#i managed to get some stuff done for work for a project i’m doing & now i’m gonna read until i gotta get ready!! :3

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

I am trying so hard to save money lately, but it is so hard, especially when there are so many things that make me want to spend. the latest temptation is that I really would love to participate in a Make-Along this spring, but don’t know if I can justify spending $60+ on the yarn kit for it (especially when I already have a whole closet-full of yarn from my workplace from when we had a big inventory clear-out last year)

[yuukimiyas]

sending so much love & light to you all for the best wednesday ever *ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩ treat yourself to smth delicious today & make sure to drink lots of water!! all my love to you today & always ૮꒰ྀི⊃´ ꒳ `⊂ྀི꒱ა

[moonstruckme]

hi !! i saw that your requests were open and i'd really love if you wrote something with james (or poly!m !!) with a gn!reader taking up literature in uni who tends to get back pains from being hunched over reading and writing almost all hours of the day (definitely not projecting, hehe!)

i love the stuff you write and everythings just so sweetly written and portrayed so lovely !! thank you for keeping the marauders fandom alive lol

Thank you ml <3

modern au

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 709 words

James plops down beside you on the couch, and when he pokes your spine you straighten reflexively. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, only half in the room as the rest of your brain continues working on your essay. 

“Are you really not done yet?” Sirius asks, putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You start typing faster. They’re going to want to start the movie soon, and then your laptop is going to be wrested away from you whether you’ve reached a stopping point or not. “I can’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple hours on an essay. You’ve been laboring over that thing all day.” 

“It’s a long one,” you admit, “but it’s hardly labor.” 

“Sure looks like it, when your back is hunched worse than a coal miner’s.” 

You give him a deadpan look. Sirius glances down at your fingers, still typing rapidly, and shudders. 

“Fucked how you can do that.” 

“Literature students might be the new coal miners,” says James.

You hum dubiously, looking back to your work. “Not sure that’s a super fair comparison.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Remus agrees with you, “but it’s not like you’re not doing yourself any harm when you write all day like this, love. Your back is already hurting you—” 

“You’ll probably get carpal tunnel,” James adds. 

“—and I know looking at your laptop for this long gives you headaches.” Remus’ slow strides into the living room feel like a countdown clock. You manage to hammer out the end of your sentence just before he pulls your laptop out from under your fingers. “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna fuck up your sleep. That’s enough for tonight.” 

You sigh but don’t complain, rolling back your shoulders to ease some of the tautness there. Your spine crackles, quicker and louder than the popcorn popping in the kitchen, and James flinches away from you. 

“God, make it stop,” he pleads. 

You ignore him and roll your neck to the side, eliciting a series of cracks from there too. James makes a dramatically horrified sound and squeezes his eyes shut, and Remus grabs your head in both hands, restraining you. 

“Don’t,” he tells you severely. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly as he pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave. 

“It hurts,” you complain. 

“Sounds like it, fuck,” James agrees emphatically. Now the danger has passed, he leans towards you again, splaying a protective palm over your mid back. “Sirius, could you grab my icy hot from the fridge? Here, lovie, lie down.” 

Remus lets go of your face somewhat reluctantly, letting James help you lay across his lap. His hand smooths up and down your spine, pressing down lightly upon muscles rigid with tension. You sort of wish he’d just crush you. You’re sure he could, he doesn’t spend all that time at the gym for nothing. 

“I’m gonna get you a back brace,” Remus mutters, fondness under the veneer of resentment in his tone. 

“That'd be kind of hot.” Sirius lifts your feet, dropping down onto the couch before passing James the tube of cream. “Those are the strappy looking things, right? I’m for it.” 

“I do not consent,” you say clearly, then hiss as James applies the cool balm to your lower back. 

He and Sirius laugh. Remus reaches over to press your shoulders back down. 

“Easy, angel,” says James. “It’ll help.” 

“I didn’t know it’d be this cold,” you defend yourself, a little laugh tripping out of you as well. “You do this voluntarily?” 

“You’ll see why in a bit.”

“If I were spending all of my Saturday hunched over my laptop and a bunch of books,” Sirius says, “I think I’d at least use the right ‘your.’ What are they teaching you, babe?” 

You suppress a groan. You’d sent Sirius a grammatically incorrect text two days ago, and he’s yet to stop lording it over you. 

“That was autocorrect,” you tell him again. 

He hums noncommittally, tracing a path up your calf with his forefinger. “I’m just saying, can it really be worth it if we’re making those sorts of mistakes? Will they even still give you your degree?” 

“Sirius, their back is getting tense again. Knock it off.”

[valeriehalla]

I don’t know what to do about the internet. It’s getting worse, and getting worse faster than I think any of us ever could have imagined even just six years ago. Tumblr shot itself in the heart at the behest of Apple, at the behest of whichever nameless evangelical finance perverts are in charge of credit card policy, whereupon people like me (artists and people who like art) fled in droves to Twitter, the present state of which I don’t have it in me to be funny about.

Even after that one-two punch, Twitter and Tumblr are still the only (major) social media platforms I can stand to use. I mean, they’re the last ones left where you can, for example, see posts that your friends have made. I might have said that that seemed like the whole point of social media; every digital elsewhere has now collectively agreed that it is, in fact, social media’s greatest flaw. Your friends like to hang out and post weird jokes and titty drawings — they don’t know the first thing about your favorite marketing trends, let alone your unslakable thirst for 30-second phone videos. We have to move on: I’ll die if I think about it.

Uh — I wanna let you in a little. Here’s where I’m at, okay? I’m working on this project. I like it a lot: it’s a writing thing and an art thing and a music thing all at the same time. I’m still struggling with art burnout, but every day I get to sit down and write or compose for this thing is an unending delight, so on the balance it’s been great to work on. It’s taken me a while to get here, though — I’ve blown past all my estimates about when it’d be done. Still, it won’t be much longer.

In the mean time, I keep having these compulsive worries. I feel that I should be posting, but the nature of a long-form project like this is that I don’t have anything to post. I tweet complete nothings now and then, as if to announce my presence, like a lighthouse pulsing in the distance. And every week the websites get worse. They’re bleeding out, and it feels like some of my blood’s in there, maybe. Like, maybe you’d call me naïve, but it wasn’t that long ago that I really, really liked all this online stuff. I never had the hustle culture mindset about it: by good luck alone I managed to make a living posting the stuff I wanted to post on the places I wanted to post it.

The places I liked to post don’t exist anymore. My experience of using the internet feels hostile, alien. The ground beneath all our feet feels eggshell-thin.

But I have to use the internet: it’s where my stuff goes. It’s where all of you are. Here is where art and artists and art-likers live.

The things I love live here, in precarity, as the saw blades and lava traps of our digital dungeon grow every day more numerous.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that the web sucks now, but as long as we’re here — and we will be here — I want to try loving it again anyway. I want to untangle myself from all this disappointment and expectation and try simply “vibing” again. I wanna use cohost more: I’ll even crosspost stuff to Tumblr like I keep saying I should. I’m making a cool thing and I should show it off! I should relearn how to draw a little doodle and post it without feeling like it’s a suboptimal use of my time or whatever!! I want to believe in what joy may find us, though our world be a dumpster.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part five

art by the incredibly talented @piaart!

author’s note: finally have this finished but man is it hard to be satisfied. i keep wanting to work on it and work on it but i also really wanted to get this out! also don't even know if this is good teehee. lots of awkward here. 4.9k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 linky.

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

[bird-in-the-space]

Echoes of the Unknown

You save Miko from a risky situation and end up losing your patience with her.

Warnings: violence, reader getting annoyed, Miko giving bad name ideas, killing a con, an outburst, some regrets, and making up.

Chapter 13

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

A few days have passed and you have started to get used to your new life. You worked on the hologram projector with Raf, making great progress on it. He taught you more tech stuff and even agreed to teach you a few cybertronian things. Miko started calling you two nerds when you were invested in your little project. When you were not working on the projector, you would be helping Ratchet in the sick bay. He showed you the ropes, and whenever he was done, you would help fix things or clean his tools.

Today, Emily had to go back home to check on things, so you were alone with the kids and the bots. It wasn’t too bad since you had time to get to know them better. 

With Ratchet’s permission to use his tools, you worked on making your prosthetic fingers. It was challenging but with the things you learned and the parts, you had an idea of how to create the joins and make it detachable as you doubted you could modify your own hand without causing any nerve damage. 

You adjusted the finger joints and the straps you used to attach the finger between your two main fingers. You placed the tool down and looked it over, testing its mobility and density. You then grabbed a box and tested how well it helped you hold it. 

“Hey, not bad,” Raf complimented as he watched from the side. 

“Yeah. I guess this makes holding things much easier now. Maybe I could try making a little finger as well,” you said. 

“Not a bad idea, then you five fingers again,” he said.

You then heard someone come from the entrance. It was Bulkhead as he came back from his drive with Miko. The energetic girl stepped out of the passenger seat, allowing the bot to transform into his robot form. 

“What’s up geeks? Got anything interesting going on?” she asked. 

“Nothing much. (Name) managed to make herself a new finger,” Raf said. 

“Cool. Hey, maybe you could make new weapons and stuff? Maybe you could make one of those wrist blades or brass knuckles,” she suggested, throwing punches in the air. “Oh! oh! maybe you could make a cannon to blast cons away,” she said. 

“I just made a new finger. I’m not a weapon engineer,” you shook your head. 

“Oh, come on. Have some fun little?” Miko pestered. 

“By the way, we should come up with a bot name for you,” she said. 

“What’s wrong with my current name?” you asked with a frown. 

“Nothing. It’s just it's a human name. You are a giant robot now. So how about you get a cool robot name!” Miko said.

You groaned as she had been at it for a few days now. It was constantly about being a cool robot and doing cybertronian stuff. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t find it a bit annoying by now. 

“How about… Skullcrusher?” 

“No,” you shook your head. 

“Mauveine,” 

“That’s a color,” you said. 

“Metallica,” she threw in 

“Isn’t that the name of that one metal band?” you frowned. 

“Oh, now I got it. Mirage,” she said. 

“I think I am going to stay with my current name,” you stated. 

