#more images in the article showing a bit of what's going on with the shoulder (when walking anyway)

[mercurymusing]

Re:prev tags and even more fucked up shoulders-

Not the answer I was looking for, but on a quick initial search I tripped over an even wackier diagram.

How moles walk; it's all thumbs Here, we use X-ray Reconstruction Of Moving Morphology (XROMM) to determine if the mole humerus rotates around its long axis during walking, as it does when moles burrow and echidnas walk, or alternatively protracts and retracts at the shoulder in the horizontal plane as seen in sprawling reptiles. Our results reject both hypotheses and demonstrate that forelimb kinematics during mole walking are unusual among those described for tetrapods. The humerus is retracted and protracted in the parasagittal plane above, rather than below the shoulder joint and the ‘false thumb’, a sesamoid bone (os falciforme), supports body weight during the stance phase, which is relatively short. 

Wild. Full article:

Apparently Mole Interest is trending, so I think I need you all to see their bizarre humeri

(Image ID: Left, a rat humerus. It looks normal. Right: a mole humerus. It looks like a twisted beast).

It's one of my favourite animal bones :)

[animelovelover123]

Hii! So I’m new to writing requests, but would you like to write headcanons about Sparda boys + V (if you’d like but not necessarily) reacting to their love interest wearing their clothes? Anyway I hope you’re having a nice day! :)

DMC - Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, & V x Reader

Synopsis: One thing that I kind of struggled with in this one is being vague about reader’s body shape. When people hear the concept of “stealing boyfriend’s clothes”, typically the first image that comes to mind is a girl wearing a hoodie too big for her. But not everyone/everyone's OC is a petite female. I didn’t want to exclude men, fluffy people, muscular people, curvy people, etc, so I have to keep things vague.

I originally planned to write out scenes, but I feel like the reaction of the boys, generally, would change depending on how their partner fits their clothes, so instead I did this. Hope it’s okay ^^;

Dante

Dante will say that you're just trying to entice him or tease you that you are too lazy to do laundry, not that he exactly has the right to talk.

What he does not admit, though, is how much he loves seeing you in his clothes.

It can be sexy, like when you wear something of his that is tight on you or revealing, like the coat he wore when he was first setting up shop, but more often it is comforting.

There is a sweet domesticity to you wearing his clothes. Whether they are tight on you, too big, fit well or are a bit awkward on your body, you wearing his things makes your relationship feel so much stronger than it has ever felt before.

What is yours is mine, and mine is yours, that's a marriage thing, right?

It’s hard for Dante to explain or understand, but if he had to sum it up in one sentence, he would say that you wearing his clothes makes him feel like you care and want to stick with him for a long time. And with his track record with loved ones, you staying with him is all he needs.

Reboot Dante

Dante pretty much always assumes that you wearing his clothes is an invitation for sex.

When he comes home to find you wearing a pair of his pants must mean you missed him and want him in your pants ASAP.

You wearing his coat out and about must mean you are staking a claim on him and want him to show everyone who he belongs to.

You slip his shirt on after sex must mean you're raring to go again.

And you know, you wearing his jacket while you fuck, maybe even give you unloaded Ebony and Ivory to hold and point at him with, now that sounds like and fucking amazing night.

Vergil

Vergil does not own that many clothes, so when you take some of his, he is not very impressed.

More often than not, he will tell you to give them back and to wear your own clothes, they actually look good on you unlike his thick, heavy, armored clothes.

Despite this, if he sees you trembling from the cold or fear of demons, he is quick to shrug off his coat and drape it around your shoulders. He’ll even insist on buttoning it up if your body shape allows it.

And you have also woken up from a few impromptu naps to find his coat draped over you like a blanket. If you try to call him sweet or something of the like for doing that, though, he will brush it off as you being incompetent and helpless without him.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil’s clothes are almost all tailor made so no matter what, they are not going to fit you properly. They are going to bunch up and be strained in odd places.

Vergil thinks that, though on the rare occasion ill-fitting clothes works for you, more often than not they make you look frumpy, which is a shame because you are attractive, but that doesn't come through in his own clothes.

He would rather you wear your own clothes.

However, if you really are determined to wear his clothes, and for some reason his loose pajamas are not enough, he will invest in some stretchier articles of clothing, like a turtleneck winter sweater, that can fit pretty much any body type. He can make it work, and the aura of joy and comfort you exude when you confiscate it is worth it.

Nero

Before Nero awakens his demon side, he has the typical response of seeing someone wear your clothes without warning or reason; a bit annoyed, confused why you can’t wear your own stuff, but also doesn't see it as that big of a deal as long as you give it back and don’t wreck it. At most, he may think it's a bit cute or hot, depending on how you fill it out, but all that will do is make him blush and look away.

Once his demon side comes in, things start to change.

His sense of smell gets stronger, and you wearing his clothes makes your scents mix together in this perfect way. It was similar to the scent created when the two of you cuddled the morning after sex. It is the smell of comfort, peace, and love.

It is also a mark of connection. When you wore his clothes, humans could see, and demons could smell, that he was your partner. And if they knew anything about him, they knew it was also a warning to not get too close to you.

Nero unconsciously makes a habit of rotating through a few choice tops and leaving them out on the couch or a counter. Somewhere you will find it, somewhere it can beckon you to put it on so you both can feel that connection a bit more.

V

V has a particular style that, though not really good for borrowing and lazing around in, is more suited for social events or simply wanting to be more fashionable. As such, permission is more often requested, or you ask where a specific article of clothing or accessory is because it would complete your outfit.

V enjoys this aspect of your relationship. There was a sense of pride in you liking his clothing and accessories enough to want to borrow them, and it was fun styling outfits together.

And couples outfits, though being a delicate balance, were something you two pulled off amazingly.

V also wishes to borrow some of your clothes and accessories, if that is alright with you. Even if your style is completely different from his, working it into his outfit can be a fun challenge.

And every time he sees you wearing his clothes, especially one of his rings, he thinks about how badly he wants to get you that one, specially made ring and slip it onto your finger.

[randomshyperson]

Lacy - Werewolf!Reader x Wanda Maximoff - Kinktober #07

Summary: This Halloween, Wanda receives a surprise visit from her favorite werewolf. The problem is that it's very difficult to keep a crush hidden during mating season.

Warnings: (+18), mutual pining, semi-public, very vague allusions to omega verse, beefy!reader, power!bottom wanda, a bit rough but they are actually sweet to each other, some praising and dirty talk. | Words: 3.144k

A/N-> First, I know nothing about werewolves. It was never my thing growing up (I’m a witch type of person I suppose) but I know about omegaverse stuff and since it’s wolf-based I tried some references from that lore. Also, I was totally thinking about Wednesday's show (and Wenclair ship tbh) when writing the school but you all be free to image whatever you wish. Also, the name is from Olivia Rodrigo’s song, ‘cause it’s such a friends-to-lovers/mutual pining coded lyrics. Good reading folks! 

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The mating season was always the most tiring part of the year.

Even as a child, her days were marked by hard work and running errands - her mother was always very busy with orders, and somehow, the twins were obliged to finish the tasks in record time, so as not to delay the calendars and keep Natalya busy when her customers needed her.

As the largest and most respected apothecary in the country, Natalya Maximoff was also one of the biggest dealers in magical items - and this also included natural suppressants. Her customers wrote to her from all over the world, many famous packs like the Romanoffs or the Howletts only bought her products, and the witch was always very busy at this time of year.

So when their mother told them that she would leave the Maximoff Magical Articles Boutique in their care for two whole days, while she delivered packages around the world, none of them were surprised, as this had been done dozens of times before.

Wanda's indignation stemmed from the fact that her twin brother, as soon as there were no more magical remnants of the portal his mother had conjured to travel through, put on a jacket and told her he was leaving.

"But you can't leave me alone!" Wanda hurried away from the counter. Pietro chuckled, adjusting his hat on his silver hair. Since he had turned 18 last month, he had grown a good few centimeters, and even with her best serious expression, Wanda, who hadn't grown much since she was 15, no longer succeeded in frightening him. That, and well, like his father, Pietro had a bastard heritage of lycanthropy, and with his new skills, he had also gained extreme confidence.

"What, you gonna tell me you're scared of some little wolves?" He sneered, his fangs protruding from his smile. Wanda huffed angrily, her cheeks slightly red. "Don't be silly, Wanda. You're a witch. Nobody's is crazy enough to mess with you."

He tries to pat her on the shoulder, but Wanda pushes a finger against his chest. "I'm not afraid of any wolves, you selfish idiot! Mom says the store is our responsibility. And you're sneaking off to do who knows what! I don't want to spend all night looking after this place on my own. Apart from the season, it's Halloween, and kids go apeshit and-"

"Jesus, Wanda, I'll make it up to you!" He cuts in, already pulling away and ignoring the other girl's protests. "I've got to go, I'm taking Crystal to the movies, then we'll settle up!

"Pietro!" But the call was ignored and the store door was slammed in her face.

Wanda huffed to herself. She could survive a Halloween night, but her brother would owe her a lot if he didn't want to be snitched on. She returned to the counter, texting him another dozen curses before texting to her mother that everything was under control.

And lucky for her, that's how the evening actually went. 

Most of the few customers who showed up were locals, a few sorcerers in need of ingredients, and even a traveling vampire who needed to replenish some reserves for a long trip. Some children also asked for candy, and tired of getting up so often, Wanda decided to leave the jars outside.

It was almost at the end of her shift, when she was ready to close the shop, that a delicious smell wafted into the room. Wanda, who was distracted by the holiday lessons that the institute where she studied always offered when there were short vacations or not, was snapped out of her concentration by the fascinating smell. She looked up just as a figure stumbled into the store, covered by a school uniform hood.

She didn't need you to remove the cap to recognize you, and yet, when your face became visible, Wanda felt her heart unlearn how to beat properly. 

"Good evening?" You looked between the shelves, approaching the cashier, only to hesitate as soon as you saw Wanda. "Oh, h-hi. Uh, is Madame Maximoff around?"

You looked uneasy, adjusting your hair and fiddling with your fingers. Your flushed face must have been due to the walk from the Institute to the store. 

Wanda shook her head as she replied: "She had some orders to place. How can I help you?"

The color of your face deepened, and you couldn't look her in the eye for more than two seconds. "Hmm, I kind of need... suppressants." And it was the turn of Wanda's face to heat up. You continued talking anxiously. "I thought I still had some, but my reservation ran out, and since I'm in the dorm, I wouldn't want to... well, would you have any left? I know it's very short notice but I really need it."

Wanda nodded quickly, equally at a loss for words. You see, if you were any other of her werewolf colleagues, the situation might even be comical. She wasn't like Pietro and didn't make friends very easily, but she shared the same taunting nature. One horny wolf in the store and Wanda would have jokes for the rest of the year. But it was you, her longtime secret crush, emanating a very pleasant scent and in need of something so intimate that Wanda could barely control her own thoughts about what other ways she could help you if there were no other suppressors in the store.

"My mom usually sells everything before the season starts, but I can look in the warehouse to see if we have any leftovers. I'll be right back." She says, smiling softly at your anxious figure.

Wanda has never seen you in heat before; the mating seasons for new wolves begin at the end of puberty, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and the vast majority of her werewolf classmates at the Institute return to their packs at this time of year, already matched with their partners in the traditions of the lycanthrope. Wanda only knows about the rituals from her father's family, because each clan, from the Vampires to the witches, is very private about it all. Witches like her mother, who specialize in all kinds of products, are the exceptions.

Wanda tries the storeroom next to the counter, but after a few boxes, she snorts in frustration. Her mother really did sell everything, and she almost reprimanded you for not planning properly. For older, mismatched wolves, being without suppressors could be really dangerous. For you, a new werewolf, it would only be quite painful. It was easier for her to feel sorry. 

And while she tried the last few shelves at the back of the storeroom, you grew even more restless outside. Wanda had no idea how intoxicating the essence of a witch, especially a witch one cared about, was. If you hadn't been so desperate, you would have given up going into the store as soon as you could smell her from around the corner, but then again, your brain wasn't working very rationally right now.

And there was also a scarf on the counter, Wanda's most characteristic item since she had received it as a gift so many years ago. Many of the times you've noticed her, she's worn the item around her neck and it made sense that her scent was so strong in the room, even though she was upstairs.

Your limbs moved by instinct, you didn't have to think much, just let yourself be guided by the urge to exhale that distinctive smell more deeply. 

Your face was pressed against the scarf when Wanda reappeared, and her confused giggle made you jump away mortified.

"Are you all right there?" She ventured, receiving a very quick and embarrassed nod. Wanda chuckled again in amazement, and without caring much about your current condition, she approached. "I looked upstairs, but my mother sold everything, sorry. There's something else you might like to try, maybe a calming potion so you can sleep while... well, this happens to you."

You quickly agree, still embarrassed at being caught. Wanda doesn't mind, if anything, she always found it very entertaining how different you were from the other werewolves she knew; loud and confident to the point of being idiotic. Pietro was a prime example. And if it wasn't for your distinctive stature, she could easily have assumed from your shy and careful personality that you were just an ordinary human, perhaps a mermaid from the way you seemed to bewitch Wanda's attention all to yourself.

"I'm sorry." You mutter suddenly, while she is searching for a sleeping potion on the shelf under the counter. Wanda turns her face up in confusion, but you're looking away. "From the scarf, I know it's... weird. But my body seems to be acting on its own. Just forget about it when we get back to school, okay? I'll be normal when it's over."

"Don't worry, I don't mind." She assured meekly, before finally finding some bottles that could help you and taking them back to the counter. She bit her lip at the way you were panting, and the way your trembling fingers pulled some notes and coins out of your pocket. "You can take these two vials today, and this one in the morning if you're still..."

"Horny'?" You joke, and take Wanda by surprise, but she manages to return the short laugh. Your hands push out the money and she turns away to pack the vials into a small bag. "So, one now and two tomorrow."

Wanda quickly denies it. "No, darling, two now and one tomorrow. Are you... are you sure you're all right? You're sweating-"

"Just give me a minute." You interrupt her with a gasp, the sudden wave of heat catching you completely off guard. The room starts to spin, and for a whole moment, all you can feel is your own arousal and the way you want to touch the witch in front of you. Your body gives way, and your hands force down on the counter, disastrously strong enough for the wood to crack. Wanda jumps in fright, worried, but you grunt quietly. "Shit, I'm really sorry-"

She hurries around the counter, and her soft hands make you jump away. "Hey, it's okay, I just want to help you stand up."

But you gasp in despair, wrenching your body away from her. "Don't touch me, Wanda, for God's sake." You grunt, and if you hadn't sounded so affected, Wanda would have taken offense. Instead, she stands ready to catch you if you lose your balance again, and that's exactly what happens. This time, your weight falls forward, and Wanda's body serves as a barrage. 

Your wolfish weight is almost too much for her, and it doesn't help that your face is buried against her collarbone, and your arms embrace her clumsily. "Hm, so soft." She hears you sigh, as she struggles to drag you over to the reading area of the store's bookshelves, where there's a sofa to put you on. When you fall into the cushions, you look up with dreamy eyes and an easy smile playing on your lips. Wanda gasps softly from exhaustion. 

"Wait here a moment, okay? You feel like you're burning up with a fever. I'll get you some water." She explains, but it doesn't seem like you're listening very much, disconcerting her with the way you're looking at you so discourteously, your pupils dilating. Wanda adjusts a strand of hair, self-conscious under your gaze. "I'll be right back."

She practically runs out of there, and alone, realizing her own hands are trembling as she remembers the sensation of having your body against hers. She shakes her head to push the thought away, you were clearly in a vulnerable moment right now, and Wanda doesn't think she'll survive the shame of being rejected once the heat wears off.

When Wanda returns with the water, she almost drops the glass on the floor. You haven't moved, but you've changed position, limp against the sofa, evidently rubbing yourself down the item as you whimper. 

"Oh, detka, let me help you." Wanda abandons the glass on a shelf, and rushes to your side, kneeling beside the sofa. You gasp in embarrassment, trying to escape her gaze, but Wanda's hands grab your warm face. "Let's go upstairs. I'll make it better." She whispers the invitation, but the thought alone is enough for you to grunt in affection and pull her face towards you. 

It's a hungry kiss, and the position doesn't help. Wanda has to grab your shoulders to keep from falling to the floor and ends up breaking into a giggle when a moment later it's you who's throwing yourself at her, desperately kissing her as if she's going to disappear. 

The lightness disappears quickly. She feels very hot and bothered, especially when your tongue slips into hers as if you already knew exactly how to kiss her, and your hands touch her entire body with determination. Her plea for you to slow down turns into a moan when your knee pushes between her legs.

It's almost primitive the way you seem willing to have her right there on the floor, angrily trying to pull her clothes off while your moans mingle. Wanda's face burns and she struggles to match the kiss, losing that battle all too easily when your palms begin to stimulate her nipples. 

She can feel the wetness begin to bother her through the fabric of her panties, and perhaps, you can smell it too, because you grow more impatient, and begin to murmur disconnected compliments into her skin, your hands reaching down to unzip her pants. Wanda chokes between moans, practically whimpering when your fingers find her so ready. 

You enter her, all at once, without a second thought. You suck on her tongue as she squeezes your fingerprints and soaks your hand. It's dirty and rough, and Wanda couldn't hold back even if she tried. Yet the store door opens, and she has to bite down hard on your shoulder to muffle her own noises.

Whoever the customer is, asking if there's anyone there or if the store is open, Wanda makes sure they don't see her. Her eyes are scarlet, and it's never been harder to do a concealment spell than it is now, with your fingers thrusting inside her as if the world around you hardly mattered. Finally, the customer leaves and her magic plays its part in locking the door before Wanda digs her nails into your back and comes against your fingers.

It's not enough - Nothing seems to be. You continue your movements inside her until Wanda is spasming again, begging for a pause. Your hungry mouth finds its way into her most intimate place then, just to tear more pleasure out of her. She loses count of how many times she comes, on your fingers and tongue, until the whole store smells of sex.

