#next step is posing from scratch on my own.

[nidstiniens]

dress-up estinien | [ 02 / ?? ]

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[transformhim]

Pose

“We good here?”

The model’s question caught him off guard as Raul looked up from from his camera, adjusting the frame and focus for his next shot while his assistant, Damien, moved onto the set to adjust the light and prop placements. The deep bass background music played throughout the apartment in the awkward silence.

The fuck does he mean, are we done?? We’ve hardly started! Raul thought with an annoyed scratch at the back of his head. The model had been a terrible subject to begin with, giving poses and taking heavy sighs at each direction Raul tried to give him, and essentially treated the shoot as though it was something he was bored doing. His payment was way more than modest and the shoot wasn’t supposed to take more than an hour, but he looked like he was ready to leave just 20 minutes in.

Raul cleared his throat, “Uhh, actually we still need a couple more shots. The client is looking for a pretty varied spread to choose from. So if we could j—..”

“Come on, man, you’re really gonna make me do this for another 40 minutes? I’m sure what you got is fine.”

Raul breathed in heavily, “Look, it’ll just take a bit more, the contract said that it wouldn’t be—..”

“Well, you can take it up with my agent, man, I got places I gotta be,” the model started stepping off the set, turning his back to Raul to start packing his things.

Raul turned his eyes towards Damien, lifting his palms up in a disbelieving gesture and shaking his head. Damien just rolled his eyes and shrugged with a dejected smirk. They’ve dealt with these kinds of divas numerous times before. Almost too many to count, actually.

But money had been tight at the studio since the pandemic hit, and even all these years later it still hadn’t recovered. they couldn’t afford to keep getting these types of dismissive twats leave shoots before they were supposed to. Clients were always very specific about what they wanted and could cut pay if they weren’t satisfied.

But Raul and Damien had their own means of dealing with these kinds of rude bastards. As they exchanged wordless looks expressing their annoyance and frustration, Damien’s eyes began to slowly drift towards the model off set, gathering his belongings. His dejected look changed to one of curiosity as he bit his lip. He looked towards Raul and narrowed his eyes with a cheeky grin.

‘Should I?’ Damien mouthed silently towards Raul.

A sly grin spread across Raul’s face as he considered Damien’s proposal. He looked back at the model—turned away from them as he texted to his agent or slam piece or gym family or whatever—and back at Damien, biting his lip mischievously and nodding.

Damien smiled wider and stretched. He took off his tank top and tossed it aside, his toned hairy torso now bare. His fingers hooked under his waistband, and his basketball shorts and boxers drop silently to the floor as he kicked them over on top of his tank top. Now naked and hardening quickly, he arched his back in a stretch, rolled his neck, and rubbed his palms together as he stepped towards Raul. He leaned in for a quick kiss with his partner as he took the bottle body oil next to Raul that the model had used and squirted a massive helping into his hand, slathering it over his chest, arms, and face. Quickly, he moved towards the model gathering his things, ducking down lower as he approached.

“When you get to it, make sure my payment goes t—UUUHHHNNGGG!!” The model was interrupted in the middle of his sentence as Damien, in one fluid motion, pulled the model’s speedo down and plunged his face between his globular asscheeks. The model groaning and grunting in mindless pain and confusion, gripping the sides of the table where his things were sitting, as Damien popped his oily face and head into model’s tight hole, sending a loud squelching *SCHLORP* echoing through the apartment.

Damien’s slick body then began to suck up into the model’s hole, his muscular tan form thinning and contorting as he slithered deeper and deeper into the model’s guts, the entire process emitting a familiar meaty, slimy, slurping sound Raul knew and loved so well. Raul licked his lips, pawing his swelling package, as he watched the model’s sculpted ass distend slightly as his tight hole widen more and more as it hungrily slurped Damien inside him, his tattooed, lubricated form and limbs compressing in on themselves as he plunged deeper. Raul couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the model—he knew full well how ecstatic and orgasmic it felt to have Damien slither up inside him… and what came next.

Just as Damien’s ass and throbbing rod sank into the model’s guts, his thighs and legs shot up into the hole at a much faster speed, whipping into the model’s hole noisily. Raul had shoved his hands into his shorts and was stroking eagerly as the Damien's feet slurped inside while the model groaned and contorted, arching his neck and back and standing on the tips of his toes, cringing at the pain and pleasure racking through his body.

Damien was gleefully readjusting his out-of-proportion frame within the squeezing, slimy, meaty confines of the model’s body, feeling different parts of the model’s sides, abs, and back twitch, flex, and contort, as his body tried to adjust to its invader. He could hear the muffled sounds of Raul’s horny, drunken laughter from the outside, thinking he for sure must have been making the model appear to have a substantially pregnant beer gut as Damien’s body centralized in his torso. After using a stretched out hand to brush his lubricated, wet hair out of his face, Damien went to work shoving his limbs into the model’s extremities.

Damien loudly moaned from within the body as he felt his arms and legs come to new life with increased strength and size while his limbs shoved through slick meat like a tight sleeve into the model’s beefy appendages. He smirked, feeling cocky and horny as he felt his arms burst into massive cannons and his heart fluttered as he felt the rest of him come to life. Damien arched in exhilarated bliss as he felt his chest, torso, and back first compress under the weight of the model’s squeezing body and then surge outward in new sensations of power and mass as Damien’s senses merged with the model’s, enticing him to give his big chest a flex to feel it bounce with new weight.

Raul nearly blew his load from an observer’s perspective. The model’s head was lolled backwards and his eyes rolled back while his body underwent what looked to be an instant pump, his muscles standing out more prominently under his skin, bit by bit, as his boyfriend filled him up like a balloon. Raul gasped as he stroked himself, watching Damien fill up the model’s lower half, making his already impressive thighs and glutes swell larger still. The thong he was wearing for the shoot looked somehow more risqué than earlier, hugging the model’s sweaty skin more tightly and accentuating his now-larger parts. The model was no longer the shredded twunk he was when he came into the apartment, but a swaggering thicc muscle stud with his and Damien’s combined mass.

Finally, Raul could see a sizable lump appear from near the model’s collarbone, stretching the model’s gold chain to its limit, as Damien began to shove his own head upwards into the model’s. He began to elicit deeper, gurgling groans as Damien wiggled and stretched his head up into the neck. Raul felt himself nearing completion as the model’s head suddenly jolted upwards with a dull crack, the lump in the model’s throat now gone. It wasn’t until Raul heard Damien utter his first satisfied groan in the model’s low voice that he blew his pent up load all over the floor in front of him.

Damien rolled his head around in his new body, stretched his shoulders and panted a few more breaths. He touched the foreign curves and angles in his face for a moment, turned on by his own handsome, sharp, smooth face. He felt sweat dripping off him from his exertion and huffed a big whiff of the new musk he emitted. Not bad!

“Alright!” He rubbed his hands off his face and down his pillowy chest.

“Let’s take some pictures.”

Damien turned to see that Raul had blown a sizable load all over the floor, some even on the set, and giggled as Raul chuckled, panting, coaxing the last of his load out of his shaft, letting it dribble down his fingers and onto the puddle below.

“Already?! Come on, man,” Damien chastised playfully.

“Sorry, babe, I just love the way you filled him out, dude. Fuck!”

“Oh? Y’like?” Damien teased walking towards him, saucily lolling his tongue out while he flexing his arms hard and tensing his pec muscles several times. He was being corny like always, but Raul was kicked into 5th gear again, instantly ready to blow another load.

“Yeah, dude, I fuckin’ do,” Raul took the liberty of feeling up Damien’s slick muscle gut, running his hands over his protruding abs. Damien could see how into this his boyfriend was and decided to move things forward a bit.

He grabbed Raul’s hand and shoved it into his thong, feeling his new hardening 7 incher steel against his boyfriend’s palm. He humped and gyrated his mammoth cock against Raul’s hand and asked, “What about the shoot?”

“Shoot can wait,” Raul moaned as he gripped onto Damien’s slick dick and stroked, lifting up Damien’s huge arm with his other hand and burying his face into Damien’s sweaty pits, licking and lapping at the moist surface while inhaling deeply.

Damien lifted up his other arm for Raul to let his boyfriend worship his other pit, bouncing his pecs a bit as Raul slathered his greedy face across his sweaty jugs on his way to the next pit. Damien grinned as he felt Raul continue to lovingly work his shaft. He was looking forward to a hedonistic, indulgent weekend with his boyfriend—he just hoped they eventually remember to finish the shoot.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Law catching you impersonating him…

Placing the white hat on top of your head, you wiggled it slightly to get the right adjustment. It was a slightly looser fit but it was enough to not slip off.

Crossing your arms, you attempted to pose with a menacing scowl.

“I’m Trafalgar D. Water Law.” You declared mimicking his tone.

Shachi and Penguin threw their heads back with a cackle. Ikkaku clasped her stomach and barrelled forward. Bepo jumped up with his paws in the air.

“Do another one!” He cried in delight.

Turning your back to them, you laughed before recomposing yourself and then whirled around halfway. One arm was extended, fingers and palm facing down.

“Room.” You called out, resulting in the same boisterous laughter from the crew. You flipped your hand upright in the same manner as the broody captain did. “Shambles.”

…silence.

You frowned and looked at the faces staring back at you all traces of their previous smiles gone. Had you done it wrong?

Even Bepo was looking at you funny with his jaw slack.

