#it’s so layered and so simple all at once

[deanssluvr]

JOOST WITH A GIRLY!READER HCS

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

content: RPF. sfw + nsfw. pre-established relationship.

a/n: randomly felt the urge to write this at 3am.

SFW

- your style was the first thing he noticed about you when you met. you were a pink floral dress and heels with ribbons that decorated your hair. he thought you were beautiful. you took his staring as something negative at first, but was relieved when he complimented your outfit.

- you were nervous to bring him over to your place, but he was absolutely mesmerized by the way it was decorated.

- one of his favorite dates with you was when you both went to build a bear. you had asked him to get matching bears with you to which he happily agreed. you both settled on getting frogs. his green and yours pink. you dressed yours like a princess and he dressed his like spider-man. at the end you both exchanged them, so you kept his and vice versa.

- you both send pictures of each other doing things with said stuffed animals. like he’d send a pic of him out shopping with it or you’d send a pic cooking with it.

- he noticed your love of decorating so he goes out of way to buy you things that reminds him of you. whether it be little trinkets, a stuffed animal, or a record that he thinks you’d like.

- you have heavily influenced his style since he’s been with you.

- he always handles your stuffed animals with care. talks to them as well.

“how do you think she looks?” he looks down at the stuffed bunny in his hand and nods as if listening to a second opinion. “me too. i think she looks beautiful.”

- he enjoys sitting and watching you do your makeup and skin care routine. likes seeing how much care you put into it. there are a few times where he asked you to do his makeup. sometimes it was just simple eyeliner, but he loved it.

- on that same note you asked if he wanted to do a face mask with you one night and his face lit up immediately. now every once in a while you include him in your skincare routine.

- he lets you paint his nails a new color almost every week and always lets you pick the color. sometimes he just matches with whatever color your nail set is at the time.

- ties your shoes and buckles your heels for you without asking.

- you never pay for anything while he’s around because he never gives you the chance. dinner? new clothes? a piece of jewelry you looked at for only a few seconds? he’s already got his card out for you.

- he sleeps better at your place. it’s mostly because of you, but also because of how goddamn comfortable your bed is. the thick soft comforter? the many fluffy pillows? the pink sheets? he’d always fall asleep quickly in your bed.

- enjoys taking baths over showers with you. loves the scent of your soap you use and the bubbles you put in it. loves the way your hands gently wash him.

- learns how to do your hair. watches so many videos and asked you one day if he could do it. you spent the day doing your hair with him. he looked so concentrated and you found it so sweet.

NSFW

- he is obsessed with how you look in your lingerie sets. he loves the way the delicate lace and satin looks on you. he’s always hesitant to take it off of you.

- although he loved everything you wore, he had to admit that you in skirts were always his favorite. maybe it’s because your legs just look so good in them, or it’s actually because he loves thinking about how pretty they are pushed up your hips while he fucks you from behind. who knows?

- he turns your stuffed animals around whenever you both fuck. he told you it’s because he doesn’t want them to watch.

- he actually prefers having sex at your place though he never tells you. your bed is just so comfy with all the pillows and soft blankets that you layer on it.

- nothing but praise. even when he’s pounding into you harshly or fucking himself further into your throat, he’s still whispering sweet praises into your ear.

“so pretty taking my cock like this.”

“fuck, you’re so perfect”

“you’re doing so good for me schat.”

- loves the way you say his name. you could just be trying to get his attention and he’d melt at how his name sounds on your tongue. but he especially loves hearing you moan his name when your fucking. how desperate you sound for him almost brings him over the edge every time.

- won’t admit it, but the way you smell turns him on. when you hug him or simply just sit next to him and he could smell that perfume that he loves, he’s already getting hard.

- eats you out like you’re his last meal. would do it for hours if he could. prefers giving you head over anything. just loves the way you taste and even more so the sounds you make.

[anamelessfool]

How do you do that? LOL I have no idea what I’m doing (maybe) An Art Tutorial

Folks have commented on my more rendered art recently and I’m flattered. I literally have no idea what I’m doing. Well, I sorta do. I am mostly using masks in Procreate. I’m technically using the Debaser Pack by True Grit Texture Supply, but you don’t really need it. All you need is some texture layers. You could even do this just by making halftones of solid color layers. I used to do a lot of digital photo collage back in the day and at one point had a huge library of scans of paper and fabrics and also random textures I saw on the street. Wood, stone, sidewalk, metal, foliage, water. Took out my digital camera (yes, it was that long ago) and snapped a photo to use. There’s also a lot of free halftone textures online.

I have a few “overlay texture” layers. I “Create Mask” and then invert the mask so I can “paint” the color on. For my more simple stuff I do just that. I add a “Deep Shadow” layer in Overlay mode of a dark brown (or teal if it’s white) to make sure the darkest shadows are truly dark. The white areas are just the mask erased. It helps that fallout ghouls are skrungly and textured to be begin with. Sometimes I select areas and add little bits of black spray paint in lots of very transparent layers.

Everything is rendered under a multiply layer of a hi-res scan of vintage newsprint.

So how about the more detailed things that came about from an embarrassing amount of shirtless photo references??? In a lust-fueled haze I realized I can have a dark layer (in my case, a “black ink texture scan” with an inverted mask underneath a color layer. The color texture layer is around 70% opacity, give or take. On that black ink layer mask I add the white highlights to the tops of forms and use the smudge tool to distribute it across the specific form. Once in a while I shut off the color layer so I can see the bare rendering layer on its own and fix things.

So I just sort of pet him. For hours.

Focusing on the LIGHT areas instead of the shadow really is a game-changer! Before, my digital art looked super muddy because I was invested in adding dark. If areas are very very dark I add that dark brown overlay layer. For tattoos it’s a dark blue overlay mode layer, but with a mask on it so I can softly erase areas to make it look more set in to the skin (without destroying the original art). Very bright areas and the tops of forms I add a “highlight layer” of pure white gestural lines.

Moral of the story is just play around and do whatever. The old times of having a beautifully perfect anime-style drawing with very formal layers of shadow, highlight, color has been dead for ages. It’s what kept me away from pursuing digital art for literal years.

[oftenwantedafton]

wither | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 7.1k

cw | graphic blood and violence

ao3 link

The being calling himself Steven Raglan grips the edge of the doorframe until the wood rimes with frost.

He exhales and his breath clouds before his mouth, puffs of smoke that finally register and force him to draw back from the brink, reeling in his power. Normally he’s able to keep it in check without even consciously thinking about it, but tonight is a different story.

Tonight you are in his home. In his bed.

You would not be his first indulgence; he has given himself over to carnal desires before. But you are the most innocent one that has come under his wing, unsuspecting of his true nature, trusting him to guide your fate.

It only makes him want you more.

He could take you right now; lay you soft and warm and bare beneath him. Even his cold hands would be made hot inside the furnace of your body.

His fingers rest on the doorknob, beginning to turn it. You’d welcome him inside. He’d seen the desire in your eyes. So what’s stopping him? What causes him to release his grasp of the brushed nickel handle and step back, staring at the wood paneling as if he can see right through it to where you lie?

He has no immediate answer for this.

He remains standing there as if paralyzed for long moments, considering. Perhaps it would be too simple. He likes the thrill of the hunt. This potential conquest lacks challenge.

Or maybe, just maybe, he actually likes you.

The notion is startling enough to grant him freedom of movement again. He returns to the spare bedroom, undressing until only an undershirt and boxers remain, the glasses folded and set on the dresser. The room has never been used. He does not invite guests. You are the only person he’s ever allowed inside his home.

And why is that, precisely? Because you pose no threat? Because you are naive and innocent? Because for the first time in countless years, he might actually feel something that isn’t bloodlust or anger or contempt?

What a strange little ache this is. Foreign. Frightening.

Steve considers his appearance in the mirror on top of the dresser. At the streaks of white mingling with platinum in his beard and hair. The pupils still dilated, hungry with want. The sclera threaded with spidery crimson lines. This human form needs rest. But what dwells within shuns this notion. It drives him to scorn the bed and return downstairs, because there is no sleep to be had; not when he’s like this. Passing by the master bedroom door tests his resolve once again, but he manages the task. Now he is seated in the living room, occupying the couch close to where you had been sitting. He can smell your perfume; detect your heartbeat, rabbit fast on the floor above.

You’re not sleeping yet, either.

He closes his eyes and he imagines you padding barefoot down the stairs. Hovering beside his seated form, your fingers fussing with the hem of the borrowed shirt that kisses the top of your thighs. Climbing onto his lap, straddling his legs. Digging through the layers of his hair, tugging his head backwards. His hands caressing the curves of your buttocks. Your mouth shy and uncertain against his, until passion overtakes you.

Fantasy imagery that crashes through his mind, restless like the unrelenting sea, until dawn.

***

You awaken to find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings.

It takes you several moments to remember where you are. What had happened last night. The club. The alcohol. Yeah, Steve had been right. You do have a headache. You mouth is dry. You feel a little queasy.

Steve.

You sit bolt upright. You’re in his bed. His bed, of all things. Wearing his shirt.

And you’re not alone. Your guidance counselor is sitting beside you, lounging on top of the comforter, his back resting against the headboard, those long legs crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing dark jeans and a long sleeve shirt the color of an evergreen pine.

“Good morning,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to be waking up in his bed.

“Hi.” There’s a pleasant aroma in the room. He’s brought you a breakfast tray, you realize: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice. Water and a couple of pills you’re sure are pain relievers, too. The scent of the food is enticing. Okay, maybe you’re stomach isn’t thatupset.

“Hungry?”

“Maybe. You actually made me breakfast in bed,” you murmur in disbelief. You’ve never enjoyed such a thing. That was something you’d only seen in movies. A gesture young children did for their parents as a treat or spouses did for their partners on an anniversary or romantic occasion. It’s considerate of him, you think.

“Sure. Why not? Haven’t you ever had it that way?” He seems amused by your reaction.

“No,” you say, adjusting your position so he can move the tray from the nightstand onto your lap. “How long have you been up? You’re dressed already,” you observe.

“A little while. How are you feeling?”

You take a bite of eggs and a sip of your juice. “Headache. Thirsty. But not terrible.” Your head is actually splitting, even with the dimmed light in the room due to the curtains still drawn over the windows. But you’re not going to admit it. He’s smug enough as it is. And you’re more than a little embarassed. You hope you hadn’t done anything too stupid last night. You don’t think you did. You wonder how long he’d been sitting beside you in bed with you slumbering, unaware. The food is still warm so you suppose it can’t have been all that long.

“You’ll feel better after you eat. You need to stay hydrated. Keep drinking water today.”

You point at him with a slice of buttered toast. “What about you? Aren’t you going to eat something?”

“I’m fine for now. I’m not much for eating at this hour.”

“What time is it, anyway?” There’s an alarm clock on the nightstand beside you but you’re too occupied with consuming your gifted meal to spare a glance.

“Around seven.”

You sample the bacon and sigh happily. Crisp without being overdone. Everything is just the way you like it. “You’re a good cook,” you praise.

“That’s generous. I would say adequate. But I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

You hum over the last bite of food. You’ve completely cleared your plate. “So what are your plans for the rest of the weekend?”

The guidance counselor tips his head back to rest against the quilted headboard. He reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose, bumping the Aviators out of place, and you think, for the first time since you’ve met him, that he looks weary. Almost fragile.

Then the moment passes and he’s facing you again, looking confident and put together as always.

“Nothing for today. I’m working tomorrow evening.”

“You’re lucky you’re off tonight. I have to work. And tomorrow afternoon, too.” You readjust the silverware on your tray, just to occupy your hands while you think of something else to say to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you actually like your jobs? Either of them?”

A faint smile ghosts his lips. “They have their benefits.”

“Such as?”

“Well, if we’re talking the guidance position, influencing fates. Shaping destinies. Aiding decisions that will determine the course of an individual’s future. It’s a powerful ability.”

“I still don’t know what I want to do with mine.” You empty the glass of juice, swallowing the pills and chasing that mouthful with a gulp of water. Even that’s good. Filtered, not from the tap. “What about being a security guard? What’s good about that?”

“That’s more in line with my enjoyment of the evening hours. And the aforementioned people watching.”

“What do you look for when you people watch? What catches your eye?”

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s less to do with physical appearance and more with their, I guess you could call it an aura.”

“But you said you’re not psychic. You can’t read people’s minds. So how do you know? How do you see someone’s aura?”

“It’s not something I can readily explain.”

You frown, not sure if the older man is being serious or not. “What do you see when you look at me?” You challenge. It’s not the first time you’ve asked. He hadn’t responded before, that first day in his office. Maybe now he would.

“Someone with potential.”

“For what? That sounds very vague.”

“Intentionally. You’re not getting out of that assignment. There’s a reason I issued it. Working your way through it is part of the process. Are you finished?”

You nod and he lifts the tray and sets it back on the nightstand. Of course he always manages to bring everything back to that task he’d issued. You really don’t have the faintest idea what career path you’d like to pursue.