Fuck, she has to move you before Pietro comes back.

It's only when you let her breathe, retreating like a wounded wolf, that Wanda notices the puddle of moisture on your pants. You came at the mere act of watching and touching her. 

"Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?" She coos gently, propping herself up on one elbow now that you're lying on your back, one arm over your face. Your clothes are as torn as theirs, but there are many more marks on her body than on yours. 

You sniffle quietly, and Wanda looks at you with concern. "Why didn't you stop me?" you ask upset, and Wanda stares in shock for a moment. Then, swallowing dryly, she works up the courage:

"You didn't want this?"

But your reaction is to laugh incredulously. "Of course, I wanted it, Wanda! But I'm talking about you. Why didn't you stop me? You're a witch, you could have knocked me down, look at you! You're all purple, and I... God, I can't believe I... hurt you." 

She climbs into your lap before you can despair, ignoring your soft protest and grabbing your crying face. "I haven't stopped you because I've wanted you to since we met." She assures you determinedly, caressing your cheeks. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

Sniffling softly, you raise hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Wanda smiles, her weight against your chest. "Really." She assures you. "And don't worry about the marks, I... like it rough."

You groan in embarrassment, looking away and amusing her. There's a moment's pause, and then finally: "I like you too."

Wanda bites back a smile. "I got that impression, you know? When you were all whiny on me." 

Your laugh is sincere and shy, and Wanda kisses you as your hands grip her thighs. But before she can deepen it the way she'd like, you break again.

"Thanks for helping with the heat... but I'll take you on a date after this. I promise."

She pulls on your bottom lip with a provocative bite. "I'll charge." She assures you in a naughty whisper, and you sigh contentedly as she presses your hips together. Smooth movements, and you're already seeing stars again. 

Your breathing becomes shorter, and Wanda traces her fingers along your jaw, while her other hand moves down. "I bet you're all warm and tight."

You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding in agreement. Wanda kisses you leisurely, also taking time to slide her fingers into your pants and assess the effects of everything so far. She's not surprised by the immense wetness, but the sensation of sinking into you is overwhelming. She can feel ready for another when she starts to stimulate you and watches you squirm beneath her.

"So good... don't stop..." You moan helplessly, and the grip on her thighs is almost strong enough to hurt. Wanda makes a mental note of how to make you lose control of your strength, before curling her fingers inside you and being rewarded with the sweetest sounds in the world. "W-Wanda!"

She decides she likes it very, very much when you whimper her name like that. She continues her motions a few more times until you come hard on her fingers. Wanda thrusts a few times, before removing them and bringing them to her mouth, sucking them clean while you try to catch a breath. 

Your murmurs are labored, and Wanda kisses your cheek a few times. "Come on upstairs, sweet baby, I'll take care of you." She tries to get up, but your hands steady her on your lap.

It's almost ridiculous how easily you lift the two of you, and Wanda has to hold onto your shoulders, chuckling softly at your uncertain stumbles on the way upstairs. 

She'll have time to look after the store when you fall asleep. Right now, she's more focused on kissing you again.

[noel-fielding]

Boys from the Boosh

This article is more than 17 years old

With their Lurex-clad, psychedelic silliness and anarchic punk humour, the Mighty Boosh have been catapulted from the Edinburgh Fringe to the BBC. Amy Raphael catches up with them to talk sudden fame, instant families and stupid haircuts

Amy Raphael

Sun 21 Oct 2007 00.14 BSTShare

Noel Fielding is sitting in a dark corner in a bright-red Joan Jett jump suit, staring absently at his odd socks. His feet are killing him. He only has a short break between takes but the knee-high, stack-heeled boots, made by the same designer who once worked for Marc Bolan, had to come off. 'God, I feel as though I'm in Sweet today,' he says, rubbing his toes and swishing his shoulder-length bottle-black hair. He may be in costume just now, but Fielding is nothing if not glam rock. He is, he later says, fascinated by his own image and what he can do with it. He is one of those people who openly admits that he always thought he'd be famous.

And maybe his time has come. It's 10 long years since south Londoner Fielding, now 34, and Leeds-born Julian Barratt, now 39, became friends after appearing on the same comedy bill at a pub in north London. Fielding had studied Fine Art at Croydon Art College while Barratt had dropped out of an American studies course at Reading University; both had fathers who loved Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart, and who encouraged their sons to avoid getting proper jobs.

When they first met, Barratt asked Fielding if he had his hair on backwards (hair being a bit of a theme - the duo takes its name from Fielding's brother Michael, who as a child had really big hair which a friend called 'the mighty bush'). Barratt was also intrigued by the large gaggle of girls who went everywhere with Fielding. Both wanted to get their material heard; neither had found anyone to work with who remotely understood what was going on in their head. It was a huge relief when they chanced upon one another and decided to be the new Goodies.

Which, of course, they're not. What they take from the classic Seventies series is more the spirit of psychedelic, silly and surreal comedy. It's part of a lineage that includes The Goon Show, Tony Hancock, Monty Python, Vic and Bob. If Fielding is to be believed, the new friends went back to Barratt's place that first night and while the host played around on his Akai sampler, the guest made an eye patch out of a ping-pong ball. A decade on, the Mighty Boosh are on the verge of breaking free of their cult status and edging into the mainstream, but their approach to comedy hasn't really changed. Stage shows feature monsters made out of Jiffy bags; in the new series, Fielding briefly sports a Polo as a monocle. Theirs is a homemade, DIY, punk humour that knows few boundaries.

But while they can be ridiculously funny, Barratt and Fielding can also be tricky. Interviewing them in Edinburgh in 1999, I felt slightly awkward as, hungover, they talked the alienating language of a comedy double act unwilling to fully engage with an 'outsider'. On this cool, damp August morning they are filming the third series of The Mighty Boosh for the BBC in a vast warehouse on a disused MOD site in Surrey. Fielding is in high spirits; he keeps reappearing between scenes and chatting away about Suzi Quatro's new autobiography ('She's very sexy') or a recent all-night party where he met a cat called Steve. Barratt turns up at one point in checked shirt, cords and wellies, nursing a polystyrene cup of steaming tea. He vaguely nods but says nothing. He looks frazzled; his partner Julia Davis (star of Nighty Night) gave birth to twins Arthur and Walter just four weeks ago.

As Barratt wanders off into the shadows, Fielding does another take of a scene with an unbalanced tramp. After one series set in a zoo and a second in a flat in Dalston, the third has moved to a shop. This time, the insecure, anxious Howard Moon (Barratt) and the self-assured, narcissistic Vince Noir (Fielding) work in a second-hand shop owned by their shaman friend Naboo (played by Michael Fielding). If this sounds like a move towards traditional sitcom territory, it's not: Fielding may call it a 'psychedelic Open All Hours' but director Paul King, who has worked with the Boosh since the early days, insists it's more of a homage to Tim Burton, Dennis Potter and the film Delicatessen

Taking a lunch break in his dressing room, Fielding sits cross-legged on a cheap sofa. He tucks into red jelly and ice cream and talks about how frustrated he and Barratt (who is next door, too busy creating music for the show to talk just now) are by the various labels assigned to their comedy. 'Most of all, we hate being called surreal,' he says. But despite his protestations, it's hard not to think of the Mighty Boosh as surreal: after all, they are undeniably bizarre and much of their comedy flows freely from their unconscious. Yet Fielding insists it's more fitting to refer to the influence of children's books: particularly Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are and Raggety, the spiky, scary forest creature made out of sticks who encounters Rupert Bear.

Fielding plays with his Lego necklace, pulling bits off and popping them back on again. 'I think our show is magical and fantastical. We tell very intricate, weird stories. Vince Noir is quite modern, a bit of an indie kid; Howard Moon is a bit Fifties and eccentric. We tap into youth culture - the Horrors make a guest appearance in this series - and we rely heavily on Julian's music and my animation.' He pauses and grins. 'It's such a weird shambles of stuff.'

So weird, in fact, that it almost didn't make it to television. Around 2000, Barratt and Fielding disappeared into development hell. They had done a sketch show for Radio 4, but no one was sure how to translate their act on to TV. That's until Steve Coogan, who had seen them in Edinburgh in 1999 when they were performing as Arctic Boosh, moved things along. His production company, Baby Cow, put £40,000 into a pilot and Coogan himself sold the concept to the BBC simply by saying: 'If we were young, we'd want to be them.'

The first series of The Mighty Boosh went out on BBC3 in 2004 and eventually transferred to BBC2. It was pretty much a word-of-mouth phenomenon: the Boosh had hip young fans and more than their fair share of groupies. Last winter, even Fielding and Barratt were surprised when they took their show on an extensive tour of Britain. 'It was like the Rocky Horror Show,' says Noel. 'Everyone was dressed up and there was so much screaming! We did five nights at Brixton Academy and we could probably have done more. It used to be really cool people that liked our show - freaks and artists. Now the people that bug me every day are cab drivers and chavs. We're no longer on the periphery. I wouldn't mind being really popular...'

I ask Coogan how he feels about his proteges finding mainstream success: 'When Henry [Normal, co-owner of Baby Cow and executive producer of The Mighty Boosh] and I approached the BBC about the Boosh, they were quite sceptical at first. There was a feeling that their comedy was too esoteric. But we felt there was a playfulness in their fantasies that transcended the sometimes oblique references. Monty Python often operated on two levels - sophisticated and silly - and the Boosh carries on that tradition.'

Part of their strength, Coogan feels, is their very distinct relationship. 'In some ways it is pure music hall. They have a sweet innocence coupled with a kind of rock-star cool. It's escapist and surreal, an appropriate antidote to the trend for super-naturalistic comedy we've seen recently, including some of my stuff. What Julian and Noel are doing doesn't seem at all derivative. It isn't the kind of comedy you arrive at through audience research, which is the best thing about it. They do it absolutely on their terms.'

Back on set, Julian Barratt appears in blue shorts, grey T-shirt, black flip-flops. He looks terrifying: from the shoulders up he has morphed into a fox. With the help of yellow contact lenses, a false beard, nose and teeth, he has taken on the demeanour of a feral animal. Fielding spots him and giggles. 'Look at you! Crack Fox has come for me!' But Crack Fox, it seems, is not needed just now: the scene he is to film with Vince Noir is delayed as adjustments are made to the set.

It is time to leave. Outside the hangar, as a weak sun pushes through the clouds, Fielding sits around with his long-term girlfriend Dee. Barratt sits slumped on the ground, leaning against a car. False teeth in hand, he looks less wild animal, more exhausted new father. 'Oh God,' he says, trying to summon up some energy. 'We didn't get the chance to talk... sorry.'

I meet Barratt and Fielding again last month on London's South Bank. It's warm and all the cafes are packed. They eventually settle on a balcony overlooking the Thames. We sit on very high stools at a small table, which forces an unwanted intimacy. Initially it's not unlike the interview situation in Edinburgh all those years ago, but this time they quickly apologise for being exhausted after seven gruelling weeks spent bringing series three to life.

Fielding, in black skintight trousers with white spots, glam punk T-shirt, silver snake necklace, silver pointy boots, a trashy PVC coat with furry collar and outsized black sunglasses, is still recovering from a bout of flu. He yawns, twists and turns on his seat. Barratt, wearing black shorts, Birkenstocks, a stripy red and blue T-shirt and an open checked shirt, is slightly perkier but clearly exhausted by filming and fatherhood.

I ask how the rest of filming went. Fielding pulls a face: 'It was atrocious.' Barratt smiles benevolently at his partner: 'It was good but it was hard, the hardest yet. Although it was the third series, there was no more money. We seem to have stretched goodwill from the crew to breaking point.' Fielding hugs his battered doctor's bag to his chest: 'Until you get ratings, the BBC doesn't understand. They came to see us live last winter, saw everyone screaming and said: "It's like the Beatles. It's amazing! You're getting less money!" The fact is, we will never be as big as Little Britain. Having said all this, the BBC never interferes, which is something.'

Fielding suddenly leaps off his stool. 'I've just seen a man in a Boosh T-shirt!' As he hangs over the balcony, gesturing frantically, Barratt shakes his head. 'I'm quite happy sitting here. Obviously Fielding likes to attract even more attention to himself...'

If you'd never seen them perform together, you'd be forgiven for thinking that these two are an unlikely double act. Yet virtually every comedy duo in history has been the odd couple off stage, and the Mighty Boosh is no exception.

Fielding likes to be noticed - hence what he refers to as 'the stupid haircut' - and embraces celebrity. 'I go to lots of gigs, hang out with bands, party hard. I don't think it's possible to have a better time than I've had this year. It's like my birthday every night. I DJ with seven girls, I hang around the Hawley Arms [in Camden] with Amy Winehouse, Russell Brand and Donny Tourette.' Another celebrity friend is Courtney Love. 'I went to her house at New Year and then we went to the Paramount party. I've never seen paparazzi like it. There must have been 500 photographers. It was quite a buzz, because we're never going to have that.'

And Barratt looks positively relieved. He is far more private: when I comment on his new haircut, he says bashfully: 'My girlfriend did it last night.' When asked about his new young family, he says: 'It's a whole new thing for me. Something changes inside...' He starts squirming. 'I don't know if I want to talk about it publicly. My relationship with the press is different now; it's not just me any more.' He won't even talk about where or when he met Julia Davis; he is keener to discuss his relationship with Fielding.

He traces two circles on the table with his index finger. 'There's a kind of imaginary Venn diagram of our interests: we have a very shared middle ground that's a lot to do with comedy and music and visual language. Noel then does his own thing, hanging out with the latest band. I'm always initially very cynical: who are these people, they look ridiculous.' Fielding smiles and Barratt continues. 'Usually I end up getting on with them quite well.'

Part of what works for Barratt and Fielding is their open relationship. Both regularly do their own thing, whether it be stand-up, art (Fielding), jazz (Barratt), acting in Nathan Barley (both) or The IT Crowd (Fielding). They like to invite friends, family and pop stars to appear in The Mighty Boosh (this series sees cameos from The IT Crowd's Richard Ayoade, Gary Numan, Fielding's girlfriend, both sets of parents). The more ad hoc it all seems, the better - although on occasion it can seem overly self-referential. When I visit director Paul King in the editing suite some time later, he says that the show 'needs to look homemade' and is delighted that there isn't a single proper actor in the whole show. 'It's vital that Noel and Julian appear to be pissing around, having a laugh.'

The Mighty Boosh is very good at removing the barrier between the artist and the audience: many of its fans watch thinking: 'I could do that.' Yet with a little pushing, the couple admit they work bloody hard. 'I look as though I'm partying all the time, but actually we've worked virtually every day for 10 years,' says Fielding. 'It's a cycle,' adds Barratt. 'Slog, focus, panic. You work hard as hell and suddenly it gets you down. It all appears very trivial and you start thinking that perhaps you should be helping people instead, being less egocentric.' Fielding nods enthusiastically: 'By running a butterfly sanctuary in Peru.'

Given that they almost always do interviews together, I ask if I can talk to them separately. I suggest a Mr & Mr interview where they are tested - informally, of course - on their relationship. I'm surprised by their relative enthusiasm. Barratt offers to go first; Fielding slopes off to make a phone call. Within moments, there's a startling transformation. Barratt perks up. He relaxes, his shoulders drop. He even makes proper eye contact for the first time.

Julian, tell me five things about yourself, four of them true. I love jazz. I would have been a musician had I not got into comedy. My dad is a fisherman. I used to draw penises on my history books at school. I've never been scuba diving.

Tell me five things about Noel, four of them true. Noel is a girl. He can't drive. He is an extremely good football player. His nose has been broken. He didn't drink once for three years.

Who's the funniest? Noel. Although I think he finds me quite funny. He likes to make people laugh; I do too, but I'm also quite happy to make people uncomfortable. I've done interviews in the past where apparently I didn't give the journalist any eye contact. I'm a bit shy, yes. I've thought about refusing to do any press at all. All those questions you were asking us earlier... I felt slightly thwarted and crushed by this weight of having to be funny because I'm a comedian. Fielding does it much better; he rises to it.

Who's the weirdest? [Laughs; pauses] We've both got pretty idiosyncratic taste. Noel's gift is his ability to see his weirdness in the guise of a small child telling an adult a story. His weirdness has a friendly face.

Who's the sexiest? Fielding.

Who's the most rock'n'roll? Um... er... I suppose Fielding is flying that flag at the moment. I don't know that I've ever really been rock'n'roll. I like the countryside. I like chopping wood. I'd like to be a carpenter...

Who is the most boring? I've got a lot of friends with whom I discuss jazz.

Who's the most neurotic? Me. I can have a sleepless night worrying about a joke.

If you fight, does one or both of you sulk? We both sulk. We can get fired up quickly. Noel tends to say what's on his mind; his subconscious is very close to the surface, which is part of his gift as a comedian. I bottle everything up and then explode. Most comedians are borderline psychotic. It's what makes their work interesting.

Fielding approaches, looking hopeful. He is, it appears, anxious not to be left out. Barratt lies down in the shade, talking on the phone. Fielding takes a photo of him on his own mobile: 'Huckleberry Finn'. He whizzes through the questions then asks if he can do them again; he wants his answers to be as good as Barratt's. He also, interestingly, performs better alone. Even the yawning stops.

Noel, tell me five things about yourself, four of them true. Jesus! I'm Jesus. I like clothes. I'm tired. I'm trying to reintroduce a sense of magic, of the fantastic into society. I have an affinity with animals.

Tell me five things about Julian, four of them true. Julian wants to make a film. He's a father. He's often funny but doesn't know why. He's obsessed with logic, which he often uses to portray absurdity. He's made of coins.

Who's the funniest? Him. Physically and on a basic level, he's funnier.

