently over the bumps of her knuckles, “Did you... did you meet her son?”

It was then Eva looked truly bummed out, “I think that’s the part I regret most. I mean -- he’s a kid. It’s not his fault his mom is a flake,”

Remington nodded, “Do you still love your mom?”

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “Call me a coward, but avoidance is just easier to deal with,”

“You’re not a coward,” Remington assured, “I get it. But... speaking from experience, you can only avoid your issues for so long. As hard as it may be, you might want to address these problems sooner rather than later. I promise you won’t regret it,”

“Rem --”

“She’s your mom. And obviously the fact that she’s still blowing up your phone should tell you something,”

Eva sat quietly, letting his words sink in. She knew Remington was right; knowing what she knew about him she also knew that he wasn’t just talking out of his ass. She appreciated that he understood where she was coming from, she just wished that his solution could be as easy as it sounded.

“I will call her back... eventually. My dad wants me to come home for Christmas, I guess I have to,” she chuckled sheepishly, warranting a sympathetic smile on his part, “Just... not today,”

“That’s okay,” Remington said, gently squeezing her hand, “It’s all gonna’ work out, Eva,”

“You can’t promise that,” she pointed out.

He shrugged, “Let’s not call it a promise, then. Let’s call is a whim,”

July had faded into August, as did pandemic fatigue. The streets were becoming busier, the business’ were seeing more intake in revenue, and people were slowly coming back out to try and enjoy was little of a summer was left.

And while most people were doing their best to social distance and keep safe, the cases continued to grow. Safe in the confines of the house, Eva sat at the table and read over the final print draft of the band’s graphic novel. Eva was blown away, completely immersed from the plot line to the artwork. She was supposed to be working with Emerson on his latest project, yet afforded herself a small break.

Across from her, Emerson was reading through Eva’s Tumblr blog, blown away at the amount of work she had posted since mid-June. Every prose and line was so vivid, painting a clear picture of her emotions. On the one hand, he couldn't help but be a little uncomfortable, knowing the sensual poems he was reading was about his older brother. On the other hand, everything was so poised and punctual -- he figured he may borrow some stuff to try on Shy some time.

Eva turned to a new page littered with more text than it was visuals, but on the edge of the left page was a stunning, very accurate sketch of Remington. His hair looked so different in the form of a basic sketch, yet those eyes, that face still captured all the majesty and curiosity within. She was unable to help that her fingers glossed over the lines that made up his torso with all his tattoos visible, tracing down the length of his arm to the vanity beside him and back up again. The cold paper singed her fingertips as she read the prose beside the sketch, a small smile creeping onto her lips with every word that echoed in her brain.

“...Emerson thought that if hell and heaven had a bastard son, that it would be Remington. His brother had an angelic-looking face with big almond-shaped eyes. His eyes were brown but could shift into black, and melt into the iris. It was a look that Emerson though the angel of hell would be proud of. But then, in the right light, those dark eyes changed and came to glimmer like the purest of gold - a look angels would swarm for. Apart from the eyes, his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him...”

Eva had to give credit to Emerson for his writing, capturing his brother in such a way that she herself would have. And like the flip of a switch, the memory of Remington’s eyes flashed through her mind, shining of gold and beauty the way the words had echoed to her.

In another blink his eyes turned into the eerie shadow of black, flashing a look he’d throw her way when his lust for her consumed him. In one paragraph, Remington had been portrayed as a killer from hell, offering flowers to his peers instead of knives.

Though, all romanticism was put aside as Eva read the paragraph again, noting the last line she had skimmed over quickly:

“...his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him. The rest of him was not...”

There as no denying how cruel the world had been to Remington and his brothers, though the more she pondered the more she realized she had never seen the type of dejection in his face the way Emerson had described. He always appeared -- not happy, per say -- but content with his life.

Emerson looked up from his tablet, noticing the way Eva’s eyes were glued to her own reading, her hand placed protectively over the sketch of Remington.

“You okay, Eva?” he asked.

She glanced at the youngest brother, shaken by the break in silence. But she smiled reassuringly and flipped the page, despite not having finished reading the last.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, “It’s absolutely beautiful. I did make note of a couple grammatical errors... I hope you don’t mind,”

“It’s fine,” he grinned, “Deadline for rewrites is on Friday,”

“If you'd like, I could go through the rest for you. I’m in between articles right now,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Promise I won’t post spoilers for fans,”

“Might have to get you an NDA,” he giggled merrily, “I’ll send the file over. You ever work with InDesign?”

“A few times, yeah...” she trailed off, a new train of thought lingering in the back of her mind, “Emerson... can I ask you something sorta’ personal?”

Emerson raised an eyebrow, “How personal?” he asked.

She breathed out carefully, “Remington had told me about your dad --”

“What did he say?” Emerson asked quickly, his cheerful demeanour quickly souring.

“Just that he hadn’t been in the picture for a while,” she said assuringly, “Nothing else,”

Emerson began to relax a little, “Okay. What’s your question, Eva?”

“Say he out of the blue started making an effort to get back in touch with you... would you take that offer?” she asked.

“Nope,” he replied shortly, “Because if he wanted back in our lives, it would be for his own gain,”

Eva stayed silent, his quick answer all she needed to know that she shouldn’t push the envelope. Emerson saw the fall in her face, feeling a tad bad for being so short with Eva.

“Sorry...” he grimaced, “I just... I don’t like to talk about my dad,”

“I understand,” Eva nodded, “I’m sorry I brought it up,”

“... Why did you?” Emerson asked curiously.

Eva exhaled, her fingers picking at the edge of the glossy page, “Just getting room different perspectives. My mom and I don’t exactly have a Gilmore Girls kind of relationship. I’ve just been thinking ‘cause she’s been trying to get a hold of me for so long,”

“Was she nice to you? When you were younger?” he asked.

“I don’t really remember,” Eva replied truthfully, “She was -- superficial. There but not really there,”

He cocked his head, his wispy black hair falling over his eyes, “So... you’re trying to figure out if you want a relationship with your mom?”

Before she could reply, they both turned when they heard footsteps echoing in the hall towards them. Michael had appeared, panning his camera around for new footage for the band’s Youtube channel. Eva was unsure whether she pay attention or turn back to the book and pretend not to see.

“What’re you two working on?” he asked, focusing the lens on Emerson so Eva was just out of the shot. Michael respected that Eva was a touch camera shy.

“Top secret,” Emerson replied promptly, “And if we told you, we’d have to kill you,”

“I won’t unleash that wrath,” Michael chuckled, “Don’t have too much fun!”

“We’ll try,” Emerson muttered as he sauntered into the next room.

Eva closed the book and pushed it aside, sighing to herself as she pulled back her laptop and opened Emerson’s project. The youngest brother watched her unabashedly, picking off the air of uncertainty swirling around her.

“Does Remington know your mom keeps calling you?” he asked.

“He was kind of curious as to why I kept getting all these blocked calls,” she replied.

“What did he say?”

“That everything was going to be okay,” she nodded slowly, “You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that in my life and... it’s not. So, I’m super inclined to believe him,”

Emerson swallowed, “My brother has a tendency to want to take care of everybody. And it’s not a bad quality. But he also doesn’t know how he can make it better,” he said.

“It’s not up to him to make it better,” Eva declared.

“But he loves you,” Emerson stated, “And just because of that, he’ll want to help you find your way out of this. When Remington commits to someone, he tends to go one-hundred-percent all in,”

Eva simpered to herself, “I appreciate him. He’s -- definitely been a plot twist,”

“Good or bad plot twist?”

“Very good,”

Emerson smiled as she started to type on her keyboard, some of Eva’s vexations visibly released when the topic had changed to Remington. As she appreciated Remington, Emerson appreciated Eva for all that she’d done for him. He had this gut intuition, a simmering notion that Eva was going to be sticking around for a long time. And he had absolutely no problem with that.

“Can I ask you a serious question, though?” he asked.

“Of course,” Eva nodded.

“Do you like his blue hair...?” he asked with a drawling disdain.

The young brunette turned her head in the direction of the distant chatter of the boys.

“I take it by your tone you’re not a fan,” she said.

Emerson scoffed, “He’s taking me back to the Kool-Aid dye trend,”

“Oh, Emerson,”

#palaye royale #palaye royale imagine #palaye fanart #palaye positivity #Palaye Royale fic #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #Remington Leith fic #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #band blog #band imagines #band imagine blog #poetry #domesticity #original series #original story #original female character

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bitchin-beskar · 5 years ago

Text

Spidey Sense

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: So the original prompt for this was something along the lines of: "hey, what if Joe and Nicky keep pictures of each other in their wallets to remind them of why they're doing this whenever they have to be apart" and this was born from that. Enjoy!

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please like and reblog! I love feedback!!!

Gazing down at the image of the love of his life, forever immortalized by his hand, never failed to bring a smile to Joe’s lips. His drawings would never be as magnificent, as breathtaking as looking at Nicky with his own two eyes, but whenever they were apart, he had to make do with images drawn by his hand.

Slipping the small slip of paper back into his wallet, Joe flipped it shut and slid it into one of his many pockets. He hated going on missions without Nicky, but this particular job had required his expertise in infiltrating one building while Nicky’s skills as a sniper were required four blocks away. It was unfortunate, but not the first time it had happened, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

When Copley had informed them of the job, he’d made sure they knew that he’d been unable to get any estimates on the number of guards they’d have to deal with. It made Joe uneasy, but they’d gone through with it anyways. Some tech company was trying to use their software to hack into the Pentagon to steal the locations of missile silos located all over the US. The government was very concerned about this threat, and so Copley had called them in.

Joe was supposed to create a distraction at the main headquarters, drawing the company’s attention and thus, allowing Nicky to eliminate guards at the warehouse that housed the company's main servers, which would then allow Nile and Booker to get in and plant explosives. Boom! No more servers, no more threat.

Nicky had been worried about Joe causing a distraction when they didn’t know the amount of guards, but Joe had tried to soothe his beloved’s fears as best he could.

“Habibi,” he’d said, hand resting on Nicky’s waist, holding him close. “I will be fine. And if anything were to go wrong, I know that you will not allow them to hold me for long.”

Nicky had leaned his forehead against Joe’s, one of his many, silent, I love you’s that he bestowed upon Joe throughout the day. “I would prefer it if nothing goes wrong.”

“As would I.”