“Oh, don’t be so boring,” Miko whined. 

“Sometimes boring is good enough. Deal with it,” you said, taking out your finger. 

A loud beeping came from the main computer. You looked over as Optimus and the other bots checked out what their computer found. 

“The cons are active,” Arcee said. 

“Could be a false alarm,” Bulkhead added. 

“Whatever it is. It is worth investigating. “ Optimus said. 

“Autobots. Transform and roll out,” he said as they opened the ground bridge. They transformed and drove into the green vortex. 

After the ground bridge closed, you tried to get back on your project, but then you noticed someone missing. 

“Where’s Miko?” you asked. 

Ratchet, Raf, and Jack looked around but the girl was nowhere to be seen. 

“She was just here a moment ago,” Jack said. 

You were then reminded of what Jack said about Miko joining the missions despite the dangers. She disappeared right after the bots left through the ground bridge. 

“You don’t think she went after the bots?” you asked, glancing toward the ground bridge. 

“Well, it would not be the first time,” Jack said. 

Ratchet groaned loudly before contacting Optimus and the other bots.

“Optimus. Miko disappeared right after you left. Did she follow you?” he asked. 

“Negative. We are currently engaging the decepticons,” Optimus said. 

“I have eyes on her. Miko! Get to cover!” Bulkhead yelled as you all heard blaster fire in the background. 

You felt worried for Miko’s sake. 

“Scrap! They sound too engaged to get Miko out of there,” Ratchet said. 

“What should we do?” Jack asked. 

You considered your options. Ratchet was pretty much needed at the base. Jack and Raf would be too at risk to go get her. The bots were engaging the enemy and it would be too risky just to wait and hope for the best. There was only one option. 

“I could go get her,” you stood up. 

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet said strictly. 

“I’m not gonna join the fight. I stay hidden, find Miko, and come back,” You explained. 

“Are you sure?” Raf asked. 

“We could wait here and hope nothing happens to her. Besides I’m a robot now, I have the least chance of getting hurt unlike Miko,” you answered. 

You all then looked at Ratchet. He groaned with a sigh. 

“Fine.” he opened the ground bridge. 

“But you better be quick and stay out of harm,” He said as you turned toward the ground bridge. 

“Be careful,” Raf said as you ran into the vortex. 

You jumped out of the ground bridge as it closed behind you. You quickly hid when you saw the bots fighting the cons. It was violent as punches and kicks were thrown at each other. You looked around for the girl. However, you couldn’t see her. 

“Bulkhead! Where’s Miko?!” you called out as he was the nearest. 

“I told her to hide over there!” he pointed at rocks before continuing the fight. 

You quickly sneaked toward the boulders where Miko should be and soon enough, saw her watching the fight. 

“Miko!” you called out. 

“Huh?” Miko looked toward you, but then one of those vehicons noticed her. Your eyes widened in panic. 

“Miko! Get down!” you yelled as you ran toward the vehicon and tackled him to the ground before he could grab the girl. Miko yelped then watched as you started wrestling with the con. 

The vehicon was stunned but struggled hard against you. You groaned as you tried to push him down. He then tried to shoot you with his blaster arm. You tried to push it away but when he fired, you were forced back to avoid getting shot. The vehicon then tried to get up. You tried to think something then remembered you shared a similar body, which meant you should have a blaster arm as well. 

“Come on…” you tried to think of your arm as a weapon, and then a click happened and your arm turned into a blaster. 

“(Name)!” Miko pointed at the vehicon as it prepared to shoot you. 

You aimed and a blast came out of your blaster arm. You were thrown back from the recoil, however, your shot struck the vehicon right in the core, causing it to fall and lay on the ground motionlessly with smoke rising out of it. 

You both stared at the dead con in stunned silence. Your arm turned back to normal and you released a heavy breath. 

“Dude! That was so cool!” Miko said beside you. You frowned and then grabbed her into your hands. 

You ran away from the battlefield, returning to the spot where you first arrived. 

“Ratchet! I got Miko! Bring us back!” you said through the com and he then opened the ground bridge again. You ran into the vortex, away from the battlefield. 

Back at the base, after the ground bridge closed behind you, you placed Miko back on her feet. 

“Are you okay?” Raf asked when he saw you rub your head. 

“I’m fine,” you uttered annoyed. 

“Dude! That was epic! You totally scrapped that con!” Miko said excitedly. 

“You are tougher than you look,” she said. 

You looked at her. “You got to be joking you could have gotten yourself killed!” You said. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you came. You make one awesome bot, and I got some sweet pictures” she said like what just happened wasn’t a big deal. Your patience finally ran out. You had enough of her antics. 

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?!” you snapped. 

“Oh oh,” Jack said, covering Raf’s ears. 

“We were on an active battlefield just now and all you cared about was getting some dumb photos? Do you think this is some kind of a game?” you asked with anger in your tone. 

“Relax. It’s alright now,” Miko said. 

“No! Miko! It’s not!” you stepped toward her, causing her to step back and look at you with a bewildered expression. 

“We could have gotten ourselves killed! I did not want to be there, but one more second, and you would have been a goner for good. No second chances. Like, come on Miko! That was an actual battle zone! You could have actually died there!” you yelled, pointing at the ground bridge from where you came. 

“I…I…” Miko stuttered under her words. 

“How about you actually think with your head once in a while instead of trying to get dumb photos?!” You asked. 

“Okay. Everyone calm down,” Ratchet tried to de-escalate as he stepped forward. 

“(Name). How about you go outside for a moment? Cool yourself down,” he said. 

“For the record, Miko. I find none of this cool. My human body is gone. I can never return to my human life, so how about you stop with the stupid name suggestions,” you marched out of the hangar while Miko looked after you with tears in her eyes. 

“That was… intense,” Jack said. 

“I… I didn’t mean to,” Miko sniffed. 

“Calm down, Miko. Give her some alone time. She’ll come around eventually,” Ratchet said before returning to the monitors. 

Miko dried her eyes and quietly walked to the yellow couch where she continued to sit in silence. Raf and Jack looked at her with worry but did not know if they should try to comfort her after that outburst. 

The bots soon returned to the base after dealing with the cons. Bulkhead quickly walked over to Miko after seeing her. 

“Miko. Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, now did ya?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” Miko uttered. Bulkhead immediately noticed the sullen look and tone in her voice. 

“Hey, Miko. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asked. 

“Let’s just say… when (Name) brought Miko back, she kinda lost her patience and had an outburst,” Raf explained. 

“Yeah, she did not like the experience and apparently there was a con she had to scrap to save Miko,” Jack said. "I guess she also got annoyed about being a bot," he added.  

“I didn’t mean to make her that upset,” Miko exclaimed. 

Bumblebee beeped something. 

“Understand that (Name) did not become this out of her choice and that her condition is irreversible, which means she can never return to the life she once knew,” Optimus said. 

“Meaning she can’t go home or do human things anymore,” Jack said. 

“Maybe she actually misses being a human,” Raf added. 

“Whatever the case, perhaps giving each other time to think will help you both resolve this issue,” Optimus stated. 

Arcee looked toward Miko before her thoughts came to you. 

At the top of the base, you were sitting at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the view after releasing a few angry tears and thinking the whole thing through. You felt regretful for cursing out on Miko like that. 

“Hey,” 

You looked behind you and saw Arcee walking toward you. 

“Ugh… hey,” you replied, slightly awkwardly.

“I heard you had a blowout with Miko after bringing her back,” she said. 

“Yeah. I lost my patience. I shouldn’t have done that,” you sighed, holding your knee as your other feet hung from the edge. 

“No. I get it. Miko does tend to get herself into dangerous situations,” Arcee said as she sat down beside you. 

“Yeah, but I still shouldn't have blown up on her like that. God. I’m so stupid. I said some pretty nasty stuff to her, “ you said. 

“Don’t beat yourself over that. Miko is just how she is even though she could be more considerate of her own safety, and it’s completely normal to feel the way you did after saving her from a con,” Arcee comforted.  

“I really didn’t think much. When I saw that con trying to grab her, I just ran and tackled the con to the ground,” you explained. 

“It was a close call and her being so careless about it kinda pissed me off,” you said. “Now she probably won’t talk to me after that whole episode,” You uttered sadly. 

“Don’t overthink it. Everyone can get frustrated at times and need to blow up steam. And Miko is just a kid. Kids tend to do reckless things without considering the consequences,” Arcee said. “I doubt she thinks badly of you. You came to make sure she would come back safely and fought a con. Bulkhead already appreciates you for it,” she said. 

You considered her words. “You’re right. But… I think I still need to make up to her in a way,” you said. 

Arcee smiled with a nod. “ You know, you might look like a con, but you’re definitely not one from the inside,” 

You chuckled as you two then gazed at the view before you. 

Back inside the base, you walked up to Miko as she was sketching on the couch. 

“Miko,” you said, catching her attention. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. The thing is I’m scared by this whole alien war thing, and I was really worried when that con nearly got you,” you said. 

“I’m sorry too. I know I can get a bit ahead of myself. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. 

“It’s fine. Also… I kinda miss being a human. As a robot, there are now some things I can’t do anymore. Like I can no longer eat my favorite food. I can’t drink any of my favorite drinks, not even something as bland as water. I can’t run my fingers through my hair, and I can barely feel the wind on my face. I can’t even take casual walks outside to clear my head. Those seem like small things, but after a long time, you can’t help but grow to miss them,” you explained. 

 “I— didn’t really think of it that way. I can’t imagine myself never being able to drink my favorite soda again, “ Miko said thoughtfully. 

“I know right? Energon doesn’t really taste much and now it’s the only thing I need to survive. Being a robot might have been cool if it was temporal. However, I’m stuck like this forever,” you said. 

“(Name). I’m sorry,” Miko said. 

“No. it’s okay. There are some positive perks in being a robot,” you said. 

“Like what?” she said curiously. 

“You do not need to worry about getting a driver’s license. You can pretty much now climb and jump from any high places that would have gravely injured you as a human. And… well, you no longer suffer from periods,” you said. 

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Miko grinned. 

“Periods?” Bulkhead looked confused. 