Who's weirdest? I have the weirdest ideas. I dress more strangely. My stand-up is more ridiculous and silly; it has no foundation in reality whatsoever. Julian can seem quite offish when you first meet him. People find him offensive, rude, short-tempered, impatient. But he's not really. It's just his natural state; he's quite preoccupied and twitchy.

Who's the sexiest? [Laughs] Julian. I hope I'm sexy, too... Sometimes I look in the mirror and see a woman. My nose has never been broken, but it's a fucking weird shape.

Who's the most rock'n'roll? Me. My mum and dad had crazy parties throughout the Seventies. They listened to a lot of Jimi Hendrix, Mick Jagger, Led Zeppelin. There was a lot of drink and drugs around. So I'm more rock'n'roll by nature. I go out and don't come back for days.

Who's the most boring? [Laughs] Julian. My great fear in life is of being boring. He's like a teacher; he reads dry books, smokes a pipe and wears corduroy.

Who's the most neurotic? He's the most neurotic person I've met apart from my girlfriend.

If you fight, does one or both of you sulk? We very rarely fight and neither of us sulks. Never. Did he say we both do? [Looks genuinely horrified.] This is fucking brilliant.

Barratt returns to the table, smoking a cigarette he talked a tourist into giving him. To distract from the lack of agreement on sulking, I ask if it seems like a long time since they first met. 'I suppose we've changed quite a lot in 10 years,' offers Fielding. 'I was quite cocky back then; I thought I was supersonic.' He pauses. 'I couldn't tell you what life was like before Julian. He made me. Out of scraps.' Barratt joins in: 'In Pakistan.' Fielding starts giggling. 'Why is that so funny? I love that word: Pakistan. So when you made me in Pakistan, what was going through your mind?' Barratt smiles. 'Cheap labour. I thought we could get 10-year-olds in factories to write our jokes.'

Perhaps the last word should come from Steve Coogan, who saw something in these two comedy punks when few others could. 'The Mighty Boosh is a party you are invited to where Julian and Noel choose the music and dress code, and you end up having a better time than you thought possible. It's proof you can be sexy and funny. I try to soak up as much reflected glory as possible.'

{x}

[skrunksthatwunk]

hitting this article with a rolled up newspaper. bad. stop it

sigh. exhaustive argument that none of these shows grouped together have the same art style below, complete with images and whatever

oh also im not the type to comment on articles so idk the etiquette but don't like. go over there and say "ur list sucks >:P" that's just gonna bring more traffic to it. i linked it so people could ratio me if need be not so that you guys could dunk on this random listicle writer. it's pointless and kind of cruel. just so we're clear on that

edit: the quote above uses "time period" instead of "era". i quote it as saying "era" a lot. i'm not fixing that

note: here i'm assuming "art style" refers to, generally: character designs (facial and body proportions, how things like hair is dealt with, etc), lighting, color (palette, saturation, value), line weight, etc [and mostly excluding things like shot composition, direction, etc because while those probably count my personal experience with these shows is mostly limited, and because most people focus on the previous things i've listed in their discussions of art styles. the analysis within the article is incredibly shallow, and if they think samurai champloo's art style is "rehashed and reused", i don't think they're like. super deep in the art analysis sauce. anyway]

code geass vs death note. what are you saying. what are you talking about

code geass' approach to color is more vibrant, and dn's is more washed out. dn takes a more realistic approach to faces and bodies, both in proportion and in shape (namely how curved their features are (as opposed to cg's far more exaggerated sharp faces, large eyes, and lanky bodies. note how lelouch's lips barely jut out in profile, for instance)). i shouldn't have to explain this they're not even close

that's the most extreme example, but samurai champloo and cowboy bebop aren't That similar either

it's hard for me to speak on bebop for the most part because i've never seen it (vs my ~8 eps of samurai champloo knowledge), but from what i have seen, bebop often has a sort of delicate intricacy to a lot of its linework (especially its backgrounds) that champloo tends to sacrifice in favor of bolder lines and higher contrast. it was hard to find great examples, but the silhouettes champloo's characters cut are often sort of.. choppy and wild, and usually lanky and stretched-out, while bebop's are more realistic (focus on the shoulders in the last image set, for instance). there's overlap, sure, but there are clear and intentional differences in the designs, to say nothing of champloo's higher saturation and the natural differences between hand-drawn and digitally-drawn animation

(and if "art style" is referring to the direction rather than just character design, lighting, color, etc, it's because these two have the same director, which hardly creates an "era". that's like comparing two miyazaki films from the 90s and saying "this is what 90s anime movies looked like", it's nonsense. also, i feel like lumping these two together because they look a little similar is unfair because they're pretty unique from their contemporaries in their own right. they may resemble each other a bit, but how much do they resemble other late 90s early 00s sci-fi/historical anime? does samurai champloo look like outlaw star to you? or trigun? or evangelion? does cowboy bebop look like ninja scroll? or samurai 7? or sword of the stranger? etc etc etc?? if we're claiming that cowboy bebop and samurai champloo share an "era", then what of their contemporaries, and what about differences across bebop and champloo's very different genres? more on this point later)

even fruits basket and ouran, the ones i initially felt were most similar, have clear distinctions

ouran's got a distinct abundance of pastels in its color palette, tending towards pinks, blues, yellows, oranges, etc. its use of black and brown is very limited. fb's palette is a bit more relaxed, and while its colors are often pale, i wouldn't call them pastel (they also skew more towards natural, earthy tones). fb's characters have noticably.. flatter skulls? in some shots, and their heads are so squat that they can seem consumed by their eyes. anyway this is a trait ouran does not quite share, for a number of small reasons, like how their cheeks bow out, greater emphasis on noses and mouths, and its use of highly variable line weight (vs fb's very stable line weight). hair is more voluminous and multilayered in ouran, and features like lips and noses (esp noses) are fuller, more three dimensional (in general, ouran's approach to shading hair and faces makes the characters feel rounder). the sharp edges and bell-sleeves of ouran's uniform blazers are actually far more reminiscent of the designs in code geass than fruits basket, imo. (actually.. i'm not sure how to express this but a lot of the poses in ouran resemble code geass poses, in their locked-joint arms-stretched kinda way). ouran forgoes hair-shine, while fruit's basket adds them in either jagged points (see most of the images i included) or a sort of triangle wrapping around the head (not pictured here, just trust me)

(note: i'm assuming they are referring to the 2001 anime adaptation of fruits basket rather than the 2019 one, because not only does the 2019 adaptation resemble ohshc even less, but because they are closer in time period, and the grouping is supposedly based on era).

my point is none of these shows look rehashed from one another. there's sometimes overlap, but each has a unique aesthetic based in many small choices made in their design.

now let's look at their use of "eras" a little more. this is the timeline of air dates for the first episodes of the six shows mentioned (for their original japanese runs, obviously):

cowboy bebop, april 1998

fruits basket, july 2001

samurai champloo, may 2004

ouran high school host club, april 2006

code geass, october 2006

death note, october 2006

code geass and death note being paired by era is, at least, accurate. same month, same year. it's about as close as one can get. however, the other two groups are far more removed from each other. fruits basket and ouran have five years between them, and bebop and champloo have six. this wouldn't be such an issue if there weren't other anime within this list that came between them. if bebop and champloo are in the same era, why is fruits basket grouped differently? ouran came out in 2006 just like code geass and death note, so why is it grouped with something that came out five years prior instead of them?

i think it's fair to say that eras are not purely chronological, that there's overlap between them. one doesn't begin as soon as (and not a moment before) its singular predecessor ends. but era feels like an incomplete distinction here. this list alone shows quite a lot of variety for what someone can mean when they say something "looks like 2000s anime". most anime fans have a picture in their head of that, and, to be so honest, i don't think samurai champloo is it. using only time as a distinction rather than movement, genre, etc is simply not enough. the fact that 5/6 of these shows occur within 2001-2006, and yet they're set apart into three different eras, and each pair (in ways i'm sure the author of this piece would admit) does not resemble the other, is proof enough that 2001-2006 did not have one repetitive art style, at least not in a way these anime exemplify. that's to say nothing of whether or not the anime within the era-pairs look the same, which we've established i don't. but since they don't actually tell us what their eras are, we can only speculate. personally, i speculate that they didn't think about it too hard at all, or even look up the release dates, going off vibes instead, if that.

when this person is talking about "eras", i think "eras within certain styles or genres" is more accurate, but even with these in mind, matching shows up like this makes a lot less sense than i think they realize. death note and code geass are sometimes lumped together because they're both mind-gamey thrillers with megalomaniacal protagonists with a single unique power that they use to try and fix/control the world, not because of their art styles. trying to say they look the same just because they share plot elements and came out around the same time is just... really weird. fruits basket and ouran both fall into early 2000s shojo, which is part of why the comparison fits more. target demographics and what magazines cater to those demographics (and thus the aesthetics of those magazines, which you have to fit into enough to get your manga published, and which also just influence what you want, what readers want, etc through exposure) (<- oversimplifying) are an actual valid point of comparison, at least more so than "idk 2006 lol". even if the result is more like "romcom for girls, 2006"

it doesn't help that many of the choices they made for unique art styles don't feel particularly "unique" to me.

choices like mononoke and land of the lustrous i get. and i'm not saying any of the examples i've just pulled or in the article are bad art styles, or that they don't bring anything unique to the table. i'm sure many of them are beautiful, and help elevate the tones of the stories, and all that jazz, whatever. but if the name of the game is "unique", then i don't think these cut it from what i can see. it doesn't help that most of the analysis comes down to "it looks really really cool" or "you don't normally see this art style with this genre/tone" (which is not the same thing as being broadly unique, imo)

it could be that we have different impressions of what "art style" means. it could lie somewhere in the bits of art style that i cut out, like shot composition and direction, etc. and some of it is probably a difference in what constitutes uniqueness, both between our differing experiences with media and personal taste/philosophy. but i don't think i'm wrong here when i say that the assertion that samurai champloo is era-typical in a way that beyond the boundary (2013) isn't is just fucking wrong.

look i know that bit that i screenshotted that started all this was a filler paragraph. i know it was the mandatory setup for the listicle you scroll to immediately, the parts you're supposed to ignore. i usually ignore articles like this completely because they're kinda bullshit. but i think this hunt for what looks the most unique is a flawed and confused one, at least to some extent. especially when all of the justifications are like "it supports the vibe well", which is something that all art styles are supposed to do, no matter how "unique" they are or are not, and i think that when people discuss things like art styles and anime and what looks generic and what looks unique, lumping things together too much often removes the nuances that really do influence people. i'm an artist. it's gonna sound dumb, but the way things look matters to me, even if it's stuff like how shirtsleeves or noses are drawn. to ignore all these little differences that make each piece unique is to blend so many singular, unique things into this easy-to-categorize mush that just... does a disservice to the choices every artist makes, i think. even if it is a pretty mild disservice. again, i cannot stress enough that this article is not important, and that this post responding to it is also not important.

look, what i'm trying to say is stop and smell the roses. notice the differences in the art you consume and think about it. looking for something that's so different it jerks your brain around is cool and good and fine and normal, but to disregard things as "basically the same as xyz" is reductive and icky and i don't like it. if you want something unique idk go watch kaiba (2006) have fun it's really good. i'm going to bed

nvm miscellaneous gripes section + i go to bed at like 5am lol i LIED:

the only thing said about beyond the boundary's art style is "it's hard not to fall in love with the art style", and the rest of the comments are other elements. that's too vague! i'm docking points!!

a lot of this seems based in the color palette now that i'm rereading it. not that my analysis doesn't also involve that, and not that that's invalid, but it makes me think there uh. might not have been Too too much thought beyond that. (example: "Though the dark and cool colors provide a sense of dullness, these colors cater to the tone of the story, which is dark and representative of its heavy content." like. that's not. unique. that's not unique to solo leveling y'know to have a dark story be awash in dark and cool colors that's pretty normal actually. maybe how they do it is unique, but we'll never know bc i haven't seen solo leveling and the author didn't care to elaborate :/ oh well)

this one's petty but i actually think ohshc's art style is pretty unique. maybe it's just because i've seen it several times and certain details like how the bottom-lip-to-chin shadow is done have caught my attention but like. pouting crossing my arms huffing >:( i think it's unique wth...

demon slayer's an alright choice i agree. idk i barely watched it a few years ago and it still wrenched my art style in a new direction. i dunno anything that looks quite like it. i'm not mad about all these choices per se it's just hard to whittle something like uniqueness down to a top ten list, i guess. and to say samurai champloo's generic while violet evergarden is the 5th most unique anime you've ever seen is like. weird. you're setting yourself up for people to go ehhhh... idk...... if you're not picking stuff that's like. Clearly Out There (i.e. mononoke)

"It’s no surprise that Demon Slayer is an anime with some of the best art styles." i might be fighting something that was written by ai now that i think about it...

oh god this was totally written by ai. or it went very unedited. man i spent like 2 hours on this (<- LOSER LOSER). they can't decide what the plural of anime is

they insist that chainsaw man's art style is weird enough to maybe put people off, and the only reason i can think that is is bc it's cg. but don't do the same for land of the lustrous, which is also and much more obviously cg. idk

they phoned it in but didn't even include that ping pong anime smhing my head. y'know the one everyone includes. which means whoever wrote this actually did stick to personal choices over crowd-pleasers, or chatgpt goofed or whatever. idc. guys they didn't even put flcl (<- but they put gurren lagann? as a gurren lagann fan im confused) oh my godd

ik i said this before but im saying it again: a lot of their pros and cons come down to whether or not an art style is typical for that kind of story, so like whether something gritty in tone has a more realistic art style or whether it has something visually cutesy instead. art style is more than just those things, but even that analysis is like. pretty much as bare-bones as what i just said. yucky

oh also part of my issue with this (didn't phrase it right sorry) is like. "unique" is a broad term. a really broad term. it can mean anything. there is no top 10 anime with unique art styles article that would escape that problem, and my analysis here does not escape that problem. i find the term a little unproductive (same with the concept of "originality"), so just know that i guess

[mollyencrypted]

Obviously Elita and Arcee are in Transformers One, Firestar and Moonracer are amongst the named background characters with their own trading cards, and I'm sure we all know about the Two Chromias, but you know which other G1 female Autobots are in this film?

GREENLIGHT AND LANCER!

First, Lancer. Apparently there are people out there who think she's Rung, which I can see from the front in a crowd (she does kind of have his helm), but she's too chunky, and also too purple, to be the skinny orange lad. The purple and orange is, for me, the deciding factor in labelling her as Lancer, because it's just not a common colour scheme. There's Impactor, sure, but his purple is on his upper body, not his lower body. Now look at TFWiki's images for G1 Lancer:

Her helm and shoulders are bright orange, with a cut-out in the back to show off the purple that continues down her lower body until it gets to her 'boots', and if you look closely at the TF1 character, there's some orange just visible on her legs. Lancer might not get used much but she's visually distinctive enough that I'm going to call this.

I've seen a couple of other people, both here and on the wiki, discussing Young Lancer, but I've never seen Young Greenlight mentioned anywhere else, and that's a shame because this character really does look like an uncogged version of her!

Compare her with these images from her TFWiki article:

The green TF1 miner looks more like G1 Greenlight than TF1 Moonracer and Chromia look like their counterparts - she's got the white chestplate, the same vivid green colouring, the white bits on her helm and what might be an unformed version of her crest.

Are we finally getting the original six female Autobots back together? Probably not, but we can dream.

[theodorobrejafmp]

5. Research - Alpha Stamp for Clean Designs

For the high level necromancer, I wanted to experiment and learn hard surface sculpting for armours, as there are many characters which have armours, whether there are some small decorative pieces or full war armours.

For me, because so far I've only been used to organic sculpting, it was challenging to achieve those clean straight edges of the armour pieces, as well as the decorative pattern designs. Because of the deadline limit, I didn't have time to properly learn and experiment with hard surface techniques, which resulted in my armour pieces being a bit wobbly and uneven.

However, as part of my research, I decided to dive a bit deeper into this subject, so I can start my future projects with better understanding and a proper hard surface workflow.

At first, I started searching for tutorials that would showcase the process of armour sculpting. In his tutorial, Abe Leal shows a technique to sculpt ornaments using alpha masks from Photoshop. What I found very interesting is that after he makes the general shape in ZBrush, he retopologises it in Maya in order to get a clean UV map and achieve those clean straight borders. Until now, I've never thought of retopologising before finishing sculpting. Even if it takes more time, it definitely gives better and accurate results.

Fig.1: Ornaments and Other Details in ZBrush - Abe Leal 3D

Following, he imports the UV map in Photoshop where he places the designs and exports the image as a black and white PNG. That PNG texture is then imported in ZBrush and used as a mask to create those designs on a high poly model.

Another very useful tutorial I have found is from Ni Sian Liang, in which he explains his workflow when it comes to creating hard surface armour. He starts the same way that I did, extracting the armour mesh from the body using a mask, however, he uses other techniques after to make the edges clean. I will make sure to incorporate that in my future workflow.

Fig.2: Shoulder Armour Tutorial - Ni Sian Liang

For my research, I also searched for short courses which would go in depth on how to make a proper AAA game armour for the character. In my research, I have found an excellent course by Vadim Meshcherekov, in which he shows step by step with commentary how he created Casca's armour. After I finish my master, I will buy this course because and practice. Another thing that I really like about this model is that it combines the cloth which is done in Marvelous Designer, and the hard surface armour, showcasing a wide range of skills which I will be able to apply in other projects.

Fig.3: Flipped Normals, Casca's Armour - Vadim Meshcherekov

In addition, I have searched for articles on 80.lv, in order to get more technical insights of other artists' workflow. In his article, Krissana Kochsila goes through his workflow of modeling a stylized soldier.

Fig.4: 80.lv Hard Surface Character - Krissana Kochsila

In his workflow, besides showing useful techniques and the process he goes through when building character, he also makes really interesting remarks such as the functionality of the armour pieces and how the purpose of armour pieces should somehow give the design.