Looking over your hand and stance, you scratched your head. “I’m sure I got it right.” You said and glanced at your friends. “Was I not deadpan enough? Or broody? Maybe I wasn’t dramatic enough…”

“Y/n-ya.” Law called out.

Turning your head to him, you sent him a quick wave. “Oh, hi.” You said before returning to figure out what was wrong with your performance.

Recounting all the elements, it took you longer than it should have to realise that their lack of cheers was because you all had been caught by the Heart Pirate Captain.

Your stomach should have dropped, you should have frozen in fear like the rest but there was a sense of pride in you. Law was far too rigid, his reasons were valid, but a simple moment of lighthearted humour surely couldn’t hurt. Although, maybe he’d disagree if it was at his expense.

He stepped forward and you couldn’t help but internally chuckle at his unruly hair. You would definitely attempt to rake your fingers through that mess to bother him next.

He looked at his frozen crew and with a single glare, they scurried to their usual duties. Bepo squeaking in a panic before he too vanished to hide.

Law looked at you and let out a small sigh. “I told you not to take my hat.”

He reached out to take it back when you ducked and stepped out of reach.

“You also told me that I’d be back on the Thousand Sunny three days ago.” You argued.

It’s not that you didn’t love a few extra days on the Polar Tang but you were desperately missing the antics of the Strawhats and it was starting to show aboard the Heart Pirates.

Law said nothing to address the delay. He closed the space and lifted the soft fabric from your head to place it back atop his own but this time, it carried the faint scent of your shampoo.

You watched as he turned and started to walk away. With a smile, you cupped your hands over your mouth.

“Admit it, it looks better on me!” You called out behind him.

Law merely lowered his head, hiding a small smile - it definitely looked better on you.

~ More imagines here ~

[superblysubpar]

thank you so much for requesting @retrosabers soooooooooooooo...idk what this is. but it turned into a makeup sex, kind of angry with steve, to I guess, the beginnings of the "How Sweet It Is AU" for me?? - you could just read this as stand alone smut, but please read the warnings below if you're unfamiliar with that AU and don't want a pretty big surprise at the end!

2,119 words

warnings: mentions of wearing Steve's boxers, SMUT (piv intercourse - creampie, angry/makeup sex & all the language and actions that may go with it - some kingish steve vocabulary if you will)| pregnant reader announcement - see How Sweet It Is AU warnings for more | my blog is 18+

Late Summer, Early Fall, 1986

Your fingers slip from his neck and shoulders, sweat slicked tan skin there making the bright red of the scratches you made brighter. Angrier. 

They match the mood -  the deep lines between his brows, the pout of your lips, the brutal punch of his thrust inside of you, the clench of your jaw so you don’t do something satisfying like scream his name or fuck, say sorry. 

Neither of you can remember what started it now. You said something bratty, he said something even more so. Sharp tones and stressful weeks. Cupboards and drawers with volume and slams worthy of a battle of the bands. Silent tooth brushing while glaring at one another in the mirror sessions, and purposeful, childish things, like making only enough coffee for one cup each morning.  

Not that you had even wanted any today. 

The sun was brutal, the AC was busted, and Steve had found you lying on the hard kitchen floor, practically naked, and sipping something out of a blue, glass mason jar that was sweating more than you. 

He’d swallowed at the sight of your stomach and arms fully on display, the curve of lace over your chest, his boxers rolled over your thighs too high to be decent if you stood. Perhaps Steve could have taken the gesture of you wearing next to nothing as a white flag, but all he could think about was how hot he was, how tight the tie was around his neck, and how he was mad at you for a reason he didn’t even remember. 

Steve stepped over to the thermostat and without opening your eyes you called, “No difference.”

“When’s the last time you checked?” He grumbled under his breath, tapping at it with a roll of his eyes. “No difference.”

“Right,” you propped up on your elbows, glaring at him as you snapped, “Like I just said.”

He looked right at you for what felt like the first time in years, when really it had only been a day or two. But the sight of eyes that were honey turned hard, though just as sticky as they lingered on your own, had something in your chest warming. 

Steve glanced down at your body again as he yanked at his tie, throwing it on the counter before taking on his naturally annoyed position of hands on his hips. His fingers flexed against them while his head tilted in a way that exposed his throat more, made it easy to follow his swallow or the bead of sweat curving down his jaw. It made you want to curse whatever god created this man, and that was before he opened his mouth with a tone bitchy enough to match his pose. 

“Can you put a shirt on?”

The bite of his question made your eyes narrow, made you stick out your peachy, lace covered chest more just to spite him. His gaze returned to yours, challenging, fire burning between you both making his gaze molten - pure lava that was sure to consume you before you even had the thought of running from it. 

You stood as he harshly unbuttoned the white button down he was dressed in, revealing dark chest hair and the gold chain nestled there, both threatening to make you fold first, but you couldn’t. Wouldn’t. 

His finger’s movements slowed as they worked at the cuffs when you set your glass on the counter. As you took a step closer, then another, you both refused to break eye contact until your chests were almost touching and your chin tipped up at him in your own challenge back. 

“Make me.”

The space between your lips buzzed, his cupid’s bow mocking you, the heave of your chest doing the same to him.  

Maybe you tilted higher first, maybe he bent lower, but your lips crashed into each other - literally. 

Teeth against plush bottom lips and noses bumping, hands gripping at each other like you’re about to push the other off, yet you both only get closer. 

Steve pants into your mouth, his fingers dig into the skin just below your ribs as he pushes you in a direction clumsily, till your back is hitting the counter and you can feel how hard he already is as he pulls your hips against his own. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of making any noise when his thumb brushes over a hard nipple through lace, or when his tongue meets yours. He doesn’t give you any either when you pull a little hard at the hair at the back of his head and roll your hips. 

Neither of you say a word or let your faces show any sign that this is all exactly what you want, what you need when he pushes at the boxers and lets them fall to the floor as he lifts you onto the counter or when you pull and push at his belt and dress slacks enough to free his length. 

Steve slips up a little when you wrap your hand around him, his head thrown back and teeth digging into his lip, fists forming against the counter next to your thighs with each slow tug. 

“What’s the matter Steve?” Faux pouting lips form the coy question while your hand pumps faster. You smirk when Steve lets loose a shaky exhale on your next words. “You wanna tell me how good it feels? How turned on you are right now? How sor-“

You inhale sharply when his thumbs spread you and a low rumble leaves his lips, too close to your ear, “Oh babe…me? I think if anyone here is turned on it’s-fuck.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass and pushing him closer so his tip hits your entrance, your hand glides it through your folds dripping around him already, teasing at your clit then back down. 

“Speaking of fuck-oh.”

Your brows knit together, lips clamp shut as he slides into you slowly. His chest is heaving, white button down open so you could scrape you nails down the gray tank top revealed to you now, but you don’t. Your eyelashes are fluttering, fingers slipping against the counter and back arching so he could go deeper. 

He doesn’t. 

Steve keeps his thrusts shallow and slow, only giving you just enough to make you angry. Your cheeks grow hot, spine tingling, tongue pushing against your teeth with every glide in, silently willing, begging, him to go deeper. 

Your clit throbs, heels dig into him, but Steve stands firm, watching you closely, waiting till you look up at him. 

One damp strand of brown hair falls over his forehead, while eyes soften towards you again. Sweat rolls down his temple, each pulse of his steady heartbeat making his cologne sharper, mint and cedar distracting you, placating you. When you grip at his shoulders, finally touching him again, he exhales as his name leaves you in a whisper. 

“Steve,” your fingers grip the collar of his button down, “More.”

As your hands slip, nails curling into his chest, Steve finally gives you more. 

Then he stops.

Pressed against you, he inhales slow and steady, watching you. His arms flex around yours as his palms press to the cool counter, ignoring how thrilled he is to feel you fluttering around him fully now. 

He grins, finally, when a whine bubbles out of your throat at the lack of movement. He can’t help himself, raising his pitch and mocking your words earlier, “What’s the matter? Wanna tell me how good it feels? Wanna tell me you’re sor-“

“I said more,” you gasp around the words, rolling your hips until his hands fly to them and hold them in place. 

Steve looks at you seriously, black lust filled pupils taken over his gaze, and his tongue slides over his bottom lip before he speaks, like he’s debating his words. 

“I did give you more. Want something else? Gonna have to be specific babe. Maybe use a word that starts with ‘P’ and ends with leas-“

“Fucking, fuck me, Harrington!” You grip the cotton tank between your fingers, voice hot and body hotter and only getting more so when he throws his head back in a laugh. A laugh which only makes you clench around him more and spurring him on. 

“Harrington?! Did you just call me Harrington and then tell me to fuck you?!” He grins wider, his perfect smile on display, like he just can’t help himself. 

“Would you prefer King Ste-ohmygod!”

Steve pulls out and thrusts into you hard, his forehead furrowed as his mouth searches for yours. You meet him in a kiss that starts with another gasp as he sets a brutal pace. Your fingers slip around his neck and he lays over you so your back is against the counter. His hands drag you to the edge still, so his hips can meet yours over and over again as his tongue works at the seam of your lips once more.

He slows his kiss down, sucking on your bottom lip and pulling, breath exhaled against your cheek through his nose as your back arches and your nails leave their marks. Steve keeps thrusting, coarse hair hitting your clit that only aches for more when he releases your mouth. Lips kiss bitten and parting in shock when he speaks down to you with a deep and hoarse gravel, chest heaving as his nails scratch down your thigh. 