***

Nicky had been right to worry, and Joe knew he would never hear the end of it. There had been twice as many guards as Copley’s estimate, and even with Joe’s healing, and centuries worth of experience, he’d quickly been overwhelmed. They’d knocked him out–although, perhaps they’d killed him, Joe wasn’t entirely sure–and when he woke, he was chained to a metal chair, bolted in the middle of an all white room.

His first thought had been something along the lines of how poor of a choice it was to put him in an all white room, as it undoubtedly would become quite the grotesque scene when Nicky arrived. Blood clashed so horribly on white walls, and Nicky could get quite ferocious whenever Joe was threatened.

His second thought was on the fact that even while bound, he could tell that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. That, in of itself was of no consequence, practically everything in it was fake–it was hard to have valid ID’s and such when you were an immortal warrior born nine hundred years ago–but there was one precious item in that wallet.

The drawing of Nicky was one of many, but that didn’t mean it was any less special. Joe had saved every single scrap of paper he’d ever drawn Nicky’s likeness on, and while some had aged beyond recognition, he hadn’t had the heart to let any of them go. He knew that Nicky similarly had many, many photographs and paintings of him. Nicky always professed that he wasn’t as artistically inclined as Joe, but every time Nicky sketched him, Joe could see the love and care that went into each piece of art, and he fell in love with Nicky all over again.

He was jolted out of his musings by the door opening violently, slamming against the wall. He didn’t react outwardly, instead analyzing each of the men that walked into the room. Ten men entered, the last, an older man with grey in his hair, shut the door behind him, making a show of locking it. Joe wanted to scoff. These men didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and they would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Who sent you?”

Joe laughed. So this is how they were doing this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man scowled, the expression twisting his features into a mask of hatred. “I don’t like your attitude, kid.”

Joe laughed even harder at that, his body shaking with mirth, although his eyes were cold as ice. “I’m not quite as young as I look,” he chuckled under his breath, watching as the other men shuffled awkwardly. They clearly feared the older man, and he could see in some of their eyes that they feared for him if he continued to antagonize their leader.

There was a sharp crack, and Joe’s head snapped to the side, the backhand delivered with an impressive amount of force. It might’ve hurt, if Joe hadn’t lived as long as he had, and had experienced far worse. Still, he kept up appearances. The longer these men were unaware of his healing and his immortality, the better.

“Who sent you?”

Joe grins, the perfect picture of innocence. “Who says anyone sent me? Perhaps I decided to come all by myself?” He probably shouldn’t be antagonizing this man, but he’s having too much fun.

The man snaps his fingers, and one of the other men rushes forward to hand him something. Joe recognizes it as his wallet, watching as the man flips through it, pulling out his driver’s license. “Joseph Jones? Is that even your name?” The man scoffs. “Why were you trying to break in?”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in.” The man looks confused for all of two seconds before Joe opens his mouth again. “I’d already broken in. Your men found me after I got in.” Joe can’t help but brag a little, because, well, their security was shit, but also because he was trying to stall for time, so that Nile and Booker could get in and out without any issues. “You really shouldn’t have picked white walls you know, white stains so easily–”

He gets another backhand for his efforts, and the man in front of him actually growls. He goes back to pawing through Joe’s wallet, and Joe can feel his heart stop when the man pulls out Joe’s drawing of Nicky.

The man looks at it, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to think at first. He studies the drawing, and Joe can feel sparks of anger igniting in his chest, although he tries not to show it. The man suddenly laughs, and it’s a cruel, mocking laugh. He shoves the drawing at one of the other men before turning back to Joe, a cruel smirk on his face.

“How cute,” he sneers. “Mr. Jones keeps a picture of his boyfriend in his wallet.” The man spits on the ground at Joe’s feet. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Anger clouds Joe’s vision, bubbling up in his chest like rising magma before bursting forth from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Nicolo is not my boyfriend,” he spits, fire burning in his eyes. “You are a narrow-minded, childish, little man. Nicolo means more to me than all the stars in the sky. He has been my light, my heart, for over nine hundred years, and he will continue to be my light and my heart for nine hundred more. I have fought a thousand battles by his side, I have gone to war to protect him just as he has for me. There will always be those who try to separate us, those who cannot possibly understand the depth of my love for that man, and yet,” he pauses, a dark smirk on his face as some of the men step back in fear. “Those who try always end up dead. No, Nicolo is not my boyfriend. He’s all and he’s more.”

***

Nicky was in the middle of dismantling his rifle when he felt it. It didn’t even take him a moment before he recognized the feeling. It was the feeling he always got whenever Joe would make grand declarations of love, which, admittedly, happened quite often. While Nicky was more reserved when it came to lyrical speeches, Joe had no such qualms, and would gladly shout to the heavens–and had done so, multiple times–about his love for Nicky.

Just as he was reaching for his phone to call Copley–because clearly something had to be wrong if Joe was waxing poetic about Nicky when Nicky wasn’t even in the same building–the phone buzzed.

Nicky didn’t even have time to greet Copley before the man was launching into an explanation. “Nicky, I’m sorry, there were too many guards, Joe’s been captured. They’re holding him somewhere in the building, but I don’t have eyes inside.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sending a quick message to Nile and Booker, informing them of what happened, Nicky finished packing up his gear quickly, leaving his spot on the roof and descending the fire escape as fast–and safely, he’d be no good to Joe if he executed a swan dive off the fifth story–as possible.

***

Joe could feel his mouth filling with blood, so he leaned forward and spat some on the ground. Apparently the older man hadn’t been too pleased with being insulted, and he ordered his men to get answers out of Joe, while he watched.

The beating, while not one of the worst he’d experienced, had not been pleasant. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed to realize Joe was slowly healing from their attacks, but sooner or later they would get suspicious. He hoped one of the others would get here before that happened, he really didn’t like dying alone.

He’d just been punched repeatedly in the stomach when the man doing said punching stopped. Joe was confused, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about a reprieve.

“What?” Barked the older man, pushing himself off the wall and stalking forward. “What is it?” The younger man shook his head, looking around.

“Did anyone else–?”

He cuts off when a loud bang sounds from outside the door. All of the men turn to look at the door, missing as a smile spreads across Joe’s bloody lips. Another bang sounds, louder than before, closer than before, and some of the men jump.

“What do you think it is?” One of them whispers, and before anyone can answer, something heavy slams into the bolted door from the outside. The whole door seems to shake in it’s frame, and it’s only made worse by the sudden scream of pain.

There’s a sudden onslaught of noise, bangs, screams, gunshots, and crashes and–was that a cat screeching? The men all back away slowly from the door, hands on their weapons, but nothing could have prepared them for the way the door was blasted off its hinges, flying into the room and taking out two of the men.

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire, taking out three more of the men before they can react. Watching their companions fall around them, the remaining four men all aim for the door, shooting wildly at a target they can’t even see. The older man, the leader, unlocks Joe’s cuffs only to pull him upright, pressing a knife against his neck, using Joe’s body as a human shield.

Joe rolls his eyes. If only this man knew how ineffective Joe would be at being a human shield. He watches with interest as the men stop firing, only for a knife to fly through the air and embed itself in one of the guard’s skulls. The others start firing again, but even though it's three against one, they’re no match for a furious Nicolo di Genova. Bursting into the room in a flurry of movement, Joe watches, fascinated–and more than a little turned on–as Nicky becomes a whirlwind, attacking violently with his longsword, cutting down the three men–with violent efficiency–who stand between him and Joe.

The older man presses his blade tighter against Joe’s neck, but Nicky doesn’t even blink. Joe stomps on the man’s foot, and Nicky puts a bullet in his brain, quick as you please. The knife cuts Joe as he moves, but it’s certainly not life-threatening, so he’s unconcerned.

Joe looked around the room, taking in the blood and guts and gore that decorate the white walls and floor and ceiling. “I told them that white was a bad choice, blood stands out far too much–” Nicky strides across the room, and kisses Joe hard, before he can get another word out. Joe grasps Nicky’s face with his blood covered hands, bringing him even closer, moaning as his beloved steals the breath from his lungs.

Nicky pulls away, but only just, his forehead resting against Joe’s. “Yusuf, amore mio, are you badly hurt?” His eyes rove over Joe’s face, checking for any and all injuries.

“No, habibi,” Joe sighs. “The marks those men left are quickly fading. I am alright.” Nicky kisses Joe again, uncaring of the fact that Joe’s lips still taste of blood.

They stand there for longer than they probably should, and when they finally part, Joe asks the question that had been pestering him since he first became aware of Nicky’s arrival. “How did you know so quickly, Nicolo? They’ve had me for less than an hour.”

The look on Nicky’s face is one of fond exasperation, one that Joe has been privy to many, many times. “You were being incurably romantic again, weren’t you?”

Joe grins, his eyes shining as he looks at his love. “They dared insult you in my presence, hayati. Besides, you love it.”

Nicky sighs. “I do.”

Joe cups his face once more and kisses him, pouring nine hundred years of love and affection and desire into the kiss. He would defend his Nicolo to the ends of the earth, against anyone and anything that dared try to come between them.

***

“I do not understand, Nile. Why do you keep referring to me as a cross between a human and an arachnid?”

“You have spidey sense Nicky, of course I’m going to call you Spiderman! Except instead of sensing danger, you sense whenever Joe’s delivering a love speech worthy of Shakespeare!”

“Hey! Do not compare me to that jumped-up English playwright–”

“Shut up, Joe!”

#The Old Guard #Joe x Nicky #Fluff #Not even really any angst #Like joe gets captured?#but he's not worried?#joe is an incurable romantic #nicky loves it #nile thinks it's fucking hilarious #writing #fics

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6480n · 4 years ago

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[ID in alt text]

Just finished this art of my OC, Jira! He’s my main OC and sort of serves as my persona in many cases, so I’m super excited to be able to share this drawing. Since this is my first time posting him on this blog, I’m going to talk about his history and share a *bunch* of drawings under the cut (as well as WIP images from this drawing).

Text on his shorts says เสือทอง, or “golden tiger”, and he’s carrying bagged soymilk with tapioca, which is a common way to get soymilk in thailand!

The idea for this drawing is one I’ve had in my head for a few months, but wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull off since I don’t have a lot of practice with perspective shots. I sort of wanted to give him a “casually defiant” look, as well as taking the opportunity to design a fun outfit based around colorful muay thai shorts. Unlike myself, I envision Jira as someone who primarily wears shorts (often with an incongruous top like a long coat), so I love designing his outfits because of the unique balance shorts give.