Fig.5: 80.lv Hard Surface Character - Krissana Kochsila

In my future projects, I will definitely experiment more with hard surface objects and create more complex garments for my characters. Now that I have a base of knowledge and I gathered the resources I need, I will have a better workflow when it comes to hard surface modeling.

Bibliography:

Fig.1: 3d, A. L. (2023) How to create ornaments and other details in ZBrush. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IYoMOTQkCw

Fig.2: Lian, N. S. (2024) How to create shoulder Armor tutorial. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abYfezqR6bI

Fig.3: Tutorial - Casca’s Armor (no date) FlippedNormals. Available at: https://flippednormals.com/product/tutorial-casca-s-armor-43832

Fig.4,5: Kochsila, K. (2020) Number 14: Hard-surface character production guide, .80.Lv. 80lv. Available at: https://80.lv/articles/number-14-hard-surface-character-production-guide

[aintashes]

standing with the resolve of a redwood in the face of his potential demise is something that daryl is unfortunately very familiar with. it would be impossible for him to think back and count the number of times he's been tied up, or forced to his knees with a gun to his head, or otherwise had his life threatened. but those times were all strictly human. evil or ill-intentioned, perhaps, but still human. right now, daryl doesn't have humanity to fall back on.

watching paimon's limbs move churns his gut in an entirely new way: it's like watching a spider uncurl its legs, or a hydra unravel its heads, or a bird of prey unfurl its wings, or a beast yawn open its toothy mouth— daryl has to blink hard, shaking his head a little like he's willing all of the images to align. paimon is incredibly difficult to look at sometimes, he realizes; there are moments where it feels like he's looking at a cosmic chaos head on before suddenly, everything is in focus again. the jarring changes threaten to give him a headache.

but then paimon ventures closer, every nerve ending in daryl's body vibrating with alarm as a hookclawed hand reaches for him. touches him. anyone else knocking their knuckles upon the crown of his head and running their fingers through his hair would be innocuous. not a speck of physical harm done. but the touch of a demon comes like a bucket of lava over his scalp, dripping boiling tendrils down to his shoulders and following that invisible talon down his spine. for a moment, the unreal heat of pure terror that rakes out from every point of contact distracts him from how he's trembling in the chill of the night.

as paimon speaks, daryl thinks he's going to skin him like a rabbit. he's learned that he shouldn't put anything of the sort past a metaphysical being sent from hell, and quite frankly, he's convinced that paimon is playing with his food before he eats it right now. he could just be scaring daryl, showing him some of what he's really capable of— or he could be having a little bit of fun before eviscerating him into a pile of ribbons to be arranged neatly at peter's door.

but no. the only rabbits daryl has to deal with right now are the ones that suddenly appear on his feet in the form of slippers. as he looks down at them, flinching at the abrupt weight of a robe appearing on his body, he meets a perturbing gaze that looks way too much like peter's. way too real. in disgust, he shoves them off and steps his sore feet back onto the grass, hands gripping the soft fabric of the robe before it disappears entirely.

the whirlwind doesn't stop, however. despite the harrowing journey out here and the distress that's clenching his throat, daryl fears that it's just beginning. as paimon rotates through different pieces of clothing, forcing him to feel the horrors that usually only plague his mind and not his body, daryl can only look down at himself in dreadful wonder: somehow, paimon knows things about him. things he hasn't even told peter. articles like negan's leathers and will dixon's coat form to his body for just long enough to start his mind reeling in misery before switching to the next awful incarnation of his traumas.

merle's shirt sticks to him like dried blood as the cycle finally pauses. if there's any piece of clothing he's at least somewhat comfortable in despite the pain of him being gone, it's this one. a part of his mind is grateful for the moment of respite. ‘ you just here to gloat? ’ daryl asks, though he hesitates to engage with paimon more than just staring at him and he's surprised his tight jaw let him speak at all.

‘ f' you know everythin' already then lemme go. ’

bold. but if paimon is going to kill him, he may as well be.

paimon watches the pieces slowly slot together in daryl's brain with an amused blend of patience and mania. in truth, since he was called to earth by ellen, he realises he's encountered only a handful of people with the backbone that this man possesses. no entity has been a match for him yet— especially not a human, weak and frail as they are— but he's hoping that this one presents him with some kind of challenge.

                       i see you're already meddling with sigils. adorable!

"you are even quieter up close," paimon observes, limbs untangling in an uncanny whirlwind of movement, "that's okay. i tend to get a lot of screaming, so this is a nice change of pace for me." a taloned hand knocks lightly atop the archer's head, as if rapping on a door, before he begins to circle him like the ghost of a vulture. "forgive me for scoping out the goods, it's just... oh! i'm so U̷̷N̷̶͡B̶̢E̸̷L̶I̵E̴͡V̸̡͟A̶B̶L̵͢Y҉̴ excited!"

fingers brush through his hair, one large invisible finger breezing down the length of the man's spine before he takes note of his shivering.

"ah, silly me, you must be freezing your little keister off! human skin isn't that good at its job, hm?" with a loud snap of his fingers, something covers the length of daryl's body; a very pink, VERY fluffy robe, complete with a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers. if he cares to look closer, he'll notice that the eyes imprinted onto the front of the fabric are disturbingly human.

                                                                     disturbingly peter.

"mm— the colour's complimentary but i'm not sure about the composition..." with a series of contemplative noises, the demon backs off a short ways— as if to take him in fully— as he begins to cycle through a different array of outfits. mechanic overalls. burial robes. the tattered remains of a homeless man. dog's pelt. negan's leather jacket. his father's coat. merle's most worn overshirt— "i have an eye for this stuff, don't worry, just be patient. SO! are you having fun with my future body, mr. dixon? not too much fun, i hope?" there's a moment of silence before the demon barks out a sharp, cacophonous laugh. "HAHA! i'm just kidding, dixie! of course i know what you think of the guy! i know everything!"

[violetsandfluff]

Angel in Disguise

Word count: 3.1k

Pairing: Frat boy Harry and singer!Y/N

Summary: Harry meets his crush and she shows him that she loves him too; more than he could have ever guessed.

Trigger warnings: smut/sex (unprotected), pet names, swearing, slight degradation, slow burn, probably more, but, ya know… the stuff.

A/N: This didn’t take me too long, but I proofread and fixed it more than anything I’ve ever written for tumblr. I hope you enjoy it! <3

They’d seen each other before, fitful and futile attempts for Harry to connect with her. He was convinced she couldn’t see him, that there was a blind spot in her eye that shielded him from her view. She was one of the only girls on the planet that could brush him off without a word. Without a reason. Without a glance.

For the sensitive people out there, even the ones who leaned more toward the cocky side, this was discouragement at its finest. But Harry was not sensitive, nor overly cocky. He, mixed with Y/N, was the perfect storm.

He had been open about his feelings from her from the beginning. He had been invited on The Ellen Show to play ‘Who’d You Rather,’ and it was no surprise who won.

“She’s outrageously attractive,” he stuttered, unable to look Ellen in the eye. “I mean, really, have you ever seen a more gorgeous woman?”

This simple line found its way into many ears throughout the world, two of which were Y/N’s.

She couldn’t really escape it, with her followers tagging her in every repost of the clip. It tickled her to see that she had a man, who she’d never met, in the palm of her hand like that.

After the internet had exploded with this information, all interview hosts seemed to be asking Harry about her, and her about Harry. She seemed to be all he talked about for months, and she devoured every word for it.

After all, who would let such a cute man’s words slide off like that?

“Tell me, what part of Y/N do you find most attractive?”

“She’s got a breathtaking face,” he would sigh wistfully, “and gorgeous curves. Her personality is so… bold and striking.”

He had come across her by fate on the street once, after the initial revealing of his love. She had come close enough to him so her shoulder brushed against his side, but she’d continued walking in the opposite direction, like a model, like nothing had ever happened.

Harry had turned to watch her go, hurt, lust, and adoration illuminating his face. There were articles plastered over the internet and tabloids the next day, of him gawking at her as she has, literally, brushed him off.

He couldn’t stand this, the mere thought of her touching him would harden his cock faster than anything. He touched himself religiously to mental images of her, as a soundtrack of her songs and speaking voice flowed through his head. He came into jars on a nightly basis too, imagining they were her tight pussy. He wondered what it was like to hear her sweet voice moan. Thinking of that sent him practically over the edge. What would her lips feel like?

“You released your new album, Harry’s House, more than a month ago now, and the world is going absolutely mad over it,” A sly smirk crossed over the interviewer’s face. “I’m sure you talk about that quite a bit nowadays, so allow me to shake things up. Harry, if you had to ask Y/N one question, what would it be?”

Harry chuckled. He hadn’t been asked this for a while, but he was still used to answering it. Every answer that he’d used in response to this was different. It was always untrue, but it was somewhat amusing nonetheless.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned, using a hand to stroke his chin as if he were in deep contemplation. “Many things.”

“Just one, mate.”

At this point, the audience began to murmur and point behind him, but he knew better than to turn around. He had been fooled one time too many.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

This was nothing compared to the one question that dwelled in the darkest parts of his overactive mind. A question that wouldn’t see the light of day for anything.

“Tulips and buttercups.”

A sweet voice tickled Harry’s ears from behind, causing him to whirl around. He blushed deeply, beginning beneath the collar of his shirt and spreading up his cheeks. The world’s most beautiful girl was standing behind him, smiling sweetly, and touching his shoulder.

The audience laughed out loud at his surprise and he immediately folded his hands, placing them subtly over his lap. Convenient.

She bent down to give him a big hug from behind as he sat, awkwardly, wringing his hands and kicking himself internally for not hugging her back.

That could have been his last chance, but dirty scenarios were already flooding his mind. They brought a dark smirk to his face and caused him to tune out the interview host and the beautiful girl sitting beside him. Her hips could be good for a whole lot.

He drifted slowly out of his daydream, just in time to hear his name after what was supposed to be a question.

“What?” he had to ask as he noticed the other two staring at him.

“Did you hear the question?” Y/N joked, giving his arm a playful slap.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing laughter from the audience. “Sorry.”

Y/N giggled as she repeated the question Jeremy had asked him. “What initially attracted you to me? Did you catch it that time?”

He chose to ignore the second part, thinking about the potential of the first part. “Your personality…” he stammered, all too aware of the chatter going on in the audience and at the pair of gorgeous hazel eyes that twinkled from beside him. “You’re really pretty…”

“Good answer,” Jeremy confirmed and Y/N gave a half-smile, showing off her dimple as she put her arm around his shoulder. She must have been able to feel his pulse in the blood that pounded through the veins on his back, though, because she drew back quickly.

But that didn’t keep Harry from internalizing the feeling.

Jeremy handed a stack of thick laminated cards to both singers before explaining the rules. “You are going to read the other one a question. They will be required to answer it to the best of their ability. Understand?”

“Yes,” the pair replied in unison.

“Y/N, ladies first.”

She cheerfully picked the top card off the stack, giggling as she read it. “This is fun! Who do you dream about most often?”

“Niall, Louis, Liam, and Zayn,” he replied honestly. Despite how many hot nights he had spent under her sheets in his dreams, his mind always went back to mourning the loss of his 1D days. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question?”

When Jeremy and Y/N nodded their confirmation, he nearly choked upon reading the top card. “Are you single?” He was being set up and he knew it. And he loved it.

“Yeah,” she replied with a toss of her beautiful hair. “And ready to mingle.”

“A better question is,” Jeremy added, “it’s Friday afternoon. You think you’ll still be single tomorrow morning?”

“Who knows?” she tossed the curly-headed boy beside her a tantalizing gaze. “I prefer to go with the flow.”

He laughed out loud at the comment, shifting the cards into his lap. Couldn’t he keep it in his pants for a few minutes?

After more questions and painful giggles, the interview was over and Harry was alone with Y/N backstage.

“I love that shirt on you,” she mentioned as she tugged at his collar. “It makes your eyes look really green.”

He grinned at her and they gave each other a mutual hug.

“Do you wanna come somewhere with me?” he asked and she nodded her approval.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Out for dinner somewhere,” he responded, touching his hair nonchalantly.

“Of course!” she followed him as he headed for the exit, grinning at his sweet manor. “Or we could order takeout and eat it at my place,” she suggested and Harry agreed with that.

“I can call it in if you tell me what you want.”

“What do you want?” Harry asked his princess. “It’s up to you.”

She suggested an Italian restaurant that she loved and he found their menu as she slid into her car and he slid into his.

“Tell me what you want, quick,” he said, leaning his head out of the door.

“I’ll have chicken Alfredo,” she decided and his cheeks heated up, excited about the concept of being at her house.

“Okay! I’ll order it and have it delivered to… where?”

She gave him her address and he repeated it back as he prepared to dial the number on his phone. He was pleased with how his day was going. He was pleased that he had exchanged words and physical contact—hugs!—with Y/N. He just wanted to kiss her. That would make his day the best in history.

- - -

“You’re so cute,” he had barely gotten in the door and Y/N was already in front of him, arms hanging loosely around his neck, drawing him down to her height. “Can you kiss me?”

He groaned at the feeling of her hands on his face as she pressed her lips against his. They burned with passion he had no idea she felt for him and tasted like… true love. Not cheap, meaningless love, but real, dangerous love.

He opened his mouth for leverage and she took the opportunity to slip inside and begin exploring his mouth with her tongue. She tasted so good.

He moaned as he felt her tongue caress the inside of his cheek, stimulating him in ways he craved.

Her tongue slipped over the roof of his mouth, leaving a tingling sensation behind in its tracks.

The kiss only broke when there was a knock on the door and Harry straightened to open it. He exchanged a few words with the delivery person and Y/N grew increasingly irritated with the time he was taking. She placed his palm on top of hers and her other hand on top as he shut the door, setting down the food on the table beside the door.

“What is it, darling?” he asked, holding back giddy giggles.

“I wanna keep kissing you,” she explained. “You taste so sweet, feel so good on my tongue.”

“You taste exquisite yourself, cutie pie,” he commented as he smashed his lips back against hers.

She groaned out of pure joy as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, enjoying a flavor he could never find anywhere else. After kissing that pretty girl, he never wanted to put his lips on anyone else.

Her hands wandered curiously into his hair and she began twirling it subconsciously, syncing the twists to the movement of her tongue.

Eventually they pushed off of each other and walked into the living room with their food and Y/N directed Harry to the floor behind her coffee table, and in front of her couch.

He knelt awkwardly between the furniture, opening his takeout box as she turned on the television.

“Do you want anything to drink, Y/N?”

“Yeah. Actually… I have something.” She headed towards the kitchen and opened the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of wine and some glasses. “If you want any.”

She knelt beside him on the floor and opened her box, too.

Friends was playing as they ate, but they were doing anything but paying attention to it.

With every bite, Y/N scooted a little closer to Harry, until she was practically in his lap.

He noticed.

“Sweet angel, what are you doing?” he asked as she leaned against the side of his arm.

She used her fork to twirl up some pasta and she turned to look at Harry. “Try some!”

“Don’t want any, sorry,” he grinned as she put a hand on his knee to help her lean closer to him. She pushed her fork against his lips and he ate the pasta off of it, the thought of her mouth on it making him salivate.

“Is it good?”

He nodded. “It’s pretty good, but I’m full,” he leaned back against the couch behind them and sighed contentedly.

She turned to set her fork back down in her box before going back to Harry and licking a stripe across his face.

“What was that for?” he asked, stunned by her audacious actions.

“You look so yummy,” Y/N took a sip of her wine before turning around and sitting perpendicular to him. “I can get wet just looking at your gorgeous face, your curls, your soft, pink lips…”

He couldn’t help but admire her. He wondered if the extra pigment in her cheeks was makeup, the wine, or him. It was too perfect. It had to be makeup, right?

The way her eyelashes fluttered when she blinked was a drug to him. She was everything he wanted and so much more. She was his entire life.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as she sat up and turned to look at him.

He grabbed her face and immediately began kissing her all over.

She sat there, in shock, as her face was covered in messy kisses. She shifted her body into his lap and felt how hard he was beneath her.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Get offa me.”

“You’re…”

He looked at the ground, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

“It’s alright,” she assured him, “it’s cute.”

“It’s cute?”

“Yeah,” she kissed his cheek. “Where do you wanna go?”

His mouth fell open as he tried not to smile. “Your house, your choice.”

“This old couch should suffice, hm?”

He nodded, waiting for her permission to undress.

“Do you want to…”

He nodded desperately as she locked her lips onto his neck and kissed, tongue roaming around his skin.

He moaned continuously as she grabbed his pants zipper, giving it a tiny tug and urging him to take it off as she pulled up her skirt.

He gawked at seeing her panties, just thinking of her pussy underneath got his mind racing.

He unzipped his pants as he kissed her jaw and she could see a prominent erection in his underwear.

“Can I… suck you?” she asked, and the question alone caused him to moan.

“Please!”

He pulled his underwear off and dropped them beside him as he sat on the couch and she knelt before him, between his legs.

He tasted so good for her, the precum tasting like summer and joy.

“God… fuck…” he murmured as he felt her tongue lick long strokes up and down his cock. “Feels so good, princess,” he breathed. “Keep going, fuck, I already need to cum.”

“You can’t cum yet,” she mumbled through her mouthful. “I’ve barely gotten started with you.”

She loved the feeling of his skin beneath her tongue, the veins that were present on his length. He tasted so wonderful, and every move she made seemed to turn him on more and more.

He moaned almost ceaselessly as her tongue and lips wracked his cock, until she instructed him to cum. The release was impressive.

His eyes squeezed shut and his toes curled, as he moaned her name repeatedly.

“You’re okay,” she assured him as his orgasm reached an end, licking the leftover cum from her lips. “What now?”

He pressed his hard cock to her dripping pussy as he shifted to a lying position on her couch, pulling her on top of him.

She rode his cock, bouncing up and down on him as enjoyment played in his face, mixed with a withheld orgasm.

“You’re hot,” she said and the simple words made him throw his head back with a moan.