“Am I fucking you good enough, honey?” He pushes at your legs, bending them up and towards your chest so you do cry out as he somehow gets more inside of you, “Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

He rolls his hips, a thumb pressed to your clit and you break, the lava creeping closer. 

Steve groans when you gasp a yes, a more. 

He thrusts faster, hands skating over your body, pulling and tugging you closer to him, lips brushing against your jaw then your neck as he speaks. 

“Wanna come for me baby? Feels like you do, this pussy’s just crying around me.”

You gasp at the filth coming out of him, hating that it only makes him slip inside of you easier, faster. 

Steve lets your legs fall, guiding one around his hip and the other pressed next to your head, his torso rising so his gaze can stay on where your bodies meet with an intensity you haven’t quite seen before. He looks like an older version of a Steve you met a long time ago. 

Realizing now, his pants aren’t even down, his shirt only just unbuttoned, chain glistening in damp chest hair. His forearm veins and shoulders flex with determination you used to see on a court, jaw pulsing, and his brow sweating, but no longer furrowed - like he knows he’s won. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, tongue between his lips as his thumb swipes over your clit in a large figure eight and you jolt. His hand reflexively pushes your shoulder down, while he keeps working on the swollen nerves in time with his thrusts. 

Each pass, each thrust, is a clock counting down drowning out a crowd for him, knowing if he just keeps going, he’ll make it. For you, it’s lava gaining ground, inches from your demise, the heat licking at your body now enough for you to cry out his name just like an adoring fan. 

Steve grunts, brow furrowed again so he can focus on what he’s trying to say. 

“Oh, it’s first name basis again, yeah? Did that good of a job? An-another slut satisfied with their fuck from Harrington?”

You cry out a yes, literally, your orgasm breaking over you in multiple releases. You clench around him, thighs tightening on his hips and Steve’s rhythm stutters as you take everything he gives you. The rush of every pent up emotion makes it’s way over your lash lines. Angry tears, sad tears, relieved tears. Maybe delirious as you start laughing, fingers swiping at them and Steve’s head whips up. 

He slips out of you with a wince, his fingers catching the tears and his forehead furrowed with worry now, “Baby, babe. Hey, hey, hey, what’s-I’m sorry, that was too far, I thought you-“

“Steve,” you hiccup, fingers catching his, eyes doing the same to worried and back to warm honey irises. 

He waits, thumbs soothing over yours only pausing when you speak again. The scratches on his neck and shoulders pink now, less angry - sorry. They match the pink lips that part, the cheeks that stand out behind tear tracks. They still match the mood. 

Softer. 

Sweeter. 

Just like the words leaving your lips. 

“I’m pregnant.”

[namu-the-orca]

Do you have any advice on how to begin drawing a cetacean? When I'm drawing terrestrial animals, I can break them down into simpler shapes pretty easily, but cetaceans are just Big Tubes and I'm completely stumped on how to start

(Disclaimer that my work is rather stylised, so I'm not looking for advice on photorealism! Just any advice you have in general. I admire your ability to understand and render these sausage-bodied beasts)

Hi! That's an interesting question. I have to admit I had to draw a couple of dolphins first to see how I actually deal with them when free-handing lol. So much of my work as of late is scientific illustration, where in many cases I can build upon my own older illustrations. The new pieces are always 100% new, but correcting a base - however poor - is easier than starting from scratch.

Before I go any further let me stress the eternal importance of references. I can draw a dolphin fine from memory but for it to be actually accurate I need references. I always use them. Especially when it comes to weird poses or angles, but even for illustrations I will reference 25-50 photographs. Use them, study them, find them. They are a resource not a cheat.

Also, years ago I actually started work on a whole series of dolphin drawing tutorials. Or rather, collections of notes and tips for different topics (anatomy, differences between males and females, colouration, variation). Looking at the files now I see I had actually written and drawn a frightening amount already. Perhaps I should try to finish them? Is that something people would be interested in? Anyway, it starts off with a word of encouragement, which I do want to share here:

Actual advice is below the cut:

ONTO METHODS - illustrations

I found that for me, my method depends on whether I'm making an illustration or a full scene painting. For illustrations - which are in flat side view - I actually embrace the sausage. I drew a dolphin for you and saved the steps of how I go about it.

And this is the first. I start with a sort of flat-bottomed airfoil shape, and then add fins and a beak in approximate locations.

Next is refining the appendages and giving a face. Shape and placement of appendages as well as eye and mouth line is all experience and/or reference work.

Then comes fixing what I messed up lol. I always make the head too big first try (would have been good for a baby dolphin though!). Using cutting/transforming/moving selections around I correct proportions to what feels correct to me (again, that part comes from having seen and drawn a lot of dolphins).

Add some markings and hooray we have a spinner dolphin! This is the part where I would seriously start consulting references to check all the details and proportions are in order. If you don't need (photo)realism you can skip that step and use refs further back in the process just to get the shape/idea/colour of the species you're trying to paint right.

MORE METHODS - for different poses

When it comes to dynamic poses, my workflow is completely different. I just start from the nose and build my dolphin from there. Because as said above, they do have anatomy. And I think the way the beak flows into the cheek, the eye bumps connect, then the curve of the throat, the attachment of the pectoral fin, the way the belly curved up towards the genital region, the slight bulge behind that, then the muscles of the peduncle which flow into the flukes - I think the relations between those separate parts are enough for me?

These are the little dolphins (and a porpoise) I sketched from memory. In all cases I started from the tip of the nose and built from there, with minimal or no adjustments/erasing along the way. It was very much outline work. Details on eyes, mouth, etc, would come later. The killer whale is a bit different and got way more detailed than the rest. With such a front view angle I do use some spherical shapes to break it down for the body and face.

Otherwise I've never really liked or used the method of breaking an animal down into shapes, it never felt logical or intuitive to me. My "method" (if you can call it that lol) just comes from having drawn a lot of dolphins. I don't know if it is necessarily helpful when you want to get a grasp of them when starting out. Regardless I do hope this answered your question somewhat and you could get something useful out of it!

Also, I realise now I mostly talked about "standard "dolphins - for whales/short-beaked smaller cetaceans/etc my process is mostly the same, except their heads just have different shapes.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Saint of the Smallest Sun

The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. The lesser angels were taken on a tour in proto-humanoid-vessels, before the real humans were awoken. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.

The second time she came to earth, it had had an extra 4.5 billion years in which to rot, and she was forced there. One moment, she was processing information through the incorporeal fibers of her wings, and the next she was bound to a 5 foot circle of space in a human form wearing a pantsuit. She looked from the ring of holy fire surrounding her to the room it was set in; a crumpled bed with a stretched out photograph as  the duvet pattern, a series of posters depicting scenes from the Winchester Gospels, a chunky computer monitor showing a forum comment page, and a young woman kneeling amongst a flurry of papers with a mortar and pestle beside her, the crackle of after-magic still hovering over it. The woman was staring at her, eyes and mouth agape, like one of the fish that the archangel Gabriel kept brandishing at anyone close to him on that first day on earth. Ambriel had only seen it from a distance, but the image had remained in her mind, as everything she learned remained.

Ambriel touched her own cheek gently, and then pinched it hard between her fingers. She winced. This wasn't a vessel. This temporary form must have been crafted by the spell, which suggested that the person who brought her here was either a powerful spellcaster or had an abnormally strong sense of will. She glanced skeptically back at the kneeling woman, who had brought up both hands to cover her mouth and was still just staring at her. Maybe there was a third option.

"Can you let me go?" She tried, careful to speak with her new vocal chords instead of her true voice. It scratched a little, but seemed serviceable. "I have like, a lot to do."

"Mmnnhn," the human said, muffled by her own hands, and then she started and dropped them: "I mean. Michael. Wow! I was expecting - I mean, just based on all the other characters, I thought you'd be, you know, a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with girls - I - I was such a big fan of Jo! You know, after it was clear she wasn't going to be a threat to the brother's relationship. I just think it gets in the way, sometimes, like, the story is about men, why do girls even need to be involved, you know? But I am a feminist! So, yeah, I- I love that you're a woman that's - that's great."

Ambriel squinted at her, deeply confused. What is she talking about? This seemed to fluster the woman, who finally blinked, and rapidly.

"Oh, god. Don't ramble Becky. Be normal. Be normal, Becky. Okay! So..."

The woman - Becky, presumably - lowers her forehead to the floor and links her fingers in front of her in a prayer pose. Her voice trembles when she speaks again:

"Dear...you. I know I'm not important to the story. And I know it's not fated or plotted or anything. But I thought...I have to try, right? That's what Sam would do. Trying against impossible odds is what Supernatural is all about. So, I'm here on behalf of humanity to beg for our lives. Please. Don't do the Apocalypse. It'd be really bad if you did the Apocalypse. Chuck's not the most descriptive writer, but from what I've seen of his notes...yikes. And it's already pretty bad now, just with Lucifer walking the Earth. Just, grab him and duke it out on Mars, or something, if you really have to fight. Please, please, just leave the Earth alone."

"You want me to...cancel the Apocalypse?" Ambriel asked, and Becky desperately nodded. "Oh, I can't do that. So, can you let me out now, or...?"

Read my Becky/Ambriel fic, Saint of the Smallest Sun, on ao3 for more!