“What I wanna say is… well… don’t stop being you, but maybe be a bit more considerate of your safety. I’m pretty sure none of us here wants to see you get hurt,” you said. 

“No promises,” Miko teased, making you tilt your head at her. “But I promise to try,” she said. 

You smiled and then glanced at her book, having an idea. 

“You know, Emily has been talking about getting a new look for me. Do you wanna help us out on that?” you asked. 

“Absolutely! I can come up with the most rad colors ever,” Miko said, taking out her pencil and began drawing. She rambled ideas while you just listened, nodding along as she came up with interesting color design ideas. 

[genericpuff]

How should someone write for a comic? I want to start a comic but I’m a bit in the dark for how to write one

This is a very, VERY broad subject that, like the question of "how to draw comics", is very multi-faceted and impossible to tackle in one response. Especially because I myself also will not have all the answers.

What I will say is that regarding writing comics, let's say webcomics, it's not an uncommon thing in the slightest to see writers come into communities like /r/webtoons and ask for people to help them draw their passion project and to that I say... please don't LOL That's not to say that's what you were going to do at all, just wanted to throw that out there as an initial opening disclaimer. Ultimately the reality is that in webcomics, many of the people creating these projects are artists first and writers second (as one of those skillsets is way more accessible than the other), and already have their own passion projects that they're working on. So if you're going into purely writing comics, you're gonna need to manage your perspective on the industry and how it functions from a writer's POV rather than the POV of an artist who picked up writing as a consequence of wanting to get into comics.

That said, the beauty of writing comics is that, in general, it requires a lot less overhead than drawing a comic. That's not to say that it's necessarily easier, because god knows writing presents its own unique challenges, but writing a script generally takes less overhead and resources than turning that script into a comic. I can pump out 10 episodes of rough scripts for Rekindled in a day or two, with tweaking and editing along the way, but actually drawing those episodes takes weeks LMAO (and I wouldn't be able to pull off a lot of the stuff I do now without the help of my assistant @banshriek who not only provides a lot of expertise in drawing backgrounds, but lightens the workload in their help with shading and rendering! they also provide great feedback when it comes to the roughs stage <3)

So if you're starting out, just like the advice I give to budding webcomic artists, it's about starting. Build that experience, get some projects under your belt no matter the size or length that you can use to show your skills (and shop around for feedback from those willing to give it!), etc. Familiarize yourself with various genres, both writing AND reading! Like scripts for film, writing a comic script doesn't HAVE to come with the visuals even if that's the end goal, you don't HAVE to relegate yourself to finding an artist to draw your comic and then posting it online in the hopes it'll get seen. There's a lot that can be done with a simple comic script, whether it's sharing it to the world as is, adapting it to a novel, or pitching it to publishers/agents. Being a comic writer comes with a lot more flexibility in that way than being just a comic artist with no script (though, again, most indie comic artists will simply pick up writing to create their passion projects, it's a much bigger task for writers to pick up art for the sake of creating a comic).

Also establish your goals. Is your plan to write for some major industry some day? Or would you rather stick to writing for smaller productions? Just like with drawing webcomics, you should be setting your expectations in places that are reasonable to meet, rather than shooting for the top of the game right off the bat. If you're wanting to get into writing comics, your first major goal should be something like writing a complete script and NOT, say, getting to write for Marvel/DC lmao

As for the actual writing of comics, I highly recommend you read Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, it delves into both the history and technical aspects of writing, drafting, and pitching comics in a very easy to understand way (it's a comic about making comics!)

Here are some other helpful resources I was sent by a pal recently that might also help familiarize you with the process of getting into the actual industry as a comic writer!

I hope this gives you at least a good place to start from! Again, it's ultimately a very broad topic that will vary from person to person (esp when it comes to the differences between genres and target demographics, ex. someone writing an action comic isn't likely going to use the exact same processes as someone who writes romance), but I hope this at least helps you find some direction in it all so you can establish your goals and start making steps in the direction you want to go in.

Good luck!!! <3

[redcoralpot]

Smudged (6) Rodrick Heffley x FTM! Reader

Summary: You fulfill your promise to Daniel, but Rodrick insists on coming along.

Warning: Talk of knives

Word Count: 1.1K

-

Crickets hummed a tune as you turned your headlight on, gripping your camera as if a bear would rip it from your hands at any moment. Daniel leaned against the hood of your car, flipping through pages in his binder, exchanging a few words with Rodrick. They were cautiously neutral, you noticed, despite Rodrick’s typical behavior. He was nosy and in Daniel’s personal space, trying to peer over his shoulder with a smug grin. You shined your light in his face, and he backed down with a hiss, “Are we gonna get started or just wait for the vandalism to come to us?”

“I’m pretty much ready, you?” Daniel responded.

You huffed, leaves crunching underfoot as you moved away from the car, “You already know my answer.”

“Dangerous, blah, blah, blah, squatters–”

“C’mon, don’t be a pussy,” Rodrick patted your back, pushing you onwards, “this is tame shit.”

“You wouldn’t know tame shit if it was right under your nose!”

Shaking your head, you kicked rocks off of the overgrown trail. The moon was high and the cool summer air kissed your cheeks with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Fog whispered amongst the bushes, sticking close to the ground, swirling around your shoes. You could feel the warmth of the other two lights on the back of your neck, forcing you to adjust your collar in order to escape it. Owls stared down from their nocturnal perches; there was no privacy in the woods. 

You scanned each and every piece of bark you could find, even stooping to check fallen logs. There were plenty of grooves, but none were short of natural, and you were cut off by Daniel. He put his hand on your shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, “So, I have an idea– hear me out.”

When you nodded, he continued, “We’ll get clearer pictures if we focus only on smoother trees. Like, beech and musclewood and… stuff.”

That’s all Daniel managed before a body pushed between the two of you, proud and arrogant. Daniel shot him a glare, but Rodrick returned it with just as much venom, “Muscles? Yeah, I got plenty of those!”

One look at his stick arms and you burst out laughing, “Dude, seriously?”

“What?”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about? Look around you.” You threw your arms outward, embracing the scenery, “Trees! Trees, trees, and more trees!”

Daniel noted, snickering as he watched Rodrick’s mouth twitch, “Wood. Vandalized wood that we need to find. Preferably before my ass gets frostbite.” 

“It’s not even that cold out,” Rodrick scoffed.

You backed away as they argued back and forth, their voices fading ever so slightly. Yeah, real tough decision from the guy who was insistent on caution, but what could you do? Honestly, it was your fault for bringing two clashing personalities. Now, none of you were getting work done which, as Daniel stated, you preferred to finish swiftly. Your leather jacket had gained at least a few more signs of wear and tear since you started, scraping against trees that were a little too close to the trail. The bark of a tree lit up, bleached pale by your headlight, without many grooves to make shadows. On its surface were two initials surrounded by a heart; K+A, carved for eternity. Or, at least until the tree grew its skin back. Which, according to Daniel, wouldn’t be for years. He wasn’t shy about rambling tree facts to you after the projects were announced.

Taking a step forward, you raised your camera. Snap! Brushing your fingers over it and peering at it closer, it seemed less… fresh than you had initially thought. Certainly not from some lovesick high schoolers that ran off for some private time. Carved with a serrated pocket knife, the letters were lopsided and jagged, but medium-sized. Looking over your shoulder, you called out, “Hey, I found something!”

The two boys snapped out of their quarrel, with Daniel fumbling to get his camera out of his pocket. You grinned, tracing the letters with your thumb, pointing out the obvious, “See? It’s not hopeless.”

“Sure, but I need a few more or I’ll lose ten points for lack of visuals,” he sighed, snapping his own picture. 

“Couldn’t you just fill it in with graphs or some crap?”

Daniel shrugged, “Not according to the rubric. If there’s something here, then chances are there’s bound to be another one up ahead, right?”

“Worth a shot.”

You pushed Rodrick ahead, keeping yourself to the back of the line and flipping through the camera roll. It was mostly just Daniel with his family, or flowers, or– okay, he looked super nerdy there– his first day at work. Glancing up to compare the awkward dude in front of you to the acne-prone fourteen year old in the photo, it was pretty believable. A branch smacked your shoulder and you jumped, glaring at Rodrick when you heard a snicker escape his mouth. What an asshole. 

Trees started getting more and more scarce, and soon, none were present. A small clearing emerged in front of your group, opening up to an idle road in the distance. You heard Daniel sigh and Rodrick grumble, so you glanced over their heads to witness what was probably the most annoying thing that night. Lines marked the packed dirt, a few benches beside them, and inside was a parked car that was too familiar for your liking. 

“So this was rad and all but,” Rodrick chuckled, “you two are shit navigators.”

Daniel scoffed, and you circled around to your car, “Like you’re any better.”

Rodrick mocked his mouth with his hands, “Chit-chat.”

His demeanor was cool, relaxed, and smug. Otherwise, Rodrick looked nothing short of a mess. Your eyes traced down his figure, landing on his legs, where a dark brown bruise made itself known. You squinted, “Uh, man, what’d you hit your left leg on?”

“Huh?” His shoulders stiffened as he looked at his right leg.

“My left.”

You watched in slow motion as his face changed; Rodrick’s lips parted to show tightly shut teeth, his eyebrows raised, and he jumped in the air. He shook his leg repeatedly, yanking on your jacket to keep himself balanced. The not-bruise got flung in the air, landing on your car and shuffling into the wheel, as you stumbled backward. Finally, Rodrick screeched, high-pitched and girly. 

Your ears were left ringing after, “Ow– dude, what the fuck? Get off!”

He didn’t, only gripping onto you with more strength. You could feel the fabric of your jacket straining against his fists, but before you could say anything more, Daniel interrupted, “Wow, I didn’t know Rodrick was scared of spiders.”

“I am not!”

You tugged him off by his own shirt, opening the car door, “C’mon, guys. Let’s quit it for the night.”

-

[ndconceptarchive]

Interview with Creators of the original Secrets Can Kill game

It's honestly a very interesting interview about the early days of HI and it includes some foreshadowing to Alibi in Ashes, Tomb of the Lost Queen, and Labyrinth of Lies. (There was also a mention of possibly remastering Message in a Haunted Mansion! Although that likely wasn't in development.)