[ID: Two sketches from previous stages of the first drawing, one being a rough full-body sketch and the other being a refined sketch from the torso-up. end ID]

(^ I like his face in this sketch better than the final, lol…) I’m super happy with how this drawing turned out, especially the coloring and shading. I normally have the instinct to put my shading and highlights on another layer (borne from years of drawing art for petsites…), but I painted all the colors and shading on one layer and I’m really happy with how it turned out. I also added some sort of clip studio filter which gave everything a slight amount of color variance, which looks really cool!

Now, about the character himself: I made this guy back in about 2016 when I was getting back into Animal Crossing for the second time. I needed a secondary character for storage, so I invented Jira (who at the time was named 6480 since that was the username I was starting to switch over to), and gave him a connection to my then-main character (plum/Clove, who I’ll post about later) by way of a sort of flirty friendship. I thought it would be cool if they were like, friends who had houses on opposite sides of the same river and waved to each other and ate breakfast together and held hands and like….. yeah 🥺

Jira is super important to me for a ton of reasons, mostly because he developed as I grew up and the transition I made towards using him as my persona instead of Clove represented a lot of changes in my life and my personality. As he developed and I needed to name him, I decided to make him Thai (he started out inadvertently white cause there was only one skintone in ACNL… cringe), which marked a point in time where I became more invested in my cultural background. When I made him a trans man, it represented that I had become more comfortable and proud of my transness. His personality, which was more casual and open than Clove’s, marked the change in my own personality and growth in confidence. And I was able to explore my own ideals of relationships through the one he had with Clove.

Now, it’s 2020 and my new Animal Crossing game has him as my main character and Clove (as well as a couple others) as my alternate! I’m super glad to be able to look back on this and mark the ways I’ve changed over the years, and it’s really interesting that both of my personas since 2014 have been because of the AC franchise.

Here’s some sketches (I haven’t actually made formalized art of him until now, except for one drawing as an anthro monkey which I will not be sharing rofl):

[ID: Digital reference sheet for Jira in Animal Crossing style, in various different poses. He has tan skin and light brown hair. Text on the image says: name: 6480 gender: [male symbol] birthday: Oct 17th personality: smug occuption: barista hobbies: fishing, cooking, model making style: basic/iconic best friend: Lopez end ID]

Section of a reference sheet I made for my four ACNL characters, set inside the universe of my AC island.

[ID: Black and white digital sketch of an Animal Crossing character. He’s wearing a long coat, black shorts, and a cow skull on his head. He’s surrounded by a bunch of small mushrooms and weeds, and he’s carrying some fishing poles in a bag. end ID]

Drawing of my ACNH outfit as it was in April (autumn on my southern hemisphere island)

[ID: Colored digital sketch of two Animal Crossing characters. They’re sleeping in neighboring futons. One has pale skin, short yellow hair, and a sunhat, while the other has light brown skin and short brown curly hair. end ID]

Drawing of my ACNH character and my best friend’s :-)

[ID: Black and white sketches of Jira with more realistic proportions. In one he’s wearing a very similar outfit as the first image in this post; in the other he’s wearing a raincoat, a cowboy hat, and shorts that almost reach the hem of the coat. end ID]

[ID: Colored bust sketch of Jira in an orange shirt. end ID]

Aaaaand I think that’s all the good art I have of him. I’m not expecting anyone to have read this far but uhm THANK YOU if you did… you’re my number 1 fan… Don’t judge what I said in this post too harshly, *so what* if I base my personality around a character that only exists in my own head? 😭 Anyways, have a great day, and thanks for reading my rambling!

#my art #digital art #design #original character #oc.jira #drawing #outfit design #casual wear #illustration #fashion #outfit #clothing #thai #artists on tumblr #in-depth

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nevernotwriting · 4 years ago

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You, Me, and Yancy | Chapter 1: A Proposition

Read me on AO3!

It had been a normal morning so far. Well, as normal as it could get when you worked for a kind but, quite frankly, sketchy group of people.

You pulled off of the freeway, making your way through crossroads and down a path you previously thought abandoned. After graduating from a master’s in cyber security from Caltech, you’d been lucky enough to land a job almost immediately after your project was handed in, meaning you didn’t have to haul yourself and your belongings all the way back home to the backwaters of Pennsylvania. Sure, you did have to haul yourself across Los Angeles in a giant moving van, but a couple of hours of California traffic was much better than a several thousand-mile journey across the States. Over the last few months, you’d settled nicely into a life you could call your own, filled with people from all walks of life, and with much warmer weather.

You smiled to yourself as you scanned your ID card at the gateway to your HQ, thinking of all the people you’d met so far at this bizarre yet wonderful job. There was your boss, for a start. She’d changed her name so many times that everyone lost track and instead settled on calling her ‘Shark’, which she welcomed with a hearty laugh and a flash of a mouth full of teeth. The name suited her, you thought.

You and some of your other colleagues also liked to use unusual codenames, both for privacy and for fun. There was Vakarian, who had an affinity for calibrating everyone’s computers and was a killer shot with a sniper rifle. Next was Shrike, who had named herself after a type of bird known for piercing its prey on thorn bushes. You decided not to ask her why she chose that name. For yourself, you settled on Zero, a reference to your almost lifelong affinity for binary code which led you down the tech path in the first place.

There were others who just chose to use their real names – Jasmine, Gareth, and Mark. You and Jasmine worked together regularly in the tech department, spending hours chatting in between your hacking sessions and gaining intel on building layouts for the heist experts. Jasmine had been on two heists herself, and always came in the next day talking at a million miles per hour about how fun it was, how it sent her adrenaline skyrocketing higher than any rollercoaster ever had.

By her mannerisms today, you guessed she’d been on a third heist last night. You’d been settled at your desk for all of two minutes when she waltzed in, placing a cup of coffee down for you and twirling in her chair with a gigantic grin on her face.

“Mornin’ Jazz,” you greeted her. “Another heist last night? How was it?”

Jasmine began her spiel before you could even reach a hand towards your coffee. She rambled on and on about the thrill of scaling buildings, how good her new night vision goggles were, and how she nearly got caught but managed to make it out right on schedule.

“Zero, you have to go,” she finished at last, taking a sip from her own cup. “You won’t regret it.”

You hesitated, shrugging your shoulders. “I dunno, Jazz. I’m more of a behind the scenes tech monkey.” You’d been on a few scoping exhibitions, but that just involved sitting on a rooftop watching guard rotations until the early hours of the morning. You’d never done anything more adventurous, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to just yet.

She rolled her eyes, wheeling her chair closer to you. “But think about it. You could get some more up-close-and-personal time with Mark,” she whispered, nodding her head to your left.

You followed her gesture. Mark had just entered the office, dressed in all black. He took off his beanie and swept a hand through his dark hair. It immediately flopped forwards again, so he shook his head to one side. The action seemed to go in slow motion, and you tried not to stare.

Before you could chastise yourself for definitely staring, Mark’s eyes landed on yours. He shot you a warm smile that lit up his whole face, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled back, giving a little wave before swizzling round in your chair.

“No way,” you hissed in embarrassment, snatching up your coffee before it turned cold. As it turned out, it was still very much burning hot. You tried not to wince as you forced the liquid down.

“Why not?” She shot back. “Look, he’s clearly into you. He practically jumped at the opportunity to show you the ropes of all the heist gear, and to a rooftop night shift with you. You guys are always lingering by the water cooler together on breaks, giggling away like little schoolkids. And, Shrike told me he asked you out on a date last week.”

You nearly spat out your second mouthful of molten coffee. Jasmine sat back in her chair with a smug grin as you glared at her.

“How does she know that?!” You tried not to yell as Vakarian milled into the workplace, throwing around cheery greetings.

“You know Shrike,” Jasmine shrugged. “She gets around. She skimped on the details, though. So, what did he say exactly?”

You could see Jasmine wasn’t going to let this go. You sighed, mirroring Jasmine’s posture as you began to recount the details of that evening.

You got out of your chair and stretched triumphantly, knowing you were just about done for the day. The last thing you had to do was collect the blueprints you’d sketched up from the printer, then leave it on Shark’s desk for her to look at in the morning. You did just that, and dusted your hands off with a satisfied smile as you made your way down the corridor to the exit.

You’d been so caught up in your daydream of getting home, changing into your pyjamas, and curling up in front of the TV that you hadn’t realised that you weren’t the last one in the building. That is until you walked straight into another person.

You gasped at the abrupt contact, shutting your eyes as your prepared to hit the ground. The fall never came. A strong hand caught yours and pulled you upright with a gentle grunt of effort. When you opened your eyes, you were face to face with a kind smile and dark, inquisitive eyes.

Mark’s eyes.

Blood rushed to your face immediately, and you stumbled out an awkward apology.

“Jesus, s-sorry Mark. Didn’t realise you were still here.”

Mark just laughed. It was a deep, hearty laugh, but not an unkind one. “No problem Zero.”

Your eyes travelled back to his from where they had chosen to fixate on the floor. He was still smiling at you, and you managed to smile back sheepishly. His face only brightened as you curled out of your awkward posture to face him properly. He’d been incredibly sweet to you ever since you joined, and you two became even closer after many hours spent on that rooftop in the middle of the night a few weeks back. That night in particular really caused a stir in your feelings, and brought up a whirlwind of emotions you’d never felt before.

That whirlwind started all over again as you realised he was still holding your hand. You cleared your throat and he broke your shared gaze, letting go and scratching the back of his head.

“Hope I didn’t hurt you,” you said, gaining a small amount of bravery and dusting off his shoulders from where you’d collided. A hint of pink appeared on his cheeks at your action, but he covered it up with a barrage of his usual confidence.

“Me? Nah, I’m a big strooong man,” he replied, puffing out his chest and grunting in an exaggerated manner. He curled his biceps for an exaggerated effect, clearly trying to make you laugh.

And boy did he. You doubled over, failing to stifle a snort. Your face grew hotter at the embarrassing noise you hadn’t intended to make, but Mark seemed to revel in it, his grin growing wider with pride at getting such a strong reaction from you.

“Anyway,” he started again as you both calmed down from your shared laughter. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something.”

You raised your eyebrows and stayed silent, waiting.