Now that there is no longer the meal to occupy you, you find yourself feeling uncertain again, the sudden lull in conversation dragging uncomfortably. Your gaze flits back to find his eyes regarding you solemnly and you wonder what is going on in that strange mind of his. “What am I doing here, Steve?” You inquire softly.

“You asked me to bring you here.”

“Yes, but…that’s not what I mean. I don’t mean why I’m physically here, I mean…What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” His lips twitch in amusement and you feel your cheeks flushing. “At present, I’m enjoying your company.”

“You don’t think this is strange? Bringing a student home to your bed?”

“Strange is a relative term. Given the circumstances of last night, it seemed the responsible thing to do. I could hardly leave an intoxicated, provocatively dressed young woman alone at a nightclub she’d entered illegally, could I?”

“Provocatively dressed?” You repeat. “Seriously?”

“It’s not meant as a criticism or an insult. Just an observation.”

“Might as well say I was dressed like a slut,” you mutter.

“No. That’s something quite different. The allure isn’t in one that openly advertises with the certainty that, if you’ll pardon the crude suggestion, they’ll ‘give up the goods’. It’s the obvious innocence and naïveté that appeals to the wrong sorts.”

You wonder if he counts himself as one of the members of that latter group. His words and his behavior don’t always sync. You shake your head in frustration. “I’m just confused.”

“By what I’m doing?”

“By what you’re not doing,” you correct. “I don’t know how to read you.”

“So what is it that I’m not doing that you expect me to?”

“I don’t know,” you sputter in frustration. “It just seems like, if you’ve already crossed all these other lines, why not just commit to it fully?”

“You’re circumventing what you really want to say very neatly.”

“Steve,” you groan in exasperation.

“If you can’t even say it, then you’re certainly not ready for it.”

You rake a hand through your hair, inwardly cringing when you feel the distinct disarray of what must be horrible bedhead. “Fine. I’m wondering why you haven’t tried to put the moves on me yet.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes.”

“You think I don’t want to?”

“I…” You hesitate, mentally tripping over that query. “Do you want to?”

The blue topaz eyes sparkle. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

“Only if it was the truth.”

“Then: yes.”

“Oh.” You’re a little overwhelmed with all of this verbal sparring. Your head is still throbbing. You want to brush your teeth. Take a shower.

Be pinned beneath him again. Helpless.

“The reason,” he says, casually shifting a hand from where it’s been folded with its partner on his lap down to the narrow space between you, “is not simply because it is considered wrong. Immoral. Improper. I don’t truly care about any of those things, even though I’ve taken great pains to maintain an image of decency up until now. This role I’ve adopted is comfortable. Convenient. Entertaining at times, even.

But the deeper reason, you see, as you peel back the layers,” he elaborates, his fingers curling into the fabric and tugging, jerking the blanket off of your thighs, eliciting a startled gasp from you, “is because once I begin down this path, I won’t stop. There will be no further discussion. No debate. No denial. And I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.” His tone is still light, almost playful, but there is a heat in his eyes that makes you wither.

You gulp nervously. “Oh.” The sound barely issues from your mouth. A bare flick of his fingers and he’d been touching your skin. His borrowed shirt barely extends past your underwear. Had you really been parading around in front of him wearing this last night?

It would be so easy for that hand to move. To skim beneath the ebony fabric. Travel such a short distance to the place you need him most. You want, and the desire makes your mouth flood with saliva. He’s so close. He’s right there. He said he wants you.

He also said he won’t stop. You know what that means.

“Am I correct in that assumption?”

His voice startles you from your musings. “I…I guess so,” you stammer. Coward. Your hands clench into fists. One word. One word is all it would take. Would he be gentle? Rough? Quiet? No, not him. The man loved hearing himself talk. You imagine there would be quite the discourse. Comments. Praise. Bragging. Probing questions during the throes of passion. Promises. Filth. A tirade of words whispered and growled and purred and crooned into your ear. That wicked mouth breathing hot against your skin as he claimed you.

Those deft hands would know exactly how to take you apart.

“You guess so?”

The good humor and patience seem to have evaporated in a hurry. There’s something acidic in his tone. Impatient. Displeased.

“You’re right,” you manage, forcing the words out. They’re not the ones you want to utter. But they’re safer.

Steve’s tone instantly lightens and the intense expression on his features gentles, so swiftly that you wonder if you hadn’t imagined it had been any other way. “So, whenever you’re ready, I’ll bring you home. You can borrow some sweatpants to wear on the way if you don’t feel like getting back into that dress. You’re out of luck for the shoes, though.” He flexes his feet, the dark sock covered toes waggling. Large feet. Like his hands. Maybe like other things, too. You’re blushing again.

“I can wear the dress home,” you mumble.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to it, then. Just come down when you’re ready.”

The bearded man stands, pausing a moment to stifle a yawn and stretch, eliciting a few pops as his arms reach impossibly far before he exits the room, taking the breakfast tray with him.

You slip out of bed as soon as the door closes, quickly getting changed in the bathroom. Your appearance in the mirror after you’ve shucked off the older man’s shirt and pulled your dress back into place confirms what you’ve already suspected: your eyes are bloodshot, and your hair is a tousled mess. You look, quite frankly, like shit. Certainly not like some hot young seductress wavering about whether to begin a torrid fling with her guidance counselor.

You are so out of your depth here.

You retrieve your boots from where they’ve been stashed, resolving to put them on after you’ve made it downstairs. You find Steve seated on the couch in the living room, one arm draped leisurely across the back.

“How come you made me walk upstairs in these last night?” You gripe, tugging the first boot on after you sink down beside him, keeping one cushion width of distance between you.

“Because you wanted them. And that means accepting what comes with them. The good and the bad.”

“Another lesson?” You do a half ass job on the laces but you don’t really care. You’re feeling rather bitter about the entire experience suddenly. Embarassed. Regretful. You should have pushed harder last night. Been more flirty. Blamed your behavior on your intoxication. Now you’re sober and you feel lousy and you’re nervous and still sexually frustrated to top it all off.

“Perhaps I was expecting you to stumble. Hence why I was just behind you to catch you if the need arose.”

You pause, glancing at him. “So you wanted me to fall.”

“Is that so terrible?” You shake your head, beginning to work on donning the second piece of footwear. “Want some assistance?”

“No.” You actually do. You want him kneeling in front of you again. Those careful fingers on your calves. But you’re not going to admit it. You wish he wasn’t being such an infuriating gentleman. What kind of a man brings a young woman home to his bed and does absolutely nothing? Doesn’t even attempt to take advantage?

He’s just being careful, you reason with yourself. If you changed your mind, if you confessed to someone…the repercussions would be severe. That has to be why he’s leaving the ball in your court.

“Every action has a consequence. You wanted to wear impractical boots, hence the struggle. You wanted to drink, hence the headache.” When you straighten after finishing tying the final boot’s laces, you find the man suddenly much closer to you. He’s somehow shifted across that center cushion without you even noticing. “You wanted to draw pictures of me in your notebook. Dance with me. Get in my car and ask to come home with me. Sleep in my bed. And then dare to ask why I’ve not defiled you when you yourself admitted you’re not actually ready for that. It’s not me you should be upset with; it’s yourself.”

You stare at him open mouthed. “You’re really going to turn this around on me? I’m a teenager. A high school student. You’re an adult. You’re supposed to know better.”

“Knowing is one thing; doing quite another. You’ve got a habit of shifting blame to others, I’ve noticed. Expecting me to be your conscience.”

“I don’t do that,” you protest.

One eyebrow raises. “No?”

“If you think so little of me, why are you even wasting your time with me?”

He tilts his head to one side, considering you. “How many people do you suppose I’ve invited into my home since I moved here?”

“What? I don’t know.” You shrug your shoulders, irritated by this abrupt shift in conversation topic.

“None. You’re the first. The only I would even consider. Let that sink in for a moment.”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful?”

His features darken, his tone suddenly severe. “Yes. Yes, you should be. When I allow you to come here. When I intervene on your behalf. When I protect you—”

“—Is that what you consider this? Protecting?”

“You’re the one who rejected me. Not the other way around. So this hostility is uncalled for.”

You take a deep breath, then let it out in a rapid, deflated rush. He’s right. And you absolutely hate it. “I didn’t reject you,” you respond quietly.

“What would you call it, then?”

“I don’t know, Steve. I’m a little overwhelmed here, okay? I’m not used to this. Any of this. Going out and drinking and dancing and then crashing at a guy’s house and, you know, spending the night in their bed and being told I’m desired and it’s up to me to decide when boundaries we’re not supposed to be crossing get trampled over,” you finish in a breathless rush.

“That’s part of being an adult: making difficult decisions that result in very serious consequences. If you’re going to act the part, you need to own up to that.” His voice is suprisingly gentle, and it makes everything feel so much worse. You’re guilty on top of everything else. You feel like you’ve let yourself down. Let him down. And you’re not sure which is worse.

“You know what’s really pathetic? I don’t have any close friends. Any friends at all, really. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m not popular or athletic or pretty. People usually ignore me.”

“Those people are fools,” he replies, the disdain clear in his voice. “Do you imagine I’d prefer someone like that vapid cheerleader classmate that sought to embarrass you? That level of immaturity and pettiness holds no appeal for me. And even if it did; you cannot exist based solely on other people’s perceived impressions of you. They’re not your personal mirror. Don’t worry about what others think. Be the person you want to be.”

You pick at a piece of lint on your dress. “It’s easy for you to say because you don’t have to worry about this kind of stuff anymore.”

“You only have a few months of high school left. Trust me when I tell you that none of these people are going to matter in your future endeavors. They’re merely fellow travelers until you part ways and begin the next cycle of your life journey.”

You groan. “Now you really sound like a cheesy guidance counselor.”

Steven grins. “Sometimes the job bleeds through into personal life. Just think of it as a bonus that doesn’t detract from your classroom time.”

“I’d rather get out of class. Especially if it’s US History. Speaking of which, I have a test on Monday to study for,” you realize out loud.

“Then we should get you home soon, hmm? Especially since you have work this weekend as well.”

You sigh and nod. “I’m ready to leave now.”

***

In the past, there had been rules that governed the reaper’s actions.

A predestined list of those who were to be vanquished. An ordinance to follow. And he had served those instructions dutifully. For countless years.

Until he hadn’t.

Until he’d decided to become his own boss and make his own commandments. Choose who he wanted to grace with his powers. A rogue killing machine. Terrifying in its concept, but he is not quite as reckless as he might otherwise be. He considers his victims carefully. Waits until he finds a suitable one and then strikes when the opportunity is right. It is all very controlled, orderly, calculated.

At least it had been. Until his most recent deviation. Exacting revenge on your behalf. That was very unlike him. Making the killing slow. Personal. An exception in his own rule book.

He will take another life soon. Create a violent end. Bloody. Get his hands dirty. A return to something viciously primitive. He’ll stifle his powers. Dig into flesh. Carve until he’s satisfied.

Steve leans back in the office chair he’s seated at, his eyes sweeping the security cameras, and he thinks about your body pressed against his. Beside him. Beneath him. Those flushed, parted lips. So inviting. Tempting. Yet somehow he’d resisted taking things any further. He still isn’t entirely certain why. What it is that makes him so hesitant, so protective of you, when every instinct urges him to take what he wants.

He pushes back from the desk and rises, heading out to do rounds through the department store. The walking soothes some of his restlessness. There are a group of girls he’s noticed near the cosmetics. Shoving items into purses, thinking their actions have gone unseen. They haven’t.

He approaches silently. The talk and laughter dies down as the first member of the group catches sight of the security guard.

“If you’re going to steal, at least attempt to take something of value.” He inwardly smirks at the startled, guilty expressions mirrored on each youth’s features. Hands dig nervously back into purses and return items to the display shelves: eyeshadows, blush compacts, lip tint. He folds his arms across his chest, glaring. “Get out of here. Next time I’m not going to be so generous.” They depart the aisle at lightning speed.

Not the prey he’s searching for. But he’ll find someone suitable.

He always does.

***

You finish unloading the last of the returns from the shopping cart and glance at your watch. Nearly five. Quitting time.

Your weekend being home alone had gone by quickly. After Steve had dropped you off, you’d managed to actually get some homework done. It wasn’t easy. You’d still been feeling hungover and you’d been more than a little distracted by the events of Friday evening and Saturday morning.

But you value good grades and you’re not about to surrender your high GPA now just because you’re lusting after your school guidance counselor. So, your nose has been dutifully buried in your textbooks, even during your break at work.

You pull your smock over your head and hang it inside your locker. There isn’t much you store inside there. Your school one is where you add stickers and magnets and mini posters. Hang little charms. This one is bland and utilitarian. Devoid of personality.

You retrieve your backpack and shut the door, securing the padlock before exiting the break room. You doubt anyone wants to take your required work attire, but old habits die hard.

Your parents would be home soon, finally returning from their weekend trip. You’d made a little effort to do housework that morning. Ran the vacuum around. Made sure the dishwasher was empty. At least when you got home you could just relax. Mentally prepare yourself for your exam tomorrow. For being back at school. Where Steve would be, too.