The following is a transcript from a video titled, Interview with Creators of the original Secrets Can Kill game | Nancy Drew Games | HeR Interactive. Published Aug 20, 2010. It was created in promotion for Secrets Can Kill Remastered, as seen in the video description:

"We interview Megan, Kris, Robert, and Tim about their experiences making the original version of Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill from 12 years ago! They share funny stories and give a few little known clues about the game. It's a look back at how far Her Interactive has come and where it's going with the upcoming release of Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill REMASTERED (PC/Mac, available on August 24)."

Interviewer: Hello, so we are here today, with four of the original people who worked on the very first Secrets Can Kill game: 

Megan, our CEO, what were you back when we made Secrets Can Kill?

Megan: I was the Creative Director when I got hired in 1997, and then Robert was…

Robert: The Program Manager. I had been recruited from the accounting department in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Kris: I’m Kris, I was hired as a 2D artist and I came in to work with Tim…

Tim: who was also a contract artist and then, I kind of took over the 3D part at the very tail end of the project. 

Interviewer: Did you know anything about creating games when you first started on Secrets Kill? 

Robert: I did a little. I made games when I was a kid. When I got my first computer, all I did was make games for it, especially adventure-type of text-based games, so I knew just a little, but definitely not enough. I was really surprised and overwhelmed by the amount of work that it took to make a computer game.

Kris: I used to do computer day camps with my father who taught us to to program to program games in BASIC. But beyond, that no. 

Tim: Oh I played a lot of computer games, but mainly board games was my big thing. I had a little board gaming group that would just play tons of a lot of German board games. And I think that helped because a lot of those mechanics and bargains translate over into, you know, mini games and puzzles and stuff. So that was fun, but I had no design experience or [anything] at that point. 

Interviewer: So what is the biggest challenge that you guys had to face when you were making Secrets Can Kill?

Megan: Well, first, we were a new team and half the team was in Albuquerque. Then it shifted and I guess everyone moved to Bellevue by the end of the game, really, we were all learning how to work as a team and to kind of create this game around Nancy Drew. So communication I think was probably the hardest. 

Robert: yeah, because there there was a lot of assets, but not a lot of documentation to go with.

Megan: No documentation. 

Robert: Yeah, I remember you, you brought down your, the art director at that time, Laura Henion, to Albuquerque so we could all meet. 

Tim: I think the hardest part was just finishing it. It went really long, much longer than we have [now]. I mean, we got it down to a science now. 

I remember [that] I would take my work home. [I would] then get up at like 3:00 in the morning and start another render on the computer, then go back to bed and get up another half hour and check it and make some tweaks and keep running. I was doing that almost every night it seems for a while there just to get it done. 

Kris: That's really true. There were three of us in the art department at that time- counting Laura the art director. So it was a big push at the end to get work finished. That was a challenge. 

Megan: I think you know, communication was the biggest challenge, but the good part was that everybody was so excited and enthusiastic and passionate. It didn't seem to matter what obstacle came up, because we just figured out a way to overcome it. So there's a lot of trial and error in the first game. 

Interviewer: What is something funny or memorable that you remember from the process when you made that first game? 

Robert: So remember we just had a recorder, a voice recorder. So we thought, let's make silly, silly voicemail messages when you would call different places like Maxines or Aunt Eloise. So we all gathered around the microphone and and just add libbed and it was really funny. 

Tim: When I was just basically just kind of an art assitant and helping Laura, the art director, and I just came in and sat down and started doing some work and I heard some rough rustling going on. What's going on? And I looked behind me and Glenn, who was our contract 3D artist at the time (three years at the time) came out of a sleeping bag from underneath his desk.

Interviewer: Kris, do you have any memories? 

Kris: I remember the marketing at the end. When we finished the game, Megan gave me a huge stack of cell sheets to take with me to spread around town. And I remember I was going to visit my family back east, so I was supposed to take them across the country and spread them around. 

And so there was really some guerrilla marketing that went on at that point.

Interviewer: Come a long way for sure. Say, what do you think of the original Secrets Can Kill now that's been 12 years since you've made it?

Robert: It's always, it was, it's very, it was very surprising to replay it when we're when we're looking at it to remaster Master. I mean, it's just it's so much more different. It was shorter. The storyline wasn’t as as intricate as our current ones. The puzzles were pretty primitive and I think there was only like. I don't know, like 7 inventory objects. Now we have at least 30. 

Tim: We also kind of approach it little differently. It was I think the only game where we hid these hidden messages all throughout the game that had really. That we're really outside of Nancy's world and universe. It was just like like the designer hitting hiding messages in there maybe about the game. 

But it was, you know, if you look at different book spine titles in the library, you could actually, spell out a sentence or something that that might say something, mysterious.

Megan: Meaningful? Tim: But it was like, if you were actually a player in the world, you’d be like, “where did that come from?” So we kind of changed our design tactic on that later on, but that was the one game where we did kind of funny things like that.

Kris: A player wouldn’t notice, but a lot of the articles were written by our family members. Or you know, some of the photos in the game, like for example, in the student dome where Hal Tanaka sits, there's the bulletin board for student of the Month.

Tim: That's where Connie was at. 

Kris: Oh, it’s where Connie is. And so that's, you know, pictures of ourselves and our friends and family. 

Interviewer: What kind of other things did you put in there that you don't think our fans would necessarily have picked up on playing through the games that you guys hid in there?

Robert: Ohh, I remember in the opening cinematic Darrell does that, [pulls his ear] which is an old Carol Burnett move to say “hi Mom!”.

Tim: My son Sam is in the teacher's lounge, he’s in a photo, and he was like a year or two years old and now he's like a grown man, you know, it feels like (he's like 13 now). 

Megan: So I can't remember if that's the one my nieces were in, but when I told them [that they were in a game] they said, “do we talk when you press on us?” And I said “no, maybe in the next game.” 

So what was really neat was when we got together with girls to have them play games at that time to see what they thought about Nancy Drew and games in general. 

And girls didn't really play games back then. And so their feedback actually helped us to improve on existing gameplay rather than just perpetuate stereotypes. 

They would say, when they're playing a shooter, “you know, we don't mind shooting, however, we prefer a reason before we shoot. Like if they were beating up my little sister, I'd be all over them.” So they really helped us with their input in terms of making the games, that that they wanted. 

Interviewer: What are some of the changes that you think have made the biggest impact in the newer games versus the original one? 

Tim: I think the design, the tighter design, kind of the overarching puzzle that is woven into the game is very compelling and interesting to follow for this new game. I think. 

The old game was much more open and just kind of, I mean, you could explore, but. There was a little bit more wandering and trying to piece together what was going on. This one, it's just more cleverly put together. Also the graphics. I think make a big difference with the new lighting and just a little bit updated the 3D characters definitely is a huge difference. 

Robert: Something the players won’t notice is that we now use Lua rather than our proprietary scripting language. It was horrendous. Very 20th century, so even though that doesn't affect the players, it really affected us and made it much more easy to put the the games together.

Kris: I feel really nostalgic playing this game going back but as far as the fun factor is concerned, I really liked that the arcade-style mini-games are now included

Interviewer: Barnacle Blast!

Kris: Yeah. 

Megan: I remember when we were on our first or second game people would say so what are you gonna do after that i mean nobody's gonna play a third Nancy Drew game.

Interviewer: Did you imagine that you guys would be still making these games 23 games later? 

Everyone: No [visibly shaking heads]

Tim: It’s pretty incredible just to think about. Every once in a while I’ll just pull up the codes and stuff because I can’t keep track of which games are in what order anymore. I’ll just look through this list and think “I’ve been here for all of these.” It’s crazy. I mean, it’s something I’m really prud of, that we’ve been able to last that long and create just this wonderful collection.

Megan: I think there’s just the team that you know, that we had all these years. Everyone is so talented and creative. There’s this creative collaboration from the beginning where everybody feels comfortable to add their ideas to the mix. 

Robert: The sky’s the limit for Nancy Drew. There’s so many stories you can tell, so many places you can go, so many people you can meet. It’s fun reinventing Nancy Drew for other platforms as well.

Tim: We get feedback all the time from players who are like “I really wanna see Nancy go to Egypt or to Greece” and we 

Megan: We’re all storytellers. We all come from very different backgrounds. Math, architecture, film, art, but we all love to tell a story. And in these Nancy Drew games, there’s a weave of fact and fiction. And it’s a lot of meaningful content. Historical references and characters, cultural discovery, you learn about the folklore. You learn, but you’re having so much fun you don’t even realize. 

Interviewer: What mystery would you like to see Nancy Drew solve in the future now that we’re talking about how the sky’s the limit? Robert: I actually liked going back to Secrets Can Kill. And I kind of wanna do some retro stuff. So I wouldn't mind going back to like Haunted Mansion and maybe something was left unfound. 

Kris: I might like to see Nancy go to Thailand so we could showcase the architecture of Thailand.

Tim: So many great characters.  some of these secondary characters that you never see like Krolmeister and Sonny Joon and all these people that have kind of built up this universe. It's it's great to be able to go back and and draw from some of that and create more content from that. 

Megan: Traveling just to different countries. I think that's so interesting. Egypt would be fascinating. 

Robert: I think it'd be also fun to take her back home. You know, we we haven't explored River Heights and there's just so much there too and this just wide geography of River Heights. It would be fun to look at. 

Interviewer: Do you guys have anything else that you'd like our fans to know about the new version of Secrets Can Kill Remastered? 

Robert: There's clues everywhere so…

[laughter from everyone] 

Megan: What made you give that away! 

Interviewer: We hope to see a lot more games from you guys.  Megan & the others: thank you, Thank you! We hope you enjoyed this.

[pensat-i-fet]

A little accident (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**Anon request. I hope this is similar to what you imagined and that everyone else likes it too ❤️**

Word count: 2362

Masterlist

Wattpad

“Thank you for driving me to training”, tells me Rúben when we park at the training centre. 

“It’s ok. You sure someone can drive you back home later? I don’t mind picking you up”.

“Yes. Bernardo will drive me home and my car will be fixed tomorrow. Don’t worry”.