[iztea]

Iztea I need your help💔💔 I'm genuinely trying to find my art style but I'm not very good at art in the first place, I'm a beginner and I just don't feel motivated to draw anymore because I'm not good at it,, can you pls link your tutorials so I can try to follow them the best I can..😓 I genuinely love your art and your a huge inspiration but I can't draw for shit. A lot of the tutorials on YouTube don't actually help me as much as they do for other people so I'm lowkey putting my faith in you to try and help me lmao, I just can't get the proportions of anything right, like I can't draw a body or head,, and when I trace things it just feels like cheating in art like ugghhjjnn,, can you help me😓☹��

If you struggle with proportions, then drawing over the reference photo (which you should totally have, btw) to get a feel for the distance between things is a great starting point. I also think you should have simplified anatomy references, as well as references from other artists. Basically, everything I mentioned here i don't want to repeat the same points

Tracing is not "cheating" if you're using it to learn. It can be very distasteful if it's used for finished art, where it is obviously meant to replace actual skill, or if it's traced from another artist. If you're using it to study and as a stepping stone to improve your skills, then it's totally fine and even encouraged (it's like doing assisted pull-ups at the gym). But you gotta to play it smart—tracing the actual outline without engaging in critical thought leads to ugly, mediocre, commercialized art that we don't want because we're cool based and always striving to improve ourselves

Okay anyways "But how exactly do I trace references in a smart way, iztea?" Well, like I said, you can lower the opacity of your reference photo and draw over it. Use the general shapes and volume of the body as your guide until you learn to draw without them. Don't follow the outline exactly—exaggerate or stylize the limbs to your liking. For example, I like drawing small wrists and long, slim necks because I think it looks more appealing. So whenever I'm using a reference, I (subconsciously most of the time) slim these body parts down, elongate the fingers, and so on. If you're still not sure what your style is, that's fine too. Use this exercise to find out what your hand naturally leans into

I'm not the cleanest sketcher, and it's been a while since I've done this sort of approach, so excuse the messiness but I wanted to show an example of how I'd tackle this technique. If you look closely, you'll see that I didn't exactly draw over the body parts, especially in the neck and arm area. I exaggerated the posture by adding more gestures—I made the shoulders rounder, the skull bigger, and the arms and neck longer and slimmer. I didn't focus on details like the face or fingers because that's not the point

The next important step after creating your guidelines is to redraw the lines from scratch on a separate layer, but this time without the reference. Set the reference aside and focus on copying your own guidelines. Afterward, compare the two drawings to check if your proportions are accurate. If they're off, take note of any recurring mistakes and correct them. For example, I have a tendency to draw the mouth too far down on the face, so it's something I am always aware of whenever I'm drawing. Other times, I draw the eyebrows too high from the eyes and so on. Another important thing to point out is that not all references are created equal—there are such things as bad or poor references. If the body’s silhouette looks like a blob or the limbs are heavily foreshortened, you'll find it much harder to draw so for practice, I recommend choosing poses that are fluid, clear, and expressive, with good lighting and features you can exaggerate. This will make it easier to understand the form and you'll have more fun in general I've provided a little comparison below. I'm not saying the 2nd pose is terrible and impossible to draw, it's obviously not, you can draw anything you want howeveerrr if you're just starting out, painting the 2nd one can be much more challenging due to it not being very clear in shape, value range, pose, gesture etc. So what I'm trying to say is to choose your poses wisely too

I don't remember doing any tutorials outside that hair one unless you consider my rambling sessions tutorials (i don't) but you can also scroll through the #ask iztea: art talk hashtag for whatever art-related question I might have answered I'm too lazy to link everything so YOU put the work and stalk my page

anyways yeah idk this is how i'd start.... so to summarize:

pull up references, from both real-life people, simplified anatomy sheets, and artists you like

draw over your reference photo and treat it as your training wheels

close the og reference, and use the newly traced, much more simplified outline as your new reference, and now draw the pose again, but "freehand" this time

compare the traced and the freehand version, take notice of your proportions and try to correct them

choose good, readable, easy to draw refs

never give up never what

[tumblingxelian]

Wednesday Fanfic Concept - The Nevermore Affair

Summary:

When Wednesday Addams was forced to attend Nevermore Academy she was confident about two things.

1: She would be escaping in short order. 2: She would in no way follow her mothers matrimonial footsteps.

Which begs the question of how she managed to find herself engaged twice over within the first twenty four hours!?

Worse still, it is to the two most vexing people at Nevermore, Enid Sinclair and Bianca Barclay.

Concept:

Nevermore is quite literally a magical place.

One suffused with the power of oath and ritual, so much so that it requires a specialized rulebook to make sure you don't accidentally invoke a binding spell on accident.

Nevermore's Guide to the Magical and Mundane. This was a guidebook that Wednesday did not read because she had no intention of staying.

This becomes a problem on the first night when her argument with Enid is not interrupted and spills over into an actual fight after Wednesday ignored Enid's physical "Back off" warning.

This is a fight Wednesday loses due to not knowing Enid knew martial arts, underestimating her Lycan strength and generally assuming Enid posed no real threat and would become afraid the moment she gave her a slight scare.

Instead said fight ended with Enid's fangs buried in her neck, fangs Enid normally doesn't have access to.

Enid freaks out, apologies and flees while Wednesday is left annoyed, confused, a touch disappointed in several ways but dismissed it as "I miscalculated, won't happen again."

Long story short, the pose Enid adopted was actually a Lycan custom, saying "If you step forward to battle, you place your life in my hands"

So when she wins & doesn't kill Wednesday… Yeah you get it.

The very next morning, Wednesday arrives at fencing all kitted up in her suit from home, mask on her face and neck markings covered.

As is custom she picks a fight with Bianca and after a win, a loss with the final round being a tie breaker, she demands either military rules or something with similar principles much to the tittering of the crowed.

Wednesday herself ignores it, simply having defaulted to something she knows will make the fight more dangerous cos her parents always did it and she is excited but also wants to know Bianca off balance.

Duel of Dominion perhaps? Duel of Blood perhaps? Not sure.

Bianca, is incredibly vexed and not a little bit scared. Interpreting this as Wednesday trying to either 'claim' her or intimidate her into surrendering, but she is not about to back down.

Enid's efforts to subtly intervene are ignored by all and while normally the coach would intervene. Due to a mix of Wednesday's background and the fact Bianca can just refuse he doesn't.

They duel, Bianca wins.

"I suppose I will get to see you in white," She intones, before licking Wednesday's blood off the blade and sealing the pact.

"Its barely a scratch" Wednesday dismissed, taking off her helmet and revealing Enid's mark.

Much to the crowds surprise; the act itself may even have been encouraged by Enid.

Xavier starts losing his shit and is sent away.

It is worth noting that the binding can be broken, but that is an expensive and drawn out process and requires the victors permission.

Bianca intended to just hold onto it to keep Wednesday until she could extract a major debt from the Addams for breaking it.

Enid has no idea if the bond can be broken or even happened given her own issues, but was hoping to find a solution in secret.

Wednesday is sent to the nurses office for the cut but also to ensure she is physically well and also not been siren songed or anything else. This is also where she finds out about... All this and reacts as you'd expect.

Meanwhile, Coach Vlad drags Enid & Bianca to Weems to explain how Wednesday somehow got herself engaged by ancient rights of Lycan culture and Nevermore dueling culture within 24 hours!

Fun fact, but because both of these happened and in such quick succession, breaking the bindings will be much harder than normal.

Weems: I have the sneaking suspicion this is going to be about Miss Addams somehow. Enid (Trying to ease the tension) Well its Misses Addams now isn't it? Bianca (Exhausted with this) If you think I'm taking her name you're insane. Weems:... I trust... I pray that you two are merely telling a poor joke. Vlad: No Madame, I am afraid not.

Somewhere in Nevermore a scream of outrage echoed through the stone halls.

Notes:

This is very much a "Crack taken seriously" style story. It begins as a comedy of errors and becomes much more messy and complicated as the three have to navigate the bonds, trying to break them, live with them, other people's perceptions of them and so on. Let alone the murder mystery.

[ryndicate]

As you wish ⨳ Thorkell 

Pride is not worth dying for.

notes: this will probably be updated with smut at another time, it's been sitting in my drafts for a bit and i just don’t have the brain for adding the spice rn </3 but i really enjoy the idea, and the next part will have a fun little plot twist sooo yk. hehe. enjoy my little story dump for now. drabble length, less than 1k.

warnings: wrote this from the time period of the series itself, so pls note that reader was sold to her husband! time period misogyny! also blood/death mentions

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules/DNI

"IS THERE ANY OTHER MEN WORTH A DAMN IN THIS DAMN PLACE OR DO I NEED TO MAKE MYSELF WELCOME IN THE NEXT?"

The giant of a man leers around the destroyed hall, one eye clothed the other crazed. His face and clothing are splattered with blood, the same which drips from the flat blade of his remaining axe. The other still lays embedded in your husband's—former husband's—chest plate.

The other women lay cowering beneath the tables, some silent and shaking and other's shaking and crying. You, however, remain seated at the head table, as you have been since this giant and his men stormed the lord's hall.

His shoulders seem to sag as his bellowed call goes unanswered, and he shakes another stream of red onto the floor. His stare rounds the room and this is the moment you choose to stand, and he notices. His expression doesn't seem to change as you round the table, brows set, but his head tilts as you gather your skirts and crouch by the dead lord's side.

"He was almost worth the effort."

You glance up at him, finding the giant standing above you. He gives you a broad smile and his expression, misplaced in the chaos around you, recalls to you something you already knew, but had forgotten. His appearance meets the description; towering height, tall blond hair tied back in a headband, muscular beyond reason.

"I imagine there aren't many men worth your effort, Thorkell the Tall," you return impassively.