No matter how hard you try to focus, the older man keeps invading your thoughts. You hadn’t slept well last night. Restless limbs. Wandering thoughts. You’d punched your pillow and flipped it to the cooler side and you’d thought about being back in the career counselor’s bed. If only he’d spent the night in that bed with you. If only you’d climbed into his lap while he’d been sitting beside you the next morning. So much regret, tempered with fear. Uncertainty.

Your parents’ return finally manages to pull you free from those memories. Perhaps you’ll sleep better tonight, now that you’ve enjoyed take out and gotten caught up and even watched a movie together. You return to your room that evening feeling full and satisfied, until your eyes fall on the dark garment draped over the wicker chair in the corner of your bedroom.

Your dress smells like Steve’s cologne.

You’d noticed it once you’d gotten home the previous day. Instead of putting it in the wash you’d left it on the chair, not quite willing to part with that scent just yet. Now it’s clutched in your hands. You shut your eyes and inhale deeply and you ache deep within.

He wants you. All you have to do is say yes.

You realize you’re not going to sleep well tonight, either.

***

Finding his next victim proves even easier than Steve had thought it would be.

He stops by the mall Saturday night even though he’s off from work simply to keep an eye on you, and it’s good that he had. He doesn’t like the look of the middle aged man loitering behind you while you’d walked across the parking lot, oblivious to the fact that you had not one, but two admirers.

Tonight he’s using the vintage car. No need to sully that new prize of his.

The back seat is currently occupied with the unconscious body of your stalker. A bit of a challenge incapacitating someone in a crowded place, but not impossible by any means. The stairwell to the second story parking had provided ample cover. People rarely used the stairs anymore.

That suits the killer just fine.

The section of the woods he drives to are especially thick and dark. He’s forced to abandon the car and drag the man deeper inside the forest. His eyes glow with a supernatural light that pierces this gloomy veil, making travel as easy as if he’s simply walking in broad daylight over familiar ground. The reaper finally releases his prey, arranging the unconscious man and straddling his supine body. He unsheaths the knife he’s brought. It’s his favorite: old and solidly crafted and very, very sharp. A personal possession he’s kept for many years, when numerous others have been cast aside and replaced. So many memories cast in that steel; seated in that handle. Now it was time to slice into a new one.

Whatever startled protest his quarry might have made is quickly silenced following the choked gurgle of blood as his vocal chords are severed. After that the murderer takes his time. The blood looks black on his skin, inky like his surroundings. The crows have gathered again, smelling blood. Wolves, too. One howls and another answers. They know better than to disturb this particular visitor to their territory. He hears their approach, cautiously circling and watching and waiting for whatever spoils he will leave behind, tongues lolling, breath panting. He tosses an appetizer, a torn chunk of flesh that’s origin is no longer recognizable. A snarl and a warning growl fills the air. One of the beasts has laid claim to the fresh meat already, fighting off one of its brethren.

Steve raises the blade again.

***

The desk beside yours in US History class on Monday afternoon is vacant.

Your cheerleader nemesis is absent, and you might not have given it much thought, except that it’s an exam day, and you know she’s already in trouble academically. Skipping a test doesn’t seem like a bright move.

Your final class of the day is gym. Not your favorite, although if you had to choose one activity to participate in during physical education, archery would definitely be the one.

It’s not that you’re any good at it; far from it. It’s just a welcome pace from gymnastics and basketball and the other activities you struggle with. Besides, it’s a great time of year to be outdoors. You find yourself lingering after the other students have followed the instructor back into the gymnasium, a large structure separate from the academy itself, set back a ways from the five storied building where you have your other classes. You’re enjoying the feel of the spring sun on your bare arms and legs. You’d actually gotten to unpack your shorts bearing the school’s logo and use them for the first time this season. A warm, drowsy feeling makes you contented and your mind wanders in a sort of blissful kind of oblivion. You remain standing on the neatly trimmed lawn that’s getting greener by the day, the all but forgotten unstrung bow braced against the ground, and you simply enjoy your surroundings.

It’s then that a sort of awareness whispers in the recesses of your meandering thoughts, becoming louder and louder until your reverie shatters and you realize you’re not alone.

Steve Raglan is walking across the field towards you, stopping to retrieve your arrows from their lodgings in the straw filled target before reaching you. You accept the offerings shyly. You haven’t seen or spoken to him since he’d dropped you home on Saturday morning.

“Hi,” you greet the older man, readjusting your hold of the bow.

“Hi. How was the exam?”

“Not bad. Glad I studied extra, though. Heather wasn’t in class today. Vapid cheerleader,” you clarify when he gives you a blank look.

“Ah. Well, that’s unwise.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Your eyes narrow thoughtfully. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

The guidance counselor barks a laugh. “What, make a student get sick and be absent from class? Hardly among my many talents.”

Many talents. God, he was so arrogant. You nod but you aren’t convinced. If anything, quite the opposite, though you can’t even begin to imagine how he might have had some influence in that regard. An image of a freshly dug grave flickers in your mind. You’d believed his innocence then, too. This feels exactly the same. Something not quite right; a sixth sense whispering another warning, but that smile he offers pulls at something deep within you and you stifle your misgivings once again.

“How was your parent’s trip? Back home safe and sound I trust?”

“Yes. They had a good time.”

“Do they do that a lot? Take off for weekend getaways?”

“Sometimes. It’s no big deal. I’m used to being home alone a lot.” You realize as soon as the words leave your mouth the implication there: the potential for future dalliances with no pesky parents to interfere. Steve surely does too, judging by that new little smirk on his lips.

“Interesting. Well, do you have time for another round? I don’t mind offering some pointers. I’m a decent shot myself.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You mutter. “Class is over.”

“Yes, officially it is. But you know me. I can’t pass on the opportunity to instruct a youth.”

“Uh-huh.” More like you can’t resist showing off, you think. “Okay, go ahead.”

He removes the bow from your hand and steps between the string and the flexible wood, leaning his weight and bending it into an arch while quickly sliding the cord back into place. An arrow is knocked and with barely any hesitation he draws and lets it fly across the field. It lands directly in the center of the target with a soft thud.

“I knew you were going to show off.”

“And teach. Here. Change your stance. Like this.” He guides you into position, his touch cool as always. There’s nothing improper about it, but you blush anyway, your eyes darting around quickly to see if there are any observers. It seems as if you are truly alone. “Hold the bow like this. A little higher. Good. Keep your arms relaxed, you’re not ready to fire yet. Concentrate on aiming. Sight down the line of the shaft. Envision it extending all the way towards the bullseye. Got it? Now close your eyes.”

You glance at the bearded man doubtfully. “Close my eyes? Really?”

“Trust me.”

You shake your head but aquiesce.

“Visualize the target in your mind. The only adjustment you’re making is drawing backward, building momentum. Everything else is already lined up perfectly. Draw back, now. Steady. Breathe in. Out. A little longer. Release.”

You obey his command, your eyes flying open to watch your arrow land well shy of the center, but closer than you’ve ever gotten before. “Hey, not bad!”

“It takes practice, that’s all.” He retrieves the last arrow from where you’ve dropped it onto the grass. Lining himself up with the target, he aims, then very deliberately turns his head and looks at you while simultaneously releasing. The arrow lands directly next to the first he’d fired.

“You really can’t resist, can you?”

He grins as he unstrings the bow. “Just proving my point. Once you’ve sighted correctly, all that’s left to do is provide the momentum to reach your target.”

“Is this another one of your life lessons, too?”

“Maybe.”

That smile was going to be the death of you. Those dimples. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel yourself succumbing to his charm all over again.

“Alright. Well, I’ve got to bring this stuff back inside. I guess they’re leaving the targets up for the rest of the week for the other classes.” You begin walking towards the target and Steve joins you, easily catching up with his long legged stride.

“You want a ride home?”

“Okay.” You’d halfway been hoping he’d offer. It’s a struggle to remove the arrows that the guidance counselor has launched. They’re embedded much more deeply than your own, the metal tips buried beneath the surface of the colored center circle.

Steve’s fingers wrap around the shaft and he removes the first arrow with ease, the next quickly following. You keep forgetting how strong he is; how much power lies in those large hands of his. He really could destroy you, all innuendos aside.

He hands you the remaining arrows, and you swear he can read your thoughts despite his protests to the contrary, another little smirk creasing one corner of his mouth. “I’ll go get the car. Meet you out front.”

You nod, trudging back across the field to the gymnasium.

***

Steve pinches the filter between his fingers and lights the end of the cigarette, taking a grateful drag while waiting for you to return to him.

The interior of the car is warmer than he cares for, making him wish he’d opted for the Mustang today instead; at least that has air conditioning. This vintage sedan was too old for that. The vents don’t do much but push around the interior’s stale air. He’s already got the front windows rolled down, but it’s not helping much.

You settle beside him and he instantly feels even warmer.

“Ready to go?”

You nod and he shifts gears. He sees the surprise in your eyes when he diverts off the main road and instead aims for the all but forgotten dirt path through the woods, the one that runs parallel to your usual route through the forest nearby. It’s a relief to be away from the blazing sun. The leaves have begun filling in nicely. He despises the light nearly as much as the heat. Soon this place would be properly shadowed again.

“I was thinking,” he begins, glancing over at you, “that maybe we could do a movie night. Get popcorn and candy. Rent some trashy horror flick. What do you think?”

“You mean watch it at your house?”

“Naturally. I doubt your parents would be keen on the idea of your guidance counselor on the couch in the dark with their adolescent daughter.” His teeth flash in a grin. He’s in a very jovial mood today. That death the other night had sated him. He needs to start making it more routine. He’s well established enough now. Time to return to his true purpose.

Of course there will be exceptions. Like spending time with you.

“When should I come over?”

“That’s a yes, then? Excellent. Well, it wouldn’t be on a school night. Can’t have interferences with that. So let’s say a Friday night when you’re available?”

“I guess I could say I was working. And you could pick me up at the bus stop,” you murmur thoughtfully.

“That sounds perfect. Oh, and just one other thing: maybe wear a skirt. You know, just in case.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as your eyes widen in surprise. “I’m only joking. It’s not a requirement. Although,” he says, the humor leaving his voice, “I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it.” His eyes flick to the shorts that reveal more thigh than he’s accustomed to and he sees you flush and squirm in your seat, his lips curving into another smirk briefly before his features grow more serious. “I want to show you something.”

He laughs again at the expression on your face, realizing the implications of what he’s just stated. “Nothing improper, I promise. It’s a location I discovered while walking the other day that I think you might enjoy. Want to go for a bit?”

You still seem skeptical but you nod and he pulls the car off the path soon after, neatly threading the vehicle between two maple trees before exiting. Car keys tucked away securely in his pants pocket, he takes your hand and leads you forward into the woods.

“Do you go walking around here a lot?”

“Yes,” he says. “I find it soothing.”

“Me too. It helps me unwind.” Your head swivels to survey your surroundings. “I don’t recognize where we are, though. This is further in than I usually go.”

“I thought as much. I didn’t expect to find anything other than more trees, perhaps another road, but instead, I found…this.”

Steve halts just short of a crumbling house. There is little left of the structure beyond a cracked windowpane of the first level, an empty doorframe and a few clapboards covered with peeling, faded paint.

“What happened?”

“Hard to say. Maybe a storm caused structural damage once upon a time and it was too extensive to warrant spending the funds to repair. Watch your step. There’s still a lot of broken glass and boards with rusty nails scattered around. What I wanted to show you is actually behind this.”

You allow yourself to be led past the abandoned building, cautiously weaving between piles of rubble. Steve hasn’t let go of your hand yet. He likes holding it; likes guiding you towards this forgotten place he’d found. Sharing another secret with you.

“Good. They’re here.”

“Who? Oh…” Your hand drops from his.

A slatted, decaying fence that may have once been white borders the rear of the property, and just beyond that, an apple orchard. The gnarled, kinked branches bear buds that will soon blossom into flowers. Between these trees are a group of horses of various colors milling about, nosing at the ground, trotting back and forth, whickering and neighing softly, still unaware of the presence of others invading their territory.

“They’re wild?”

“Yes. Probably descended from some domesticated ancestors that lived on this farm once upon a time.”

“They’re pretty,” you say appreciatively. “They look healthy. Happy.”

“They do,” he agrees, leaning on his forearms against a section of the top railing that looks sturdy. “Fending well for themselves. Probably better off without human interference.”

“I’ve never gone horseback riding. Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you have. Probably an expert at that, too,” you grumble.

“Your words, not mine.”

Your eyes meet his and you tilt your head to one side, as if trying to conjure an image of that activity in your mind. “I can picture you doing it, actually. With some goofy cowboy hat on.”

“No. I’ve never been fond of hats.”

“Why? Because they mess up your hair?” You take a step closer and your hand reaches cautiously to siphon through the tresses at the far end of his side part. “Never a piece out of place, is there?”