“Perfect”, I say, giving him a goodbye kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I can use my time at your place to work without noisy neighbours bothering me. And I could cook dinner for us, maybe?”

“If you want to”, he says, already out of the car and getting his bag. “But we can order something”.

“I’m happy cooking today”, I love cooking for people. “Have a good training”.

He’s already by my door so he can steal another kiss before leaving.

“Thank you. See you later!”

                                      **

When I’m back at Rúben’s, I put the kettle on before I start to get everything ready for work. I haven’t been able to do much lately due to my neighbours doing renovations in their apartment at the worst times, so I’m looking forward to a productive afternoon.

In between work sessions, I start googling recipes for dinner. What should I cook?

Two hours, a coffee and two cups of tea later, I’m done with everything I needed to do so far for the project I’m working on. So I decide to check we got all the ingredients I need for the pie I’m planning on cooking for dinner. Rúben should be back in an hour, so I’ll be taking the food out of the oven by the time he’s back. Perfect.

Moving around Rúben’s place isn’t always the easiest. He’s no giant, so his things are at normal height for most people…but not for someone as short as me. He loves joking about our height difference but always makes sure the things I need are not on the highest shelves. However, he can’t do that when he doesn’t know what I’ll be needing, like right now.

Walking around the kitchen carrying a chair so I can reach some of the ingredients I need makes me feel so dumb. Thankfully, no one is here to see it. But it gets the work done.

Being a bit of an organisation freak, I start to get all the bowls out to put the chopped veggies in them, in the order I’ll cook them. Once the carrots are done, everything is set. I only need to get the spices and I’ll be able to start cooking.

Oh, and I need a baking dish to put everything on. So I check the oven to see if the one that’s usually there can be used but…there’s nothing inside. How odd.

The drawers under the oven are full of stuff, but no baking dishes. Where has this man put them now?

After opening every drawer and cabinet door, I finally spot the baking dishes. On the top shelf. Of course. That’d be my luck. I guess it’s time to get the chair again. Being short isn’t that fun sometimes.

Checking the clock, I see I need to hurry up if I want to have the food ready for when Rúben is back. Even if he wouldn’t mind waiting a little bit, I know he’ll be starving after training.

But the damn chair isn’t enough for me to reach the shelf. Does he have a ladder? No, we joked about it sometimes and he doesn’t have one. 

I realise the only answer is going on the counter and immediately hear my mum’s voice telling me I can’t do that because it’s gross and I’ll slip and fall. Well, I can clean the area when I’m down. And I won’t fall. I’m tiny but, thankfully, not clumsy. And I need that bloody dish.

I soon find out it’s easier said than done and that the area where I’ll be standing is quite small, which reduces my movements a lot. But here I am, finally face to face with the dishes. Which one is the right size?

I get two out and hold them in front of me to try and compare sizes when I lose my balance and realise I have no empty hands to hold onto anything. So my survival instinct kicks in and I drop one of the dishes to try and hold onto the cabinet’s door. But I don’t manage to grab it, grabbing a little figure instead and taking it down with me.

I fear the noise would have been heard throughout the entire building. It was almost deafening. But once it’s all silent again, I finally open my eyes to see the damage made.

Both dishes are on the floor, but not broken. I’ll write a letter to the brand to congratulate them. Their unbreakable promise wasn't just smart advertising.

But something is broken. The little figure I tried to hold onto so I wouldn’t fall. And when I see what it is, I want to cry. My butt also hurts from falling and I’ll probably have a sore back tomorrow but all I can see is the figure.

When I first visited Rúben’s apartment, he showed it to me, telling me how it had belonged to his grandma and how she gave it to his mum when she lived abroad. Now it was Rúben’s turn to have it since he was living away from home. The figure itself wasn’t anything too special. Rúben even joked about keeping it in the cabinet because of how ugly it was. But it had so much sentimental value and now I broke it. God, he’s going to hate me.

My first stupid instinct is to get the pieces and try to do what? Superglue them together? I don’t even know if he has superglue at home. But I frantically get them so I can bring them to the counter and try and do something. 

While I do it, I hear the front door opening, which makes me panic and cut myself with one of the sharp pieces. I’m so panicked I don’t even feel the pain and just get a piece of kitchen cloth to wrap around my hand. That’ll do, it was a superficial cut.

“Hi…what happened?”, asks Rúben when he gets to the kitchen and finds me in my current state. 

“Sorry”, I say, starting to feel the tears in my eyes.

“Why are you apologizing? What happened?”

He keeps walking towards me while assessing the situation in the kitchen. The food is on the counter, ready to be cooked. The two baking dishes are still on the floor and I’m crying holding my bandaged hand and one of the pieces from the broken figure. I’m surprised he hasn’t run away yet.

“I fell and I broke…your figure…but I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…I just couldn’t reach…”, the sobs make it impossible for me to speak correctly.

“Just calm down”, he says, but I can see him getting impatient. “Are you bleeding?”

He’s now holding my hand and trying to get the cloth off to see the cut but I take it away.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry I broke your figure. I just tried to hold…”.

“Stop talking about the stupid figure”, he says, raising his voice. “Let me see your hand”.

“I’m fine”.

“You’re not. The cloth is soaked with blood”.

Is it?  Yes, when I look at my hand, I can see it is. Maybe the cut is not as superficial as I thought.

“I’ll clean it in a bit and put on a plaster. But first, we need to fix this. I have all the pieces and if you’ve got some glue, we can maybe make it decent”.

“If you don’t stop talking about that figure, I swear I’ll throw the pieces out of the window”.

I’ve seen him angry at the matches but that anger was never directed towards me and I don’t know how to react. But of course, he’s right about being angry at me. I come to his apartment and make all this mess. 

“I’m so sorry, Rúben. This is honestly so embarrassing. I’ll clean everything and…”.

But he’s no longer listening. He goes to get my bag and takes my keys out of it.

“What are you doing?”

“We are leaving”.

He’s kicking me out of the house?

“Where?”

“To the hospital. I’m going to clean that cut the best I can and bandage it properly, not with a plaster”, he says, trying not to roll his eyes. “And then we’ll go to the hospital. You might need stitches. And if you’ve fallen, you might be hurt somewhere else”.

“I feel fine”.

But the look he gives me says the conversation is over and we’re doing as he says.

                                      **

Ten minutes later, we are getting in my car since Rúben’s is still being fixed. And his annoyance is only getting worse.

“How can anyone fit here?”, he complains, moving the seat from my normal position to one where his legs can fit comfortably. 

“Sorry”.

“Stop apologizing”.

The drive is silent and I just try not to cry again, but I start feeling the pain from the fall in my body now that the adrenaline is gone and it’s not pretty.

“Are you alright?”, asks Rúben when he notices me moving, trying to find a comfortable position.

“My back hurts a bit”.

He sighs and keeps his eyes on the road. “We’ll be there soon”.

And he was right. Only a couple of minutes later, we are at the hospital and it doesn’t seem to be super busy at A&E. Finally some luck.

“I think she might need stitches”, says Rúben to the nurse who’s taking notes of all my injuries.

“Let me see, sweetie”, and I do, finally looking at the cut myself and having to look away immediately. “Yes, stitches for sure. Come with me, we need to disinfect it well before the doctor can do some sawing. He’s great at it. I’m always trying to get him to fix my clothes”.

I try to smile at her attempt at a joke but can barely do it. Rúben and I still don’t talk to each other and this feeling of guilt is killing me. But he still stays with me the whole time, which makes me feel a bit better.

The doctor who fixes my cut also checks my back, after telling him how I fell and injured myself and I can hear Rúben swearing under his breath when I take my shirt off.

“What?”, I ask, worried.

“It’s a nasty bruise”, answers the doctor. “But just a bruise. I’ll give you some medicine for the pain and you’ll be fine in a couple of days”.

                                   **

By the time we are back at the car, Rúben still hasn’t talked to me. He was happy to speak with the doctors and nurses but had no words for me. And now it’s starting to piss me off. It’s not as if I did this on purpose.

Out of habit, I go to open the door with my right hand, only to realise I can’t move it because of the bandage and the stitches. So I try with my left hand, but can’t open the door because Rúben stops me from doing it.

I turn to look at him but before I have time to say anything, he brings my body to his and hugs me tightly. Thank God I didn't hurt my ribs when I fell.

“Rúben…thank you for looking after me”.

“Don’t you even injure yourself again, you hear me?”

“Ok?”

“Do you know how scared I was when I saw you in the kitchen, crying and bloodied? I almost had a heart attack”, he tells me, holding my face with his hands.

“I thought you were angry at me”.

“Why would I be angry?”

“You yelled at me. You never yell at me”, I say, trying to make sense of the last hour. I just wanted to make some Shepherd’s pie.

“I was scared and didn’t know what to do and it frustrated me”, he says, hugging me again. “And then you kept talking about that figure you broke, when I was worried about you breaking a bone or something and…I don’t know, I lost it, I guess”.

I enjoy being in this embrace for a little longer before moving back to look at him.

“I just wanted to cook dinner but the dishes were too high up”.

“Instead of making the house child-proof, I’ll have to make it midget-proof”, he says, making me slap his arm…with my injured hand.

“I’m an idiot”, I say, putting my head in his chest and closing my eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

“Nah, but I’ll have to get used to being left-handed for a couple of days”.

“It could have been worse. That bruise you have on your back scared me even more than the blood, you know?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I’ll show you when we are home. Let’s go. I’ll cook us some dinner”.

“Try not to break the entire kitchen. You’re so clumsy sometimes”, I joke, making us both laugh for the first time in a long while.

We finally make it back to his apartment and I get to see my lovely bruise, which does look pretty terrifying. And I also get to change into clothes that don't have any blood on them.

When I go back to the kitchen, I see all the mess I made has been cleaned by Rúben, who is making some quick dinner for the both of us.

“Are you sure you’re not angry at me for breaking that figure?”

“No. It was really ugly anyways”.

“But it was a family tradition”.

“It wasn’t when it was bought. We can buy another one and turn it into one. Family heirlooms or traditions aren’t made that way, we give them that meaning. I can buy more or make more”, he says, making me feel a bit better. “But I can’t make more of you if you fall again and break your neck”.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to go up a counter ever again”.