"Those are pretty nice words to give your lover's killer," Thorkell banters with you far too easily.

Resolutely, your hand closes around the shaft of the axe in the corpse, and it takes you great effort to pull it free. Besides the incredible heft, there is nothing special about it. But still, you trace its blade almost lovingly, fingers smoothing down from iron steel to the pine finish. You pay the blood no mind.

The enemy warrior doesn't tense, doesn't stiffen, nor show any sign of threat. You don't imagine you pose any to the likes of him, even with a weapon in hand. You tilt your head back to gaze upon his face as you lift the weapon towards him in offering. "That man was my husband, but I have yet to take a lover in this lifetime."

Thorkell pauses only a moment before accepting his axe. "Yet?"

You smile at him coyly. "If you so wish, I yet have a life ahead of me. I choose to be optimistic."

"Yer placin' your life in my hands?" He rumbles now, scratching his head with a slow forming grin. He’s peering at you closely now, and you can only hope you’ve got his attention.

"I was one of the many slave wives of this hall, but it was me you saw seated at my master's side. I can be valuable to you, if you wish to buy me."

"And who's to sell you then if your master rots at my feet?"

"My cost is them." You step closer to the giant, catching his gaze and purposefully drawing it towards the women still trembling on their bellies. They certainly haven't escaped his notice, nor his followers'. "You nor your men are to lay a finger on them. Allow them the choice of their own freedom, and in return I am whatever you wish of me. My fate lies with you now, Thorkell the Tall."

“Any of them English?”

You tilt your head curiously but answer him all the same. “No. Each of us are a spoil of conquest. Our homelands are elsewhere.”

Thorkell hums to himself and rests his axes on his shoulders. He seems to be mulling over your words, and you’ll take that for what it is, holding your head high and not allowing yourself to tremble after coming this far. Coming this far means nothing if it ends in naught. You are not scared of this warrior. You are not scared for even your own life. Your last few years have been hell under your former lord and way he treated you. Your only peace has been the kindness shared between the other wives and servants, so failing to save them is the only thing you fear. If you can do this for them, even if it leads to more suffering or your own death so be it. You will stand tall.

“As you wish then.” A weight leaves your shoulders for a bare moment, but he continues, and it begins to thump and patter as you try to keep a calm expression. His cheer remains untouched; there’s something deeper in his eyes now that calms you somewhat, though you don’t quite understand. “I like ya. Not like most dames, I’ll give ya that. So, I’ll give ya the chance to prove yerself.”

“To prove myself?” 

The warrior turns his back to you and slams both axes into the wood of table, shafts held aloft from how deep the blades sink in. It’s loud, frightening the other women into short shrieks as they curl in on themselves. “Men! We’ll be resting here tonight and taking advantage of their fine hospitality. Anyone who touches the women here will be responsible for the stain on my honor and will answer to me. If ye be so bold, I look forward to it. We'll rejoin Askeladd in the morn.”

Some of his men laugh, cheer. Others look chastened, intimidated. You resonate with both. You imagine there are few who would find themselves at perfect ease with such a formidable fighter.

Thorkell turns to face you, grin still in place, and you find yourself cast in his shadow.

“Show me to yer dead lord’s chambers. They’re ours for the evening.”

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Actually Decent (3)

[12:47 pm] HEY gav

[12:47 pm] guess what

[12:48 pm] me and Jasmine are finally official 

 

Gavin glanced down at his phone, scanning through the messages he had just received from Tina, scoffing fondly. After a few moments of deliberation, he fired off a playful response:

 

You:

that's great ti

and the last nine months of you hooking up in the supply closet didnt count because…?

 

As the reply was sent, Nines emerged from the kitchen, deftly sidestepping the assembly of cats congregating at his feet. Carrie seemed determined to trip him up, intercepting his path with every movement. Wendy supported the efforts, trailing closely behind, batting her tail. 

The android was wearing one of his favourite lounging tops, an old graphic t-shirt of Gavin's that he hadn't worn in years. It depicted a montage of famous horror icons drawn in a cartoonish style. Their arms were draped around each other as they posed for a group photo, pulling faces at the camera. 

 

Actually Decent (2)

Because its finally on the socials <3 <3 <3

this is the best day of my life

 

Observing his approach, Gavin couldn't help but marvel at how Nines managed to look so effortlessly good whilst wearing a beaten-up shirt that was at least fifteen years old—paired with a set of baggy sweatpants that looked like they'd lost a fight with a swarm of moths. 

He supposed it helped that the garment was a tad too short, teasing at a small sliver of midsection every time he raised his arms. It was downright pornographic, and he intended to write a letter to CyberLife regarding the issue. Either a complaint or a thank you. He hadn't decided yet. 

"The popcorn is in the microwave," Nines smoothly informed, scooping up the most placid of the cats, Nancy, into his arms. He stroked her soft brown fur in long, affectionate brushes before skillfully finding the sweet spot between her neck and ear. The cat melted into the touch as the android moved his fingers with well-rehearsed precision.

"Okay, cool, now all we gotta do is find something to watch," Gavin mumbled, tearing his attention away from the appealing sight long enough to trail his thumb across the power button of a chewed-up television remote. 

The action was delayed, however, as not seconds after setting down his phone, it fired off again, demanding his attention with a precession of frenzied dings:

 

Actually Decent (7)

I might ask her if she wants to move in with me 

thats the next step after socials right?

OMG

GSVNI

G AS VIN

GAVIN*

Is it too early to propose?

 

Nines had reached the sofa, tutting frustratedly at the pair of legs strewn across the thoroughly claw-marked cushions. He nudged one of the offending limbs with his knee, continuing to scratch behind the ear of an increasingly vocal Nancy. "Move."

Gavin huffed indignantly, although a playful roll of his eyes assured it wasn't serious. He raised his legs, allowing his partner to sit before casually slumping his feet across his lap. Nines, having anticipated this, lifted up the fluffy mound that was purring appreciatively in his arms. Once settled, he placed the cat in the junction between his feet.

As he replied to Tina, the android claimed the forgotten remote and proceeded to flick through channels, searching for something of interest.

 

You:

How very lesbian of you.

Yes its too early you freak.

 

Actually Decent:

:( Sad.

we could have had a joint wedding.

When you and Nines get married, are you gonna take his name, or are you gonna keep yours?

 

You:

Nines doesn't have a last name 

and he's basically taken mine already

 

Actually Decent:

Awww, that sucks. I thought Gavin Serial Number 

313 248 317 - 87 had a nice ring to it.

I'd definitely take Jas’ surname. Mrs and Mrs 162 441 229. Really rolls off the tongue don't you think <3 

 

"I'm not seeing anything I think we'd particularly enjoy," Nines commented, as he made a subtle gesture towards the TV.

Gavin looked up to inspect the screen and was assaulted with a visual barrage of rapidly changing images, blurring into each other at a dizzying rate. His eyes ached, and his forehead pulsed as he vainly attempted to process what he was seeing. "Jesus , slow down. We don't all have advanced optical units; I can't take shit in that quickly."

The pace of the flicking decreased, albeit marginally, as Nines glanced over at him—a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm struggling to recall the last time you asked me to slow down."

The seductive resonance of his voice betrayed the double meaning with transparency. It left Gavin to splutter incredulously, mouth gaping in disbelief before he matched his partner's expression with his own crooked smile. "We literally did it this morning, asshole. God, you’re insatiable."

"I see no reason why we can't also partake this afternoon. It is my day off, after all." Carefully so as not to disturb the cat, Nines had begun trailing his free hand across the inside of one of the man's legs. Starting at his ankle before migrating up the taut muscle of his calf. 

It didn’t matter how much time they spent together; the seemingly endless endurance of his libido was something that Gavin was still adjusting to. The android had been permitted decidedly less time to indulge in carnal pleasures, and had made it clear since the beginning of their relationship that he was intent on making up for lost time.

"Easy, Casanova," the man said lowly, suppressing the emergent groan that was building in his throat as the hand brushed the inside of his thigh, seemingly intent on trailing further. "Let's watch a movie first, and then I'll think about it. Give my body a chance to recover."

He squinted at the television again, making another attempt at assigning sense to the disorientating mess being hurled in his face. The rate seemed to have increased significantly in the wake of their playful exchange, and he knew for a fact Nines was doing it on purpose.

Having had some fun at his partner's expense, he eventually relented, handing the remote back to Gavin with quiet complacency. The frenetic blur of images halted, settling on what seemed to be an antique evaluation show. A well-dressed couple engaged in an animated conversation with a heavy-set man in a garish bright suit. They were sharing a bewildering level of enthusiasm over what looked to be a teapot.

Oh, Hell no.

Gavin switched the channel quickly, grimacing as he did so. The sour expression only deepened as the next show involved another suburban, button-down couple chatting menially with a dour-looking host. The only discernible difference seemed to be that the subject of interest was now determining which shade of indistinguishable beige paint should be used to decorate a downstairs bathroom.

After breezing through a few more channels of equally mind-numbing programming, he grew increasingly defeated, grunting under his breath in frustration. "Ugh, you're right. This is all trash—the joys of Daytime TV, I guess."

"If you would pay for a streaming service or two, then you wouldn't be at the mercy of public broadcasting."

"What do I look like, a millionaire? Those sickness paychecks only go so far. I don't have streaming money."

"You'll be back at work and earning your full pay soon enough." The android reclined back in his seat as Nancy kneaded her claws into his lap, seeking a comfortable position. Ultimately, she sank down, curling into a tight ball. "Perhaps you ought to treat yourself; I'd be happy to split the cost."