“I just want to fuck you.”

“Y/NNNNN,” he moaned and she grinned, moaning back.

“Harryyyy.”

Tears came to his eyes as he tried not to cum again, bucking his hips. Hearing her voice was amazing. But hearing her moan his name?

“You can’t cum yet, silly fuck. You’ve barely been in me for thirty seconds!” She must have seen the look of pain on his face, though, because she slowed down enough to give him a kiss on his cheek and ask if he wanted to keep going.

Once his consent was given and accepted, she sat back up as he drove his hard cock into her from below.

A burning sensation crept stealthily through her stomach as she bounced a little on his cock, as if she were riding a horse.

“Fuck, Harry,” she groaned. “You feel so good in me.”

He moaned before pleading one final time for her to let him cum, and she did, cumming right alongside him. The warm juices filled her cunt so well, she could barely breathe. She sat up in a bewildered Harry’s arms and nuzzled her face against his neck as the last of her orgasm exited her body.

“What did you really want to ask me earlier?”

“What?” he opened his sleepy green eyes, frowning in confusion.

“What did you want to ask me at the interview,” she repeated and he sighed wistfully. “I promise, I’ll answer.”

“How do you make me feel this way?”

“What way?”

“So good, so fucking good. So hard, all I wanna do is kiss you until we’re tired of it. Then I wanna lie down with you and sleep in your arms.” These sleepy thoughts provoked a deep yawn out of him and she grinned, stroking his hair gently.

“I don’t know, but I sure do love you.” A delicate kiss was placed upon his swollen lips as she directed him to the shower to rinse off as she cleaned up her couch. “This is more cum than I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” she remarked.

Harry groaned as he walked into her bathroom. It was immaculate. It practically sparkled and the counters… seemed a perfect height to ruin.

He stepped into the shower and rinsed himself off. He knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he was all sweaty and covered in cum.

When he emerged from the shower, Y/N directed him to her bed and tucked him in among the silky pillows and sheets.

“I’ll be right back,” she explained, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You go to sleep.”

He waited up for her, despite her instructions, and she came back into the room clean and fresh.

She climbed into bed beside him and he nuzzled his nose into her damp hair. It smelled so good. He should go out and buy some just to smell and remind him of her.

“Sleep tight, darling,” she mumbled. “Do you wanna be big spoon or little spoon?”

He hesitated for a moment before deciding, “Little spoon.”

She rolled over as he curled up and cuddled up around him. Her hands rested comfortably on his lower torso and he fell asleep almost instantly at her touch, but not before asking, “So are you going to be single tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t know,” she grinned mysteriously. “Only time will tell. Sweet dreams!”

“Can we do it again tomorrow morning?”

Taglist: @madybeth21 @fishingirl12 @groovychaosavenue @sortingharryshairclip @mimischaos @mrspeacem1nusone

[myymi]

okay so, this takes place a day after sonic prower

happy wednesday everyone 👍

@starrjoy @passionartx

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

Sonic took a deep breath before stepping out onto the stage, waving at the audience full of mobians and humans alike, all clapping and cheering for him.

He smiled at everyone as the security guards silenced the crowd so he could speak. He sighed and straightened his posture.

“I’d like to start this off by thanking everyone who allowed me to come speak today,” He gestured off to his right, running through his pre-made script in his mind. The crowd clapped again, but quieted down much more quickly.

“The reason I asked to give a speech is because I wanted to address a certain, uh, rumor that’s going around on social media.” He explained, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He glanced behind him at the wall that would project everything he wanted to show for a brief second, as if he was expecting it to fall apart then and there.

He cleared his throat and looked back to the crowd, “It’s come to my attention that a lot, and I mean a lot, of people have been saying bad stuff about my buddy, Tails.”

There were a few quiet murmurs throughout the crowd, but Sonic didn’t focus on them. He wasn’t here to listen to the crowd anyway.

His ear flicked when he heard one of the producers click a button, which meant the first bunch of articles were now being projected behind him.

Checking over his shoulder to confirm it, he frowned at the news headlines before pointing back at them.

“As you can see, a common theme here is that Tails is the reason it takes a bit longer to take down Eggman.” He gritted his teeth, he still couldn’t believe that people were blaming Tails for all of this.

If anyone should be blamed, it should be Eggman. Y’know, the guy who’s trying to take over the world.

Nobody should be blaming the kid trying to save it.

“I’ve come here to end those rumors once and for all.” Sonic made sure he kept his voice clear as he spoke.

He wanted everyone to fully understand what he was about to say.

“Tails is not, and never will be, responsible for however long it takes for us to defeat Eggman.” He glanced over the crowd, watching as the onlookers talked amongst each other. Some would look up to the big screen, then immediately turn back to whoever they were talking to.

“Especially,” Sonic spoke again, waiting until most of the crowd was looking at him before continuing, “not when he’s being held hostage.”

More shushed arguments were exchanged, but the hero continued on with his speech.

“And, to whoever had the genius idea to make this comment,” He paused to gesture to the wall behind him as the projector changed to show an image of a reply to one of the other articles.

‘It’s probably fake. Sonic just keeps the kid around for his smarts, he doesn’t actually care about that thing! They don’t even have the same last name.’

“I’d like to publicly announce that since yesterday, December Fourth, my name has been legally changed to Sonic Prower. Approved and signed by Judge Nicholas Howard.” He silently thanked Amy for helping him with this speech, he could only imagine how much of a train wreck it would be if he’d done this by himself.

“From now on, I don’t want to hear or see anyone saying Tails is at fault for Eggman’s destruction,” He said as the projector clicked off, “that is all.”

As he walked off the stage, he heard a few hesitant claps that soon turned into the whole crowd cheering.

He just hopes they'll listen to what he said.

He glanced down at his communicator when it started vibrating, smiling when he read the contact of who was calling him.

‘micro buddy💛 is calling..’

Sonic quickly tapped the green phone button, a wide grin on his face when he saw the two tailed fox on the screen.

“What was that about?!” Tails yelled, glancing between the communicator and what the hedgehog assumes is the T.V.

“What?” Sonic asked, though he knew what the kit was referencing.

“That!” The fox grabbed the side of his head with his free hand, “wh– you– Sonic!”

“Ain’t a big deal, bud,” The teen shrugged as he walked down the street, “can’t have them blaming you like that for Eggman’s stunts.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Sonic,” Tails shook his head, “it really wasn’t that bad. I-I can handle it.”

“I found you curled up on my bed crying because of it, Tails.” Sonic shook his head, “sure, maybe you can deal with it, but that doesn’t mean you should. Nobody deserves that, especially not you.”

He looked down at his communicator when he heard sniffling, frowning when he saw his brother scrubbing at his eyes, “Hey, dude, need me to come there?”

“No, no,” Tails shook his head, “it’s fine. I’m fine, it’s just–” he took a deep breath to even out his breathing, “unexpected. And a little overwhelming?”

“You sure?” The hedgehog raised a brow, glancing at the other civilians around him, “‘cause I can be there in just a second, pal.”

“No, really, it’s fine Sonic.” The kit sat down on his sofa, a small, genuine smile on his face, “thanks. For, y’know, all of this.”

“‘Course, bud,” Sonic smiled back, “s’what best bros are for.” He winked at the fox, earning a fit of light laughter for it.

“Yeah, alright,” Tails shook his head, “let me know when you’re heading back here next. I’ll make some chili dogs for you, as a thanks.”

“Ya don’t gotta do that, li’l bro,” The teen snorted before putting on a fake deep-in-thought face, “but~ if you plan on fryin’ those dogs for me..”

The fox rolled his eyes, “You say that as if I cook them any other way,” there was a big smile on his face, “I know how you like your chili dogs, big bro.”

“Alright, alright,” Sonic laughed and held up his free hand in a mock defense, “how ‘bout I come over next week, then?”

“Mmm, I dunno if I can fit you in then, Sonic.” Tails hummed, his smile turning into a smirk, “you might have to come in next month.”

“Don’t mess with my heart like that, little buddy,” The hedgehog said with a fake pained tone, dramatically placing his hand over his heart, “you’re killin’ me, bro.”

The kit laughed and looked over his shoulder, “well, I definitely have enough for you. Just let me know when you’re gonna come over ahead of time so I can have them ready when you get here.”

“Sure thing, li’l bro!” Sonic said, giving a two finger salute.

“I gotta get back to work,” The younger said as he turned back to his watch, “I’m assuming Amy’s gonna call ya. Tell her I said hi!”

The teen rolled his eyes, “You know, you could just come over and tell her yourself instead of staying inside all day.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” Tails stood from the couch, making his way into his workshop, “I think you’re breaking up!”

“You said that these things were built well enough so that wouldn’t be an issue?” Sonic questioned with a raised brow, smirking at the other’s shocked look.

“Uhh,” The kit looked around and shrugged, “I don’t have another excuse. Byeloveyou!”

The line clicked, signaling Tails had hung up.

Sonic sighed, a fond smile on his face.

“Love ya too, li’l bro.”

[terrestrialnoob]

“I bet we can get a reservation at The Orchard,” Kim suggested.

Ron nodded, “Yeah, I guess it has been a while since we went to, like, a really nice place.”

“So, as long as nothing world ending happens between now and Saturday-”

Just as Km said it, her locker beeped and as she opened it, the computer she kept in it flickered on showing Wade in his usual place, looking slightly nervous. Wade being nervous was never a good thing.

“Hey Wade, what’s the sitch?”

“Hey Kim,” Wade said, but his voice wavered a little as he asked, “I was wondering if I could get a favor from Ron.”

“Not me?” Kim asked immediately.

“Ron’s more the style I’m looking for.”

“Ron’s style?” Kim asked incredulously, but Ron put his hand on her shoulder.

“I get it Wade, whatever you need, I got it covered.”

“Thanks.” Wade’s image on Kim’s locker computer switched to a photo from Wade’s last family reunion, all the kids of five aunts and uncles and six more older cousins in one shot. A red circle blinked into existence at the edge of the photo, around Wade and a slightly older kid standing next to him with his hand on Wade’s shoulder wearing a red beret and thick black rimmed glasses. “This is my cousin, Tucker. He and his friends are coming to visit Middleton this weekend for the science convention.”

“Wait, cousin Tucker? The Cousin Tucker?” Ron nearly shoving Kim out of the way of the locker to get a better look at the photo.

Kim rolled her eyes then asked, “Is he a big deal?”

“Uh, cheah,” Ron said, letting Kim back in front of the locker, “He helped Wade design your battle suit!”

“That’s the one,” Wade said, “He gave me the idea to make it, and he has a lot of experience working on high-powered combat jumpsuits. Really, he did most of the designing part of it; I just did all the hard work of actually making it.”

“Really? High-powered combat jumpsuits is something someone can have a lot of experience with?” Kim asked, but it did make sense. She had been a bit surprised that Wade had come up with the battle suit; he’s a gadget guy, not a suit guy. And there wasn't a shortage of teenage geniuses in the world.

“Yeah, he's awesome, and his friends?” Wade said, and an image came onto the screen of a teenage girl with dyed black hair. She wore a black tank top with a purple bat in the center of the chest and unattached long bell sleeves along with a black and green plaid miniskirt over torn black tights. Her knee high boots had thick blocky souls that made her at least four inches taller and were covered in straps and metal. In the photo, she was leaning on a wall pointing at a horror movie poster next to her. “This is Sam Manson, she was the top, the number one, Doomed player in the world, and right now, she’s top ten in the sequel, Eternal Torment, and money’s on her to break top five within the month.”

“Eternal Torment!” Ron shouted, getting strange looks from others in the hall, but he didn’t care, “The online video game that’s so hard 50% of all players rage quite before finishing it?”

“That’s a myth, it’s closer to 32% and lowering with the new patches, but yes, that’s the one.”

“Woah,” Ron basically had heart eyes as he stared at the goth gamer girl, and Kim wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t.

“What about this guy?” Kim asked, other photos of Wade’s cousin and his friends had come up, usually with three people, Tucker, Sam, and the one Kim was pointing at now. He had naturally black hair and bright blue eyes, and while Tucker's and Sam’s outfits changed in every image, he seemed to wear the same torn jeans, NASA t-shirt, and red hoodie in everything he was in. Though, there were a few of him that had a kind of grainy distortion over them, kind of made him look like he had pointed ears, or shark teeth, or glowing eyes.

“That’s Danny Fenton, and he’s cool but kinda… strange,” Wade pulled up some newspaper articles where Dr.’s Fenton cause havoc in a small town in Iowa, professional ghost hunters whose inventions go awry and destroy buildings; and Danny himself seemed to have a public feud with the Mayor of his town and there was a magazine article about how he discovered that the Amity Park Zoo’s purple-back gorilla was female. “Yeah, he’s a bit all over the place and hard to get a read on. But, he does like space and rocket science. And, Tucker said that Danny's family is the one that makes a lot of high-powered combat jumpsuits. Apparently, Dr.'s Fenton only wear high-powered combat jumpsuits.”

Ron nodded along, then asked, “This is all fascinating Wade, but why are you telling us all this?”

“Well,” Wade rubbed his neck nervously, “When Tucker said he was visiting and going to the convention, I kinda said that I was also planning on going with my friends… My IRL friends. I wanted him to think I was cool, and he knows I have a hard time making offline friends, but I didn’t want him to think I was a loser. So…”

“So you need a living breathing friend to go with! Sure thing, buddy. I’m free- oh, no, wait,” Ron pointed between him and Kim, “we were just talking about going on a nice date this weekend.”

Kim waved her hand dismissively, “It’s fine, we can stop somewhere for dinner after the convention.”

“We?”

Kim nodded and looked at Wade in her locker, “My dad’s a rocket scientist, I bet at least Danny will think I’m cool, and I bet Sam will like having another girl there to talk to.”

“She does tend to get along with everyone,” Ron said, “Except for Bonnie… and Drakken, but they’re both supervillains, so I don’t think that’s a point against her.”

Wade smiled, “Thanks Kim. I’ll send you guys info on the convention and where to meet.”

“Ten-four, Wade, we’ll see you there.” Kim said and closed her locker as Wade logged off.

“You really think this’ll be fun?” Ron asked, “Or are you just being nice for Wade?”

“No, I like hanging out with Wade, and you know,” Kim shrugged awkwardly, “What are the chances of there being a mad scientist bent on world domination at the convention?”

“With our luck? 100%” Ron said, with all seriousness before breaking into chuckles. “Now, school’s out and mission’s not till the weekend, that means it’s Bueno Nacho time!”

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Eyes Are Lined

Summary: whilst on the last days of set of filming the show where he plays Tommy Lee, Sebastian is greeted with a surprise guest in his trailer, and he is certainly not going to be one to complain whence he’s gets a treat as sweet as you

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (male + female receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, teasing, fingering, pet names

Word Count: 4133

Masterlist Link

It fell from his lips as a relieved sigh, it had felt like forever since he had last seen you, and as he took in your form coiled in a baggy sweatshirt of his and hopefully nothing more, he was fast to close and lock the door behind himself. His tongue darted out to swipe the upon the underbite of his lip as he stepped slowly forwards in his adjourned flip flops, the wide shorts hanging off his legs. For this role he had very much diversified his appearance; lost weight, changed his hair, worn temporary tattoos - yet from the prowess that resonated through your eyes, nothing in the way of your attraction had changed.

“Sebba.” You greeted him with a wide smile, dismissing your phone that had been in your hand to the side of the couch, and crawling off the seat that you had taken up residence in. Instantly, your arms wrapped around his sleek torso, taking in the aroma of his deodorant that obliterated the senses through your nostrils. He pulled your face up with the grip of his heavy palm against your courteous cheek, as his breath fanned against the platter of your forehead.

“You’re here early, shooting doesn’t finish for another three days.” He stated, the grin that was tugging at his features clearly showing that he was anything but disappointed by your unspoken arrival. Tucking your arms to land around his waist like a belt that was enclosing him against you, you happily sighed, stroking your nose against the expanse of his bare chest that was beholden before you through the open curtains of his plain black hoodie. For a moment your eyes flickered down to the fake piercings that were strung like light fixtures from his nipples, watching as the silver metal beamed in contrast to the bulb that was fixed into the ceiling.

“I wanted to surprise you, it feels like forever since we were that close.” Was your confessing admission, as you pressed a warm kiss upon his revealed flesh, causing him to hum in acknowledgement of the amorous act. “Though I’m happy that god awful shadow is gone from your chin, if you want hair there then I suggest that you grow your beard back out.” You stroked your thumb over the crescent of his chin, running the pad through the indent as he inwardly cocked his brow, stiffening his jaw at your straight opinion.

“What’d you think of everything else? Be honest now darling.” He clicked his tongue, staring down at you with his smokily framed eyes, as you coiled back into your shoulders so that you could get a better overall viewpoint of him, as your hands descended to cupping the inward joints of his elbows. You balanced your weight on both of your feet, juggling between them to remain sturdy as you felt the mood in the trailer punctually shift, as though you were crossing through the mysterious channel that inhabited the Bermuda Triangle.

“Hmmm, well I’m rocking for the eyeliner, it really makes your eyes stand out more than they already do. And you know I’ve always been an absolute sucker for the longer hair, but I’m a sucker for you in general.” At that suggestive statement, you casted a sultry wink at him, hoping that he caught onto the act rather than thinking you had something entrapped in the perimeter of your eye. It was not dust that had clogged upon your pupil, instead it were lust, gripping onto the very image of him. It had been months, long ones at that since the pair of you had seen each other.

All the intimacy that your relationship confined in its long distance was dealt with over the phone, never once did the space that his work divulged the two of you apart make you feel lonely, he tried his utmost to ensure that you were comfortable even with miles for what seemed like an eternity separating you. The cellular contact that immersed your spare time furloughed for both late night calls that brought an innocent lovesick smile to resort upon the spectating image of your face that was reflected through the front camera of your phone, and sexual conducts that travelled across the countries that you were both in to bring you closer and alternatively higher together, in a blissful reunion that swamped your head with hyperactive hormones that followed after your mutual orgasms.