Mark let out a short exhale, running a hand through his hair and then across his stubble. Despite the joy on his face mere seconds ago, he now looked a little uncertain. It wasn’t an expression that came naturally to him; he normally paraded around with a kind yet confident smile as he told you about the heists he’d pulled off in the past, about his family, and as he asked about yours. You’d never seen him like this before, and you didn’t know what to expect.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Look, I really like spending time with you here. Showin’ you all the gear, chatting over coffee, all the usual work stuff.” His voice was quiet. He cleared his throat again, taking a step closer to you and looking into your eyes once more.

“But I’d like to get to know you better, in some place that’s not work related. Would you like to go on a date sometime?”

Your mind screeched to a halt as you stood frozen on the spot. Did you hear him correctly? It sounded like Mark just asked you out on a date. Mark the heist expert, Mark the previous engineering student, Mark your very cute co-worker, wanted to go on a date with you.

You couldn’t lie to yourself - the thought had crossed your mind several times over the past few weeks. When he held out a hand to you after you fell flat on your ass when you failed to use the grappling gun. When his form lingered around yours as he taught you how to aim a tranquiliser pistol. When you sat on that rooftop together exchanging stories and his eyes never looked away as you started opening up to him. You just never expected it to actually… well, happen.

A gigantic grin, bigger than all those before, broke out onto your face. “Mark, I’d love to!”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Great!” He exclaimed, a relieved laugh escaping him. “When works best for you?”

You hesitated, remembering your schedule was pretty booked for the upcoming weekend. “In all honesty, I’m pretty busy this weekend. Family visiting,” you tried not to sound too negative. “But maybe after then?”

Mark nodded understandingly, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling on the spot. “Sure thing. I’m free most of the time, so whenever works for you, really.”

You smiled back, heart skipping beats as reality set in. You and Mark were going on a date. Sure, you didn’t know exactly when you were going on this date, but it was definitely happening soon.

“I’ll let you know, for sure! For now though, I guess we’d better be heading home,” you replied, a spring in your step as you and Mark made your way to the exit. It was dark when you got outside, so Mark insisted on walking you to your car, even though it wasn’t too far from where he’d parked his own. You turned to Mark when you stood next to your vehicle, unsure of what to expect but not wanting to seem rude.

Mark stood with his hands in his pockets again, beaming at you like before. You felt heat rise to your face again; you’d never get used to him looking at you like that.

“Goodnight, Zero.” He took his hands out of his pockets and held his arms out for a hug, which you more than happily accepted. He was warm and his hold around you was strong but comforting, making you feel safe and at ease. Your heart was beating rapidly again as you wound your own arms around his waist and spoke into his ear.

“You can call me by my real name if you want.”

You let your arms trail away from him as his grip softened. Mark looked surprised, but flattered, by your suggestion. He pursed his lips in thought.

“How about we keep it as Zero for work?” He suggested. “I’ll switch to your real name for our date.”

You nodded as you unlocked your car. “Deal.”

He winked at you as he walked away backwards, almost tripping on his own feet. You covered a small laugh with your hand. Mark regained his composure and waved you goodbye. You waved back, getting into your car and driving into the night.

Next chapter

#a heist with markiplier #ahwm #heist mark #heist mark x reader #heist! mark x reader #yancy x reader #ahwm yancy x reader #my writing #nevernotwriting #ahwm yancy

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spacesnail3000 · 5 years ago

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Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 5: I Can Teach You Everything I Know

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Turns out abstinence-only sex education from a private Catholic school doesn’t prepare you for the real world as well as conservatives think it does. Shocking.

Word Count: 4,940

Warnings: Language, dubcon smut (fingering, thigh riding), manipulation

(This story is starting to get much darker now so please pay attention to the warnings!!! It doesn’t get better from here!!)

Masterlist / AO3

The rain didn’t clear up for a couple more days, but they didn’t mind.

She and Steve spent the mornings together at the kitchen table, Y/N writing and drawing in her journal, and Steve sketching in his notebook.

He mentioned offhandedly one day that he missed painting, and then she asked him if he would teach her how. So they went out to a little art store and bought a bunch of watercolor supplies and he taught her everything he knew. How to control the saturation of pigment with the amount of water on the brush, how to bloom the color across the page, how to layer the shades to add more depth to the picture.

She ate up every little tip he told her. It reminded him of when his mother taught him how to paint. He hadn’t had much time lately for hobbies, so he was enjoying the opportunity to indulge his artistic side. He enjoyed spending the uninterrupted time with her just as much.

In the afternoons, Steve had business to do. He’d spend hours on the phone with Tony, planning big things for the coming weeks. Not even Bucky was allowed on these calls—which annoyed him at first, but it gave him more time to spent with their girl, so he took it in stride.

It was the morning after the long night Steve and Bucky spent together, and Steve was making breakfast for them. While Y/N was setting the table, Bucky snuck up on Steve in the kitchen, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck. Steve jumped and pulled him aside into the laundry room.

“What happened yesterday,” Steve said, voice low so Y/N wouldn’t hear. He rubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t do it again.”

“What?” Bucky frowned, “Why?”

“Peggy, of course,” Steve said it like it was the most obvious thing. Steve couldn’t serial-cheat on his girlfriend. That would be unacceptable. “She doesn’t deserve that. It was a one-time-thing. Keep it between us, got it?”

Bucky smiled tightly. “Of course, Stevie. Whatever you want.”

Afterwards, he went for a long run along the beach to clear his head, and for the following days, he tried to stay clear of Steve. Truthfully, it hurt a little. He and Steve had always been on and off, but Bucky liked it best when they were on. If it were up to him, they would be on all the time.

Bucky didn’t really see the reason for Steve to date Peggy, but Steve seemed to be happy—sometimes, at least. He seemed less and less happy the past few months as Peggy expected more and more out of their relationship. Every time Steve complained about Peggy suffocating him or not understanding his obligations to the mob, Bucky wanted to yell at him—shout out, that if Steve chose Bucky, it would be better. If Steve chose Bucky, they would be happy.

Bucky didn’t know what to do about it, though. Steve didn’t want him now—he wanted Peggy, apparently.

So while Steve holed himself up in the cottage’s office in the afternoons, Bucky would seek out Y/N to distract him. Their time together was peaceful, spent cuddling together on the back porch with a thick blanket and watching the rain. They would reminisce over their childhood memories, show each other books and music they liked, and talk about almost anything that came to mind.

She tended to be more vulnerable with Bucky when it was the two of them alone, snuggled up together, and Bucky couldn’t help but go even softer for her. He loved the way she felt pressed up against him, the way she would look up at him for validation or reassurance, the way her eyes would light up whenever she spoke about herself.

Since Steve had rebuffed him, he couldn’t help but feel a little spiteful, a little dejected. His deep-seated yearning for Y/N was only growing now that he and Steve were on stricter terms.

Sometimes when Steve took her in his arms at night when they watched movies, Bucky would feel a little unwelcome spark of jealousy popping off in his chest. He wasn’t sure who he was jealous of. Certainly he wanted Steve to show that kind of affection to him, but he also wanted her in his arms almost all the time.

Seeing them curled up together so closely, he had to admit that they looked good together. Steve was the strong protector type, and she needed something like that.

He wondered if he could be that for her, but he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t in him. Still, despite that, he couldn’t help the way he felt towards her. She was sunshine personified—how could he not love her just a little bit?

In the back of his mind, he hoped he would get the chance to get closer to her again, that the moment would come for him to take her in his arms like he had the night of her birthday.

But it was too far-fetched. He knew that.

The moment happened to present itself in the middle of the week.

They were all on the couch watching a thriller movie, and she was curled up into Bucky’s side. Bucky wasn’t even paying attention to the television. His mind lingered on how she felt against him, the feeling of her soft skin as he stroked her arm, the way her hair tickled against his chin where he rested it on her head.

He thought the movie was probably just getting intense, because Steve’s phone rang, and both Y/N and Steve jumped in their seats at the shrill tone. Her head jolted against his jaw and made his teeth click.

Steve’s brief shock disappeared when he checked the caller ID. “It’s Peggy!” he said excitedly, jumping up. “I’m going to bed, goodnight!” He ran up the stairs, and they hear him answer before he shut himself in his room.

Bucky huffed, “About damn time…”

“Why has Peggy been ignoring him all week?” the girl in his arms asked, stretching out more on the couch.

“She didn’t like that he had to come here,” Bucky answered.

They went silent once more, watching the movie—or in Bucky’s case, pretending.

“Is it my fault?”

Bucky kissed the top of her head. “No, doll. It’s not your fault,” he lied. She believed him though, and his words seemed to reassure her enough that she relaxed into him. “Let me lay down, doll. I’m getting stiff here.”

“Hmph…” Grumbling, she allowed him to maneuver them so he was laying behind her, her back pressed against his front. Bucky didn’t hesitate before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, spooning her. She was soft and warm against him, and he relished it for the remaining hour and a half of the movie, lost in the way she felt against him.

He hadn’t even realized when the credits started rolling until Y/N turned her head a little bit. “Steve’s asleep,” she whispered. It was only then that he heard the faint sound of snoring upstairs.

“You wanna go to sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

She shook her head. “Not tired.”

She took the remote and played another movie, then settled back against him again. He was glad she had elected not to go to bed yet. He wanted more time with her in his arms.

Burying his face into her hair, he smelled the salon shampoo she used, and something sweet like vanilla. He stayed there, arms anchoring her against him.

His grown-out stubble scratched at the back of her scalp and at her neck and she squirmed against him. Bucky only realized the effects of her squirming when it was too late, and then the bulge in his pants was pressing against her ass.

She turned in his arms to face him. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the movie anyways. “You’re tickling me,” she pouted.

“What?” he asked, oblivious. “How?”

Her hands came up and cupped his jaw, her fingers running along his stubbly cheeks. “Your beard,” she answered, eyes fixated on his strong jawline.

She was so close to him now. He could smell her perfume, floral and fresh. Her sun kissed skin glowed in the faint light of the television.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ll shave it.”

“No!” she said, too quickly. Thoughts of his scruff chafing against her lips and chin when he kissed her flickered through her mind, and she blushed.

Bucky smirked at her reaction. “No, you don’t want me to?” he teased.

She shook her head, fingers still playing at his beard. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, hands splayed across her lower back, stroking lightly there. She was sensitive there, he learned from the daily applications of sunscreen. He dug his fingers in to tickle her, and she squirmed against him again, trying to move away from his fingers but only pressing herself up more against his hard body. If she noticed—well, he wanted to see what she would do. It thrilled him a little that she would experience this for the first time with him.