"Animal shelter money doesn't really constitute ‘rolling in it’ either, Nines."

His partner tutted at the persistent pessimism before seeking out another compromise. "Alright, fine. Then we can watch one of your DVDs."

"We've watched the entire collection more times than I can count. I wanna find something you haven't seen yet."

"Truly, I don't mind what we watch as long as we do it together."

Gavin pointed to his throat and made a prolonged retching noise. "You and the sappy crap."

Nancy, who had begun dozing against his leg, roused slightly, her tail bristling and amber eyes scanning her surroundings. The noise was not enough to prompt her to flee, as a soothing stroke from Nines ensured she settled back down. 

He shot his partner an incredulous look, to which Gavin responded by prodding a heel into his abdomen. "Oh, don't give me that look, I'm kidding."

"I know you are. You'd be utterly devastated if I ever relented on the ‘sappy crap’" There was a brief crackle of static, which marked a shift in tone towards the end of the sentence. The typically smooth, measured resonance of his voice adopted a more abrasive quality. 

Gavin scowled, noting the uncanny familiarity as he sunk further into the cushions. "I do not sound like that."

"You sound exactly like that—It is a sample of your voice."

"Bullshit. You pitch-shifted it, and now you're just trying to mess with me." Returning his attention to the television, the man continued to trawl through the increasingly dire options. He was on the brink of admitting defeat when an unwelcome image asserted its presence, filling the screen from corner to corner:

 

Dimitar Petrov stood at a wooden stand, fixating on something out of view. His hazel eyes appeared relentlessly cold, darkened with detached cruelty. A nervous-looking man in an ill-fitting blue suit stood to his side, running his fingers anxiously through spiked black hair. Gavin felt his chest tighten as the once-jovial air surrounding the couple dissipated, replaced by an unpleasant tension.

He’d forgotten what day it was—and suspected he had done so consciously, at least to some extent. Not wanting the unwelcome reminder of the events that took place several months ago to dampen the mood.

After the initial shock waned, he sat himself upright, focusing his attention on the screen. The camera panned over to a gallery filled with solemn faces, with the corresponding attendants sitting in respectful silence. A few voices broke through, with the laboured sobs of one attendee proving particularly disruptive. Gavin recognised her as Stephenie, the sister of Jennifer Parkins — the Reaper's only human victim. 

Focus then shifted to an older man on the opposite end of the room, looming over the proceedings with a stern expression. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

 

An anticipative breath lodged in his throat as Gavin leaned closer. The forgotten remote was still clutched in his grasp, trapped in an increasingly tightened vice. Then, a hand found his forearm, stirring his attention just enough that his focus pulled away from the screen.

As their gazes locked, Nines gave his arm a tentative squeeze before softly addressing him. "I suggest we find some lighter viewing. Perhaps a psychological horror."

"Doesn't get much more horrifying than this fucker," the man seethed, glowering at the television as the camera focused back on Dimitar. He quietly reassured the android, resting a hand across his in a placating gesture. "It's okay, I wanna hear what they say."

 

Any lingering noise in the court dissipated as an effort was made by the more hysterical onlookers to quiet themselves. The foreperson stood from his chair, a paper clutched in his hands. His eyes were narrowed as he gave it a cursory scan before finally addressing the courtroom. "In the Case of The Androids Of Detroit Versus Dimitar Petrov, we find the defendant… Guilty of all charges."

The gallery stirred back to life as ripples of sounds echoed through. Gasps of relief mingled with more vocal affirmations as tearful spectators embraced each other. 

"The court accepts the jury's verdict. Dimitar Petrov, you are hereby convicted of sixteen counts of first-degree murder. Given the severity of your crimes, the court sentences you to life in prison without the possibility of parole."

With a defeated sigh, the blue-clad lawyer slumped in his chair, casting a weary glance at a man on an opposing bench. The figure in question, decked head-to-toe in ostentatious maroon, quietly gathered his papers, nodding in measured satisfaction. Dimitar seldom reacted to the verdict save for a cruel sneer. A set of bailiffs emerged at the stand, flanking him on either side before placing their hands on his shoulders and leading him away.

 

"Fucking good," Gavin remarked, exhaling the fraught breath that he had been holding during the deliberation. "Exactly what that piece of shit deserves."

As he said this, a high-pitched ding could be heard from the kitchen, which he recognised as the microwave. The man stood up from his semi-reclined position, grunting as he did. Though he made an effort to withdraw his feet slowly, the action proved enough to finally disturb Nancy. She dropped to the floor and plodded away towards the kitchen, presumably in anticipation of food. Nines was visibly saddened by her departure as his hand hovered longingly where she had been resting.

"Need to get a new couch; the support on this one is terrible." Gavin craned forward, pressing his hands to the small of his back as the bones emitted a soft crack. "My back is killing me."

The android transitioned from displeasure to amusement in rapid succession as he let out a terse snort.

"Hey, don't laugh," the man retorted, levelling him with an accusatory look. "It's completely reasonable for me to want to sit on a comfortable couch."

"I'm not laughing because it's unreasonable. I just think you're being a tad dramatic."

Gavin scoffed, spinning on his heel in a deliberate show of theatrics, accompanied by a flagrant eye roll. Advancing toward the kitchen, a distant mewl could be heard, accompanied by a more exuberant yowl of impatience—easily recognisable as Tiffany. 

"It's all part of ageing, Nines, and it's only getting worse from here. You still gonna want me when I look like a wrinkled ball sack?"

"That would imply you don't already."

"Ooo, harsh .” He emitted a sharp hissing noise, clutching his chest in a show of exaggerated offence. "I'm thirty-six, you smug asshole."

"Thirty-seven in a few weeks.”

"Yeah, don't remind me," he growled as his playful demeanour started to wane. "I found another grey hair this morning. That's five now."

"Ahh yes, a sure sign that false teeth and an orthopaedic pillow loom closely on the horizon."

"If you keep teasing, I'll have to bump my midlife crisis ahead a few years."

Emerging into the kitchen, the sounds of anticipative yowls grew, and he made a detour en route to the microwave. A growing congregation of hungry cats gathered at his feet, glassy eyes staring up in anticipation.

"Gavin, none of that matters to me," he heard Nines protest from the other room. The playful joviality of his voice was absent, replaced with something more sincere. “Your appearance may change, but you will be the same person—and I will continue to adore you.” 

"Easy to say when you're gonna spend the rest of your life looking like an underwear model."

As the cupboard creaked open, he heard a flurry of movement from another room, followed by the frantic plodding of feet. A frenzied blur of black and white came screeching into the kitchen, thunderous paws losing grip as the cat collided head-first with a wall.

 

Goddammit Richie. 

 

"If you knew I would age the same as you, that my physical appearance would also be subject to change, would you feel any differently?"

His hand stilled on the handle. Bristling at the unexpected question, he swiftly abandoned his current task, much to the vocal chagrin of his pets. "No, of course not. Why the hell would that change anything?"

Then a realisation struck him. He had never been one for overt sentiment, with Nines having comfortably taken that role in the relationship. That being said, the negligence he had demonstrated at failing to express that particular affirmation—several months after its emergence—couldn't really be excused.

"Nines…I love you. You know that, right?" 

The confession was met by a weighty silence, which left Gavin with a disquieting sense of unease. He quietly receded back through the kitchen and peered his head around the corner of the doorway, seeking to gauge his partner's response.

Nines was staring at him, eyes glossed with ill-concealed sentiment, as his lips were pulled into a small, grateful smile. Everything about his softened expression seemed to exude adoration—and unyielding devotion. "I do, but it feels truly wonderful to hear you say it."

The draw of his voice was magnetising, compelling the man to abandon everything he had been doing. He hurried back to the couch and, without another word exchanged, straddled his partner's hips, capturing his mouth in a fervid kiss. The android groaned appreciatively, mingled with a static-like charge, as he kissed back with matched enthusiasm. 

"What about the popcorn?" Nines gently teased, having pulled back just enough that the words danced enticingly against the man's lips.

"Fuck it, that can wait," Gavin murmured, his mouth running a languid path across the length of his jaw. "The movie, too. I've had enough rest."

Then Richie—who the couple had long since surmised was the embodiment of chaos tenuously masquerading as a cat—barrelled his way through the living room. His trajectory was only halted as he jumped onto a windowsill, knocking over several ornaments with a brush of his tail.

Rather than stopping there, he somehow managed to scamper his way up one of the curtains, getting his claws embedded at the top and marking it with sizeable tears as he tried to wriggle free. In the process, the rail above dislodged, collapsing to the floor, taking the curtains, and a still-attached cat with it. 

Anything that remained on the windowsill was promptly displaced, including a succulent that Tina had gifted Gavin as a Get Well Soon gift. The plant hit the floor with a crack, shattering into a mess of dirt and ceramic.

 

Goddammit Richie.

 

He emitted a deep groan into his partner’s shoulder as the android shared in his discontent, albeit with a more subdued resignation. "That's a shame; I rather liked that plant."

Carefully, he encouraged his partner off his lap so they could both stand to inspect the damage. As he did so, Wendy came charging out of the kitchen, being chased by Carrie, dashing in front of the couple and almost sending them toppling over. 

"You know, with all these additional bodies, conditions are getting rather cramped."

Picking up the curtains, Gavin noted in frustration that the flimsy support beam had been warped as a result of the impact. "I'm gonna move out soon…before I lose any more of my fucking deposit."