“Naughty.” He condoned you for your filthy innuendo, his hand cascading down the artwork of your body, and moving behind you, so that his fingertips were dancing upon the crown of your exempt ass cheek. “Guess all that time away has gotten you desperate for me, huh? Do you want to some sucking up to me? I’ve had a pretty hard day, and it would help me relieve a bunch of the stress that depends on these last few days. Not to mention I am so pent up from not seeing you all this time, it was practically torture honey bee, I’m not even sure how I survived.”

Dragging his head down to meet with your own, you pressed luscious and. Extended pecks onto his thin lips,having missed them covering every inch o your skin with the love that swelled in his chest and other places for you. “I don’t even know if you’ll last that long Bas, its been a certain while of you solely using your hand.” A giggle reaped from your throat as your hearing absorbed the gasp that slithered out of his mouth; he playfully pushed down upon the line of your shoulders, only enhancing your amusement by doing so. “So pushy.”

“That is right, and I will only get rougher with you the longer that it takes you to get down on your knees for me, so I would think logically. After all, after I completely wrap on this show, I’m going to have all the spare one in the world to put you in your little place and stop you from being a disobedient little brat.” It was a promise, he was threatening you in the most sexual way possible, and you’d be lying if you were to say that some aroused nectar hadn’t gathered in the passage that divided your highs down the middle. You gulped, intimacy written in every speck of your irises as you lowered yourself to be poised on your thighs, your face near the tent forming at his crotch.

The material of his shorts gathered with creases as his cock grew beneath the baggy subject that defined his legs that much more. A hand ravelled through your locks as you found yourself darting your tongue out to caress his legs, moving your muscle upwards as your hands teased the waistband of the barrier that prevented you from seeing all of him. “How much have you missed me baby, let daddy know.” Lightly, he begs to roll his hips forwards, pressing his erection teasingly against your face, and you were loving every second of it. His balls were pressing against your chin on every mimic forwards, and as you tried to speak, your voice was a tiny bit muffled by them.

“So much Sebby, I hated being apart from you.” You thought that would be a good enough answer, but as his fingers threaded further through your hair, a quiet yelp ejected from your throat as he strayed you head to be leant upwards so that you were gazing into his domineering eyes. That was when you realised that you must have made a mistake, but no matter what it was, it was much too late to take it back. Sexual fear paved through your gaze as you poured, wanting nothing to get back to your journey of duty which was to suck his cock, however, you could not continue if Sebastian had other things, such as whatever you had done so wrongly plaguing his mind.

“Bitch no cause why did you pronounce my name wrong? It begins with your favourite letter; a D, remember? And now I’m not even sure that you deserve my D. Right now I am not your Sebastian, what am I little girl?” He growled down at you, his toes rigidly curling in the open toed shoes that he were sporting, his hand remaining tangled in your hair.

“Daddy.” You tried not to sob out of dismissal, and instead expedited for apologising to refrain from angering him any further. “I’m so sorry daddy, I’ll do anything. Anything to make it up to you, please, I’ll never make that mistake again.” Unless it was not in this scenario of course, the pebbles of your tears brought a vivid richness and innocence upon your face, as though you were pooling diamonds out of the windows of your explicit soul. And I’m return, you were met with the gift of Seb shoving his shorts to be draped over his feet, his cock playing the curve of a sail as it stiffened more so at the air that hit it.

“Are you wearing anything underneath that sweatshirt baby?” He enquired as his right hand held his length in hand, enclosing his fist around the warm flesh that was beading with visible emotion at the tip. It was as though a pearl was balancing on the sector of his slit, teasing you as you dryly licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to ingest that into your body. To answer his question, your hands toyed with the bottom of his clothing article, pulling it up so that he could see your bare abdomen, of which was dressed in nothing more than your flawless skin.

“No daddy, I’m not. Am I in more trouble for that?” You worried that you were, all that you had wanted to do was surprise him, and you felt yourself grow a little giddy as he slowly shook his head, and pull back the coat of his foreskin to flash off as much of his cock as possible. He was teasing you to the slyest of his abilities, he wanted to subject you into doing something against your better judgement, and you remained strong, no matter how much you wanted to coil your lips around the head of his member and take him as far as the hollow of your throat would naturally allow.

“No baby, imma let you off the hook for that because I haven’t seen you in so long and I know that pretty little cunt has missed me probably more than the rest of you, but don’t test me again angel, or on the plane home you’re gonna have to sit on a bag of ice.” A part of you wanted to smirk, to coyly piss him off to see if that perseverance were to be true, however if you knew Sebastian, and you knew him more than well, you wouldn’t put anything past him nor his motives. “Go on, I can see you practically drooling to take me in your mouth. Don’t tease or I’ll fuck your face; be a good girl would ya.”

You weren’t going to waste anymore time, for all that you aware, any one of the set assistants could take him away from you, and that possibility only fuelled your instincts further as you hovered your head away from his hand, that was now patting and gently playing with your locks instead of using them as a leash, and flickered your tongue out to swipe that sample of precum and swallow it without hesitation. Before your mind could comprehend it, your body had already taken the next steps forwards and started to swallow down his member, your lashes fluttering closed as you hummed, sending a rhythm through Sebastian’s body of which made him cuss.

He was looking through half lidded eyes, almost shutting them, though stopping from doing so when he noticed your hand creep down the smooth skin of your thigh, and pry at your own folds. He was going to reprimand you for being so confident that you weren’t going to get caught doing something that was so ludicrous, but he decided that he were to allow you to continue for a moment. If he made a scene after revelling in his own pleasure, then you would be more compliant with whichever punishment that he nailed you down with. The tips of your digits quivered around your lips, before sinking within your walls and the rest of your palm cupped your pussy.

It made more sense now you were moaning against him, for not only the taste of him that hung heavily on your tongue, but from the slip of power that you thought you had over him, even if it be cloaked in secrecy. As he thought more of that, he found himself starting to fume with an underlining of rage, his fists stiffened at his sides as he exhaled through a combination of the sensations rippling beneath his skin. It was a combination of brewing disappointment and foreseen arousal; his veins burned with both, turning his blood warm and drumming his brain with one thing - it were his birthright to make you submit before him.

And though you were positioned in front of him, cast to your knees as you worked on his hard cock with your heavenly mouth, your mind had slithered away from the laws that you were supposed to obey as you fingered yourself against and without his jurisdiction. To retain from speaking out just yet Seb put the pressure of his front teeth down upon his bottom lip, as he tuned his ears on the sounds of your mouth i taking his cock and slathering it with the natural lubricant of your saliva, and if he paid enough attention, the sound of your nimble fingers darting in and out of your entrance was echoed through the slick that was provided from your hormonal body, that coated your fingers and glistened underneath the lighting.

As he felt a spark approaching through the intermissions of his pleasured body, he found it to be best to direct you away, and exhibit distance despite having forgone with that flow for the time space that you hadn’t seen each other in. And thus he gently stepped back, allowing his cock to fall past your lips and a string of spit to be the only thing connecting you to it. It was an instinct for you to whine as you watched him take his cock back into his hand, giving himself a couple of easing tugs to cool himself down from his ruined orgasm.

And that was when all prevailed in realisation for you, that he continued to ogle at you from above as your index and middle fingers on your right hand remained inside of your cunt, and as your mind sparked some sense back into it, you instantly removed them despite the emptiness that attained within that area. Your eyes remained wide as you watched with caution as Seb took it upon himself to take a seat on the sofa that was below the blind strung window of his trailer, his hand temptingly patting his thick thighs as a means to convince you to move closer.

“Get up here you deviant minx.” It was not a sweet gesture that he were offering you, no, instead you were getting punished despite evading such a fate earlier on. Pushing yourself up from your knees, you went to lay yourself against him homely lap, however as you went to do so, he tugged at the sweatshirt that compiled a flush of heat against your addictive body, pulling it up a few inches to send you the message. Once you had completely removed the appeared and were dressed to the eye in nothing more than your naked flesh, that was when Sebastian allowed you to continue laying your stomach across his legs, as your own legs and breasts were draped either side of them.

His rough fingertips caressed the muscles of your back, making them twitch from rugged anticipation. They descended lower as he dug his knee into your ribs, enjoying the way that your breath hitched. “You know the rules angel, you don’t touch without permission, and yet you did. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I bruise this beautiful ass red and blue?” The worst thing was you could imagine how your cheeks would look all bruised up from the harsh strokes from his commanding hands; it had happened before and each and every time you’d tell yourself that it’d never happen again, that you’d avoid such intimate brutality because you’d behave.

But you both knew better than to trust those empty promises that wailed from your desperate throat as you were subjected to a pain that made your mind hazy and your throat parched. “No daddy, just that I’m sorry.” A yelp quickly followed after as he collided his hand down upon the fat of your behind, your entire body jolting as you shakily inhaled, knowing that in a few minutes that you’d get used to the pain and find it less surprising. The first strike was always the worst, and as another clapped down, followed by more and more, tears reigned the paving of your face as they spilt down your cheeks.

Your apology was simply a waver in the air, it did nothing other than tell him something that he’d heard a million times by this point. And when nothing added to the soreness of your bosom, you swore that you were in heaven, it continued to sting though as relief washed over your aura, and your lashes flickered through the fallen tears, slowly drying from the sobbing that they had commenced. “You took that well, okay.” Seb breathed, beginning to softly stroke your ass which made you whimper from the feather light pressure that digressed against the impact he had prohibited you to dwindle in. “I’m gonna reward you, think you can turn over baby?”

He slipped out from beneath you, allowing you to remain on your stomach for the moment until you had finally came up with your decision. You wriggled a little, stretching your toes as you hummed in reply and switched, despite the searing conundrum that resorted favour over your backside, onto the polar of your position, only to find your lover of whom was in control crawling towards you, the rings around his eyes looking sinful as he stared at your naked body as though you were his prey. His hands began to reel up your legs, coercing you into squirming against the cushioning that was managing to keep you at the same physical level as him, though the same couldn’t be said for the mental premise that rendered in interference of your relationship.

Hot air brushed upon your mound as he pressed a kiss to the hill that lead to the lake that was fawning at his close proximity, waves crashing and glistening to appeal to his ocean eyes. “Daddy, can you please do something?” A grunt differed from his throat as he inhaled the sea salt that subordinated his nose to the all natural scent, all before he nipped at the inside of your thigh before delving his face between the tightened proximity, sealing his mouth around your sensitive bud as he mumbled moans against your reactive flesh, earning himself a deeper invasion as you rutted your hips up to his face.

Sebastian Stan was a man of many talents; he could clearly mimic anyone that a script needed him to, but the one thing that he was truly magical at was using his mouth. It was a skill set that made you mercilessly comply to him, it was his superpower, which was indeed ironic considering that he played a hero in one of the world’s biggest franchises known to cinema. He raised his hands to grasp at your own as he trailed them into his strongly pigmented hair, giving you permission to ravel your hands through his straight hair, and feel the smooth sheen against the judge of your skin. You liked it, as you knew that you would.

Using his tongue, he pried at your entrance, sinking it within you as he began to shake his unruly head, extracting small screams from your throat as you became victim to his plentiful evidence of love. Your chest raised out in the air as your eyes rolled back, and a tweak pulled at your clit once more, and looking down, it revealed that it were your beloved tugging at the button with his teeth, as he gouged your reaction. When you reached your orgasm, he dived head first back into your emptying cavern, cleansing all that he had subdued from your body via his amazingly versed and performed sentiment.

“Taste so fucking good baby.” To prove his point, he clambered above you, slipping his lips against your own as he swabbed your tongue with his own, sharing your own juices so that you could feel them balance on your taste buds. His hand ran down your body as he pinched your hardened nipples, earning himself a withered and high pitched sigh from your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss. “Think you for another one in you angel? Daddy wants to fuck this sweet pussy, you okay with that?” A dazed nod gave him permission, though he grasped your jaw with his strong hand as he ensured that you stared back at him. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes, want your cock in me daddy. Always do.” A content smile used your mouth as it’s efficient puppet as he held onto his cock, and teased it around your folds, wetting his foreskin and other areas to make it more pleasurable for the both of you when he went to push in. And when he did, you felt like you had died and gone to heaven, it made you wonder how you ever survived going months without his touch, in any which way. Your hands held onto his hips as you steadied his weight, silently giving him the okay to start moving, and he did, he sunk within your cavernous walls, only to pull back and repeat the action. “Seb.” You breathed the shortened version of his name, the hot air leaving your mouth hitting his shoulder as he panted beside your face, his nose dragging up your cheek as you ran your hand down, cupping his balls and stroking them with the tender contact of your thumb.

For once under these circumstances, he did not shun you for saying his true name, instead he was too busy with the maddening rush that flew through his body as he fornicated with you. His pace increased, provoking the sound of flesh slapping upon flesh in the air as your thighs and hips clashed, amongst other parts. “Fuck sugar, ya close?” He asked you hurriedly, his forehead scrunching up as he felt immense pleasure as your cunt clenched around him, using his leverage to play with your clit once more. You ravenously nodded your head, dragging your nails over his body as you tried to jut your body up against his, chasing the approaching high which ultimately had you slumping against the cushions as he continued to pummel your body with his delivering thrusts.

“Shit.” He almost shouted, a soothing buzz ongoing in his body as he released his seed within you, you being able to feel every drop even after he pulled out and rolled to lay beside you, tugging you to be laying on his chest, neither of you caring for the cum that was escaping from your entrance that also happened to be the exit. “Why you laughing at me angel face?” Sebastian queried as he heard your cheeky sounds of amusement, a grin ruining the formation of his rocker disguise.

“You’re eyeliner’s all smudged.” You laughed, running the pad of your thumb beneath his eye and in the crows feet that dipped below, blending it further into his skin and giving it a grey hue to its ebony gradient. “You still look hot though.” You shrugged, nestling your head deeper into his chest, finally relieved that you and Sebastian were in the same place at the same time again.

[nxrthmizu]

Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

[queen-of-seventeen]

The straight men’s attraction to Ryan Reynolds

This piece is for Abi @jostenlovesminyard <a href="https://twitter.com/jostenminyard03" rel="nofollow">JostenMinyard03 on twitter</a> for the aftg exchange. I hope you love reading it like I loved writing it. I had a blast.

Thanks @aftgexchange for putting this show on the road

Andrew knocked his shoulder into a rack of summer coats and hissed. The store was overcrowded and he didn't know why he had agreed to join Aaron on this shopping trip. It's not like Andrew wore summer clothes. He would rather pass out from heat stroke than wear jean shorts.

"So," he continued, "I need this big breaking case or they're going to downsize my article. So I did some digging and found this weird kid, a total carrot in that picture and apparently, his dad is the Butcher."

Aaron flicked through a stack of shorts before pulling out two in the same size. "The Butcher?"

Andrew schooled his face as best as he could. It was a burden to be directly related to someone with so little knowledge about true crime. He deserved better.

He sighed and sat down on top of a display. He ignored the looks a sales assistant gave him. It was fine. He was just sitting on the clothes. "The Butcher of Baltimore is this notorious serial killer who was supposedly the boss of the mob."

"You're serious," Aaron said in a tone that made it clear he wasn't excited.

"I am." Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose. "The kid was about ten in that picture when his dad died and nobody has heard from him since."

"And you're what?" Aaron turned to him. "You will be the one to find him? He's been gone for how long? Swallowed by witness protection. Which you shouldn't mess with."

"Thirteen years. I want coffee." Andrew stood up and didn't wait for Aaron knowing his twin was following. "He's around twenty-three, granted that he celebrates the same birthday he did back then."

Andrew stepped in line at a smaller coffee chain. It was rustic and they were playing some new indie band that he wouldn't shazam but later wished he had. He knew it was wrong to try and find someone in witness protection but he needed a big story. He wasn’t going to let fucking Seth take over his prime spot in the paper and the website. 

The line wasn't long but the guy in front of him had long white cat hairs sticking to every inch of his jogger and Andrew scoffed as he scanned the guy’s outfit. Bright orange hoodie clashing with his auburn hair and shoes that were starting to come apart at the seams. If he was any more inclined towards charity he'd have offered to buy the guy a new pair.

Aaron kicked Andrew's foot. "You were saying. The guy’s been missing and why is he important to your case?"

"I want an interview. What it was like to live through the whole shebang."

"And why would he answer?" Aaron rubbed his nose. A mild cat allergy.

"I'm persuasive."

"Intense."

"A good reporter."

"A stalker."

"Aaron for fucks sake, at the least he'll answer because I have as much sex appeal as Ryan Reynolds and he'd be too attracted to say no."

Aaron burst into laughter and Andrew noticed the shoulders of the guy in front of them shaking as well. He sighed and pressed his lips together. There was no arguing with straight men. He knew this, he'd always known this even growing up. Still, he'd expected at least a little support from the mirror image beside him.

The auburn-haired guy turned around and looked over their heads to the door. He wasn't very tall but still taller than Aaron and Andrew. The height wasn't what took Andrew's breath away. The guy was biting his full lips but even so, the right corner turned up just so. He was trying to keep himself from laughing out loud.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back and Andrew scowled. Brows furrowed, corners of his mouth tipping down. He barely managed not to cross his arms.

The Auburn guy finally looked down and broke as well. A loud, rolling laugh engulfed Andrew. The guy's ice blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his heart sped up for a second.

"What's so funny?"

“Your belief that everyone is at least a little bit attracted to men.” The man shook his head with another laugh. Andrew was so very gay.

Andrew crossed his arms and schooled his expression. “We can’t forget the lesbians of course. Kind of requisitive to think men aren’t attractive sexually but I was talking about a specific man and Ryan Reynolds is a straight man’s catnip.”