She had noticed the hardness in his shorts, but she ignored it—not really knowing what she was supposed to do about it. She knew it happened when a man was aroused, but Bucky—he couldn’t be…

Well, he did try and kiss her. But that had been weeks ago, she reasoned, and he hadn’t made another move since. Not that she really knew how their relationship was supposed to progress from there. He had just gone back to acting like her best friend.

At least he hadn’t ignored her like Steve had, but she and Steve were back to normal, too.

Still, Bucky had to have kissed her for a reason, and the way his eyes kept flickering down to her lips confirmed as much.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you kiss me on my birthday?”

Bucky stiffened, not anticipating that question. She hadn’t brought it up yet, but he didn’t expect her to ignore it forever.

“I…” he didn’t know how to answer. “I wanted to,” he said simply.

“But why?”

He thought about it, how he had been tempted. “You just looked so pretty that night, I couldn’t help myself.”

She mulled this over. “So you’ve been able to help yourself since? Or have you not wanted to kiss me again?”

He knew what she was doing—trying to see if he had lost interest in her. “I liked the kiss, darling. I just haven’t had the chance to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks were flushed now, pink and pretty. “So you want to?”

Well, she was basically inviting him to kiss her now. What else was he supposed to do?

He leaned forward and kissed her—softer than he had before, just a gentle press of his lips against hers. Then he pulled back all too soon and licked his lips. Her lip balm tasted like candy.

“There. Happy?” he asked, unable to repress the smirk on his lips.

She was pouting. “No,” she answered.

“No?” He raised his eyebrows, playing innocent. “Why not? Not a good kiss?”

“Bucky,” she whined. “C’mon.”

“What? I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”

She huffed, then said, “I liked how you kissed me on my birthday.”

That was what he wanted her to say, and now she had fallen right into his hands. He brought one hand up to cup the back of her head, pulling her into him for the same kind of bruising kiss he had given her before.

This time, she didn’t freeze up. Instead, she worked her lips against his and matched his vigor, allowing his tongue to enter her mouth and tangle with her own. She tasted like cherries, and he groaned into her mouth, unable to help himself. She was everything he ever hoped—so receptive and willing.

He was rock hard by now, and he couldn’t help the slight press of his hips against hers. It caused her to gasp into his mouth, which pleased him. He groaned low in response, and she could feel the vibrations all throughout her body. That paired with the feeling of his stubble scratching at her skin, the feeling of his arms compressing her body around the middle—it was overwhelming, too much sensation for her inexperienced body to process at once.

She turned her head, breaking the kiss, but Bucky didn’t stop, lowering his head and kissing down her jaw and neck. As he sucked and licked at the sensitive skin, she let out the sweetest little sounds—gasps and whimpers, one hand grabbing at his shoulder and the other one in his hair. One of his hands came up to roam her body, brushing along her side, rubbing over her back, drifting down to caress her hip—he just wanted to feel her, every part of her.

When his hand skimmed over her ass, she started pushing at his shoulders. “Bucky,” she gasped as he bit at her clavicle, “Bucky, wait—"

“Quiet,” he shushed her, hoping she wasn’t loud enough for Steve to wake. He didn’t want to stop, and he certainly didn’t want Steve to catch them, so he brought his lips back up and kissed her hard, silencing her. Maneuvering their bodies just so, he shoved one of his thick thighs between her own, effectively pinning her body down with his leg and his arms tight around her torso.

She squeaked into his mouth when his thigh ground up against the space between her legs—nobody had ever touched her there before, not even herself. Her heart was racing, not sure what was supposed to come next, not sure how far he was going to go with her. It was all too much too soon, and while her body was tingling with his touch, skin burning, her mind told her it was wrong.

At the feeling of his hand groping her ass, squeezing tight, she yanked especially hard on his hair. Their lips detached at his pained gasp, which gave her the opportunity to turn her mouth away from him again.

“Bucky,” she panted, “Stop!”

It confused her when he chuckled, his laugh rumbling through both their bodies. He dipped his head, running his nose along her throat, ending with a press of his lips under her earlobe. “Why do you want me to stop, baby?” he asked, voice gravelly with lust. “You asked for me to kiss you, remember?”

“I know, but—”

“This is how I kissed you at your birthday. This is how it would’ve gone if Sam hadn’t interrupted us. You know that?”

She shook her head, mind swimming with arousal and panic. “But Bucky,” she pleaded, “I don’t know—I’m not sure—”

“Hey,” he stopped her, gripping her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t do nothin’ you ain’t ready for.”

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” she whispered, eyes dropping.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice firmer. She did, eyes shimmering with uncertainty. “Do you trust me?” She nodded, and his grip on her tightened. “Need to hear you say it, doll.”

“I trust you,” she whispered.

“Then let me take the lead.” The words sounded like a request, but his voice left no room for argument. “Quiet your mind. Listen to your body. Your body knows what to do,” he said, running his fingers gently along her side. She shivered. “You were made for me, baby.” His thumb ran along her lower lip, and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of his hands mixed with his words.

He truly believed it—the more he touched her body, the more he realized it. She was perfect. All of her sounds, the way she clung to him; she was so receptive to his touch, her body so responsive. The goosebumps on her skin, the way she shuddered, the unconscious clench of her thighs on his—they betrayed her pleasure, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

Plus, he had already had a taste of her—he would never be able to let her go, now.

“I don’t know what to do, though,” she murmured, lips brushing deliciously against his thumb.

“I’m gonna teach you, sweetheart.” With that, he kissed her again. He would try not to overwhelm her tonight—there was always next time.

And there would be a next time, if he had anything to do with it.

For now, he just enjoyed kissing her, touching her body. Her lips were plushy and slippery wet, swollen from the scratch of his beard. She kissed him eagerly, tongue curling with his, only pulling back when she began to run out of breath.

As he kissed her, his hands roamed her body over the fabric of her dress at her waist and hips. The material was so thin he could feel the heat of her body through it, the way her flesh yielded to his grip.

His hand slowly inched down to the hem of her dress. The skirt was very short, and their position caused it to hike up more than was appropriate so it ended just under her ass. He bypassed the hem at first, hand running down her thigh, feeling her soft skin. Then he traced up the back of her thigh and dipped underneath the hem, gripping her ass beneath the fabric.

Her ass cheek was half bare, covered only by a pair of skimpy panties. He wanted to see them, so he swiftly flipped up her skirt over her hips to bare her ass.

“Bucky!” she gasped, breaking the kiss. They both looked down at her bared bottom, her gaze was panicked while his was lustful. The panties weren’t quite a thong, but they weren’t covering much of her ass; rosy pink lace dipped down between her cheeks, lost between her thighs.

“Look at you, baby doll,” he groaned, palming at the swell of her ass. “Lookin’ so sweet for me.” He ran a finger along the waistband, tracing the top hem and then down where it clung to the round flesh of her ass, ending with a soft press to the crotch of her panties.

She was soaking wet.

“What’re you—”

He cut her off, “Quiet, baby. Let me show you what your body wants.” His finger ran across her clothed pussy. “You’re wet for me. You know what that means?” She shook her head. “It means you like it. Your sweet little pussy gets wet when it likes what I’m doing to your body. Understand?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. Did she understand? Sure, she had had sex education, but she had gone to a private Catholic school in Brooklyn that only taught abstinence. Her health class had barely covered human anatomy, and the nuns had discouraged any questions about sex or pleasure, stating that sex was solely for procreation.

Her body was telling her different, though. She didn’t quite understand why her body was reacting so much to his touch.

She knew she liked it, though. Every brush of his fingers on her skin had her lighting aflame, and now he was touching along her panties and it felt like her pelvis was getting tighter. Everything just felt so good, and she had no idea how it could get any better.

“Sweetie,” Bucky’s hand stilled. “Have you ever touched yourself here before?” He asked, punctuating the question with a press against her pussy. She gasped at the feeling and then shook her head. His index finger found her clit through the fabric and rubbed light circles over it. “When I touch here, and I rub it or press against it, it feels good, doesn’t it, honey?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, hands clutching to his shoulders. She was breathing heavier again, and the blush on her cheeks had sunk down to the skin of her breasts, making her look like she had spent a little too much time in the sun. As he kept rubbing, her head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed. He pressed down a little harder and she keened, hips jumping against his hand. “S-sorry,” she gasped, trying to still her hips.

“No, sweetheart, don’t apologize,” his voice was low in her ear. “Don’t hold back. Move your hips if it feels good. I just want you to feel good—and there’s a lot of different ways for you to do that.”

At his words, her hips twitched again. He continued to rub against her, occasionally pressing harder, occasionally pinching her clit lightly. With each new sensation, her thighs tightened on him, her hips grinding against his hand, hands fisting his hair.

Bucky kissed her lightly on the mouth, skimming his lips along her cheek and down her jaw. He nipped lightly at her pulse point and brought his lips down further to her shoulder. He nudged the strap of her dress off, pressing his mouth against the skin there and sucking.

She jolted against him, gasping loudly, “Oh!” The spot he was kissing on her shoulder felt so good, like a direct line to her groin. “That’s—”

“Shh,” he hushed her, murmuring against her skin, “Gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want Steve to wake up, right?” However, he kept sucking at the spot, noting how it made her squirm and grind down harder on his hand.

She thought that the idea of Steve catching them might dampen her arousal, quell the burning throughout her body, but she felt no panic at the prospect. Instead, the feeling in her tightened even more, making her body tense in the best way.

She felt hot all over, her skin moist with sweat, and she felt so, so slick between her legs. Her panties were completely soaked and they slid against her lips with each movement and shift of her hips, sending more jolts through her body.

“I said quiet, baby,” he admonished her when she whined more. He gave a sharp pinch to her clit to warn her, but it had the opposite effect.

She buried her face against his neck and bit into his skin there, knowing if she didn’t, she would make more noise. She couldn’t help it, though—that pinch had her flying into some depth of pleasure she hadn’t known about before. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, surging through her body. Every nerve was flaring, her skin tingling, mind going fuzzy in her frenzy.

Bucky rubbed her through her orgasm, relishing the way her whole body shook, her thighs clamping down hard on him. When she bit into his neck, it only fed his own arousal, his cock painfully hard in his sweatpants, pressed up against her writhing body.

Finally, the pleasure ebbed away like the surf during low tide, the boiling in her blood lowering to a simmer. She breathed hard against his neck, catching her breath. She vaguely registered that he was rubbing her back, his hand having retreated from her panties.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered into her hair. He pulled her back and kissed her lips gently, sweetly. “That was beautiful, doll.”