His fingers catch your wrist, trapping you. “Sometimes it gets wild,” he whispers roughly. He can feel your bounding pulse beneath his fingertips, equally as startled by how brave you’ve suddenly become. Touching him of your own accord. He straightens, tugging on you, bringing you against his side. “I’ll show you.” You swallow loudly and your eyes shy from his and he smiles softly. “One day. When you’re ready. I’ll take you home now.”

It takes every ounce of willpower to lead you back to the car and deliver you safely to your residence; not to keep you pinned against him and crush your lips with his own.

Soon, he thinks. He’ll learn their taste soon.

[anteomnia]

emily and spencer . are autistic and siblings, thanks

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

[ ID in ALT ]

he giggles

[llitchilitchi]

me and @oduvany binged Redwall together a little while ago so I decided to doodle a DSMP/Redwall crossover feat. mice c!DTeam, fieldmouse c!Tommy and dormouse C!Punz

[lovecanbesostrange]

Wolverine (Vol 3) #62 writer: Jason Aaron artist: Ron Garney color artist: Jason Keith

Historical first meeting between Logan and Raven in Mexico, 1921.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji is okay with you not making eye-contact with him during sex because he knows that you're just overwhelmed, right? it's because he simply loves to feel your lips against his skin when you hide your face in the crook of his neck because that's how he knows he's taking good care of you, right?

fuck no.

those are not the only reasons.

if you look toji in the eyes while he's fucking you, he will cream his pants like a fucking teenager who's just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

when he has you on your back with your heels digging into his lower back and with your hands clawing at your back, his own arms barely supporting his body as he sinks into you; you look beautiful like this – a layer of sweat covers your body and he thinks about licking it all up, your bitten lips are parted and the sounds that spill from you cloud toji's mind like a drug. you're writhing and you're squirming, squeezing around his cock so tight that he feels like he's about to pass out.

and then... your eyes.

eyebrows scrunched together, you stare up at him and toji thinks he's going to die instead. tears brim in the corners while your pupils are blown wide, a mix of pleasure and adoration swimming in the dark orbs as he brings you closer and closer to another high. oh, he thinks you look like a fucking painting. like you belong in a museum.

the way you're looking at him is making his cock twitch inside you and that in turn makes you blink at him. you flutter your eyelashes while pressing your heels deeper into his back, silently begging for more.

"f-fuck..."

toji's head falls as he squeezes his own eyes shut. he feels like he's on fire. he feels like he's about to fucking explode. he's going to cum just because you're looking at him with nothing else but love in your eyes. he feels stupid for it – a little embarrassed that such a simple thing is getting to him so easily, but when he feels your hand on his jaw, cradling him like he's something that could break – the shame fades.

the combination of meeting your gaze once again, the care in them, and the love you offer him, makes the knot in his belly snap.

you caress his cheek as you hold your eyes on him, eager to watch him unfold in front of you. a fucked out smile makes its way to your lips and toji's heart skips a beat at the sight. he's never felt weaker, he's never felt more loved. oh, you're something alright.

he also can't handle your eyes whenever you're giving him head. he simply cannot do it. he does love watching you, he really fucking loves it – how you screw your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on your breathing. how the drool pools in the corners of your mouth and how it dribbles down your chin. how your whole body twitches when you gag around him. how small your hand looks on him, how you massage his heavy balls. how pretty you look while doing it all – he's obsessed.

but the second you open your eyes and look back up at him... he's throwing his head back and hiding behind his arm. and while the view of his neck does get you to rub your own thighs together in want – it's not enough.

you want more.

taking your lips off his cock and ignoring the line of spit that connects you to it, you patiently wait for him to look at you. you even stop jerking him off, just resting your hand around his base. his dick twitches and another glob of pre-cum trickles from his tip.

"toji?"

your voice is as sweet as ever and he knows it's a trap. he grumbles back at you in hopes of convincing you to continue, but he's wrong. merely giving his base a squeeze, you watch how the older man buck his hips into your fist.

"look at me."

he won't, he won't, he won't. you're evil, you're awful, you wish to torture him until he dies. this is how it all ends for him. he won't.

"please..."

his balls twitch and his his body burns. he needs to cum so fucking bad but he hates looking like an actual old man, who can't keep his shit together.

"look at me, baby."

it's more of a demand now and he can't resist you. he never has and he never will. whatever you say goes – if you tell him to jump off a damn cliff, he will do so. if you want to break him just like you're doing right this moment, then so be it. he's all yours.

his arm falls from in front of his face and his green eyes crack open to the most glorious sight in the world. you look completely fucked out and your hair is a mess, your lips and your chin are all covered in spit and he thinks of you as an angel of some sort.

you give him a smile and his hips buck into your fist again, but you don't tease him for it – you want him to feel good. so you press a kiss to his sticky tip as you hold his lust-filled gaze and it's enough for him to blow his load all over your gorgeous face.

you lap at his tip like a kitten, collecting the few drops that threaten to escape while still pumping him with your one hand and massaging his balls with the other. toji grips the sheets below with both his hands – his fingers tug at the material so hard that they almost rip but neither of you care.

you worshipping his cock, or better yet worshipping him, is baffling to him. but he's not complaining. you take him into your mouth again, eyes still on his, you wrap your lips wrap around his tip and push him into overstimulation.

curses tumble from his scarred lips like they're the only words he knows and you can't help but smile while still having him him in your mouth. you're covered in his cum and now you're fucking grinning up at him – he really does think he's about to pass away. there's no way this is real, that you're not something his mind conjured up to plague him with. your hands feel godly and your mouth feels so fucking warm. no, this is it – he's officially dying.

taking your lips off of him with a pop, your smile widens even more as you give him an 'ahhh!' as if you've just had the best meal of your life and toji doesn't waste a second before pushing off the bed.

"fuck, come here."

his knees hit the floor with a thud as he lunges at you like a starved beast. he grabs your cheeks and pulls you toward him, smashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. he needs to feel you, he needs to taste you. he needs to love you.

he needs to give you his all.

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ newfangled technology ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ logan finds your vibrator and discovers a wonder of modern technology┊1k words

contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊implied age gap, established relationship, vibrators, overstimulation & mentioned multiple orgasms, receiving oral

➤ author's note: first logan smut!! i’m a bit burnt out of writing it actually so idk if there will be more, but i couldn’t let this idea go <3

logan likes to believe that he understands modern technology for the most part even though you can often hear him muttering curses under his breath at the stupid machine that isn’t working. if most parents and grandparents are struggling to figure it all out, you can bet that this two-hundred-year-old mutant does. it feels like yesterday when people were using rotary phones in their homes, then hand-held flip-phones, and now smartphones that could show you anything you could dream of at the tap of a button— he feels as though the world is growing much faster than an old man like him can keep up with too many gadgets for too many different purposes getting too many upgrades.

any attempts to get him to understand the internet fail for the most part, so he uses his own phone for nothing other than calling, texting, photography, and occasionally googling some sort of questions. he finds advertisements about the latest devices annoying, but he’s very appreciative of motorcycles, kitchen appliances, and other simple machines that make life so much easier compared to his time.

he’s learning about new tech every week, new and pre-existing, both ones which make him wonder if he should get it for himself or ones which make him furrow his brow at the fact that such a thing actually exists. tonight is one of the times when he has both reactions, but more than anything, an intense curiosity had been ignited in his soul.

you asked him to look for something in your bedroom drawers, something that he can’t recall at the moment after he found something that piqued his attention: an egg-shaped item coated in pink medical-grade silicone neatly hidden under layers of clothing and tightly wrapped in a bag. it was tiny in his massive hand and he didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was or what it was made for until you walked in to see what was taking so long, hearing you gasp and turning his head to find you covering your face with your hands looking absolutely mortified. you struggled to stop yourself from stuttering when you had to explain to him what it was, a sex toy that you bought sometime in the first year of college and buried once you got together since it was no longer needed. it was the only one you’ve ever bought and you’ve honestly forgotten about it until now without any idea of how he would react.

while you were humiliated about it, you could see a sparkle of intrigue in his eyes which quickly led to finding yourself in bed with your clothing removed and his new discovery against your aching cunt. it wasn’t difficult to figure out how to change the intensity of the vibrations with a press of a button, but did he need to put it at the highest setting when you’ve practically lost feeling in your legs at this point? it felt so strange at first now that you’re so accustomed to him pleasuring you personally, yet that foreign sense melted away with the familiar memory of taking care of your needs when lonely— except now you had your handsome lover holding it for you with your hands gripping the sheets instead. 

he’s amused at how such a small little thing was so powerful in reducing you to a moaning mess as it pulls another orgasm from your spent body, feeling his neglected cock twitch with every blissful moan past your lips louder than the humming of the toy. you mutter something along the lines of asking him not to stare out of embarrassment, but it all falls on deaf ears since the view that he has is downright mesmerizing, watching intently as he presses it into your puffy folds with a focus on your sensitive clit. all the while, he’s holding your legs open to stop you from closing them instinctively when it felt like too much, his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh as you squirm in place.

your body trembled in sync with the pulsating toy, walls barely able to clench around the head of the vibrator while leaking like a faucet and dripping all over logan’s fingers. “it’s too much-!!” you whined, throwing your head back into the pillows with glossy eyes and drool starting to seep out the corner of your mouth from the electricity coursing through your veins. it’s surprising that you were even able to utter a coherent phrase when your brain had essentially been turned to mush.

“you can give me one more, can’t you doll?” there’s a hint of sadism in his voice detectable to even your ecstasy-fogged mind where you knew that he was getting off on your reactions alone, an arrogant smirk plastered across his handsome face that was so slappable and sexy. he can almost feel himself drooling too, craving a taste of the sweet nectar making a mess everywhere. “such a desperate and needy little thing,” he tutted, observing your greedy pussy trying to pull the vibrator deeper within you. “go on, cum for me.”

as if his words commanded your body, the tight coil twisting in your abdomen finally snapped, making you writhe and cry out in relief. your heart was pounding in your chest and you gasped for air, feeling sweaty and exhausted as that must have been your third or fourth climax. you stared at him through half-lidded eyes trying to determine if he had had enough of using the vibrator for torturous pleasure until he suddenly pulled you closer to him to bury his face into your soaked heat. he just needed a taste of you, to lick you clean and make you tug on his hair.

watching you become undone when he doesn’t even need to lift a finger seemed to awaken something in him… it’s definitely a piece of modern technology that he would like to invest in, he plans to buy more of different types, shapes, and sizes to try out on you (the definition of “spectacular, give me fourteen of them right now”).

[ickadori]

i dunnooo i feel like whenever you’re mean to yuji it turns him on, you’d be cursing him out nd he’d already be like half hard

I also feel like Yuji would beg to put it in😊

idk I just want him to throw me around

[cws] fem reader

[an] you get it!! i know it in my heart that yuji likes his partner to be a little mean :( a little spoiled, a little bratty! it makes it that much better when he finally gets you to be his sweet mushy baby that’s only that way with him !!

yuji knows that you have a bit of an attitude problem, and he knows that he probably enables it, never once chiding you for the way you speak and act with him.

you drag him shopping with you whenever the urge strikes, which is worryingly frequent, and shove bag after bag into his arms, not even so much as uttering a thank you, just fully expecting him to be your human pack-mule.

whenever he gives another woman his attention, even if for something as simple as giving out directions, you’re shooting daggers his way and refusing to speak to him, answering him with huffs and hmphs until you deem him worthy enough for actual words.

it’s mean, you’re mean, and he should really say something about it and get it under control… but he can’t deny that the spoiled, bratty act gets his cock hard and his brain fuzzy.

“god, yuji! it’s like you have a bunch of rocks up there or something!” your finger taps against his forehead twice as you bend at the waist, and he silently looks up at you, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed as his cock chubs up against his thigh. “it’s as if everything i say just goes in one ear and out the other, you never listen.”

you’ve got one hand on your hip, the other animatedly moving around as you talk a mile a minute, eyebrows scrunched together and eyes narrowed on him.

yuji has no idea what you’re saying, but he knows he’s heard this spiel a thousand times before and isn’t missing out on anything too important - at least, nothing more important than how badly he wants to stuff you full of his cock until you’re sputtering out apologies and drowning him in kisses.

you always get so sweet and pliant when he’s fucked you full—cunt full of his seed and hole left gaping. you make sure to cradle him close and kiss all over his face, hands running through his hair as you whisper i’m sorry’s into his skin.

“—doing it again! yuji, you’re not listening to me!” he zones back in just in time to see your hand coming towards him. “you’re so annoying. just go home—!” he snags ahold of your wrist, and with a gentle tug you’re falling forward into his lap, your hands shooting out to brace yourself against his chest, while his move to encircle around your waist, arms flexing and tensing as they pull you close, his aching cock pushing up into your cunt, thin layers of fabric keeping him from sinking inside.

“i’m sorry,” he rasps, your lashes fluttering as you give him a bewildered look. “let me make it up to you, yeah?” realization dawns after a moment, and you shake your head, hands weakly pushing at his shoulders.

“huh? no, yuji, i was—oh.” he rocks his hips into you, hands moving down to palm your ass, a cheek in each hand.