The auburn-haired man nodded twice and turned back to the counter. Conversation over. Normally Andrew would be okay with that. He hated talking and especially to strangers. It was why he turned to writing in the first place. And here there was a stranger butting into his private conversation and all he wanted to do was pull the stranger back in. It was a problem. The Auburn-haired man ordered a black coffee and went to stand off to the side. Andrew ordered a pumpkin spice latte with pumpkin spice whipped cream and put it on Aaron’s tab. 

Before Andrew could find a way to talk to Red again he was out the door with a coffee. Andrew waited like a statue for his sweetened coffee and proceeded to pour more sugar in while Aaron waited for his own.

"One day you will start paying for your coffees," Aaron said as he watched Andrew meticulously follow his coffee routine and stir in the whipped cream.

"Why would I when Nicky and you will do it for me?" Andrew looked out the window for a second trying to spot the auburn hair.

"Maybe because your writing gig pays you this time if you can hold on to it." Aaron gripped his cup in both hands and started for the door. "I need t-shirts."

"Did your wife finally come to her senses and threaten to divorce you for dressing like a midget asshole."

"We're the same height."

"But I don't dress like an asshole. There's a difference." Andrew overtook his twin and started for his favorite shop. "Come on, I can't lose my least favorite Minyard to something as dumb as your taste in fashion."

++

Something was scratching at Andrew’s front door. It wasn't Sir FatCat because she was nestled at the end of Andrew's couch in his favorite blanket. He'd long since accepted she latched onto anything he liked when he needed it. But that didn't stop the scratching at the front door.

Andrew put his notes on the Nathan Wesninski case to the side. They wouldn't help his search for the younger Wesninski anyhow.

He got up, tried not to disturb Sir, and walked to the front door. He didn't see anything when he looked through the peephole. He turned to go back to the couch when the scratching started again. He really should've known better with his work in investigative crime journalism but he carefully opened the door and a small calico cat dashed past his legs into the kitchen.

"What the fuck." Andrew didn't close his door in his sprint after the cat. He saw Sir poke up her fat orange head from the couch but she didn't even try to defend her home.

That was Karma for not getting a dog, Aaron would say.

Andrew went into the kitchen to see the new cat happily eating from Sir's bowl. "That isn't yours."

He scooted closer but the cat didn't budge. Andrew grabbed for its scruff and the yowl coming from its tiny mouth would have woken up every single one of his neighbors.

When it resorted to scratching instead of screaming Andrew could hear footsteps over his parquet. "Hello?"

"Sorry," a voice came back. The tenor was slightly familiar which happened a lot with Andrew's memory, but he couldn't place it. "I thought I heard my cat and since your door was open."

An auburn-haired man walked into the door opening of Andrew's kitchen. It was THE auburn-haired man. Andrew wasn't glad to see him again. He wanted to throttle the handsome intruder and his sudden German accent.

"You weren't German last week."

"I don't remember you living here."

"Funny seeing how I have been for years and you moved in last week." Andrew absent-mindedly had started petting the cat in his arm as it settled down. "Get out of my house."

The man gave him a bemused look and held out his hand. "I'm Neil Josten."

"Get out of my house."

Neil dropped his hand. "Can I have my cat back first?"

Andrew didn’t stop glaring as he dropped the cat. It didn’t meow once but walked over to its owner. Neil nodded at Andrew. “Sorry for the trouble.” He picked up the cat and walked out of the kitchen. Andrew could hear the door closing from where he stood. 

He walked to his couch after checking the door was closed and locking it. He didn’t need another stray in there. The file he was supposed to be studying lay on the table. He picked it up again with a heavy heart and opened it. A picture fell out and fluttered to the floor like an autumn leaf. 

The day can’t get worse than this, Andrew thought and bent to pick it up. He saw the back first. ‘Nathan Wesninski with wife and son.’ Andrew didn’t think twice before flipping it over in his hands. 

“Mother fucker.” It was a general rule that Andrew Minyard hated running. His friend Kevin believed he would have joined the professional leagues but the idea of working out every day for ten or twenty-odd years sent a chill down Andrew’s back that could honestly put him in an early grave. 

Now however Andrew was running like his life depended on it. His next paycheck did for sure. He ran to the front door without putting on shoes and barely remembered to grab his keys and close it for Sir before stepping into the hallway and banging on the door marked with ‘N. Josten.’ 

“Mother fucker,” Andrew said again. He carefully pulled his face into the uncaring facade he’d been cultivating since his teenage years. His right foot tapped on the floor and his nail’s dug into the skin of his palms. 

The door opened and the cat tried to shoot out again before it was stopped by a socked foot. “You don’t have to yell at me, I already said sorry for King.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about your dumb cat, I have a dumb cat at home. You, however.”

Neil raised both his eyebrows. “This may be the weirdest way I’ve ever been asked out.”

“I’m not asking you out.”

“Last time you said you had the sex appeal of Ryan Reynolds.”

“And you neatly turned me down.” Andrew’s head was starting to spin. He had to gain back his control over the situation. “That’s not why I’m here. I need to go inside.”

Neil motioned a hand to Andrew’s door. “Then go.”

“With you. I need to interview you.”

“With your Ryan Reynolds appeal?” Neil stepped to the side and let Andrew in. He noticed how Neil didn’t lock any of the doors but his eyes scanned the apartment looking, Andrew didn’t know. 

“I don’t care about Ryan Reynolds, I might be too gay for that. Never let my cousin hear me say that.” Andrew didn’t sit down but he was still holding the file and the picture. In school they taught him to tell the interviewee, Neil in this case, to sit down now. Andrew didn’t. “You look a lot like your sperm donor for someone who’s supposedly in witness protection.”

Neil looked like hell froze over. “Get out.”

“So you can call them? No. I’m not here to kill you. I don’t even need a picture of you or anything else.”

“Then why are you here?” Neil sighed heavily and poured a cup of tea with milk.

Andrew’s lip curled. British, gross. “You are the guy I talked about in the coffee shop. Son of that one murdery fellow. My boss is going to downsize my column unless I come up with something as big as this story.”

“That’s my problem, why?” Neil sipped his drink and sank into his chair. A fake display of relaxation. Andrew knew all the tells. 

“It’s not your problem but I am willing to trade you. You’re new right?” Andrew waited for Neil to nod to continue. “I know the people in this building and around town. I can introduce you. The more people you know and know about you the more people will raise a fuss if anything happens to you.”

Neil seemed to think it over for a second. “And you think that’ll work?”

Andrew sat down in the chair opposite Neil. This was his chance to convince Neil to work with him, to help him. It was also his chance to get to know someone interesting. Andrew hadn’t met anyone like that in a long time. Especially not one that was pretty. “I know it will.”

“Okay, I’ll do it but you’re going to keep my name and picture out of it.”

“Of course. A deal’s a deal.” Andrew forced himself to hold out his hand. Touching Neil, even as inconspicuously as that would be worth the lingering feeling on his skin. 

Neil took his hand in agreement. He looked apprehensive, his handshake weak and Andrew had half a mind that Neil would be gone before he could get his interview. Andrew didn’t wish but if he did he’d wish that Neil would still be there the next time he went to visit.

++

Andrew was ready to interview Neil. He had invited Neil into his home the day after he'd confronted him simply so Neil would have fewer chances to run away.

Andrew had picked up coffee and creamer and sparkling water. Neil didn't seem the type to drink alcohol and it was one of the other rules the school had drilled into Andrew. Don't get the interviewee drunk, the answers will be terrible and you can't control the outcome.

The apartment had been cleaned and Andrew had folded the blankets on his couch. He didn't sit down. He thought he'd feel as bad that Neil was coming into his space, invited this time, as he thought Neil would feel about entering it.

He paced around the room. This was it. This was the last rescue mission of his column size. He could do this.

The clock kept ticking and just when Andrew was convinced Neil was no longer showing up, someone knocked on his door. Now, this could either be witness protection to yell at him for trying to blow Neil's cover or it was Neil himself.

Andrew didn't know if he was more or less surprised when it was Neil on the other side of the door.

"I'm late," Neil said as a way of greeting.

"I know," Andrew replied. He stepped aside to let Neil in. "Pick a chair in the living room, I'll bring in drinks. Just don't sit on Sir."

"Sir?" Neil walked into the living room while Andrew went into the kitchen. From there he heard Neil. "Oh, Sir. My what a fa,” Neil trailed off, “fantastic… cat."

Andrew listened to him coo at the obese animal while he made two cups of coffee, added a generous amount of milk and sugar to his, and grabbed a glass of water for Neil just in case he didn't want the coffee.

Neil was sitting with King Fluffkins on his lap on the couch. He looked up at Andrew's frozen stature in the door opening. "Technically, your cat is sitting on me."

"How domestic. Feels more like a third date thing." Andrew placed the cups on the table and sat in the oversized chair near his television.

"So this is a date? I would've worn something better."

Andrew neatly avoided choking on his spit. Neil was interesting. More interesting than anything in years had been.

"Truly, Andrew, don't you normally tell people it's a date."

"I don't normally ask for life stories on dates." Andrew took a sip of coffee and burned his tongue. The feeling lingered and he wondered if Neil would be able to taste it if they kissed. "I don't normally date."

"Well, that's on me for assuming." Neil kept petting King. "Is it okay if I start now? I think I'll lose my nerve if I don't."

Andrew leaned forward. "Why do you trust me?"

"I don't know." Neil shrugged. "You seem trustworthy and if you sell me out you will anyway."

"High praise."

"I think it's your Ryan Reynolds charm."

"So you do think I'm Ryan Reynolds hot?"

"Don't know, I'm not straight." Neil looked up and away. Before Andrew could question it Neil dove straight into his story.

Andrew had set up his voice notes a couple of sentences into Neil’s spiel but he was glad for it. It took a lot for Andrew to get shocked but this was it. Listening to Neil tell him about his childhood and a time on the run before he was almost savagely cut down by his father.

Andrew had always been glad Nathan Wesninski was dead but this was the cherry on top. He wrote down his last notes a couple of minutes after Neil finished his story. Andrew stood up without saying anything and went into the kitchen. 

He wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter and waited for his milk to heat up in the microwave. It took him a minute to find his tongue.

“I’m making hot chocolate,” he said loud enough for Neil to hear.

“Not for me please.” Andrew didn’t hear Neil move. He grabbed another mug from his cupboard and filled it with hot water. He grabbed the one kind of tea he had for when his cousin came over and put it on the tray next to his mug. He carefully spooned in two helpings of chocolate.

He rolled his shoulders and neck before picking up the tray and walking back to the living room. He put the tray down and grabbed two blankets from the one space where Sir Fat Cat McCatterson wouldn’t steal them. He gave one to Neil and curled up with the other in his chair. Thank you for trusting me, he didn’t say. “There’s rooibos tea. There might be milk in the fridge for the cat.”

Neil nodded and wrapped himself in the blanket before reaching forward for his mug. He cradled it in his hands. “I don’t want to be scared of my father anymore.”

“He’s dead,” Andrew said.

“Still.”

“He’s dead,” Andrew repeated. “He’s dead and you're alive and for today you are Neil Josten sitting on my couch. You told your story and I’m going to build you a life that is less pathetic than being my neighbor.”

Neil huffed a laugh. “Why is being your neighbor pathetic?”

Andrew made a movement with his hand. He was five foot nothing of black clothing and a journalism degree. It should speak for itself. 

“I don’t agree and if your friends do I don’t know if I want to meet them.” Neil stroked Sir over his fathead.

“It’s mostly my brother who you’ve seen.”

“You but without the attractiveness of Ryan Reynolds.”

Andrew laughed. “So you agree he is.”

“No, but I’m starting to think you might be. Attractive that is.”

Neil turned red under his blanket but Andrew didn’t know if it was from the heat of the tea or blanket or both but he may be able to live with not knowing for now because the pretty Auburn-haired man had just called him attractive. Maybe. But it was a strong maybe.

Neil took a sip of tea and they sat together in half silence until they both finished their cups.

“If you don’t have to work tomorrow,” Neil started. “Maybe you can introduce me to some friends. Or we can just do something together.”

“A second date?” Andrew said with a quirked brow.

“Yeah. Without talking about my murderous, what did you call him, sperm donor?”

“Correct. We could talk about how your cat is a terror.”

“Takes after his dad.” Neil smiled and curled up further in the blanket with Sir.

Andrew would agree. The cat took after his dad. A terror to neighbor Andrew but too interesting to let it go. Andrew didn’t say no to the second date or the third or when half a year later Neil suggested to Andrew that it’d be harder to take him if he lived in the same apartment as Andrew. 

It worked and one year after their first year Neil told his biggest truth. “My non-attraction to Ryan Reynolds probably correlated to my attraction to you. You did say he was a straight man’s catnip.”

“And you’re not straight.” Andrew grabbed the back of his neck. 

“I’m nothing.”

You’re everything, Andrew thought and pulled Neil in for a kiss.

[antimonarchy]

How to Create Image Descriptions

So I’ve been creating image descriptions on tumblr for about a month, and I wanted to share some helpful guides I’ve found on how to create them as well as my own tips that I’ve picked up. Video descriptions and transcripts are also necessary, but since I mostly focus on image descriptions that’s what this guide is about. This might get a bit long, so fair warning. 

What are image descriptions?

Image descriptions are a textual depiction of what is going on in an image, as shown with the image below. 

[Image ID: A picture of a person with short black hair working on a computer. They are sitting at a wooden table with a large blue pot of pink flowers in front of a grey brick wall. A guitar is propped up against the wall in the background, and there is a string of lights near the ceiling. /.End ID]

Why create image descriptions?

The primary reason for creating image descriptions is to allow people who are blind/have limited vision to experience visual content. Many people who are blind/have low vision use screenreaders, which read text out loud when it is clicked or hovered over with a mouse. A large amount of online content, such as pictures, graphics, or drawings, is visual and so possibly cannot be experienced by someone with vision problems. As a general rule of thumb, anything that can be dragged or dropped most probably requires a description. In addition, if someone has partial vision and attempts to zoom in on an image, sometimes it can become pixelated and impossible to understand. 

Some neurodivergent people might need a description to understand the tone of an image, such as the meaning of facial expressions of a person to understand what emotion the artist is trying to depict

Some people might not have high speed internet or have low computer memory, meaning that they turn off images in order to save space. This means that they as well might require descriptions of visual content

Are image descriptions the same as alt text?

no, alt text and image descriptions serve the same purpose, but they are different in how they are presented. Alt text, short for alternative text, is included in the html of an image and can be read by a screen reader. However, there are many reasons why many prefer image descriptions over alt text. 

There is a limit of 200 words in alt text on tumblr specifically (and not in other contexts, which makes this information only applicable here), which means that detailed images or graphics are unable to be described fully without possibly cutting out important information. 

People who require descriptions, but who do not use a screenreader, must right-click and search through the html of an image in order to find alt text, but with an image description they are saved that work. 

Who should create image descriptions?

Everyone who is able to should create image descriptions. A content creator is best able to communicate the message of their work through text, as they are the one who created it and thus understand its message the best. While of course it takes practice when starting out, over time image descriptions become second nature when posting visual content. Always check the notes of a tumblr post for an ID rather than reblogging without one. 

What should be included in image descriptions?

There is no simple answer to this question, there are a variety of resources and guides on how to create one, and you should not accept my advice as the ultimate authority, as I am by no means a professional, and only create descriptions in my spare time as part of the effort to make Tumblr more accessible. However, here is my information for those starting out. 

First, consider what type of visual content it is. Is it fanart of a tv show, a screenshot of a tweet, or an informational graphic meant to educate people on a particular issue? 

Then, consider what information is most important in the image. If the visual content is an image of a famous building, then in writing the description the focus should be on the building, rather than describing for instance the color of the sky, surrounding buildings, or the clothing of the people walking by, as they are not the information that is being presented. 

Perkins ELearning has an excellent list of things that should generally be included, which I will include here. In my experience, these are the most important elements to describe

The people and animals in an image

The background or setting of an image

Elements that relate to the context specifically, so if it was an image of a congested highway on a news website, the description would mention the packed cars

The colors of an image (don’t overdo it however, a simple ‘light blue’ will suffice, no need to say something like ‘a color blue that is similar to the color of a robin’s egg’ unless it is crucial to the viewer’s comprehension of an image)

Context for an image. For instance, imagine if someone had drawn a version of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme, with Eleanor Shellstrop from the Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” Rather than provide a description to the example such as:                                          [Image ID: A drawing of Eleanor Shellstrop saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” /.End ID] you would instead say                                                                                                [Image ID: A redraw of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme with Eleanor Shellstrop from The Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place. /.End ID]

If the image is of a social media post, include the username/handle of the creator as well as the reactions (likes/reblogs) if they are visible in the image, as they may be cut off by the original screenshotter. 

If it is a drawing or piece of art, always look for the artist’s signature when writing a description

How do I write an image description?

To start off, here is an example description written for a piece of art I made myself. 

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Suki from Avatar: The Last Airbender over a gold background.  She is shown from the shoulders up facing the viewer, and has a neutral expression. She is wearing metal armor over a light green tunic, and is wearing her Kyoshi Warriors facepaint and headdress. The artist’s signature ‘Astra’ is written in the lower right of the image. /.End ID]

In this description:

I made clear where the description begins and ends, so that someone with a screenreader is not confused. I usually use brackets ([ ]), write the words ‘Image ID’ (or video/gif/other) and finish with a slash, period, and the words End ID. (/.End ID)

I emphasized the type of image, in this case a digital drawing

I said the character’s name (obviously this may not be known if describing a photo or something you are not familiar with)

I described the background and the character’s clothing

I described her expression

I included the description of my signature.

This is my basic process for writing a description

I first say what the content is, such as a drawing, photo, or screenshot of a tweet.

I then use what is called Object-Action-Context for the most part, which UXDesign has a long article on https://uxdesign.cc/how-to-write-an-image-description-2f30d3bf5546. For example, [Image ID: A photo of a person standing in a crowd waving to someone out of view in front of a river. /.End ID] While obviously I would usually provide more information than that, Person = object, standing + waving to someone out of view = action, and ‘in a crowd’ = context. 