She would have blushed more if she could have. “What—”

“You had an orgasm, sweetheart.”

The nuns said that an orgasm happened during sex when a man came, but apparently women had orgasms, too. She never expected it to be so… wonderful.

It was the best thing she’d ever experienced. And she wanted more.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he teased. He knew full well that she did.

She didn’t catch the teasing in his voice or the smirk on his face, so she nodded vigorously. “That was—that… Bucky,” she sighed, a wide smile coming over her face. She giggled, high on the endorphins from her pleasure. “That was amazing!”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you liked it, but you gotta keep your voice down. Steve’s asleep, remember?”

She nodded. “Sorry,” she whispered. She was silent for a moment, pensive, and he allowed her a moment to collect her thoughts. Finally, she asked, “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“You… you said… that there were a lot of different ways… for me to feel good… like that…” she looked away from him as she spoke, embarrassed still. “What are the other ways?”

He smirked, smug that she wanted more from him and was going as far as to ask him for it. “I can show you everything I know, baby,” he offered, “You want that?”

She nodded quickly again. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll show you everything I can, but it’s not all gonna happen tonight. Alright?”

“Okay… Thank you, Bucky.”

He smiled, kissing her head again. “Good manners, sweetheart. I like to hear your manners.” It turned him on, in fact. His cock couldn’t possibly get any harder.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“…Is that all you’re going to show me tonight?”

He thought for a second, wondering what else he could ease her into. Something not too far off from what they just did, and maybe something that could get him off, too.

“No, honey, not if you want more. Do you?”

“Yes, please.”

He looked down at her, the lust taking over his eyes again. Slowly, he moved his thigh back between hers, pressing up tightly against her pussy. She let out a breath at the sensation, the more intense pleasure that came from the constant pressure.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good,” she sighed, moving her hips against him of her own volition, just to see how it felt—and it felt wonderful.

“Good, sweetheart, just like that,” he praised her, one hand falling to her hip to help guide her movements. The other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her tightly against him so he could get some friction of his own as his clothed cock pressed against her hip.

Her dress had been rucked up to her waist now, so she felt him against her bare skin through the thin material of his sweats. He was hard, unyielding, and it felt so hot against her. Something wet was soaked through the fabric and she could feel the large damp spot.

They ground their hips against each other, creating a sensual rhythm as the feeling in her belly built, grew taut once again. Bucky staved off his own orgasm for as long as he could, instead focusing on getting her to her own.

He kissed her deeply, licking into her mouth and swallowing all of her little whimpers. His hands both slid to her ass, gripping her flesh tight and pushing and pulling her hips against his. Rutting his hips into her, he bounced his thigh a little bit and she broke off their kiss, panting against his mouth with a pained whimper.

Bringing his lips to her shoulder, he scraped his teeth against the delicate skin, making her keen and whine. Her hands ran from her shoulders to his back, finding the bottom of his shirt and shoving her hands below the hem, wanting to feel more of his skin on hers.

When her fingernails scraped down his back, he groaned into her neck, the pain bringing him ever closer to his finish.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her hips stuttering in their rhythm, thighs clenching together around him. She could feel it building up again, the same as last time.

“That’s right,” he rasped in her ear, “Come for me.” His words seems to spur her on, and he continued, “Look so pretty when you come. C’mon, so sweet for me, just like that.”

“Oh!” she moaned, and he pressed his lips to her again to keep her quiet. He felt her body shaking again, signaling her orgasm, and he ground his hips further into her, his body going tense as he came. His hips rutted against her sharply, and they gasped the last of their orgasms into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together, hips twitching, bodies slowly going slack against the other.

Finally, Bucky pulled back first, looking at her. She was blissed out again, and Bucky wished he could see her like this all the time. He kissed her gently, dominating the kiss, all resistance she had previously harbored gone.

When they pulled back from the kiss, she looked down. “Your pants are wet,” she said, voice soft and sleepy.

He chuckled, “I’ll bet your panties aren’t too well off, either, honey.” He was glad he could still get her to blush furiously, and he kissed her swollen red lips to distract her. “C’mon,” he said when she yawned into the kiss. “Gotta get you to bed.”

Separating their bodies, Bucky took stock. His sweatpants were ruined, and her pussy had even soaked through a spot on his thigh. She was in a state of disarray, so he pulled up the strap of her dress and straightened the hem before scooping her up and standing.

By the time he made it to her room, she was already falling asleep in his arms, her body worn out from two consecutive orgasms. He tucked her in, brushed a hand over her hair to tidy a few errant strands.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly, sleep already taking her.

He slipped out of her bedroom and into his own. Steve was still snoring, which was a good sign, and as Bucky took off his dirty clothes and slipped into the shower, he realized he felt better now than he had in a long time.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #mcu #stucky #stucky x reader #brooklyn’s sweetheart

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jojoreadwhat · 5 years ago

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The Ballad Of Me & My Brain • The City | Mini Series / m.h. of The 1975 x OC

a/n; I’m just uploading work from my Wattpad archives (user: sunphazed) this is a series I was working on and stopped and I kinda have hopes to start it up again. Who knows? Anyways, enjoy xx

WARNING; this story in includes triggering materials

Matty's POV.

The steel blue of the night sky collided with the amber gold that reflected from the lustered glass lamp on my night stand. I lied there, my hands behind my head as my body sunk into the chilled sheets beneath me. I sighed. Grabbing my menthols from between the box spring and the bed. My mind swarmed in a cloud of thoughts. I sat up a bit, bringing the flame of my zippo to fag rested on my lips. It's glistening exterior, warming the profile of my face as I held it close. The crumble of the paper disintegrating when I inhaled, exhaling slowly as I watched the swirls of slated smoke. Cut through the spring breeze of the cracked window, moving like the sleep I needed but couldn't grasp.

I looked on, tracing out the room I have began to call home in the little matter of weeks. Cream, dingy walls that held the thoughts of the past human once staying here. My handy work at it's lowest. Small snippets of the bands that played out while on a aimless route to nowhere, poorly hanging over my dresser. To a Polaroid of my baby brother that I selfishly left behind. Only to know it would be best cause he doesn't need a bloke like me around.

Back home my room was a shade of baby blue that was beginning to fade from it's age. Large posters of Sid Vicious, Morrissey. My shitty handwriting on spiral book paper, of my writings or of the writers that helped me to stay existent. Where I stayed up all hours like now, pondering. Thinking of my next move.

Beginning to think about the life I was familiar with before Handforth. My mum paying a visit today was a bit overwhelming. Feeling my mum's red dipped hands draping over mine, watching her smile, radiantly. I missed her and her home cooked meals. All reassuring that she was trying to comprehend this. Keeping it together as she was ready to unravel and question this stale institution.

Mike didn't tag along which I didn't want to see him anyways. Louis was at secondary and I was glad. It was warming to hear that he was doing well, picking up lacrosse and my mum called him out on playing my records. I would have loved to see him, but I wanted him to remember the goods back home. Not having to explain why I left home to begin with.

They haven't gotten the full extent on why I ran away, at least not like Ms. Palermo has heard. Being that if I stayed one more day in Cheshire. The door to my room would've been cold, metal bars. So it was safe covering it up with the story of the 'divorce' and that school wasn't cutting it. I didn't want to watch my mum's unsure sensitivity knotted into her smile, worsen by my dismay. Like the way it did when I told her I didn't want to go home.

I took another long drag, feeling my cheeks dent and the inhale sugar coat my lungs. Running my fingers through my jet black mane. I roused, taking a few steps to my window as the thoughts progressed. I followed the constellation of streetlights outside my room, remembering how on nights like this. I'd be sneaking out the window of my room. Venturing out to the city and sneaking into clubs my fake ID would allow. Ending up back in my bed before my family noticed, sometimes ending up in the beds of others. Women preferably of course. Which reminded me.

My vision derailing to the same amber luminous glow scattered in mine. Coming through the glass panes of the room in west hall. Emma's room. She was casually sitting on her sill, aimless looking up at the sky and all of it's beaded stars. Seeing that she was doing the same as me, pondering as the smoke left her lungs and into the night air. Emma has been a key entertainment since I've settled here. Finding her and I sneaking into each others rooms. To listening on low the beat up records the center supplied in the common hall. Discovering that had bit more in common than shagging about in the janitorial

I admired Emma. Her brazen tude, the denim short skirts she wore. The visionary mind above her shoulders, that bleed out on crisp thick paper. Watching as her silver covered fingers clasped around charcoal, pursued something bright. Noticing from time to time as her handwork slowed and a shade of rouge painted her porcelain cheeks. Today was no different than before, as I admired her. But earlier crossed my mind again. Remembering that I hadn't seen her wandering after her visitors stop by.

As my mother talked about the neighbourhood and the Spring festival coming up this Saturday. I surpassed her as I watched the other table near by. Emma with her visitors. One deeming as her mother. The same shade of honey dipped blonde, mirroring the same beam that I seen on Emma. Adorned in a pretty flowy top over white capris and sandals. Talking as I could word out simple things like 'I'm fine' and 'Okay'. Catching up and probably hearing the same lecture I was getting.

I glanced over a few more times, I was beginning to notice the dark hair figure that accompanied her mum. Broad shoulders, a dirty hippy as some would say in his Stones shirt. Old ripped jeans and beat up sneakers. Possibly her dad but there was no baring resemblance when sitting next to her mother.

Questioning why she never made eye contact with the man. Instead looking like she was going to hurl, on the verge of combustion as her lip became a chew toy. Following Emma turning in and disappearing into the depths of her room. I wondered why she acted in this manner. Why her blatant aura was flattened and defeated. Then it hit me. I placed the last of my cigarette into the cup with a drop of water. Looking down at my Docs that I had intentions to kick off, soon be double knotted. Throwing on my leather overlay and headed out to her room.

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

Emma's POV.

My mind was still trying to wrap around today. A visit that I awaited on Tuesdays. Once excited to see her. Now being replaced with a stab to my gut when she wasn't alone this time. Instead bringing the man that drove me away. Feeling myself in knots as he sat next to me, his eyes etching me out. Gazing at the clock for it to strike two so he could stop resting his viscous hand on my knee.

I thought she believed me. Specially when she told me that she made Frank leave after I confessed my reasoning for leaving. I thought I was noticing progress in myself, possibly even announcing that I wanted to come home. Something that I know she has been waiting to hear for months. Only to have that suggestion came to a immediate halt. I isolated myself in this room that was beginning to feel less safe as now my worst nightmare knew where I was.