“please?” he croaks, cock aching and leaking and throbbing and begging to go where it belongs. “can i put it in? can i fuck you? can i make you come, baby? can i?” he rocks against you with every question, his forehead resting against yours as he holds your gaze. “let me show you how sorry i am, baby. let me make it right.”

and you give in, you always do, his sweet pliant girl. he just has to get his hands on you first, tell you what you need to hear, sit you on his cock and make you come a few times, maybe even get you to squirt depending on if he wants you to be nicer for a couple days.

it won’t last but so long, that little honeymoon phase you two go through every time yuji gets between your legs, but he’s already looking forward to the next time.

[tojisun]

!! suggestive (and mini smut) - minors dni; bimbo (fem)!reader has simon wrapped around her pinky (we luv to see it!); the squad’s here too; hinted age difference (30s v. 20s)

when they ask him where you two met, simon always tries his best to tamp down the smile threatening to grace his lips before clearing his throat and answering, "in the ER."

the questions that follow are always repetitive: 'what, why?', 'what happened?', 'how did things even go from there?' the last one is often paraphrased into some other versions, but the sentiment remains – people always get surprised, reduced into awkward stumbling because how could you even segue into a romantic relationship from having met in the ER?

well, simon thinks, it's actually quite fucking simple.

it was three in the morning and simon was in the lobby, waiting to be called in, when he saw you walk in: you clutched your broken heeled shoes in your hands, your beautiful legs were bearing injuries and cuts, and your hair was a wild mess. then, you ambled towards a baffled triage nurse.

"hi!" simon recalls your melodic voice echo, sounding too hyper even when you looked all banged up. "can i use y'r restroom? we got kicked outta the club."

simon was so focused on you that he didn't even notice the pack of girls following behind you, all of them looking just as haggard and bruised up. one of your friends was actually worryingly injured, so it’s no shock when the nurse rushed towards her, slightly panicked and confused before steering your friend away, leaving you there in the lobby.

then, you turned around, frowning at having been ignored, and it gave simon the best vantage point of finally seeing your face. he swears his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs constricting, because holy shit, you are beautiful.

"then the rest is history," simon ends, pulling you close to him. any closer and you would have ended on his lap – something he preferred, anyway – but johnny continues to stare at the two of you with a slack jaw, his eyes almost bulging out in confusion so simon tries to keep it civil.

you giggle, and simon watches as the rest of the squad snap their eyes on you, as though expecting you to grace them with a better explanation. but simon knows that you probably don't even know what's going on, having been busy tapping away on your phone, your acrylics making distinct clacks as they hit the screen.

"i love the history channel," you singsong, batting your eyelashes as you give them a dimpled smile. "simmy-" simon almost coos at the nickname you gave him, "and i looove watching the penguins."

simon presses a kiss on the top of your head, ignoring the bewildered looks his squad is shooting him.

"that's the 'animal planet', love. not the history channel," simon corrects gently, rubbing his hand down your side.

"oh!" you say, unbothered by your mistake. "okay!"

and that was that.

"what the fuck," simon hears johnny wheeze out only to up making choking noises when kyle elbows him. simon ignores them, choosing to watch as you turn back to your phone, mass-retweeting a series of post made by the magazine catalogue that you've been following.

cute.

---------

"fuck," simon hisses, feeling the sharp edge of the kitchen knife slicing through the first layer of his skin. he watches the blood bead, trickling down his finger, and simon wipes it before it can stain the pristine green – "sage!" you tutted to him once – countertops.

"si?" you ask, padding towards the kitchen at the clamour. he feels you press yourself to his side, your perky tits nuzzling his robust muscles. "what's goin- y'r bleeding!"

he grunts, frowning at himself for having made you worry. he moves to reassure you that he's okay, but you're already tugging him out of the kitchen, your smaller hand wrapped around his thicker wrist.

god, he loves seeing the size difference.

you're wearing his military shirt, the material sliding down your body beautifully, before pooling just above your perky ass. simon unabashedly stares at the way your ass jiggles – hidden underneath the tiniest booty shorts he knows you own – his throat bone dry and his sweats filling up all of a sudden.

he barely realizes that you two are in the bathroom until you're steering him towards the edge of the bathtub before twisting to fish the emergency kit from the floor cabinets. simon almost groans at the perfect shape that your ass makes when you bend over, feeling himself throb with raging desire.

you pull out a pink emergency kit and skitter towards him again, slotting yourself between his spread legs. simon raises his hand – the uninjured one – to grasp at your waist, sliding it down to your hips, before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"it's nothin' fatal, sweet'art," simon mumbles, thumbing your hipbone as he tries to comfort you.

you're still pouting at him when you say, "sure, i guess. but lemme help you?"

and who is simon to say no to that?

"of course, love."

he lets out a quiet chuckle when you press your glossed lips on his forehead, unbothered even when your lips leave a sticky stamp on his skin.

he watches you disinfect his wound with a strawberry-scented sanitizer before wrapping a pink adhesive bandage around it. his worries about having his open wound disinfected by a glittery sanitizer fade away when you picked his hand up to place a kiss on his now-bandaged finger.

glitter-induced infections no longer matter. not when simon's getting nursed to full health by such a pretty girl.

he licks the back of his teeth, clenching his jaw, and thinks, you deserve a reward, don't you, sweetness?

---------

johnny blanches when he sees the bandage around simon's finger. "LT, what in fuck's name is that?"

his loud voice snags the attention of garrick and their captain who ambled their way towards him upon hearing the commotion. garrick chokes on nothing when he sees the pink bandage that simon's sporting.

"bandage," simon replies, pride heavy in his voice. "from my girl."

johnny whirls and shoots a pointed look towards kyle and john. kyle is the one who breaks the silence.

"…are they safe for use?"

"what's the cat even bandaging?" johnny adds.

simon huffs, flicking his finger up to give the squad a better view. "firstly, this is 'hello kitty'. secondly, you questionin' my girl’s ability to care for me?"

john coughs, looking away, kyle arches a brow at him like the answer should be obvious, and johnny gulps loudly, before mumbling, "...yes."

simon sniffs, unable to blame them. "yeah, well, don't."

the squad is still quiet. waiting.

simon finally gives in and replies, "i checked. they're safe for use."

he rolls his eyes at their dramatic sigh.

"that's good to hear," john says before clapping his hands together once, urging them to disperse.

simon grumbles all the way back to his room.

---------

simon loves his pretty, dumb girlfriend to death.

he loves seeing you dolled up – skimpy dresses made of silk material paired with heels that could honestly stab someone to death. he also loves seeing you in nothing but his ratty jumpers – loose black sweaters stopping just after your crotch and the sleeves falling past your fingers.

but nothing tops seeing you naked and crying for him.

nothing could ever top this – your legs folded close to your chest, your ankles hooked on his shoulders, your pretty make up running as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes and flood your cheeks.

he thrusts his fingers in your cunt again, breathless when it punches out another slick gush of your squirt, drenching you two even more. you squeal, body locking, your hips lifting from the bed. simon has to press down on your belly to keep you stable.

"siii!" you cry out, thrashing on his hold, but simon just kisses your leg as he continues to fuck his fingers in you.

"shh," simon murmurs, feeling so choked up at the sight you make. "one more for me, yeah?"

you moan out a reply, a garbled mixture of 'yes' and his name, before wrapping your hands around his arms, your acrylics digging into his skin. simon doesn't even register the pain, still too caught up at fingering you to feel the way you're clawing him.

still too caught up at how perfect you are for him.

(later, when he checks the mirror and sees the angry red welts, simon purrs at the sight of them. because simon loves being marked by you, doesn't matter how, as long as he has bearings of your pleasure. pleasure he gave you.)

---------

simon receives a video message from you. it’s nothing long or conspicuous, but simon still chokes when he finally gets to watch it.

because in the video, you’re wearing simon’s old varsity shirt on top of your university cheer uniform.

“look!” you chirp, twirling for him. “found this in the closet!”

simon slams his captain’s door open and demands a vacation leave.

---------

the lieutenant has a new tattoo and johnny doesn't know what the actual shit it's supposed to be.

it looks like a wriggly blob of a... cloud? a cotton ball? candy floss?

it was still a somewhat fresh tattoo so simon never truly shows it off – johnny doesn't even know if it's worthy of being shown off – until one night at a bar, simon rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and leans to the squad to point at the blob.

"lookit," he slurs, tipsy and just a touch giddy.

finally, johnny cheers to himself before reaching forward to poke just beside the scribble.

"what's it?"

"mittens," their lieutenant croons, smiling down at his skin like a weirdo.

johnny has seen enough mittens to know that whatever that fucking squiggle is isn't mittens.

"uhm," kyle says, thankfully thinking along the same lines as johnny. "is it?"

"yeah," simon says wistfully, drunken in a lovesick way. "s'my girl's cat. she drew it f'r me."

oh. well, fuck. now that's just too cute.

wait.

"that's a drawing of a cat?" johnny rasps out, choking on his spit before turning to study the tattoo again.

it's still a fucking blob.

christ.

[bogleech]

I'm curious Mr Leech, what animal do you consider to be the WEIRDEST?

idk I guess the seahorse? from what I've read at least.

The seahorse has arguably the weirdest physical shape of a vertebrate, but just shape alone isn't the only way an animal can be weird, and I think maybe the weirdest animals are myxozoa??

The pustules on this fish are full of an organism similar in composition to a slime mold, a parasitic infection we considered a type of "protozoan" for generations

But myxozoa begin as a drifting spore, which ranges from a simple ball to these "anchor like" objects and even cube-shaped frames like in the top right here. These spores inject the slime stage into fish through a harpoon-like cell identical to the stingers of Cnidarians, like jellyfish, corals, anemones and man o' war. So eventually it was suspected that this wasn't just convergent evolution, and once we could genetically sequence living things, it was proven that this parasitic saltwater "slime mold" was an cnidarian after all, a jellyfish relative that reduced itself to nothing but bare cells. But it still gets weirder, because there also existed these weird "parasitic worms," Buddenbrockia, that ALSO came out of a spore stage, and also had stinging cells.

Finally it was proven that this isn't just another weird jellyfish relative, but specifically a species of Myxozoa. This isn't just slime anymore; it has multiple tissue layers and even muscle. So this is a sea creature skin disease, but it's also an animal that dissolved into a single celled form and then re-evolved a different multicellular animal body from scratch.

[deoidesign]

How I save time on backgrounds as a full-time webcomic artist

Hi! I make webcomics for a living, and I have to be able to draw a panel extremely fast to keep up with my deadlines. I draw about 50 panels a week, which gives me about 45 minutes per panel if I want any semblance of a healthy work-life balance.

Most webtoon artists save time on backgrounds by using 3d models, which works for them and is great! but personally I hate working in 3d... I went to school for it for a year and hated it so much I completely changed career paths and vowed never to do it again! So, this is how I save time without using any 3d, for those of you out there who don't like it either!

This tactic has also saved me money (3d models are expensive) and it has helped me converting my comic from scroll format into page format for print, because I have much more art to work with than what's actually in the panels. (I'll touch on this later)

So, first, I make my backgrounds huge. my default starting size is 10,000 x 10,000 pixels. My panels are 2,500 pixels wide, so my backgrounds are 4x that, minimum. Because of this, I make them less detailed than I could or that you might expect so it doesn't look weird against my character art when I shrink portions of it down.

I personally find it much easier to add in detail than to make "removing" details look natural at smaller sizes, but you might have different preferences than I do.

I also make sure to keep all of my elements on separate layers so that I can easily remove or replace them, I can move them to simulate different camera angles more easily, and it's simple to adjust the lighting to imply different times of day.

Then I can go ahead and copy/paste them into my episodes. I move the background around until it feels like it's properly fitting how I want.

Once I've done that in every panel, I'll go back through the episode and clean up anything that looks weird, and add in solid blacks (for my art style) Here's a quick before and after of what that looks like!

This makes 90% of my backgrounds take me just a few hours. This is my tactic when I'm working in an environment that an entire scene, or multiple scenes, will take place.

But many panels will inevitably have a location that's used exactly once, and it would waste time and effort to draw a massive background for those. So in 10% of cases, I just draw the single panel background in the episode. I save all of these, just in case I can re-use it later (this happens more often with outdoor locations, but I save them all nonetheless!)

I generally have to draw about 2 big backgrounds per episode, and 3-5 single-panel backgrounds per episode! At the beginning of an arc/book the number is higher, but as the series is continuing and I'm building up an asset library of indoor and outdoor elements to re-use for the book, the number generally goes down and I save more time.

My series involves time travel and mysteries, so there's a lot of new locations in it and we're constantly moving around. If I were working on a series that was more consistent in this aspect, this process would save me even more time!

Like I said earlier, this also saves me a lot of pain and gives me a lot more options as I'm converting from scroll format to print format!

panels that look like this in scroll format...

can look like this in print!

because I drew the background like this, so I didn't need to go through the additional effort to add in the extra detail to expand it outwards at all.