Nines stood to his side, conducting a survey of the room. His attention was drawn to the distinctive scratch marks etched across nearly every wooden surface, as well as a large indent in the plasterboard beside the door. "I’m afraid it might be a bit late for that."

Gavin grumbled in begrudging acknowledgement. He set the mangled curtains back on the floor, determining them to be beyond salvaging, as he folded his arms over his chest. "Don’t get me wrong, this place is a shithole, but it kind of sucks to leave so soon. I only just moved in."

"You’ve been here for almost a year," Nines smoothly corrected.

"Yeah, but I only just finished unpacking."

There was a lull in the discussion as his partner fell silent, lips pursed thoughtfully. At times like this, he missed the days when flickers of light on his forehead would seek to betray his line of thinking. The android was much harder to read without his LED, although he respected his decision to remove it —seeking to shed all superfluous reminders of his past. 

Mercifully, this had extended to his CyberLife jacket, which had found itself on the receiving end of Gavin's lighter. It had been an extremely cathartic evening for both of them.

"Well, my home is larger than yours," Nines eventually said, his voice carrying with it an air of measured rationale. "You could always stay with me for a while. Until you find other living arrangements."

The invitation caught Gavin off-guard as his folded arms slackened, falling limply to his sides. "You’d let me move in with you? Seriously?"

"I see no reason why we could not reach some sort of ‘agreement.’"There was a teasing edge to this as the android leaned forward, deftly cupping his jaw and capturing his lips in a stolen kiss. "On the promise that you might make some effort to be a touch more organised."

The man snorted at the suggestion, brow raised incredulously as he leant his weight into the affectionate touch. "Not happening. Nice try, though."

"The arrangement needn’t be temporary…" Nines continued, his gaze flickering to the side as though claimed by a sudden rush of uncertainty. "You could stay indefinitely, should you like."

It was Gavin's turn to fall silent. In his previous relationships, moving in together hadn't even been a consideration until a full year of established dating. Even then, he had met the suggestion with marked resistance. 

With Nines, nothing about their relationship had ever run as conventional, making the swift progression seem oddly fitting. Any fleeting reservations he may have held soon deserted him, yielding to the trepidation in his partner's eyes. 

It occurred that he had never felt so deeply compelled to commit himself to someone, and it would be foolish to dismiss the significance of that. 

"I guess we’re together most nights anyway, so it makes practical sense. Might take you up on that offer."

"I hope you will," Nines replied, his voice airy and drawn out, like a gracious sigh. He wrapped his arms smoothly around his partner, pulling him close. "I love you, Gavin."

"I know you do—schmaltzy bastard."

[diangelofan]

Happy birthday Percy!!!

Percy was woken up as usual by the low noises of people driving their cars to their boring office jobs; just another busy day in New York City, “where nobody ever stops working!” That what it said in the postcard (and it really did seemed like that during the busy mornings!) Percy had gotten from his biological father (the only time he had any type of contact) at 3. Now at the much wiser age of 6, he questioned why the man would have chosen such a boring postcard instead of the usual birthday card (his ma’s candy store sold much more beautiful cards and it wasn’t even a card shop!). Maybe he wanted to make sure Percy knew that he knew where he lived? Still a bizarre choice for the only thing resembling a birthday gift that the boy had ever received from him. but whatever…

After returning from his musings into the real world, and becoming aware of his surroundings again, Percy realized that there was in fact another, and much nicer at that, sound apart from the buzzing streets. His mother’s voice. More specifically, his mother’s voice singing (more like humming) along to the radio. It was a Monday morning and his ma wasn’t at her usual morning shift at the store! Percy immediately jumped out of bed and into the kitchen, curiosity burning in his chest. He found his mother in her usual weekend pose, eyes focus on the stove and hips moving to the rhythm of the music. Her mother could have been the next Shakira, Percy thought, she had the voice, the moves and the looks!

Her mother must have heard his loud steps in the hallway as she immediately turn around, open her arms wide in greeting, ready for the boy, who quickly jumped to envelop her in a hug: “Good morning! Is my little boy excited for today?”, his mother asked.

“Today? What’s going on today?” Percy had never felt more confused in his short life.

“Oooh… Don’t tell me someone forgot what today is?”, his ma said while trying to hide a smile.

“Forgot what? What is today?” Scratch what he said before. Percy had never felt more confused now than ever before in his life.

Today was Monday, that Percy knew as he had classes in the evening. But the day exactly? Well… they were learning the days of the year already in preschool, but, honestly? Percy was still getting the hang of it. The teacher wanted them to read the calendar a few times and just have it all up in their heads?! Honestly, the gall of that woman! (or at least that was the phrase his mother said when she didn’t agree with her boss). Those were too words and numbers, with so few pictures! It was practically impossible!

“Someone got so excited yesterday, it was a tough feat to put him to sleep, and now he’s forgotten his own birthday”, his ma finally let her smile stand up and proud.

OMG right! His birthday! How could Percy forget his own birthday! With the busyness of the morning and the surprise of his mother being here, he had forgot to think about the reason behind her being here. Wait! If his mother was up cooking breakfast for his birthday that meant he was getting…!

“Someone order a serving of blue blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, sadly not blue but what can we do, and a blue candle on top? With a side of blue jellybeans? Sarah, my coworker was nice enough to give them to me on Friday, knowing I wouldn’t be going this morning. Hmmm… It was a miracle you didn’t find them during the weekend! Bueno, a cantar cumpleaños feliz y luego a comer se ha dicho!!”, his ma handed him a plate filled to the brink with pancakes (four to be exact; such an enormous amount!) an a lightened candle.

They sang happy birthday and ate a delicious plate of blue pancakes each. It was a wonderful birthday. Percy hoped all the rest to come would be as wonderful.

(As an older child, Percy would come and think about to these memories with pity and anger, as his birthdays had never been the same after Smelly Gabe appeared. His mother had tried, but there was no more work-free mornings and blueberry pancakes, but instead quiet birthday celebrations with some candy if Gabe was away at one of his buddies’ houses, gambling away his ma’s hard earned money. Later on, as a teen, Percy would look back with a sad smile, thinking of how happy and easy those innocent childhood days had been. Now, finally, as a tired young adult, Percy is happy to be back with his mother, and the additions of Paul and Estelle, every birthday morning to celebrate with wonderful blueberry pancakes and then hanging out with his friends in the evening. What more could someone ask for? Nothing. Nothing At All.)

[emeraldcatears]

Character Creation (graphics)

While MZ gives you some starting actors you'll probably want to make your own. There are a few ways to do that, but the easiest is probably by using the built-in character generator.

The generator that comes with MZ is intuitive enough. I've made a halfling with the child model that you may have seen in some of my screenshots before now. I'm going to make a new character for this example. It's Dracula season again, so let's go with a vampire.

Whether you randomize or carefully craft a character, there are a few things you need to do to get them from being a pretty face in the generator to becoming a member of the team (or an enemy, or a custom NPC).

Save Settings might seem like the intuitive way to go, but that just saves the settings so you can pull the character up again in the generator to make it easier to adjust them in the future. You'll actually need to save the character in separate parts as png images to use them in the game.

Clicking the Face Image button isolates the face I've created and puts it in a set of up to 8 face images. You can then Export the image...

... and the game will prompt you to save it in the faces folder. Convenient!

Now, you can save up to 8 faces this way so you can put together a set of eight characters or...

... you can save the same character with different expressions so you can change their image in text boxes based on how they're reacting to the events around them.

To add another image to an existing sheet, simply Import the image you want and click to move the newest face to the slot where you want it. Then Export it again and repeat the steps until you have a full set of eight faces.

You can also make your own in any art program, of course, rather than using the generator to make faces. Each face is 144x144 pixels and as long as they're placed into two rows of four columns the game will know how to divide up the individual faces.

Next is the Walking Character.

This is the character as they'll appear walking around on the map. The generator automatically puts them together in a way that MZ knows how to animate. Unlike XP, which used 4 poses across and 4 down, MZ animates with three across and four down.

The middle column is the character standing and the right and left columns are the animations of the character stepping. The game will alternate between the middle and side frames to show a walking character. The four rows are divided into the directions the character can face down, left, right, and up in order from top to bottom.

Whether you've got a humanoid character, an animal, a chest that opens, or a puff of smoke all animations pretty much work by "turning" down, left, right, and up and cycling between stepping animations. This is why you'll find stuff like fire animations in the Characters folder. Looking at the example images that come with MZ will give you ideas about how to create the effect you want. Here we're just making a "human" character so we'll just use what the generator gave us as export it to the right folder (img > characters).

You'll also notice that, like the face image, the walking character only takes up a small portion of the whole png that you create. You have room to add other characters (or different outfits for the same character) on a sheet like this. The game will divide the png image into 96 evenly sized sections so it understands that whatever you put in the character folder has eight characters with twelve poses each.

It'll do this with any sized png file you put together as a character, btw. If you're building a character completely from scratch rather than using the generator you can make them way taller/shorter than the generator's standard size. It divides the png into 8 characters with 12 poses unless you specifically tell the game otherwise.

The Big Monsters are examples that come with MZ for how to make a single character on an image instead of eight. Putting a $ in front of the file name tells MZ that this is an image of a single character (easy enough to recall - a dollar sign is an S shape for Single).

(note that for the big monsters that come with MZ, "turning" directions will change the image with one of the other monsters since the samples are made of four forward facing monsters).

Damaged character poses work more or less like the walking character in that they're saved in the character image folder and are read by the program the same way as described above.