Nothing being able to subside it, not even when I sat pretzel legged in front of the jimmied, handmade easel I built. With legs of a table I snuck in from Angry Andy flipping months earlier. Laces from my talking All Stars and nail polish that I remembered worked as an adhesive in my secondary Science course. I would've had half a portrait of a homeless man I seen on the street. Outlined and sketched, possibly shading in his evening shadow around his jaw. I never cried so much in the months I've been here like today. God, I was supposed to be making someone's life miserable than living in my own misery.

I grabbed the box of cloves in my shoes, misplaced under my bed. When the weakness of my limps felt like they had lifted. My feet met the carpet, suddenly rising again when I sat on my window sill. Gazing out at the night that had came upon rapidly than some before. Counting the cars that drove by when wishing on stars obviously didn't work for shit. I exhaled the sweet departure of the clove that lingered on my lips briefly. Cracking the pane a bit, as the smoke immediately evaporated within the gusts of Spring. I felt my shoulders slump as I sighed into another exhale.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow walking in front of the window. Of the room in south wing I found myself in from time to time. I had a feeling that Matty may have connected two and two together earlier on. Sometimes feeling his whiskey eyes on me as I began to feel small from the blue eyes stabbing at me like daggers. Matty knew a jist of my past, nothing extravagant but only enough to explain why I lied with him most nights.

He was learning though, just in the way his expression changed. When I met his gaze and all I wanted to do was cry. He knew this as that gaze trailed to my quivering lip that I was trying so hard to contain between my teeth. Or maybe he didn't? By this time, I would've heard the jiggle of my doorknob rotating. The boy with so many questions and seeking so many answers, seeing his figuration peering through the doorframe.

Eventually coming to conclusion that the casual fornication that Matty and I indulged in. Never amounted to anything past that line as he still looked out his window. Then again, that was my fault for wanting to feel different under the touch of someone else. I stood up from the window, with the clove still hanging from my lips.

Dragging my feet against the vomit colored gray carpet before towering over my dresser. Reaching into the top draw, pulling out the coral oversized shirt that could set out as a nightgown. Placing it on the top of it as I looked up at the mirror hanging on the wall. Taking my hair between my hands as I worked an upward motion to place it in a band.

That's when I heard the usual jiggle of the knob. My eyes meeting the boy dressed in black, head to toe as he entered my room lightly.

"Hey" He greeted little ways above a whisper. Holding up the door, there was something about this dark mass that crept up on me at night. His jet black hair, pushed back on top the center of his head. His leather jacket hanging steady over his broad shoulders, how his tee shirt and jeans hug properly over his build. Only wanting to tear each article off like the night before, because he looked so good and I was sick of it. But tonight, I wasn't much for it.

I looked away after I perfected a messy bun, shaking my head as I went to grab my shirt off the dresser. "I'm not in the mood." I remarked, a bit annoyed that he probably came here with those intuitions. I was wrong, profoundly.

"I'm not either." He replied, then.

My eyes meeting him again, following him as he trailed over to my closet. Noticing that he was bringing out my jean jacket. I placed my hands onto my dresser, my brow rising a bit. Watching as he stepped a bit closer, with a smirk paired with intentions I was oblivious to. "We're getting out of here." He stated, placing the jacket over my shoulders. Feeling the heat of his hands as they lingered above the fabric.

A rush of shock came over me, almost obliterated in the rush that consumed me. I wasn't sure if it was from the plan or the way it left his lips. My mouth went haywire, "W-what?" I questioned, then.

"There's cameras everywhere.... What if they notice us missing?" I began, then. My mind flooding because what if we couldn't come back after they had found us gone. Being taken out of my own thoughts when Matty placed his hands on mine that were moved in exaggeration with my talk.

Obviously the worry not consuming him like it did me. Matty's chuckled rippled softly through the amber lit room. I followed as he backed up, "You're worried about being caught?" He raised his brow at me. Feeling my cheeks warm from the slight memory of what he was talking about. I shook my head, prying my hands away, walking towards my bed.

"What about Ms. Astrich?" I spoke once more, before I spun to face him again. She was the supervisor at night, sitting at the front desk. Waiting for some sort of trouble made by the kids here. "Did you think about how fast I got here?" He mentioned, explaining that she was either asleep or off in another wing. Matty just happened to get by in good time.

"Why would I think that?" I exclaimed, folding my arms across my chest. "I seen you watching me." He noted, only to roll my eyes at how cocky he could be sometimes. Even if it was partially true, but I wasn't the only accomplice.

"You're a jerk." I remarked, my brows furrowing at him as he chuckled. "You were watching me too." Catching him off for a split second before he shrugged, "What's your point?" He questioned back. We were silent for a moment, looking everywhere else but each other as our thoughts spoke among us. Matty just sighed, breaking my train of thoughts when I noticed his dark silhouette heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my hands dropping to my sides. "I'm going out, like I said." He replied once more. Feeling this sudden sting near my chest when he said that, still not understanding why. Only thinking about how this might be the last bit of conversation I'd have with him.

I peered out the window near us, biting my lip in the same moment. I hadn't stepped into Wilmslow in months. I felt that I had lost all direction that made me street smart. A part of me was my adrenaline overflowing. I wanted to do this, bathe myself under the moonlit sky and do anything that made me feel sane again. The other was the fear of what to actually expect, and the stress I felt earlier holding me back like a strap on a bed.

When I turned back to Matty, he was inches away from me now. The light of outside glistening against his face, watching it dance as he moved his hand near my cheek. Moving some of my hair behind my ear that had freed itself from my bun. "Do you trust me, Em?" Falling nonchalantly. I chuckled a bit at how loosely it did too. Only to be dumbfounded by my return of an answer.

"Yes." I replied, then. Meeting his eyes that swirled in rich golds and browns around his dark pupils. Finding a sincerity in them, something I never found in my lifetime. Knowing that I caught a grasp of it. "Come with me then." He said again.

I gazed at him as he watched me sit on the bed, grabbing my shoes from underneath. Admiring his expression as it relaxed, only displaying that he was nervous too. Not having much of an idea of what we were getting ourselves into.

"So," I said, jumping to my feet after I laced up chucks. Properly placing the jacket he rested on my shoulders, around my arms. "Where are we actually going?" I asked, as silence filled in the gaps between us. Waiting for some type of shrug to play off his toned upper body. I draped my crossbody over my chest. Looking back up at a smiling Matty, a smile that only implied that he knew exactly where we were heading now.

"The City."

#mine #slutforbritdick #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagines #matty healy x oc #the 1975

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fullymechanized-consoomer · 5 years ago

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It’s for the best that Live PD and other COP “Documentaries” are shut down.

For starters, I'd highly suggest listening to the Running from COPS podcast. It's a short little documentary about the seedy and often corrupt nature of cop documentaries and how they purposely present a one-sided view of policing through selective editing and showing. One of the episodes had a lawyer watch Live PD and go over all of the violations the cops were committing while the host in the show kept saying how it was "good police work." Hell, the main reason it was canceled was that the showrunners were caught destroying key evidence that may have indicted an officer in my hometown after a suspect was killed in his negligent custody.

I'll just say this from experience: I live in Williamson county, and our police office is corrupt. They regularly run rackets on restaurants and local businesses, the most common one is having a cop go undercover as an "underage" person and present an Id that's so realistic that besides the name and numbers being made up it's indistinguishable from the real one. If the cop is sold booze they show up 4-5 days later and demand a fine and a newly updated training certificate that comes from the PD that the owners have to pay for, or they're shut down.

It doesn't matter that the cop is actually of age or that the license is an officially made reproduction, the cops claim that it's a breach of law to sell anyone labeled a minor alcohol and that it's a failure to follow procedure. No one can challenge them because they're all friends with the DA and the local judge. I know this because I worked at several restaurants and they pulled this shit on three of them while I was working.

These same fucks also arrested an innocent man, Greg Kelly, for molesting kids at a daycare he worked at. He was found guilty in what amounted to a kangaroo court and quietly shuffled off to prison. The case was so sketch that the state of Texas actually brought in internal affairs officers and a Texas Ranger who specialized in molestation/rape cases and they all called it a "hit job." It turns out it wasn't Greg, but the son of the owner of the daycare who was already a known sex offender, but said daycare owner was good friends with the DA who all but penned the case on Greg and even made him use a lawyer that was testifying against him. The PD themselves did no investigative work and the lead detective showed up at Kelly's and declared him the culprit without even knowing where he lived, and got caught changing dates to make it seem like Kelly's schedule lined up with the molestations.

I say all these things because Live PD and cop shows like it never go into these kinds of deep-seated corruption issues, all you get is preselected footage of them catching the "bad guys." If all you knew about the Williamson County PD was what was shown on that program you'd think it was run by a bunch of angels, and that all of the people who are hostile or suspicious of them on camera are unstable or stupid, and not citizens with a legitimate list of grievances towards them.

#COPS #Live PD #Corruption

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sosthemortalcoil · 6 years ago

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KoFi Request: Family Holiday

Another one for the amazing @lychee-days! Family Holiday Trip! F!Gabriel (Rielle) and Daniel ready to leave for a holiday to Venice~ ft. Uncle Israfel, who is joining, and Lucifer, who uh...decided to tag along

Total wordcount is 2,271. Hope you enjoy! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It would have been far easier to simply slip between planes to get to Venice. Instead you’re stuck in this seemingly endless line, bouncing up and down on your toes. Daniel looks a tad pale, mumbling to himself. Heights had never bothered him, but apparently his first time on an airplane is causing anxiety.

It’s your first time too, and Israfel’s, but telling Daniel that hadn’t helped. All he had said in response is that flying when you can fly under your own power is entirely different from flying when you have no ability to fly.

Finally, the line moves, and you watch as Daniel takes stuff out of your bags. Israfel doesn’t have anything apart from his boarding pass and a fake id you had to beg Sabriel for. She had pointed out that he was perfectly capable of meeting you in Venice, but you had continued to plead until she caved. Not that you were nervous, but having Israfel around always made new experiences feel less frightening.

You bounce through the metal frame, following Daniel and collecting your bags. He had insisted on packing after watching you try the first time. In your defense, packing isn’t a skill angels are taught, and there are a great many rules to follow about what you can and cannot bring.