Anyways, I hope this helps someone! As always if it doesn't help, just go ahead and disregard. This is what I do and what works for me, and I feel like I only ever see time-saving tips for comics that involve 3d models and workflows, which don't work for me at all! I know there's more people like me out there, so this is for you!

Enjoy!

Also obligatory "my webcomic" if you want to see this in action or check it out!

[fumifooms]

Falin who cares too much and too little - analysis

Been stewing on Falin thoughts for a while, I know I have an interpetation on her that differs from many but I’m jumping into the fray. I think there’s a lot to be said about what we do see of Falin. This shorter Falin analysis I made is heavily encouraged prior reading. This analysis mainly explores her complex relationship with caring and so it’s sort of structured in two halves, with Faligon at the crux of it all.

Falin cares too little :

A lot of people assign Falin a people pleasing mindset and I… Don’t agree. We never see her care at all about people in her town or at the academy not liking her.

We do see her worrying about what people think of her… ONCE. And Laios comforted her, told her they didn’t matter and she should be proud of herself. She latched onto that hard. That’s why this scene was so important to be included during the dragon fight, relationship-defining; it’s always been them against the world. She grew to not care what others thought, to only focus on her close loved ones. No one else matters.

Laios’ words were her world. Her older brother who taught her how to feel comfortable with herself, who told her, you’re great, others are the ones in the wrong to not see that, I’ll always be with you, always be there for you. Older brother who always made great plans, who always knew more, who was better at wrestling to name the dogs, who she has always idolized. Laios who always spoke of traveling the world, to which she always said she wanted to follow. And she would, she’d follow him even if it meant leaving the academy and all she knew behind, she’d follow him to the ends of the world, and that’s what she did.

She didn’t care about showing to her classes or keeping up such appearances, she doesn’t even think of toning down her jumping into bushes when Marcille recoils, etc. She acts like an obedient pawn often, to her parent’s directives and then following Laios around no matter what he decides to do, but I don’t think the motivation is people pleasing, rather it’s being with & caring for her loved ones, and her go-with-the-flow attitude enhances the impression. Not that it’s as simple as that, mind you, but let’s talk about this for now.

Falin is perceived as selfless because we, the audience, have our perspectives revolving around the main people in her life (Laios, Marcille). They’re the ones she’s devoted to and people who care about her back a lot too, but to people like her classmates or the towspeople she probably must have seemed like someone who didn’t care about the people around her or her surroundings a lot, who just went on alone and did her own thing.

What matters to Falin? From what place does her kindness come from? Is a part of her keeping up appearances? And I think that’s the point, the horror of Faligon as well, that we can’t tell just how in control Falin the person is as the chimera (because we are shown that she’s in there, we just don’t know at what degree), that we don’t know her enough to be able to tell when she’s at her most genuine, her most raw. That even if you do settle on none of her being present as Faligon, we have to at least consider it, consider that she may be able to do something like this and have a part in it, brutal and uncaring. That even the lenses we see her through, the people who love her, may be unreliable.

And this is what’s very interesting about her too, she truly is so idealized by people around her as a saint. She’s so good and kind and caring to everyone etc etc etc. Laios, Toshiro and Marcille all see her as the paragon of goodness in the world. More cynical characters like Namari and Chilchuck have more layered opinions on her, the latter finding her somewhat unnerving because he can’t read her well. But then with that one flashback scene we see that… Her priorities are intensely focused on Laios and Marcille, she doesn’t care all that deeply about anyone other than them (+ maybe her parents). The rest of the party is in the same danger here but only Laios and Marcille who she’s speaking to get the special ,ention, and if they don’t cross her mind then of course she’d be ready to sacrifice strangers through a risky teleportation. That doesn’t make her not kind or caring!! Just that greater good isn’t exactly her priority. Any means is alright if the end result is her loved ones safe, it usually takes the form of healing and caring, but we see she’s ready to fight and make dangerous calls too. To me there’s this aspect to her that she isn’t as pure and magnanimous as everyone thinks she is, both in-world and interestingly enough meta wise as well, and there’s something interesting to that.

People pleasing implies a need to be liked, needs for the motivation to be that. A yes-man, etc. But if we analyze Falin, her general kind, smiling demeanor is more a matter of passivity I yhonk. Conflict avoidance is easier, so she’s friendly and hopefully things’ll be smooth sailing. It’s easy to be kind to classmates even if they act wary and rude if you don’t care about what they think either way. Of course she prefers good things happening to people over bad things, she is genuinely kind, but I think people tend to assign her a very grand altruistic way of life when to her the motivation is pretty self-centered. She doesn’t do what she does because she loves them, but because she loves them.

One situation that’s interesting to dig into for her way of thinking, and what I’m trying to get at, is Shuro’s proposal to her. I’ve seen people saying she hesitated because she didn’t feel comfortable saying no even though she wanted to, "I can’t say no, I don’t want to hurt him", something that sounds sensible and familiar, but it’s actually canon in the Adventurer’s Bible that the reverse was the case, that she didn’t feel comfortable saying yes. Because the offer was tempting, but it’d have been a loveless agreement on her end. And it makes sense she’d want to say yes too, like we see with the Toudens, marriage is very much a political strategical economical thing in their village, there’s even a bit on it on Laios’ Adventurer’s Bible profile about dowries, and both siblings were engaged very early. They lived poorly for a long time, it’s an enticing idea to marry rich, to have not only yours but your brother’s needs met forevermore easily, which at one point in their careers was their main worry and goal. Why shouldn’t she accept a life of leisure and wealth handed to her by a lovely friend?

So her hesitance was "yeah that’s convenient for me, but where it’s everything to him and heartfelt I’m able to be detached because I don’t care about it that much… Can I do that? I’m not reciprocating, not saying yes in the way that matters. Can I do that to him?" Very caring even though it’s not what you’d expect, isn’t it?

And central to my analysis, where I’m going with this is, I feel like that’s the thing with her character, that she doesn’t feel as strongly as she "should" sometimes, or feels a different way than she "should", or at least that she feels that way and others say she does. She didn’t mind suddenly leaving the academy, leaving Marcille behind and not seeing her for 4 years. She acted like it was no big deal that she sacrificed herself after getting resurrected after the red dragon fight. And in both those cases it upset the people around her greatly that she didn’t seem to get why it was such a big deal, didn’t seem to care about how they’d experienced her choices.

So it’s a tendency… And it’s not that she doesn’t care, it’s just that the way she measures what’s good for the ones she loves isn’t the same as what they themselves think it is (like Laios and Marcille not wanting to be apart from her). It’s an overt but quiet kind of care, it’s doing things like following them around and making sure they bathe and have a meal, even if that means she has to be dragged into misery too.

So yes she probably would know "not caring enough/the right way" is one of her perceived flaws, and that informs how she tries to handle her response to Shuro’s proposal. Her not wanting to accept like her first gut instinct, is because she’s thinking about reciprocity, about if it’d be right to go into this knowing that they have different priorities and she might not be able to keep up with the type and amount of emotions he wants/expects from her. And that’s a big part of her character isn’t it, having expectations pushed onto her. Her trying her best, but in her own way that may seem odd or even unfeeling. Not unlike when she exorcised the ghost as a kid too, unblinking and matter-of-factly, and not seeming to understand why people stared the way they did.

Even though she answered his proposal only post-canon, she’d been pondering it for a while even pre-canon and the Adventurer’s Bible explanation was released midstory, so I’m hesitant to assign her much growth about her hesitation and what I went on above, since she still didn’t react "right" with Laios after the red dragon fight (even if she apparently doesn’t remember sacrificing herself) and put herself in that situation in the first place. She hasn’t finished her arc on that flaw of hers is what I’m saying, she for sure still has it, but I certainly think her thoughts on Shuro’s proposal shows awareness, both of herself and social.

And awareness is a big analysis key word with Falin, especially here it can be hard not to conflate not caring with not knowing. How socially aware is she? It’s rather layered, because canonically she wasn’t aware of her ostracization in her hometown at all, and we’re not sure if she knew Shuro was interested in her before he proposed, but she generally seems more socially aware than Laios. She tags along on his caravan job to make sure he isn’t being mistreated (though doesn’t ask he get a salary), she catches social faux-pas more easily like in the genderbend magic mirror omake with Shuro, and interestingly enough she’s very good at empathizing with her parents and understanding their perspective. We see when she’s worried about Marcille coming that she does know about propriety and how appearances shape impressions. Being a chief’s daughter must at least have taught her a thing or two on that front.

She never stands up for herself, but when it comes to defending others she worries, strategizes and explains.

And this sort of understanding is part of why I think she’d notice the expectations pushed onto her like I was saying earlier, notice how she makes people feel when she’s careless. But if she changes anything about herself in response to noticing is for her to choose, and generally I think it’s a sort of inbetween of yes and no: that she becomes more complacent but also more reserved, complying but by hiding more of herself passively. She’s not sure wether to accept or reject Shuro’s proposal, doesn’t want to lead him on? She’ll just be taking a while to silently consider it, try to keep things as they are for the time being. The third, less conflicting option. She doesn’t feel heard by Marcille who keeps infantilizing her? Just bear with it. Retract yourself emotionally. Settle for it.

We see that when she was young she had a tendency to not read a room, and I think that’s here too. She doesn’t get why her nonchalance upset others but that doesn’t change that she doesn’t want them upset or hurt, so she tries, albeit in maybe a roundabout way. She always had a hard time deeply connecting with people, often keeping herself some amount of emotionally distant: erasing herself from the equation, from the two-way trade that relationships are and making it a onesided thing instead, where all their needs and emotions are directed towards her but she only lets out a bit of her own show. She takes everything upon her and deals with it and tries not to give others this same burden, though not on a conscious level, it’s just that she’s learned growing up that she doesn’t have much agency.

Like I went into with my analysis linked at the beginning, I think Falin is used to just taking what she can get and not asking for more, when it comes to social bonds. She’ll take spending time with her mother no matter what it is they do, she’ll follow Laios to the graveyards and stick by him even when he’s pushing her away (because he doesn’t want her borrowing his book or "No copying!" or such). Her father was always distant, cold and uncommunicative, her mother was considered sick from anxiety and the exorcism attempts were the main way they spent time together, at dinner tables there were only her and Laios. The dogs picked on her too even if she loved them— And so did the townspeople, maybe that being normal to her at home is why she didn’t notice the ostracization she suffered.

She’s always been the last to be asked about decisions or what she wants, never asked to play with at recess, neither her father or Laios asked before sending her to the academy or leaving the village. At home, in the hierarchy she was considered to be below the dogs by the dogs themselves, as someone they can disrespect. Dogs learn from example and behavior, so this means Falin must have been pushed around a lot, and that the family didn’t try hard to rectify the dogs’ misconception, likely worsened by Laios regularly wrestling with her as a competition.

So for example when Falin showed Marcille food, it was her way to implicitly ask to have lunch with her without voicing that question, without daring to take up space. Someone’s presence isn’t something you ask for, it’s something that’s bestowed upon you, you can follow them around but you can’t ask them to stay or to come with.

She’s used to her needs and wants not being listened to, so she’s learned to have less wants. Caring less about herself, caring less about other people beyond her safe zone, was a defense mechanism in part. She has a sense of learned helplessness too, like how when Marcille came to take her away from Laios, even though she didn’t want to leave with Marcille it felt so determined and unshakable to her that whatever Marcille decided Falin would have to comply with.

And still, it’s the "marrying you would be awfully convenient if it wasn’t that I’d feel guilty for not loving you back, the way you wanted me to when you proposed to me" and the "I don’t regret leaving the academy and leaving you behind without goodbyes but I’m sorry that you’re so much more upset about it than me". It’s the guilt of not loving people back the way they want to be, with the same intensity or fervor.

It’s the autism it’s the aroace of it all, it’s the emotional stunting and confusion but the pit in your stomach telling you you did something wrong again. The no object permanence even for people you love even for 4 years, it’s the feeling like you’re somehow at fault for someone having fallen for you and not knowing what to do with any of it. I’m not joking btw it isn’t uncommon for autistic people to not see their close friends for a long while, not having missed them all that much and for that to be really hurtful for the other if they notice/ask about it. "Hiii bestie! Oh umm you’re uh more emotional about this than I expected, hopefully you won’t feel alienated by me not feeling as intensely about it…"

So… Yeah. I think she thinks of things and relationships in a different way than most people, and beyond "good things happening to people is good" I don’t think she actually cares about people all that much. I’d argue that Laios shows more desire to connect with others and make relationships. And just like with Laios and his own issues with humans, that doesn’t mean her kindness is a lie or ungenuine or worthless! It just means that like, well it’s pretty straightforward really, she’s not all that social and doesn’t see casual bonds as meaning all that much and whatnot. She does want to see people happy, but it’s not as much like… A conviction or goal. She’s too laser focused on a select few people. "It’s not that they’re bad people, they just aren’t interested in humans."