[giggly-squiggily]

okay prompt. uhh tokyo revengers

okay mitsuya brainrot so let’s see if i can come up with something ummm

he’s trying to do something, like sew or embroider or read or whatever. draken and mikey are screwing around and being loud and mitsuya gets a wee bit annoyed (very rare, he’s so Chill) and is like ARE YOU FIVE and draken and mikey are like, sassy mitsuya???? so they start poking him and annoying him on purpose and it turns into them just tickling him so he stops pouting lmao

as per usual, just delete if you aren’t feeling it!! <3

I blame @ticklish-n-stuff and @duckymcdoorknob (lovingly) for this- their Tokyo Revengers love has infected me and made me wanna rewatch/finish the show kjakjrekjarjkejkr I adore Mitsuya- this is so much fun! I've gotcha covered, friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @cupcake-spice13

“Say that again, shrimp- I dare you!”

“Ooo, that’s so scary coming from the BFG!”

“You wanna die today, Mikey?”

Mitsuya felt his eye twitch, the pattern of his latest project seeming to blur with each exchange going on around him. He was never going to get this done!

“Balk, balk balk! Mother Ken is angry!” Mikey made chicken noises, crossing his eyes and flapping his arms before taking off running, Draken in toe. The room wasn’t that small, but somehow these two managed to make it feel smaller. Pillows flew, a notebook Mitsuya forgot he even had gone soaring high, along with a handful of pens Mikey attempted to throw like ninja stars.

When a spar pin cushion bonked him in the head- thankfully lacking any pins in it- Mitsuya had enough.

“Are you two FIVE?” He snapped, twisting in his seat to glare. Mikey and Draken were in a sort of crouch, the bigger of the two’s hand around Mikey’s ponytail and said boy’s hand pulling Draken down by the side of his mouth. Both blinked owlishly at him. “Calm your asses down! This isn’t the playpen at a nursery!”

With that, he twisted around in his seat, returning to his project. Silence fell upon the room following it, something charged in the air. For a brief moment, Mitsuya wondered if he went too far.

A poke to the ribs told him otherwise.

“Oo, someone’s mad.” Mikey cooed, his face unnervingly cheeky. “We pissed off Taka, Kenny!”

“So we did.” Another poke to his other side made him jerk back, leaning away from the devilish look in Draken’s gaze. “Can’t have that, can we?”

“Go away! You two are pissing me off more now!” Mitsuya tried to stay mad, but each prod and poke tapped away at his mood, forcing his arms against his sides as he struggled not to smile. “Stop poking me, I’m working!”

“Oo, he’s working, Kenny! Better stop it now!” Poke poke poke.

“Don’t look at me, Mikey, you’re the one egging him on. Look, he’s getting red!” Poke poke poke.

Mitsuya was slightly flushed, the efforts to not burst into giggles right there proving difficult. “G-Go away! Bo-oth of yo-ou, sta-ahp thaht!”

“Oo, he’s laughing!” The pokes came to a halt. Mitsuya let out a sigh of relief. Behind him, Draken raised an eyebrow to Mikey. The shorter man nodded.

The next thing Mitsuya knew, twenty fingers were attacking his sides.

“AH! Ahehahahahahahha! Nohohohohoho, dohohoohn’t you dahhahahahahre!” Mitsuya squealed, flailing forward before sinking back in his chair, trying to curl up against the vicious attack. “Dohohohohn’t tihihihihihickle mehehehehehehehe!”

“Oo, why not? We’re only wittle five year olds! We don’t listen!” Mikey cooed at him in his best baby voice, snickering when Mitsuya cackled. “I wanna juice box!”

“And some animal crackers.” Draken added, moving his fingers up to the silver blonde’s belly, making him spasm. “Though that just sounds like a normal thing for you, Mikey. Sure you’re not secretly five? You pass for it being that short.”

“You know what, Kenny-”

“Guhuuhuuhuhys pelhahahhahhahahase!” Mitsuya howled, kicking his feet some when Mikey switched to his neck, pressing in all the sensitve spots. “Ahehahahahaha, dohohohohon’t! Iihihihihiihhm gohoohhoohohnna kihihihiihll yoohohohohohohou!”

“Threatening Toman’s leader? How bold.” Draken snickered, squeezing his hips. “You’re lucky we like you, Taka.”

“Yeah! And you make good brownies in a mug. I suppose I can let it slide.” Mikey nodded in agreement, snorting when the taller boy squealed, voice near silent. “Are you still mad?”

“NOHOHOHOOHOHOO!”

“Gonna forgive us?” Draken grinned, squeezing Mitsuya’s knee and making him kick.

“YEHEHEHEHEHS!”

“...Can I still have a juice box?”

“FIIHIHIHNE NOW STAHHHAHAHAP!”

The tickles finally came to an end. Mitsuya groaned through residue giggles as he sank further in his chair, nearly falling out. His vision was slightly blurred, and his body felt both light and exhausted- tingling from the tickles. Above him, Mikey and Draken laughed and cheered, high fiving.

“Jeheherks.” He groaned, shooting his hands out to jab them in the pits. Mikey all but flailed backwards while Draken jerked with a snort. “I hahahte you!”

“No you don’t.” Mikey recovered, ruffling Mitsuya’s hair until he was laughing once more. “So, where’s my juice box?”

“I don’t have any on me.” He confessed, earning a small pout from Mikey. “But I’ll buy you one. We can go down to the convenience store a few blocks from here.

“Whoo-hooo! You hear that Kenny? Juice!” Mikey cheered, already running out the door like a little kid. Draken laughed, standing up and pulling Mitsuya to his feet. 

“He really does act like a child. Heh, you good Taka?” The taller of the two looked around, wincing at the clutter. “Sorry about your room.”

“Don’t worry about it. You two can clean it up when we get back.” The silver haired teen shrugged, smacking Draken on the back as they headed out. “Hey, when I poked you-”

“Want round two?” Draken’s hand squeezed his hip out of nowhere, making the other jump back with a squeak.

“N-Nohoho!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Thanks for reading!

[quokkaholic]

Playlist🖤h.j

(Its Han. He’s the angel🤭)

Warnings: cussing, drinking (will update as I write more. pls lmk if I miss anything)

Synopsis: you and Han spend the evening getting to know each other at the bar and discover your shared interest in music.

Chapter 3

Igual que un ángel

——————————-

“So what do you do?” He inquires

Oh so he can know your job but you can't know his? You hold back your urge to tease him about it because it seems like it could be a sore subject for him.

“I’m a graduate student studying library science! I also work part time at my local library as a media specialist in music!”

He quickly responds with reverence in his tone.

“I didn’t know you had to go to school for that let alone get a masters degree. You must be genius. What does it mean?”

It’s refreshing to meet anyone, let alone a man, that is taking a genuine interest in you and doesn’t get intimidated by your education.

“I do all the normal librarian stuff with books and community work but I also manage a music database with songs, related information, and music history. The database is actually what you're writing your thesis on. It’s a massive project so my collaborators and I will be working on it for a long ass time. It’ll be constantly updated as more music is made!” you gush.

“So it’s never done?” He points out and it triggers you to snicker.

“The point isn’t for it to be done, it is a living document. The point is to compile music and music information for people to access freely. Right now it’s similar to a group Spotify that everyone in my library system can access, but the information will hopefully eventually be free and accessible to the public!”

“Wow! Actual genius!” He seems impressed by your work. He’s almost bursting at the seams with enthusiasm to share with you his own passion for music. Right before he’s about to get too lost in the excitement about it, a thought seems to bring him back down, and he asks if you have included K-pop in the database. He must be worried we’re overlooking his culture.

“Oh so far we have prioritized songs in English but next in line is Latin music because it’s more relevant to our community. I’m working on it now since I have a previous interest in it. The database is definitely biased in its early stage due to humans working on it. We don’t really have anyone into K-pop in our team.” you confess.

“Is that why you’re in Korea?” He seems a little stoic about it now.

“Oh fuck no, I’m here on vacation! I love traveling and my bachelors degree is in cultural studies!” you don’t want him to think you're taking advantage of this interaction for work purposes.

“We are also integrating Ai because of the sheer volume of information we have to process. So it’s totally possible no actual person will ever work on K-pop beyond being the checks and balances to AI, but it will most certainly be included!”

You're worried I’ve scared him off with all this geek talk and academic jargon and quickly pivot the conversation.

You guys spend the rest of the evening absolutely spilling our guts to each other probably due to the lowered inhibitions. You chat about your families and friends, all sorts of favorites from anime to seasons to hobbies. You talk about your youths and our rebellious teenage phases. He jokes that mine hasn’t ended and gestures to your visible piercings and tattoos. He claims he has some as well; they’re just hidden. It’s definitely the alcohol, but you have to fight your mind to maintain concentration on the conversation rather than imagine what art he has hiding under his button down. To rein yourself back in, you show him pictures of your sweet baby kitties who you miss so much. We talk about our travels and share photos of our destinations. There are a few guys that keep making appearances in the photos. It’s enough times that you have to ask about them.

“My brothers,” he says almost as if it’s obvious.

“That quite a few brothers” is all you can think to say in response.

“Found family I think is what it’s called”

“Oh I completely understand” you say as you pull up a photo of your best friend since she came to your elementary school.

“We’ve lived as sisters since we were like 10. Mymother is a single mom to me and my siblings, my bestie’s family stepped in to fill in the gaps.”

Han seems touched by the sentiment. you're glad we both cherish the fact that family isn’t just who you share blood with.

Even after we finish the soju and share plates of snacks, we never run out of things to gab about. you finally think to check your phone, and you're instantly awestruck. It’s half TWO IN THE MORNING! “Han look at the time!” you implore exasperatedly as you point the phone toward him.

“Holy shit” he simply breathes out as his jaw drops. Our surprise turns to amazement and then embarrassment. Han, for a final time, beckons the barkeep and speaks to him in Korean.

“Is he bringing the checks?” you question and Han just nods his head as he sips the last bit of his water. It was so easy to lose track of time while talking to him not to mention the bar is nowhere near empty. Koreans really don’t fuck around when it comes to night life. When he said shit you realize that was the first time he cussed all night.