I describe the clothing that might be worn

I talk about the position that people in an image might be in, such as leaning against one another on a couch, or standing with their fingers intertwined

I talk about the expressions on their faces, if shown

I talk about their general appearance (if important to the description) such as hair color/length

As said before, I talk about the context of an image if necessary

If the background is a simple color, I usually include it in the first sentence of the description. However if it is more complicated, such as a river winding through a dense forest, I include that at the end of the description after describing the important elements. 

Typically if I am reblogging an image, I do not add on any commentary after creating an image description, as this allows others to reblog my description without my personal reaction. If I want to add on to an image, I usually reblog my description post. 

In general, it is best to remain objective when writing a description, meaning not including your opinion of the content. However especially in an informal setting, say for instance you were describing an adorable cow, I would see it as fine to say [Image ID: A small drawing of an adorable cow. /.End ID] because the emphasis is on the appearance. There isn’t a clearcut answer, and it really depends on the context. 

What are some tips for writing descriptions/common pitfalls?

If there is an element of an image like a line that represents an emotion, or a sound effect like ‘clang’ if something falls, include that in the description. For instance, [Image ID: ...beside the mug that has fallen on the floor, there are the words ‘sploosh’ indicating the sound of the water that has spilled out. /.End ID]

Put image descriptions first. Don’t hide them under readmores or any other text. If you have something with multiple images and you are the creator, place the description under each image in succession rather than all at the end. Readmores are ableist, as they require someone who has vision problems/one of the conditions described above to do more work to access the message of visual content. 

If you are mentioning the skin color and/or race of someone in an image, make sure you describe it for anyone else who might be in an image. Don’t just describe the race of someone who appears to not be white. This doesn’t mean that you have to describe race, such as if the character is one whose race is commonly known, just that if you do, make sure you do it for all characters/people in an image. 

In order to write IDs effectively, I’ve found it useful to download a screen reader. I use NVDA, which is entirely free and easy to use and can be downloaded here: https://www.nvaccess.org/download/. 

Insert + Q turns it off

While my guide has focused mostly on image descriptions, video descriptions are also necessary. However they are not my area of expertise, and differ slightly, so I would recommend anyone interested in them to check out this website https://www.washington.edu/accessibility/videos/

Transcripts, for those who are d/Deaf/Hard of Hearing, are also necessary for making content accessible, and might be required for content that also has a visual format, such as a Tiktok. I would recommend this website https://www.w3.org/WAI/media/av/transcripts/ for anyone interested in writing transcripts

What are some more resources I can check out?

Here are a series of websites that I have found while researching how to write descriptions

UX Design -  I mentioned UX Design earlier when talking about Object - Action - Context, this article is very useful and examines how to structure a description and provides very useful examples for beginners

Perkins E-Learning - This article is very useful in helping someone what to include in a description, such as clothing or background information, as well as providing some additional information on alt text if you are interested

Meloukhianet - This blog post by s. e. smith goes into detail on the elements of an image to emphasize depending on its context, using the example of a picture of their cat sunning himself. 

SOAP - This article by the Stanford Online Accessibility Program (SOAP) provides a large amount of information on the purpose of image descriptions and what content requires them

HubPages - This article by SOTD and Zera discusses the difference between sparse, lush, and overdone descriptions, which is the amount of information included, and if/when each should be used. 

I hope you found this information helpful, I encourage everyone to check out these websites, and my inbox is always open for questions!

[whatthisfemsheplikes]

Number 7: "Don't look. I will bandage it for you."

I think this one would be cool with Tori and Wesley. like, Wes gets injured and has PTSD from when he got injured from the thorn bush. Tori tries to help by bandaging etc etc fearplay and angst ensues

Thank you for the prompt! I had fun writing this one, especially since I'm a sucker for any kind of hurt/comfort scene in g/t.

This one is set about a month after See Me ends, so slight spoilers for that for anyone who hasn't read/finished it yet.

CW: blood, PTSD, panic attack

“Are you sure you don’t need any help, Wes?” Tori asked as she bent down to get a closer look over Wesley’s shoulder. He was currently cutting a tiny piece of lettuce into even smaller pieces with a borrower-sized knife on his own small table. During his time learning to read, he’d also been learning to cook with Tori, and the lessons had gotten a lot easier for him ever since they bought more furniture and kitchen tools that were his size. 

He’d only just started to work on cooking by himself, especially so he can make more meals of his own size. Usually, he’d help Tori with measuring, getting ingredients, or even just reading the recipe while she did the actual “cooking” of the food since all of the appliances were human-sized. If Wesley could have his own stove to bake food in the oven or cook something on the stovetop, he’d be excited to try that. At the moment though, no working appliances were available for borrowers. Tori had found some articles on the internet claiming that these appliances were in development, but Wesley didn’t hold out much hope. That wouldn’t stop him from making his own food right now though. 

Luckily, there were still plenty of meals he could make without needing to heat anything up. He did still need a bit of help from Tori since all the ingredients he would need were so much bigger than him, but she’d gone through and cut lots of comment ingredients she had so they were a more manageable size for Wesley. 

At the moment, he was trying to make a salad for his lunch with pieces of lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and cucumbers that Tori had already cut down to size for him. He was still going back and forth about whether he should add cheese or not, but he figured he’d have a better idea once the salad was done. 

“No, I’m okay,” Wesley replied while keeping his eyes locked on the chef’s knife in his hand. While he was getting more comfortable with cooking overall, he was still a bit nervous about using a knife. Tori had taught him several times how to cut safely and efficiently so he could be as safe as possible, but even just the look of how sharp the knife was still made him uneasy. 

If he stared too long, he’d start to fall down a rabbit hole of fear, usually with thoughts that either started or ended his spiral with the image of Tori in the hospital after she’d been stabbed. He wasn’t there when the stabbing happened, so he didn’t know if Tori’s attacker used a knife that looked like this one or not, but it didn’t really matter to him what kind it was. He’d inevitably start thinking of the scar that still showed on Tori’s abdomen, though it was much more faded than the fresh stitches he imagined when he thought of her in that hospital bed. 

Wesley shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the comforting warmth of Tori’s gentle breath against his back as she watched him work. 

“I think I can do this myself,” he nodded, trying to be confident. “But I’ll let you know if I need help.” 

“Okay,” Tori sighed behind him. “If you’re sure.” In the back of his mind, Wesley wished that she’d give him some kind of comforting touch, like rubbing his back or even just brushing her fingers against him. Anything to help him feel more grounded and calm. But, he knew she wouldn’t do that while he was still trying to focus and while he had a knife in his hand. 

“I’ll just make my own lunch over on the island then,” Tori said with a smile in her voice, clearly as an attempt to hide her own nerves about letting Wesley do this alone. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Wesley nodded, keeping his eyes on the knife as he cut through the lettuce. He could feel his eyes growing wider as he heard Tori take a few steps away. He knew she was still nearby, but the fact that he was in his own space now made him feel a pit in his stomach. He felt alone now, and he couldn’t deny that his nerves were at an all-time high now.

After putting down the knife, Wesley carefully gathered the lettuce he’d cut and dropped it into a borrower-sized bowl. Then, he picked up a small piece of tomato that Tori had left for him on the table and he stared down at it while he bit his lip hard. 

“You can do this,” he said with a deep breath. “It’s just another piece of food to cut through. You were taught how to be safe. You can do it.”

Wesley tried to calm his nerves and stop the slight shaking in his hands as he slowly picked up the knife again. With slight hesitation, he carefully sliced into the tomato and felt a small amount of tension leave his shoulders. He was doing this on his own. Sure, Tori was only a few feet away, but he was really doing it all by himself! 

He’d hoped that, as he kept going, things would get easier, but that wasn’t the case with this tomato. Instead, he felt like he was getting a worse and worse hold on both the tomato itself and the knife as his hands kept getting covered in tomato juice. Still, he kept a firm grip on the knife’s handle and felt his eyebrows furrow in concentration. He didn’t want to ask Tori for help. Not when he knew he could believe in himself and make a meal that was completely done by his own hand. 

He couldn’t deny that he was getting frustrated though as he had to slow down his pace from the slippery tomato juice. He knew he could still do this safely if he just took things one step at a time and didn’t rush anything. Eventually, an idea struck him as to how he could potentially help this situation. Maybe he could just ask for some paper towels to clean things up a little bit. Sure, that would still be asking for help, but it mean that Tori would take over cooking for him. He could still make his own food by himself if he just asked Tori for something to clean up the mess with. 

Never taking his eyes off the knife, Wesley turned to his left to look over his shoulder. What he didn’t think about though was that his intense stare on the knife meant that he was turning with the blade still held in front of him. He hardly seemed to notice though as his eyes stayed glued to the cool metal. 

“Hey, Tori. Could you-”

Just then, a loud knock boomed through the kitchen from the front door. By human standards, the knock was probably casual-sounding, but to Wesley, it almost sounded like thunder. The noise startled him so badly that his arms flailed, causing him to drop the knife. The blade slid across his forearm, not deep enough to do too much damage but enough to draw blood, then it fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Immediately, the sight of a long, thin line of blood forming across his forearm made Wesley stare at it with tunnel vision. He could hear a voice reverberate around him, but he wasn’t able to discern anything that it said. It was like he was trapped in a fishbowl, but he hardly cared about that. He was too busy trying to find air to breathe as the cut started to drip fresh blood onto the countertop under his feet. 

This was enough to make him feel all the blood drain from his face as his head felt dizzy. He’d never cared about the sight of blood before, but this was different. As he collapsed on his side to the cold countertop floor, Wesley knew why the sight and the sting of the cut horrified him so much. 

It looked and felt just like the cuts he’d gotten from the rose bushes when he’d tried to escape the pet store. 

The day he met Tori.

The day he almost died. 

As the room around him rumbled with movement and that voice kept speaking incoherently to him, Wesley felt like the stinging sensation was traveling all over his body, just like when he’d been covered in cuts from those thorns. He was convinced that, if he looked anywhere else, he’d see more slices in his skin everywhere. The pain became overwhelming until it seemed to congregate at the spot where he still had his largest scar on his abdomen. The one that almost made him bleed out right before he’d reached his freedom.

Looking at the countertop where his arm lay showed that a small pool of blood had formed from the cut. Surely, he was losing too much blood. Surely, he was going to die. 

His whole body trembled in agony and fear until he suddenly felt something heavy and warm against his side. It was a comforting presence. One he could’ve sworn that he’d felt before. It didn’t move against him, but the sensation made his focus turn to the voice that had been speaking all along. 

“Wes! It’s okay! I can help! Just look at me!” Tori’s panicked voice cut through his thoughts as he finally looked up to see what was weighing down on his side. The familiar sight of pink, soft skin told him that Tori had rested her hand on him, and his eyes traveled from her fingers up her arm until he finally reached her face. 

She looked scared. That was all he could think. Maybe she knew he was dying too. What would she do when he was gone? Would she find someone else? Would she forget about him? Wesley could feel hot tears rolling down his face at the thought, only to realize that he’d clearly already been crying before Tori’s hand shocked him to attention. 

“T-Tori,” he stammered as his body continued to shake. “M-my cuts… from those thorns… t-they’re back. A-am I g-going to d-die?”

The question made Tori’s expression morph from one of fear to one of deadly seriousness. 

“You’re not going to die, Wes,” she said sternly, but not in an angry way. More like she wanted to make sure that they both believed what she was saying. “I grabbed the first aid kit to help. I can help you, but I need to see your arm and I need you to sit up for me.” 

In a daze, Wesley moved to try and sit up, but he started to feel too dizzy. He thought he might collapse back down to the countertop, but Tori’s hand was instantly underneath him to help him up. She moved slowly, raising his head and shoulders centimeter by centimeter until he was completely sitting up with only a little dizziness. All the while, Wesley’s eyes didn’t leave the cut on his arm. The stinging in his abdomen didn’t subside either as Tori’s free hand pushed the borrower-sized table over to him so he could lean against it when her palm that supported him moved away. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Wes,” Tori said in a calmer voice. As quickly as possible, she grabbed the first aid kit from where she’d dropped it at her feet and she carefully set it on the counter a slight distance away from Wesley. When she opened it, she snatched up a cleansing wipe, some ointment, gauze, and a bandage. She thought that would be enough until she set the supplies next to Wesley and realized that the bandages and gauze would have to be much smaller for his size. In a flash, she’d raced over to one of the kitchen drawers, yanked it open, and grabbed the best pair of scissors she could find before approaching the borrower again. 

In an effort to be quicker, Tori haphazardly cut a small square out of the gauze and told herself she’d come back to the bandages later. She held the tiny gauze square out to Wesley on her pointer finger. 

“Can you hold this for me?” she asked with concern in her eyes. “Don’t put it on yet. Just hold it, please.” Without a word, Wesley reached out and took the gauze with his hand from his good arm and held it in his lap. 

“Good,” Tori nodded as she started to rip open the package that held the cleansing wipe. “Now, can you hold out your arm that’s cut?”

“I-I can’t,” Wesley stammered. “The cuts are e-everywhere!” When she saw that his eyes wouldn’t leave the wound, Tori let out a sigh, slowly brought her hand towards him, and tucked her pointer finger under his chin. The movement made Wesley’s eyes instantly lock with hers when she brought his chin up a little. The sight of his shocked and tear-stained face made Tori start to gently stroke his hair with her thumb in an effort to comfort him and calm him down. 

“Wes, listen to me,” she said softly. “Those cuts from the thorns are gone. You’re still safe. We just have to patch up this injury and then you’ll be fine.” While it appeared that Wesley was allowing his body to relax just a little, his eyes started to wander back to the bleeding mark on his arm. Tori gave him a small nudge with the finger that she still had under his chin, and immediately his gaze was locked with hers again. 

“Don't look. I will bandage it for you.” After a moment of hesitation, Wesley finally nodded before he let his eyes close to avoid staring at the cut any longer. Tori felt his body relax a bit more, so she took that as a cue to continue now that Wesley was calmer. 

Still trying to be quick, Tori finished opening the cleansing wipe and took it out of the package, causing a harsh chemical smell to fill the air. The scent made her wrinkle her nose a little, but her face steeled again as she got closer to Wesley. 

“This will probably sting,” she told him as she brought the wipe toward his injured arm. “But only for a second. Just keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

“O-Okay,” Wesley murmured with a small nod. With that, Tori carefully held his arm on the tip of her finger with her left hand and held the wipe in her right. She gave a wince of her own as she just barely pressed the wipe to his skin, causing Wesley to let out a hiss of pain. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Tori rambled before rapidly taking the wipe away. At least his skin looked clean now. He wasn’t bleeding as much anymore, especially since the cut looked like it was only slightly worse than a paper cut, so Tori felt a bit of relief. As gently as possible, she then applied a small amount of antibiotic ointment to the cut before turning her eyes to the gauze in Wesley’s lap. 

“Okay, Wes,” she said as she reached for the roll of bandages and the scissors. “I need to cut a bandage that’s your size. In the meantime, can you hold that piece of gauze on your cut? Keep looking away from it. Just put the gauze on it for a second.”

As Tori slid the scissors through the bandage to make a thin strip, Wesley carefully brought the gauze to his cut and slightly pressed down, all while keeping his eyes closed. The pain around the rest of his body was subsiding as he focused on taking deep breaths. He still felt a bit of sharpness in his abdomen, but it seemed to go away more and more each time Tori was touching him. 

“I’ll take that,” Tori said as she slowly put her own finger over the gauze on Wesley’s arm. “Thanks, Wes. I’m just going to wrap this bandage around your arm and then we’re all done.”

“Alright,” Wesley nodded, trying to keep calm. With a strip of bandage that looked like a thick piece of pasta, Tori carefully pressed one end of it under her finger that held the gauze. She did her best to both hold the gauze and wrap the bandage around Wesley’s arm, but it was proving to be difficult with her large fingers moving around his tiny appendage. 

With a huff to signal a change of plans, Tori let go of the supplies before grabbing onto the counter with both hands. She started to jump towards the countertop and before her feet could land, she had shrunk to less than three inches tall. 

“Much better,” she smirked as she approached Wesley and picked up the bandages to resume. 

Once she started to wrap his cut with more speed and ease, Wesley noticed how the sensations he was experiencing were no longer coming from fingers that were as long as he was tall. They were from hands that were just slightly smaller than his own. 

With hesitation, he allowed his eyes to flutter open before they widened in shock at the sight of Tori sitting next to him on the counter. It had only been a month since he’d learned that Tori was a shifter, and she didn’t change her size often enough for him to be used to the sight of her next to him like this. 

Tori didn’t seem to notice Wesley’s stare though. Instead, she remained focused on wrapping his arm snuggly with the bandage until she was able to tuck the end into the rest of the bandage to secure it. When she looked up, she had a gentle smile on her face that made Wesley’s cheeks feel hot. 

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked as she held his hand. The question and the warmth of her hand brought Wesley back down to earth even more. Somehow, Tori always knew what to do to pull him out of a panic attack, even a particularly scary one like that. Right now, she didn’t seem to realize just how much she’d saved him from falling completely into a pit of despair. She’d helped him so much that even the pain in his abdomen was gone. 

Instead of using his voice to reply, Wesley let out a relieved sigh, straightened his legs out in front of him, and motioned for Tori to come closer with his free hand. He didn’t let go of her hold as she scooted over to him and followed his lead to sit on his lap. When she was settled with her back against his chest, Wesley finally let go of her hand so he could wrap both his arms around her stomach to hold her close. He nuzzled his face into the hair on top of her head and held her just a bit tighter when he felt her hands start to rub up and down his arms. 

“Thank you, Tori,” he sighed into her hair. “Thank you so much.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, love,” she nestled into him even more. “I would do anything for you.” 

“I love you, Tori.” 

“And I love you too. Forever and always.”