And sometimes it feels like people get defensive about Falin in a meta way too, like if you ever so much as imply Marcille isn’t her whole world or that she isn’t the kindest soul out there then you’re saying she doesn’t care at all or she’s evil. And that’s actualy exactly the sort of vibe I wanted to get through with my analysis above here actually haha, that she does care and she is kind but it’s not in a way that’s quantified or understood in a way that makes people feel comfortable. In a way, that makes people feel insecure because they don’t have the same logic as her, don’t show love the same. And I think this is another stellar depiction of autism, of parts of it that feels unpalatable to many, if I’m making sense. The fandom idealizes her as well, which isn’t uncommon or surprising for the character embodying the trope of the perfect beloved to rescue.

And disclaimer, as I said in the tags I feel like the details of Falin are pretty vibe based when it comes to analysis, there’s absolutely a valid angle where she does super care about everyone always, feel free to disagree with me on the overarching angle of my analysis. There’s enough supporting evidence to tip the balance either way I think, and the reason I’ve chosen this angle is I feel it’s more compelling for the themes in Dunmeshi of idealization and being different, of desires vs wants, and because I think it neatly ties up Falin’s character arc as I’ll go over throughout the next section…

So.

Not feeling as much as she should. And……. Is this not Faligon pushed to the max?

You can’t tie down a dragon. As the chimera, she gets to just not care about everyone else and be on her merry way.

Part of it I think is finding comfort and freedom in the mindlessness, in not having the burden of feelings and connections and a consciousness (despite still ending up seeking those in a stranger, Thistle). Like when she’s dead in the purgatory as well, she gets to just… Hang around and do whatever. Similarly to when she played in the forest instead of going to class in her academy days. That’s what freedom and peace of mind looks like to her. Why she decides to roam post-canon, if only now with the goal to find herself instead, with her mind in tow and somewhere to go back home to.

There’s excellent analytic framing out there about how of course, Dungeon Meshi has a big theme of grief and letting go, and… Falin was always a symbol narratively, idealized by characters and often underconsidered by them despite their love. It was Falin’s choice to sacrifice herself for Laios, she thought it was worth it, knowing that it would be her end. Her resurrection and the process of it intertwining her soul with a dragon’s wasn’t done with her consent, and the subsequent opening it gave her to become a chimera puppet. She’s stripped of her agency consistently, and so… It’s very noteworthy that the final choice, of wether to go back to life or to stay dead, in that purgatory scene, was up to her. And she chooses life, but I do think about her in those fields and how at home she seemed there. Peaceful, by herself in a vast calm expanse she could explore, free.

Personally, I think freedom is Falin’s own subconscious selfish desire. And though to us becoming the chimera is obviously a shackle, I think it felt like freedom to her somewhat, too.

And if you think I’m going wildly off the rails here I want to talk about Laios’ wish of becoming a monster. And to be clear before getting into it, being mentally a monster is absolutely a big part of the appeal for Laios, it’s something that’s consistently referred to, something especially pointed out in the werewolf monster tidbit with Lycion. Right panel is from that, but left panel is from the extra with Izutsumi where Lycion talks about suppressing souls in a beastkin body, the human or the beast soul.

Finding comfort and freedom in being mindless, less sentient, less aware? While being unaware in her hometown might have saved Falin a lot of heartache although perhaps stunted her emotional growth, it’s always been Laios’ curse.

Actively, through his choices, he seeks to grow closer to people, to form deeper bonds, to understand and be undertood, but… On a deep seated level, what he desires is to leave humanity and civilization behind. He has an irrational hatred for humans, born from the trauma of ostracization, being different, being beaten up and rejected consistently through his life. Running away from problems is easier. He wants to be free from being a social animal from a social species who has deemed him the black sheep, he thinks it’d be simpler to just leave it all behind, people and his own humanity. At its core, to Laios becoming a monster is a power fantasy, a coping daydream of "if only I could be strong enough to never be hurt again, the power to destroy anything I want, the power to go somewhere better, if only it was possible for me to never feel hurt again. If only I could be someone, something, that can never be hurt". "If there’s someone you don’t like, you can gobble ‘em up in one bite. If you could fly, you’d be able to leave this village right now." It’s a childhood fantasy, from a deep sense of being misplaced and a desire to be able to stand fearless, thinly covering up resentment that Laios represses.

But you’ll notice, when the Winged Lion is enticing him in the last page, even now with his lifelong wish of becoming a monster on a silver plate, he still cares about his friends. He still has that sense of responsibility to his friends, doesn’t want to leave knowing they’ll be in danger and alone. The offer that his friends may be left unharmed is already good, but Laios also visibly flinches when the Winged Lion offers to specifically care after Marcille and rid her of her biggest fear. Laios’ care runs that deep. Not unlike with the succubus, he resists temptation until he gets reassured that everyone will be okay. But see, what he desires isn’t to stand alongside Marcille until her last days, it isn’t to stay and see how well his friends will live, it’s to go. It’s to leave. It’s to fly away, a monster both in body and mind. He wants to be free from caring here, wants to not have to worry about his friends, wants to just go do his own thing, but for that he needs to feel safe in the belief that said friends will be safe even without him being there to see it, because despite everything else he cares, he does. It’s again that dichotomy about caring and wishing you didn’t, or not caring and wishing you did.

In the end, it’s Falin who achieves that wish. Both by becoming a chimera during canon, and by going traveling post-canon. In the latter, being both free of human relationships as something chaining you while still being uplifted by them, by the knowledge that there are people out there you love and that love you. It’s a theme that can also be connected with Marcille, because she gets anxious over people she loves getting out of her sight, worrying they’ll get themselves killed, that time is passing while they’re away from her. But before she can get to the point where she can both have her freedom and being uplifted by her social bonds, regaining both her individuality and her connections, she has to get a taste of just one at a time. Before they can find balance in her life, she has to see what it’s like to have what she’s never had on its own. Unapologetic freedom, and power.

No one can blame you for not caring enough or caring right if you’re a fricking dragon!!!! You make the rules when you’re a beast and you can just… Fly away. From anywhere, from anything. And if a dog bites you you can just crush it. Instead of being pushed around by the dogs because you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy, you’re now at the top, the one with the power to be heard and do what you want without consequences.

I think she’s on autopilot. I think she’s on autopilot a lot of the time, even before being a chimera, and it’s partly why her will is so weak compared to regular dragons. (Again, read my shorter analysis.) It’s familiar to slip back into the role of following someone around unquestioningly. And that’s what is weaponized when she’s a chimera, that instinct she’s been nursing all her life to unconditionally support, defend and follow someone. Only now, that someone doesn’t matter in itself, only the symbol of it. She doesn’t mind, either way is fine. Her will is weak after all, because she’s trained it to take as little place as it could.

Falin cares too much

She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life.

So you’re probably seeing the duality I’m talking about here, Falin is very self-sacrificial but for specific people in ways that they often don’t recognize or appreciate. She cares but selectively, both in people, putting all her eggs in the same baskets, and in the ways she cares after them. She doesn’t care a lot, but when she does she cares a lot. Falin doesn't have a lot of earthly attachments, but when she does, they're her world.

In canon her arc, especially post-canon, is to grow beyond Marcille and Laios. Her caring for her close loved ones held her back from looking after her own self-fulfillment needs. And this is what I mean when I say she cares too much; she could gain from caring more about the world besides Laios and Marcille, both lands wise and people wise. She cares too little, but her arc centers her flaw around caring too much instead. Her pitfalls that Kui highlight over the course of the story, while of course her selflessness is appreciated for how she saved Laios and everyone, on a personal level is shown to be self-effacing and damaging. She’s undermined by Marcille, without the courage to voice her thoughts and wants, she would dedicate her whole life to Laios. And I mean, it’s text, in the response to Shuro’s proposal extra no less. And she’s so laser focused on her most loved people that she’s fine with being callous and risking others’ lives, even.

Post-canon, she needs to leave to find herself, away from them.

Herself. What if she wants to just be with herself for a while.

And this is me reaching but I feel like, not unlike Izutsumi who learns to feel this sense of never being alone, always having someone on your side what with having two souls, the dragon in her would make her consider herself more. She finds it easier to care after other people after all, and in the purgatory fields sequence she takes care to bring the bit of dragon left with her… Not unlike with Izutsumi, having two souls forces you to think about your identity and figure yourself out. Besides being this sort of duo now, where if she wants to care after herself she can channel it to that other side of her too… In meta dragons are symbols of greed, and I think the bit of dragon would push her to want more and listen more to her desires, primal and self-serving as they might be. The dragon soul which warped her human body with feathers and draconic features, her image of perfection marred, her weirdness externalized in a way that’s not palatable. But she doesn’t care, about if her appearance is palatable for most people, she hasn’t for a while now, and that’s great.

Notes & nuance

I’m struggling with the structure of this post, making my points organized, concise and strong at once. It’s difficult to make any statement without going "things are generally like this, but there’s this time that this contradicting thing happened too" or "it’s ambiguous enough that you should just follow my interpretation for the time of this analysis" haha, so this is the pit where I put all the stuff that wouldn’t fit well in other places but are interesting for Falin’s character. This section is pretty separate from the main thesis of the post, it’s just more Falin observations. The post has reached the 30 pics limit so I can’t just pull it up whenever it’s relevant but I really encourage scrolling up to read the stuff I highlighted in her Adventurer’s Bible profile if you haven’t already.

I think with the shy-looking loner type autistic kid archetype, and knowing she didn’t seem to mind others ostracizing her, it’s easy to lose sight of how she was by no means an unemotional child. In all the bits we see of her as a kid she’s bursting with energy and emotions. Canon confirms Laios leaving the village did affect her and make her lonely and she cried a lot, too. She may not be social in the traditional sense, but she was clingy with her brother, and she also never was all that shy about who she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve.And okay. Okay okay okay. Speaking of appearances. About what I said of her not caring about what people think of her, even seeming defiant with the caravan leader… There’s one istanxe of her caring actually, and it’s about how her face blushes easily. I remembered it as being because Laios’ said it and as I rambled Laios’ words are her world, but actually it’s ambiguous. It’s only Marcille imagining up this scenario where Laios says Falin looks weird because of it, there’s no evidence Laios said or thought that at any point. And on the other hand…

Her Adventurer’s Bible says: "5, Lovely Skin. She isn't particularly careful with it, but Falin's skin is fair and beautiful. Possibly as a result, her cheeks seem to flush easily. Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." The phrasing makes me think the complex she has over her blushing might have developed because of Marcille more than Laios. "Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." It could be related to how Marcille gets swept away and infantilizes her, calling her cute wanting her to wear cute feminine outfits etc. Again this feels like it relates to Falin’s struggle to be seen for who she is and what she wants to be seen as, her struggle to be recognized, having ideals and perspectives pushed onto her. Here Falin is insecure over her blushing implicitly because she doesn’t like being called cute over it, but that’s not how she wants people to see her. She doesn’t want Marcille to always see her as her 10 years old adorable friend. Like if your friend said you had puppy energy, it can be flattering, but it can also make you insecure.

Here’s a link to what I mentioned about her being uncomfortable wearing feminine outfits. It does seem to be more about comfort than the aesthetic perse, to me. Interestingly the shirt & shorts don’t seem like they show much more skin than her beach outfit, so maybe it’s more about the shirt and shorts being tight-fitting. Like the skirts and heels they feel stifling. Again a bit with themes of freedom and not wanting an aesthetic pushed onto her. So yes just to reiterate, I think this is more about self-affirmation and how her identity and self-image gets shown to others, rather than wishing to hide parts of her body like her blushing etc for people pleasing reasons. Makeup was a way for her to appear how she wants to and feel more confident. It was a way to take control over her own image. She didn’t keep doing it, the narrator stating the process to be ‘troublesome’. Ultimately she still prioritizes her comfort, and it was a lot of recurring efforts to go through.

And on the topic of appearances… A friend once asked me: "Does she really hide herself or not? I keep thinking about "falin is herself first and foremost" (in her Adventurer’s Bible profile) it’s just so. Hmmmmmmmm... I just keep seeing people say she hides her real self from people when I feel like the issue is more about her charitable traits straying too far into becoming flaws but people around her dont realize that..."

Imo the thing is, I don’t think she hides her identity, but I do think she suppresses her individuality for others’ sakes if that makes sense. In the way that only post-canon does she allows herself to go see what the world is like, but that’s not personality wise it’s needs and wants wise. And I do feel like that’s the closest interpretation of canon, she says it herself she doesn’t know what she wants because everything she’s done was always about Laios or Marcille, but she doesn’t change her demeanor or personality for others. But she *will*, like, not ask for things she wants directly, like sharing lunches with Marcille at the academy, she suppresses her wants, doesn’t ask things from people and doesn’t hope for more, hope for better. I don’t think we ever see her actively repress her personality, except like what, being more laidback than enthusiastic but I do feel like unlike Laios with her it’s less ‘appearing stoic to fit in more’ and more ‘yeah i’ll just chill until I’m needed or something activates my enthusiasm’. To which said friend quoted: "to feel like you belong you need to be useful. when you can’t be useful the next best thing is being convenient."