“I should have asked way sooner, but did I offend you with your foul language? I noticed you don’t really say bad words.”

“Oh no! you're just used to avoiding them to remain professional i guess. I like that you can curse freely. It’s refreshing.” As we talked the bartender brought the check, just one. Before you can object, Han has already paid the tab, and we exit the bar. 

“Can I escort you back?” He requests.

You're reaching in to your bag to grab your earbuds for the journey,

“I couldn’t ask you to do that! You’ve already been so kind to me, Han. You paid for our tab, thank you so much for that, and made this a fun evening. I’m sure you have work in the morning, I’ll be okay.”

Now he’s the one blushing. He’s trying to play it cool, but he can’t even make eye contact when he says,

“I want to. You didn’t ask, I did.”

How could you ever say no to him?

“Okay but just to the station”

As you go to put the earbuds up he puts his hand over mine. Does he want to hold hands? What so you have to lose, you move your hand to go for his but he swiftly grabs one of your earbuds and places it in his ear.

“Maestro” he says in a posh accent and with an airy hand movement gestures to your phone. He wants you to play DJ. Why do you feel like this is a test?

“What do you want to hear?” you ask.

“What do you have?” He responds and you can't help but roll your eyes.

“Just name any genre or mood or, fuck it, specific situation, and Ipotentially have a playlist for it”

“You like rap?” What a silly question.

You tilt your phone screen towards him and begin to type a rap in the search bar of your playlists just so we could see the sheer volume of them you have.

“You want female rap? hype rap? early 2000s rap? Emo rap?”

“What about rock?” He retorts.

“You like classic rock? New age? Rock songs that are nostalgic to me? Rock that makes me speed in the car? Punk rock?”

He really thinks he’s stumped you with his next request.

“What about country?” He says with a playful and slightly competitive glance.

“You like old country? Gay cowboy country? country about hating your husband? Country songs so sad they should be banned from Spotify?”

He has turned this into a little game we are both utterly enjoying. Once he’s exhausted all the main genres, we’ve made it to the station. Neither of us are even toying with the idea of him going home anymore as we wait for the train together. He circles back to when you said scenarios and wants to know about those playlists. you show him your playlist for grocery shopping and shower concerts, but also the more obscure ones like walking through the streets of London and night out in Madrid. He stops you when he sees the one I’ve created for this trip.

“Oh that one’s not finished yet” you try to steer him away from it, but he’s not having it.

“That’s the one  waInt.” He states as the train pulls in. He sits beside me, you can't ignore the warmth of our shoulders touching. The silence between us is comfortable as we both slightly tap our legs and bounce our heads to the music. He leans in close and puts his lips next to your ear to whisper as to not disturb our fellow passengers. He wants to borrow your phone for a second. Feeling his breath on your neck, all you can do is nod in response. You assume he's gonna change the song or something. you don't want him to feel like you're watching his every move, so you close your eyes and try to take in the song. It’s taking him longer than I’d expect, but maybe he’s just not used to your phone or navigating in English. The song never changes and he hands the phone back to me. The ride is not long at all, and soon we are at your stop. Han gets off the train with me, but you stop at the stairs.

“Thank you so much for your escort, but I cannot allow you to walk me to the hostel.” you say putting your foot down.

“You’ve already come this far. I know you have work tomorrow; you need to get home!” you warn in a cheerful but serious tone grabbing his shoulder. You can’t help but mom him a little. Even though we are basically still strangers, you want the best for him, and that means at least a few hours of sleep before work.

“I’m going home! But first can I maybe get your number?”

He implores with a coy look and big eyes while holding out his phone with both hands, and it’s already open to the create a contact page. you enter your name and digits and snap a quick picture from that silly angle where all you can truly see is our foreheads. That causes him to giggle a little.It sounds so good every time. You hand the phone back.

“Thank you yet again for this Han. I had a wonderful time with you.”

He responds with something in Korean and bows slightly to you which you return. When you look up he’s headed to another platform and all you can do is turn around and walk to your hostel with a giant, stupid grin. 

——————-

A.n. Thank y’all so much for reading this. Writing this has made me feel more connected to my fellow STAY 💜 also I fear this is going to be quite the long story. Maybe one day I’ll add it to ao3 or something

-Mo🩵

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[fandoms-in-law]

Muddy Letters - The Conclusion

Authors Note: I have 2 possible summaries for this fic and neither really work for posting it all in one story. Instead both the summary I want to use and the story is in 3 parts: The Re-Beginning, The Beginnging, The Conclusion (you are here)

Contrary to normal expectations, I suggest reading the Re-beginning first.

Summary: It started with a car theft and an apology note. It ended with a fathers anger and discovery. It began again with Dustin helping Steve pack up his room.

Now it ends with an interesting way to prevent Dustin snooping anymore.

/\/\

Dustin was not expecting, nor was he happy to find out, that helping Steve move into his new home was, for him at least, less moving and unpacking boxes and more being given a shovel, taking to the garden and told to dig.

“How is this helping anything? What am I digging anyway? Flowerbeds?” He demanded, trying to give the shovel back and head toward the house.

“It’s helping me fill a decades old promise and helping you avoid snooping and invading my privacy again.” Steve replied, a bitchy smirk on on his face. “Besides, you should be thrilled. You get to dig the start of the Hobbit Hole. You love those books, right?”

He threw the shovel down, “What promise? How do you know about Smiles? You refuse to read them! It can’t be a hobbit hole. There’s no hill to dig into.”

“Make good progress and I might answer some of those questions. If he other shitheads snoop they’ll help you out here, okay?” Steve called, heading back to his new house, but a sharp glance over his shoulder confirmed Dusting wouldn’t be allowed back in unless the weather drastically changed.

~

“Here’s the kids,” Nancy called, “I’m staying too to ensure some unpacking actually gets done.”

Steve hurried out of the house, grinning at the group that had arrived, “We need Eddie and Robin to get the van here to start on that. Come in so I can show you around.”

“Dustin is excited to help you. Where is he?” El asked, looking around, trying to spot him.

“Oh he’s already helping. Insisted I pick him up absurdly early to help, so I gave him a project to work on.” He explained. “After the tour, I’ll show you his project and all you brats can decide how you want to help.”

Mike predictably glared, “We aren’t brats.”

“Says the brattiest of the group.” Steve bitched back, “Come on.”

~

“This doesn’t look like digging, Henderson,” Steve called, leading the group over to him. “Are you planning how to snoop again?”

“Tunnels need supports and structure, Steve.” Dustin countered, tone implying insults he didn’t say. “If you want a hobbit hole it needs planning, not just ‘Start digging and figure it out as you go’.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “As if you’ll get far enough to need that today. And it has been planned, a long time ago so I’ve been told. The area marked off needs digging down into first.”

“By who? And why is he digging?” Mike demanded, coming to stand beside Steve.

“A friend and partly because he tried looking at private things when helping me pack, partly because he insisted on helping before any of my stuff is here to be unpacked.” Steve easily explained. “And if you keep that attitude, you can grab a shovel and help him too.”

Lucas looked over the area for a moment before asking, “Can we see the plans or are they private too?”

Steve shrugged, “They aren’t here and I’m not having you brats trying to be project managers. Now,” He clapped, “Who’s helping Dustin and who’s in the house?”

~

Eddie and Robin were clearly unloading boxes for a while before knocking on the door. There were boxes stacked into a wall in front of it with only space for an arm to stick through as it currently was doing.

“Thank you, Thing.” Steve laughed when it waved. “Guessing you got here while I had everyone in the garden.” He leant closer as the arm withdrew, to peer through at Eddie’s equally amused face.

“About ten minutes ago, I’d say. You tell me how the timings match up. Are you dismantling my wall now?” Eddie crooned, smiling when the boxes were soon taken from the top and Steve’s spot peering through was taken by Mike glaring suspiciously.

“Do you know how Steve knows about hobbits?” He asked, as if Steve merely knowing of them was wrong.

He laughed, “Easy, I told him about them. We decided you kids are dwarves and he’s Bilbo.”

“Hey!”

“There are too many of you to be hobbits but only one Steve.”

~

Everything had been given a place and Steve was hopeful they’d have a quiet evening from how worn out they all were, between moving, unpacking and digging a decent trench in his garden. He could feel those hopes flounder when Dustin came through, now in clean clothes and with a determined gleam in his eyes.

“You’ve only known Eddie since Spring Break. How could building a hobbit hole be a decades old promise when he claims to be the one to tell you about hobbits?” He rattled off, trying to figure out his mystery as he spoke.

“We were penpals once. Lost touch and didn’t immediately know each other in the reunion.” Eddie said, swatting the questions from the air.

Dustin’s glare turned on him, “That makes no sense! The only penpal schemes are to other countries or states. And why would Steve promise a hobbit hole to a penpal he couldn’t meet?”

“We met too. Eddie didn’t say it was just letters.” Steve rolled his eyes, crossing his arms to show how done with the conversation he felt. “Can we watch the film now?”

“I want answers to all these secrets.” Dustin insisted, a whine in his voice as he sat deliberately in front of the TV to block everyone’s views of it.

Eddie and Steve exchanged a look and sighs before Eddie jumped up, “Fine. I’ll tell you the tale of how I became the man I am today and how Uncle Wayne is ever a vital clue to know if I was in your past.”

“And how he forgets where places are in a month of not visiting them.” Steve added, smirking.

“Hush!” The rebuttal was easily given, “Now I was just a young thing-”

Steve listened to Eddie’s recounting of their childhood friendship with a smile: They could keep some promises to each other now.

[inkedwingss]

I’m not a performer. I’m just a poet.

And my poetry spreads its wings wide,

as I was blessed and cursed

with an inked heart.

These words might not even be mine!

I’m not a poet, I’m a prophet.

I tell myself the next paragraph.

Don’t ask me to perform—to breathe,

and to live and to fly

I must write—or die!

I’m not a prophet, I’m a poem

lacking words—ink spilt,

hungry lines.

“tracery” by timothy cleary

Keep reading to check what I have been up to.