Your smile dims as you reach the gate and realize that you have yet more waiting to do. It would be so easy to slip planes, you think, narrowing your eyes. Sure, you aren’t supposed to while in your mortal shell, but sitting around and waiting is boring.

Someone calls your name, and you look around in confusion. “Rielle Santos, please report to the flight attendant at the gate.” You twist your hands in front of your chest, wondering what you had done now as you slink up to the attendant. She beams a smile and holds out three tickets.

“Ms. Santos, here are your upgraded tickets.” You blink. Upgraded? You hadn’t—

“We get to fly first-class?” Daniel’s wide-eyed enthusiasm as he pops up over the back of the seat to look at you make you decide that it’s not worth questioning this turn of good-fortune. Maybe Sabriel pulled some strings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not too much later, despite how much Daniel complained about the flight being long—even after a decade on earth, most human periods of time feel like little more than blinks of the eye—the plane touches down. It’s not nearly as smooth as your own landings, but you imagine how excited Da Vinci would be to hear that you had flown in a machine at all. He would have loved it, you know.

From the airport, you make your way onto a train that takes you directly into Venice. As you get closer you tune out more of Daniel and Israfel’s banter, lost in old memories. Venice couldn’t have possibly changed that much over the centuries. It should be easy to take Daniel to Leonardo’s old workshop, maybe even the villa where you two had attended a party courtesy of Mona Lisa, though that hadn’t been the name she’d used at the time.

The train station is busy, but with Israfel’s lanky frame leading the way, neither you nor Daniel have problems with the crowd, and with Stephanie’s traveling charms, you’re not worried about pick-pockets or the like.

The three of you emerge into the sunshine, a series of stairs down leading to a canal full of water-taxis and boats. It’s similar in some ways to what you remember—crowds of people crossing canals, boats moving their cargo through the city—and different. But now there’s the noise of electric motors, and the air smells fresher than your remember.

“We’ll go to the hotel and then I’m thinking walk around, tomorrow we’ll go out to Murano and Burano and Torcel—”

You stop mid-sentence, distracted by a spectacle you probably should have noticed first. Dead center of the crowd, perched on a ridiculous amount of luggage, is Lucifer, dressed in a frilled burgundy shirt and black slacks, legs crossed at the ankles, arms thrown wide in welcome, silver hair coiffed in a style that would have been more at home a few centuries ago.

“Welcome to Venice!” he proclaims.

People are congregating around him, taking pictures with their phones. It doesn’t help that all his luggage looks like it came from the same time-period as his hairstyle, heavy wooden trunks covered in delicate carving and paintings, leather straps helping hold them closed. It looks like he’s moving here with the mountain of baggage he’s enthroned on.

“You didn’t say Lucifer was coming along,” Israfel states mildly, arching an eyebrow at you.

“I didn’t know he was,” you reply. Lucifer hops to his feet, claps his hands, and a few burly porters step forward and collect his luggage. One of them approaches you and relieves Daniel and you of your luggage as well, all while you stare at your father.

“Close your mouth dear. Venice hasn’t changed that much and you’ll catch flies standing about gaping like that,” he tells you, drawing you in and kissing each of your cheeks. He repeats the process with Daniel and then Israfel.

“You could have told me!” you exclaim, coming to your senses and throwing your arms around him in a hug.

“It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I did,” he points out, sweeping around in a gesture that says he is accustomed to having capes that flair dramatically behind him while doing so. You can practically picture it now.

“Come on, I thought we’d start with a gondola ride.”

“What about our luggage?”

“It’s being taken care of.” Good enough for you. You step into the wooden gondola after Lucifer, turning and offering your hand to Daniel. Daniel stares down at it.

“You’ve been on boats before,” you coax.

“I know. I don’t want to tip it though,” he says, cautiously extending a foot. When he makes contact with the bottom of the boat he grabs your hand and uses it to hop into the boat, causing it to rock slightly.

“See? Not bad at all,” you tell him with a fond smile, mussing his dark curls. You turn to offer help to Israfel, but he’s already in the gondola and folding his long frame onto a wooden bench seat.

“You cheat, Uncle Israfel,” Daniel grumbles, his legs shaking as he attempts to follow suit. It’s more of a controlled collapse, but he makes it onto the seat and not over the side of the boat which you count as a victory. You’d ended up in a canal once; it isn’t an experience you want to repeat even if the water seems cleaner now.

“Hardly. I’ve had lots of practice. Now your grandfather? He cheats,” Israfel points out. You join them sitting down, not looking at your father.

“I use my God-given gifts,” Lucifer proclaims. “I fail to see how that qualifies as cheating.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “So what are we doing, Grandpa?” he asks, his head turning to and fro, trying to take in everything there is to see, from the flowerpots handing in the windows over the canals to the shops and relics of days past. If he wasn’t as worried about the boat rocking, you’re certain he’d be rushing from side-to-side to get a better look at your surroundings.

“It’s not… cheating,” you say diplomatically. “But you do show-off a lot. Like the first-class tickets and whatever else you have planned.”

“I am an old man. It gives me great happiness to take my daughter and grandchild on vacation and spoil them rotten. And, of course, Israfel. Though I admit I’m surprised there’s no Michael.”

“You know how he is about human stuff,” you say with a small shrug, trying not to look guilty. You had offered, but were relieved when he declined. He’s been better since you started letting him sleep over, but better isn’t good, and this trip is about family, preferably without family squabbles.

“I do,” Lucifer agrees. “And to start with tonight, we can walk around Piazzo San Marco and admire the Basilica’s statues from outside. We can go in tomorrow if you like, or take a private water taxi out to the islands. Those are a must see. Burano is known for lace, and while I don’t use it much in my wardrobe any more, the process of making lace is incredible, as are the different designs. Not to mention the houses there are beautiful, painted a wide variety of vivid colors. It’s quite famous. Now, Murano is home to glass blowing, and the different studios have their own unique sands that they’ve been using for centuries. Now Torcello, that’s…”

You continue to listen with one ear as try to locate where you are. The Rialto bridge makes one landmark, crowded with tourists and vendors hawking their wares. “It’s a pity there’s not a carnival happening. I used to love attending those,” Lucifer continues in the background.

Daniel taps your knee. “What are you thinking about?” he asks softly.

“That it’s been a long time since I’ve walked these streets. Leonardo used to like to get up early, get to the market as people were setting up. He loved to sketch the different people. One time he even bought a bird in a cage to study. He was always doing that; studying. He always had hundreds of questions racing through his mind, and he would hop from one thing to another, trying to answer them all.”

“Are we going to visit where he lived?” he asks, leaning forward in his eagerness.

“If it’s still standing, and not submerged. I—oh, well, this brings back memories.” The gondola pulls into a gated entrance, a palatial estate that you had been to a few times back in the days. There had been guards, then, and banners of the noble family living there, not insignias of the hotel. Lucifer hops dramatically out of the boat, Israfel somehow already on the dock.

Daniel and you exchange a glance. “I fully believe in your capability to get up there without falling in the water,” you tell him with a solemn nod.

“And I believe that I can do better than you, mom,” he says and with a jaunty salute, scrambles up to the dock, sending the gondola rocking before the gondolier steadies it. You follow with more trepidation, but you don’t have any mishaps.

“Check-in and meet back here in twenty minutes?” Lucifer suggests, sweeping through the doors, anticipating their movement. He is a king, making his dramatic entry into his palace.

“Well, this is going to be entertaining,” Israfel comments at your shoulder. You wish he would make noise when he moves. Humans are fragile beings and you’re certain that every time he startles you it shortens the lifespan of your shell.

“It won’t be that bad.”

“True. It’s not like we’re taking the king of Hell into the Vatican or something,” he says, flashing a smile as you wait your turn at the counter.

“Would that be bad for me?”

Daniel’s voice is soft at your side.

Both you and Israfel startle, having thought he was still off peeking at the rich dressings of the lobby from the marble floors to the gold gilded ceiling, with murals and tapestries and statues aplenty between. Ostentatious seemed an inadequate description for the kind of casual display of art and wealth visible here.

“No, honey, oh no,” you rush to assure him. “You’re not evil, Daniel. And consecrated ground really only affects demons and not very well at the higher power levels to be honest. Not unless god or an angel has reinforced the blessings, and while yes, the Vatican is one of the strongest holy sites, it’s not going to affect you.”

“It’s a bit gauche anyways,” Israfel demurs. “And a tragedy to see the statues. I remember when they had color and now they’re bleached white like bones.”

“That’s a bit dark,” Daniel comments, side-eyeing Israfel.

“Such is life,” Israfel responds with a shrug. He stops at his room. “I’d get running shoes on. We are going out with Lucifer.”

“Good point,” you murmur, opening the door to Daniel and yours room. Your father can put small children to shame with his chaotic energy.

Daniel gasps when he sees the large canopy bed, racing ahead and throwing himself onto it with a giggle of pure joy.

“Your bed is in the other room!” You tell him. He gets to his feet, bouncing on them. “Come on, mom. You know you want to jump too!”

Your resolve lasts a second before you join Daniel, the two of you bouncing around the bed until you collapse, breathless.

Daniel grimaces, and pulls out a scroll from behind him. He tosses it at you. “I guess they’re really into the whole over the top fancy schmancy stuff,” he says.

You cant your head. There’s something about the wax seal that seems familiar to you, but it’s not until you open it and find a familiar scrawl that you feel all the hairs on your body stand up.

Welcome back, Gabriel.

Sincerely,

A friend.

“Wow!” Daniel takes it from you. “This is legit calligraphy! And it’s—backwards? Wasn’t that da Vinci’s thing?”

“Yes, it was. Backwards and forwards, both hands; he was special. This, however, would be Lisa’s. And yes, I mean the model for Mona Lisa. She says welcome back to Venice.”

“She wasn’t, er, isn’t human?”

“Not in the least.”

You know the look in his eyes, and you laugh. “Let’s go meet your grandfather, and I’ll tell you all about it. Some of the old haunts are probably still kicking around, though we’ll skip any of the water folk.”

Eyes sparkling, Daniel trails after you to the lobby while you start talking about your time as a muse. Israfel chimes in, and when you meet up with Lucifer, he’s quick to add his own tangential anecdotes.

#Kofi Request #Extra #Thanks for the Coffee!#Hope you enjoy #floof #Lucifer #Israfel #Daniel #Gabriel #f!Gabriel #Rielle #Rielle(Gabriel)#Rielle Santos #family bonding

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