And speaking of passivity… I want to speculate about Shuro’s proposal some more. Shuro and her got along well though we don’t know how much, or how often they hung out, she even saved him from a nightmare. Why did she take so long answering Shuro’s proposal? Was it an effort to preserve or was she really just that conflicted? Procrastination probably yes, but what is the core motivation of itl Considering she ended up saying no to travel the world instead, I don’t think it was as simple as ‘she wanted to say yes for convenience’. Logically it’s what would have been best, but it’s not what she wanted for herself, but it was and still is hard for her to even know what she wants. Probably, since like she states it was a great offer and she doesn’t think she’ll get proposed to again, it’s that self-effacing tendency that yes it’d be convenient and logical, and that makes her want to say yes even if her spirit isn’t in it, because if it’s convenient then that’s more important than her feelings on the matter. Man also… Obviously Marcille is very vocal about how she shouldn’t get with Shuro, but imagine how Falin’s whole perspective on marriage must have felt when her only friend ever is a Romantic with a capital R who gushes about idealized romances and grand gestures and True Love and doing things with fully pure feelings all the time.

AND speaking of passivity!!! How much Falin is "there" as the chimera, just how much she’s master of her actions, is left ambiguous and intentionally so imo, but she’s for sure there & influencing the dragon’s action to some degree. Having a dragon’s foot on her in purgatory that keeps her from moving for sure visualizes how it must have been like, but there’s Falin calling out to her brother Laios, there’s the kind attentions towards Thistle that are so Falin-like, and most explicitly there’s the Adventurer’s Bible stating "Even after becoming a chimera, she has a soul that's as kind as ever", which I honestly dislike, a fantranslation puts it as "Even as the chimera, her caring nature remains" and either way to me it feels like confirmation that it’s her giving those berries to Thistle. Now, wether or not she has the mental capacity of a chicken or something closer to human Falin, no clue, there has to at least be some kind of mind bond between monsters and the dungeon lord, compelling or forcing them to go along with orders, or calling her to him in distress like with the fight on the first floor. But yes, it’s interesting to wonder what it is that a Falin, with her kind soul but without her human mind, would willingly do. On her profile, she’s described as Thistle’s guardian and servant. The power dynamic between the two are very interesting, I already went into how it might have felt like freedom to her while being fake so I’ll reign myself in and just mention it again. She’s still at the heel of someone, only now it’s someone who doesn’t care about her back. Going from being cared for so strongly that it’s suffocating and they would defy death and the world for you, to being devoted to someone who has not one feeling about you besides your utility as a paw . She has all this care to give and to focus onto others and he has none to send back to her and I think that’s part of it. In a way, being left with only her own feelings and a void, without expectations or feelings or ideals pushed onto her, it might have been soothing in itself, and eye opening. But yes the way I think of it, her care for Thistle isn’t unlike the care she gives the ghosts.

Interestingly, the care she extends for the ghosts is sending their soul to a peaceful death, freeing them, of life and any earthly attachment. Take that as you will with the themes of freedom and burden of life and mind, immortality and becoming a warped version of who you were, and such and such.

But going back on the topic of connections and bonds for a bit, I think academy days Falin & Marcille is super interesting bc we’ve never really see Falin form a connection besides with Marcille and even that is kept pretty ambiguous. When was the point that Falin started seeing Marcille as a friend and seeking her out? When was the "I’ll lay down my life for you" point? I’m so fascinated by how she wanted to share lunches with Marcille but never truly asked, only made little "hey want this? I found it isn’t it cool?" gestures of showing things to her… It’s the only way she knows to ask, or maybe it’s the only way she feels comfortable to. In all the scenes of young Falin and Marcille Falin seems comfortable in her friendship with Marcille, but at the same time… I think we see Falin at her most insecure around Marcille, because she really does care about Marcille and what she thinks of her so much, and while Marcille is a bit of an unstoppable force tornado style (affectionate) Falin is something of a doormat. I’d usually say showing her berries was her earnest way to connect and be like "Hey bestie look at this! :]" , but there’s a real possibility that she was self-conscious and holding herself back.

Friendship and Marcille! Involving Laios into this too but, again with the autism thing of not showing you care in ways that others understand, Marcille being very overtly affectionate and clingy was so so soo important… Marcille keeping on hanging out with Falin and caring after her, and being undeterred/unbothered by Falin not always seeming like she cares all that much back in the conventional way, as in Falin acts nonchalant and a bit like she didn’t mind wether she was there with her or not during her outings to the cave dungeon. Caring and being clingy and so affectionate despite that in such a classic Marcille way is soo needed, because so often people will get discouraged by say, their friend not keeping in contact regularly/well, seeming disaffected or as happy-go-lucky as ever even if you haven’t seen each other in a while or when they’re alone, and yes there’s potential for a strong friendship there but someone like Falin won’t be committed enough to reciprocating attention the same way… I hope I’m making sense but yes this angle in particular strongly correlates to autism. And the way Marcille always initiates physical affection, both Toudens being awkward about initiating touch because they don’t know if that’s allowed, if they’re going about the social interaction the right way, if they’re allowed to ask that out of someone…

Another fun observation to make is about the 4 years Falin and Marcille spent apart. Marcille despite being of a long-lived race treated these 4 years of separation with more gravity than Falin did. Falin brushed it off very dismissively to say the least. But then you remember that the amount of time Falin and Laios didn’t see each other after he left the village was 8 years. Double the years, double the time. And that reminder makes Falin’s actions so starkingly understandable. Of course she wouldn’t see 4 years of separation as a long time if 8 years of separation with her beloved brother is her point of comparison. Of course she’d see it as worth it to leave Marcille for 4 years if it meant ending those 8 years instead, especially if she was worried about him (the reason why she followed him into his caravan job).

A friend always says that while Falin is the center of Marcille’s world, Laios’ is at the center of Falin’s, and I tend to agree.

It’s fun to think of how her career dreams had always been shaped by Laios, even when they were kids. Of course there’s how traveling the world began as a dream they talked about and shared, but there’s how he reassures her by listing cool jobs she could do like traveling exorcist, etc. And then of course, she gave up on her magic academy and career path to follow him and do odd jobs, etc etc.

I should go into the violence of Faligon more tbh, because I think there’s an interesting parallel to how she has no problem wacking things with a mace, wether a ghost when she was a kid or a walking mushroom as an adult. Something that often surprises fans when they remember, I don’t really want to get into the whole " Falin hates violence and hates seeing people in pain to an intense degree. ‘If you die do it somewhere where I can’t see’ style’ interpretation, it has some weight but on the whole I don’t vibe with the theory she has a particular aversion to violence, she seems to be fine resorting to it as much as any other adventurer as long as it isn’t needlessly against ghosts. And Falin’s sudden mace hits are fun to me too because it’s not her becoming a berserker when the need arises as much as her becoming active because something she cares about is threatened, and that brings her out of her passivity from 99% of the rest of the time. Thistle included. Falin always could be violent, she just dislikes senseless carnage. The Shuro party vs chimera fight is a bit ambiguous on it, because you can argue she only attached after being provoked, presumably offscreen as well while the ninjas went off to fight the harpies. Falin becomes the most active when she needs to protect someone, she has no qualms doing whatever’s needed for that, wether it be leaving the academy & Marcille without notice no matter the consequences or what her parents think, or teleporting the party, etc.

I’m working on a post specifically pointing out all the differences between Falin and Laios, but yes I think both of them selfishly desire freedom in different yet similar ways. Falin’s dark secret is "Ethics and risks are optional if it means I can protect those I love" like the teleportation, and Laios’ is "Ethics and risks are optional if I can be free of all this bullshit" aka humanity aka his wish with the winged lion.

Conclusion

Flighted birds have hollow bones. With freedom and wings there comes risks and sacrifices.

Tldr: Falin doesn’t care all that much, she’s very go with the flow. For example if someone hates her she doesn’t really care because that’d require her caring about what they think of her in the first place, and she only cares about her loved ones. She smiles, but it’s more a state of being rather than out of active goodness: she’s canonically very genuinely kind, but it’s more out of a general want for pleasantness than active care itself. She’s passive, and softspoken because that’s just how she seems, but she has no problem hopping into bushes or getting heated if something calls to her enthusiasm or calls for action and a hit of the ol’ mace. Her loved ones needing tending or protective is what makes her go from passive to active. That familiar autopilot mode of making someone the center of her world and following their every move is what made her so easy to be controlled as the chimera, even ferociously defending him with her life. Faligon is most interesting to me with the theme of freedom. She’s shackled to Thistle and out of her mind, but there’s also a sense of empowerment and freedom from expectations and society. She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life. There’s a way of caring after others that can be selfish, not unlike Marcille being overly coddling and not listening to Falin. In Falin’s case, I think it was so selfless that it ended up looping back around to erasing her sense of self. In losing sight of herself, that devotion becoming neither quite selfish or selfless but a fact of life and a state of nature, muddled by its lack of direction.

She’s sooo used to never being able to ask things out of others, you get the crumbs of affection and approval that others offer to you unprompted and that’s it don’t hope for more don’t ask for more. (Also reflected in how she follows her loved ones around without complain or personal opinions and how she’s not willing to rock the boat and affirm herself in her relationships like with Marcille during canon)

Falin cares so much, so much and so laser focused on her few loved ones that it blinds her and she loses sight of everything else, she ends up neglecting herself and the rest of the world. As Kui puts it, Falin is herself first and foremost. She just had to remember the importance of that.

-

I see her as an enneagram 9, which can be surprisingly accurate and fun to research through the lense of Falin. Excerpt below from this book, but like my god, good way to put it

That’s it, ty for reading. Even if it’s a bit of a mess, hopefully you’ll have gained a thing or two from it. Falin is a character hard to pin down, but it is very gratifying when you find the way that the puzzle pieces fit together right for your own understanding of the story. Fantranslation of the shuro proposal comic by @/thatsmimi here.

Here’s my spotify playlist for her if you’d like

Sometimes love is about letting go, a lesson a lot of the cast needed to learn. Self-love’s important too, and just like with diets we need a healthy balance.

[bettymylove]

love

pairing: theo nott x reader

content: it's smut based on this ask

a/n: sorry it took me so long to write this i have my exams going on hope you like it<33

love

such a complex emotion they why, oh why did you feel it so easily, maybe it was theo or maybe it was just the way he loved you always knowing what you need and today was no exception.

it was just a few days before your period, hormones raging you reached class though it was an effort to do so.

that look

it was enough to kill you and in this state it was enough to push you over the edge you craved his touch right now and his eyes following your every moment wasn't helping.

and when you walked to get to your desk his hand coming up to hold your wrist to pull you back made you want to sit in his lap and take him right there.

"baby, are you okay?" his eyebrows knitted together in worry and the bell rang before you could form the words to answer him.

his eyes asked you the same question, in a silent whisper and you lied with a simple nod, how were you to convey with your eyes what even you words couldn't begin to form.

you needed but one thing and it was a simple word, theo.

finally class ended and the only solution you found for yourself was pulling theo in the nearest closet you could find.

basically clinging to him pulling him down by his collar to whisper in his ear, "I need you right now", and once again his eyes asked a silent question of 'are you sure?'.

a nod was the only form of consent your body allowed to give him and he took it as he knew your period was approaching and the state you were in right now.

"not here let's go to my room", he assured you with his voice and you found the warmth you so craved for.

you let him drag you to wherever he was taking you, thinking was a hard option in this haze, but you knew you would let him take you to hell and back happily.

finally reaching his dorm, your hands instantly went to his shirt buttons undoing them one by one slightly pushing him towards the bed until he was sitting down on the edge.

you made your way to the empty spot on his lap, hands going up to pull at his hair to pull him slightly down still a little distance evident between his lips and yours.

and reading your mind, he made the first move bringing your lips to his kissing you so passionately that you could curl up and die while kissing him.

turning you in his lap he laid you down on the bed, he knew now was the time for the soft caresses and all the time should be dedicated to you.

slowly going down he reached face to face with your cunt removing all the layers of clothing delicately until his fingers reached inside of you stretching you out and giving you the pleasure you craved.

soon his mouth joined his fingers and you cried out his name, and he grunted in response the vibrations putting your pleasure above a notch. your hands reached his hair on reflex pulling it with all your might.

and then with a chant of his name you came all over his face coating him with your juices.

"i need you inside of me" you looked at him desperate eyes and he looked back at you with the same lust filled eyes.

he kissed your neck hands slowly going to unbutton your shirt and bra his kisses started trailing down until his touch left your body and you craved for more.

he slowly removed his pants and boxers revealing his hard dick, it was red on the tip and you were definitive you wanted it inside of you.

he slowly gave in to your pleas and pushed in inside of you albeit gently so as to ease your pain and not add to it.

soft gaspy moans, light kisses and steady thrusts was all what happened until it was not too long before you hit your second orgasm.

yelling out his name you came around him clenching impossibly tight around his dick, and he couldn't help but have the same reaction hearing your moans and feeling you milk around him.

after pulling out of you he laid down your side, pulling you close, his hand going to masaage your lower stomach.

sighing you said,"what did i do deserve you?" and he replied with a simple chuckle.