So, yeah we are back at doing this:

And this:

And this (my wrists crying):

You have to understand I come from a lifetime of not finishing absolutely anything (except two novels). I mean relationships, projects, paintings, books, food, degrees, whatever you can name... I'm the queen of abandoning shit half done.

So the fact that I didn't drop all of this and that I'm still writing my novel, and my poetry chapbook while working a lot, and trying to read (because there is always a lot that I want to read and I end up not doing it enough nowadays), is amazing. Also, I managed to not give up the little zines yet. A miracle.

Just recently I managed to finish my literature/language degree (dropped uni 4 times). Just recently I managed to not run from a real relationship and get married (and very happily married, but only God knows how much my husband fought for me). Just recently I managed to stay, for the first time ever, in the same job for more than 6 months. Not giving up stuff is... New.

But I'm also trying to slow down and focus more on consistency than on doing too much all the time. No rush, no anxiety around it, just a gentle unfolding: one day at a time, enjoying the journey, yada yada. I'm ready for a burnout-free, but productive 2025.

I'm back at Substack (even though I cursed that platform and the vibe is still a bit off for me), because of how practical it is to do a classical blog style and their easy newsletter system...

If you want to get poems in your inbox, subscribe. I'm always uploading stuff there because it's easy, and if it gets too complicated, I will find excuses to give up creating. And what we don't create, consumes us. I know that too damn well.

This year was very important for me to remember that I'm a writer, to connect with some lovely people here and gather strength, but this is still... just my tumblr. And tumblr people can always find me on other platforms, but I'm not interested in other platforms finding me here. Truth be told being in this space since 2009... There is a language that I speak that is mine and mine only and I honestly enjoy tumblr as the quiet space with no expectations. This will never be my writing blog, but now I finally managed to put myself somewhere else.

Maybe it's because I'm not scared to call myself a writer anymore.

I wonder why I took so long.

__

✶ A big thanks to you, lovely people:

(let me know if you want to join or opt-out)

@caustic-splines @hersurvival @canibereborn

@soulstarscape @informedimagining @thedayoftherae

@sablewing @stumbling-through-time @burntblanc

@lelestarmy @fairytaleinagem @remnantofabrokensoul

@yakultstan @illarian-rambling @cssnder @crow-with-a-typewriter

[berrypass-de-murdler]

89. The Post-Production Process

So like I have said my only outside-of-family human interaction comes from my Discord server, so I would very much love if anyone else was willing to join :3 It's a safe space for any (SAFE) discussion and any fandoms/art projects and stuff... only for people I know though bc I hate public servers.

so if you'd be willing to join lmk, I need frens ;w; <3

Mx. Tangerine is FINALLY FINALLY HERE (you think they'd be here a bit sooner for how often they show up), they are Champagne's American cousin and also, for no apparent reason, a mechanic! I LOVVEEE how they turned out ToT

That leaves only one more character left for book 1 that doesn't have a design... and if you can name them you get idfk rip

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!

MIDNIGHT: Welp. The movie is done. LOGICO: OH, THANK GOODNESS. [flops] I am so done with this. MIDNIGHT: I was being lame. The movie isn’t done. The shooting is. You have so much more work to do. LOGICO: LIKE WHAT?!? I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING IN THE MOVIE!! MIDNIGHT: We have to edit, score, sound mix, colour correct, and you need to solve the murder of the assistant editor. LOGICO: Seriously

The assistant editor was human. Obviously they were doomed to die. Maybe by the hands of Lavender?? Or Pearl, or Dusty, the actual film people. Or that other idiot.

ABALONE: A-LIST ABALONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!

You know, the clam woman. 

Anywho. Dusty is stomping around at the post-production lab.

DUSTY: DAMN IT TO HECK! I WANTED TO BE IN THIS FUCKIN’ MOVIE! I DID! ME!!

And Lord Lavender is… ironically… driving a golf cart around, making little vroom-vroom noises.

LOGICO: [ahem] Well. LAVENDER: [violent scream] WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??? LOGICO: Now who’s a rough-and-tumble guard tower militant? LAVENDER: AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUU! 

He tries to run Logico over, and doesn’t manage. Logi dives and rolls. He waddles to some bench and looks at the stars and… 

LOGICO: What is… happening? What… what is my life? Why are things like this? I just nearly got steamrolled by a llama in a golf cart, I… [hhhhhh]

His hands shake, and he picks up the phone again. Despite his efforts, there is no answer, and a tear falls from his single eye as the recording plays.

“I’m sorry. I’m currently away from the phone right now. If this is Deductive Logico, then the marot says that a film strip was in the water tower.”

Logi takes a deep breath and tries to recover from his sudden breakdown. Turns out Logi wasn’t the only person flattened by Lavender’s new toy.

LAVENDER: You can’t jail a lord! It’s against the law! LOGICO: I’m too lazy to check your kill count but truly, everyone does this, just… be quiet and get over it. 

Logico watches him be dragged away, very unsatisfied. His stomach clenches and his eye warbles. Something is wrong.

ABALONE: I WAS GOING TO REVENGE MY FATHER!!! LOGICO: ‘Avenge’. ‘AVENGE’ your father. [facepalm]

She’s probably not the only thing bothering him, right?

The end!

I lov you!

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 351: That was Then, This is Now, p3 (Gianna Interlude)

Jesus Christ look at this place. I can’t believe what a fucking mess it is. When was the last time I cleaned? The thing is I just don’t care anymore. My life was once neat and orderly but it all started slowly falling apart the moment I got put on this project. I really can’t fucking believe it. What’s happening to me?!? I used to be a smart, driven chick, headed for great things. Now…it’s like I can barely think straight! All I can think about is him. It’s like my brains are now all in my tits…which, to be honest, should make me a fucking genius.

I’ve been with Evolution for a few years now. I was hired onto the Quality Control team, and now I’m a Project Manager. The gig looked good, originally, they sounded serious. Well, they are serious. They’re fucking really serious. They seriously have made my life suck.

Okay, so it seemed great: I got to try out this new Product they wanted to push out. They made me the clinical coordinator, but I also got to be a study subject myself. It sounded so fucking awesome. This shit was going to make me a fucking queen, after all this went down. They were using it, in these trials, for like politicians, and CEOs, women of influence, girls who were in important positions. To make approval easier they presented it to the FDA as an OTC (over the counter, of course), non-Rx (nonprescription, duh) supplement which is like a joke, because it’s a fucking bioweapon. They had the right people in the right places and they somehow got it through, approved for OTC. But in the end it’s not going to be available for just anybody. It was going to make women they choose - like me, if it worked - better. Better at what they do. Better at meeting their challenges. Better at what they need to be to help us fucking win.

I don’t totally understand all the science, but I understand some of it (and all the witchy stuff I only half-believe). I do know that it’s next-level shit and totally sketchy from a safety-profile standpoint. It was all to help ‘the movement' though, and blah blah blah, of course I’m all for that, who isn’t? So, yeah, I’d take the trial. It sounded great. And it’d make me better at my job; that’s why they wanted me on it in the first place.

It was just some shots, and I knew that if this panned out I’d be, like, ascending. Like I’d heard others have, like the chicks I’d seen in the clinics. When all this is said and done I’d get my own team with the company, fuckloads of salary, and a promotion up and out of this bogus job.

They just need to wait with me, they said. They need me to run this clinical trial, but not affect it. So I can’t show up in person. I can’t have my influence change what’s going on in there. In fact, they wanted to keep me isolated and out of the offices so I didn’t affect anyone there, or out in public. Like, I can’t even see my own family. They’re still all back East so it doesn’t really matter. I don’t really want to see them anyway.

So I’ve basically been in quarantine, alone, for like, months now. Sure it sounded great at first - I get to work from home, and I get to set my own schedule. I get everything delivered, you know, food and whatever. I don’t have to deal with any of the fuckwads out there in the world. But I’m so fucking bored. Months of this. Months, while life goes on in the outside world. The elections and all that? I just ended up celebrating here by my own fucking self.

I mean, yeah, I’m working for a good cause. But jesus, look the fuck at me now! I was always a busty girl, but I’ve gone from a double-E to an - I dunno, double-G - to whatever the hell I am now. Fucking huge is what it is.

Why? Because the dude, this doctor likes…no, loves…no, worships tits. Because women with big tits get him to do what they want, I guess. Sound familiar? That’s fucking men in general, but I need this specific one to do what I tell him to. My only interaction with the guy is, like, here and there on video conference calls, and all he sees of me is like from the waist up. So, my ass is still my plain old ass, but now my tits are like a porn star’s. And they keep getting bigger! And that’s not the worst of it! Now he’s all I freakin’ think about! I feel like a goddamn braindead lovesick bimbo mommygirlfriend sometimes and-

Gah!

I mean, I know I’m no different than other girls. Women everywhere want this sort of thing now. A shorter boyfriend, a weaker guy, a dependent husband, all vulni- or whatnot. The shorter, weaker and more dependent the better. We all want them to need us for money and safety, for warmth and nutrition. For everything. It’s just fucking sexy. We’d love to be able - if we could - to pick them up like children, like infants, hold them in our hands or haha nnnngh stick them down our dresses and hide them in our tits. Honestly we all want our men to be like little embryos. If we could shove them up into our wombs, we fucking would. It’s, like, nobody’s really talking about it out in the open, but it’s normal now, to feel this way. We’re all looking for short, weak, totally and utterly dependent men.

But, fuck, this product has got me. I don’t want it to be just anyone. I want it to be HIM. I think it’s because I don’t see any other guys It’s imprinted him on me. And since my pheromones can’t get to him he doesn’t feel the same He’s like enamored/suckled onto this Melissa person and it fucking burns my hooch to think about. Jealousy is not a good color on me, well on anyone I realize, but I can’t fucking help it I want him to nnnnnnngh fucking shrink for me so I can shove him into my tits, up my cunt, into my bra. I want to make him just stick to me and I’ll fucknig absorbbbb him ahhhhhggg 

fuck.

Get your shit together, Gianna. You’ve got a job to do. Back to work…

…but just imagine.

===============================================

Want to know how the ‘Product' got past the FDA? Read 'Seeking Approval', available on my Patreon.

And thank you thank you RiF for the pro-bono editorial work on this one.