The Battler, as saved in img > sv_actors, is a bit more involved.

MZ allows you to have side-view battles with animated battlers, and the character generator is kind enough to make these super easy to just export into the right folder with a click. But if you're making your own images from an art program instead of using the generator you'll want to have a better understanding of how all this is broken down.

As the asset standards page describes, the battler sprites are read as one character with several poses. You can't stack multiple characters together in one image like the faces and walking sprites.

The battler is made of 54 evenly divided images to make the animation frames in 6 rows and 9 columns. These display eighteen different motions that the game will play in battles.

You can probably intuit from the way the poses are laid out that these are also split into main and stepping frames for each pose with the three poses in a row being frames of the same "motion".

That's a lot of art if you're using the side-view battles and want to draw completely original sprites for everyone!

Regardless of whether you're using the generator or making your own sprites, making one of these guys into a character is a relatively simple matter once the files are all saved to the right places.

Open the database and go to Actors to add your custom character to the game. You can replace an existing actor with your own images, of course, but you can also just add a new actor by increasing the maximum number.

(Also the eight characters that come with RMMZ spell out RPG MAKER with the first letters of their names. Cute!)

From there just fill in the blank images with the actor you made. You can also name them and change their class and the like (which will be it's own thing and this post is already quite long).

I think he'd be a good Sorcerer.

[aajjks]

TC!dad!JK

as jungkook stalks closer and closer, you take steps back. growing more and more nervous by the second. you’re offended when jungkook calls you cruel. accusing you of bringing your children to make it “painful” for him but how can you make it painful when he can’t even remember who they are.

“i’m cruel? jungkook, our kids” you cut yourself off “MY kids missed their father. i wasn’t even going to let them see you but because ayra begged me to let her see you, i brought them here one last time. not for you but for THEM, MY kids. so if you feel like i blindsided you then i apologize. it doesn’t matter if you don’t remember them, they remember you and i can’t say no to them”

you take a deep breath because you know if you keep going, you’ll cry and drop the ‘tough act’ you’re posing as. but not even a few seconds later, jungkook encourages you to leave. he has tons of enemies anyways, so…

“goodbye, jungkook” is all you say before you turn around and leave. you can’t even look at him because he’s really going to let you leave. this is what you wanted though, right? freedom. but what are you going to say to yourself kids?

“are we going to stay?” ae-cha asks with hope-filled eyes but when you don’t say anything.

“so he doesn’t…dad doesn’t care about us” areum stutters out.

“no, your dad only wants what’s best for you all. he loves you all but—“

“i fucking told you so, ae-cha” jinseoul curses as he storms past you and the remainder of his siblings.

“watch your mouth, jinseoul and he does care about you, it’s just his memory—”

“can we just leave already?” jawon asks you. “please?” he adds.

“his memory? mom, we’re his kids!” ae-cha argues. “yeah, let’s just leave. i never want to come back. EVER”

“ae-cha!! please!!” you let out a frustrated sigh “i’ll go get your siblings from the nursery..then we can leave”

how are you going to do this on your own? five girls, four boys, and just little you…

~🫧

Seriously what the fuck is he doing? You’re taking away his children and he’s just letting you? Yeah, you are divorced and he’s really pissed about that and he wants to teach you a lesson of a lifetime for divorcing him but…

He cannot live without his children at all- even if he doesn’t remember them, but when he saw their faces and hugged them… that was enough- that was more than enough to make him stop you from leaving.

As he’s pacing back-and-forth in his study, he’s feeling nervous are you gonna stop if he tells you to? Are his children really going to stay with him if he asks them to or maybe they’re just too mad at him?

He has to try.

So hurriedly jungkook gets out of his study, and there you are standing with a few of your kids, looking defeated. “Hey! Yn you can’t leave!”

He’s rolling his eyes. He’s actually mad at you for not even trying to fight with him to stay because you don’t love him anymore and that is the truth that he’s not really willing to accept.

“ please children don’t leave me!” Jungkook comes out to stand next to you. “ I cannot live without you all..” he scratches the back of his head because he is so embarrassed he just told you to leave and now he’s asking you to stay, but he’s only doing this for the sake of his children.

Not for you. Not because of you. But it would be really selfish of him he he let you go with the children, because, like you said to him, you just gave gave birth to set of twins once again, and it would be impossible for you to take care of 10 children on your own.

When did he even make 9 children with you?

“Please children… i’m so sorry I’m being selfish once again, but don’t leave me- please stay here with your mother… if you don’t want me to talk to you guys, I won’t, but you just have to stay here so I will feel at ease… please. I’ll do anything just name it.”

[lilacastar]

KDA

Part 13: Invite

"How about we re introduce ourselves over coffee, like old times but new. How about that?"

Kalrick nodded and couldn't help but laugh. He wanted to cry but instead laughed, unsure of how his body was responding once again.

"Yeah," He agreed. "I think that's good."

Kalrick led his friend back to the door where his shoes were, and put on his own.

"Really?" Randle remarked. "You're still wearing non-slip work shoes?"

"Could've worked better last night, man. But these are the ones I woke up with, these the ones I got."

"That's all it ever made you wear too."

"The demon?"

"yeah."

"One sec, I gotta tell my mom I'm leaving." He turned from Randle, facing towards the hallway where she was probably in her room.

"Mom!" He shouted, throat scratching from the sudden tone change. "I'm going out!"

"What?!" She called back and her footsteps already approached the living room. "Where?" She entered. "You haven't had lunch, and what about dinner later?"

"I said I'm going out, not leaving forever."

He shut the door behind him, hurrying Randle beside him.

"Why'd you do that?" Randle inquired in his typical soft spoken tone.

"Do what?"

"I don't know... Be like that?"

"I don't care what she thinks." He shrugged. And they left for town together.

-

The two stepped inside the familiar work building and got ready to wait in line.

"Do you know what you want?" Randle asked.

"I do- it's just..."

"Just what?"

"I can't remember some things." He looked down, face flushing from not knowing essential information.

"W- well what do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain exactly"

"You know what you want, but can't remember?"

Kalrick sighed. "Do you remember when I was over for Cinco de Mayo and a bunch of your relatives were over?"

"That happened more than once, Kal."

"I know, but one of the times, you had to ask your great grandma for the beans, but since she can't speak good English, naturaly everyone talks to her in Spanish. But you fluently posed your question until you got to the word 'frijoles' and finished the sentence with English beans?"

"I remember everyone laughed at me for forgetting how to say beans, yes."

"A lot of stuff for me now days is like that. I know it, it's there, it's just. It hasn't been used in a while."

"I think I understand. Is there any way you can describe what order you're thinking of?"

"It's brown."

"Most coffee is brown, Kalrick."

"Not just cause the beans," He shook his head, stumbling over words again. "It's sweet because it's brown."

"When you were possessed, you stopped drinking coffee altogether. Do you think it's what you liked before?"

"Yeah, I want what I used to get, the favorite thing."

"You liked an iced mocha latte. Anything chocolate really."

"That's it! That's what I want." His hands fidgeted, unable to contain the excitement. It'd been so long since doing the things he liked, so long from just enjoying a cup of coffee.

They sat, waiting for their order, making stiff, awkward conversation. Randle's words kept dancing around, but never landing on what his eyes were so focused on.

"You mentioned yesterday you wanted to ask about what happened," Kalrick pushed the conversation forward. "Is that what you're thinking about right now?"

"Yeah," He smiled. "Are you ok with that? Or is it still really hard."

He shrugged, "I'm fine." It felt way better than fine just to have a conversation with him again.

"Do you really remember nothing? Like, one day you were you, and the next you're in the hospital?"

He paused, thinking of how to make sense when not a whole lot of it did.

"No," He finally released. "It wasn't like that at all, actually."

"But you said you don't remember."

"Not really, no. But I wasn't completely out of existence. It was more like I was sleepwalking, there but not really. And nothing was clear. I..."

He held himself for a moment, trying not to shake. Why was this so hard when he was fine?

"I was there sometimes," He resumed. 'but not really. Sometimes I was there, but I wasn't the one making decisions or really understood what was going on. I sometimes saw places, but it's all blurry."

"Do you remember speaking to people, conversations?"

He shook his head. "No. I mostly just felt trapped and brain foggy. There wasn't much thinking at all. The time felt like my whole life, but also I can't remember what never happened."

"Then-" Randle froze, his expression a whirl of emotions.

"Then what?"

"I don't want to sound harsh."

"Just say it, I don't care about that, man."

"Then why'd you do it?"

...it?

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, K. Why'd you, you know."

"I don't, actually."

"Why'd you let it in? Why'd you invite a demon in you?"

Kalrick was so utterly stunned, he stared back with his mouth open. He'd anticipated the ability to reply, but was left with the exact reaction Randle didn't want.

"I'm sorry," Randle responded. "I'm trying to ease into this again and not dive in exactly where things were left. I still need work."

"I didn't want any of this to happen to me," Kalrick felt himself say. His tongue moved slowly to form the words, confused and torn.

"I didn't mean it like that," He winced. "I should have waited longer to collect myself, I'm sorry."

"What did you mean?"

"Kal, you know how it works," He stumbled a bit through filler words and anxious loopholes.

Kalrick blankly stared back, dark eyes waiting for a reason.

Randle squirmed in his small spotlight, loathing the direct road he was being forced to take. Sweating under the sole attention.

"You know, with the demonic. And what they can't do."

"No," he gently shook his head.

He ran his hand through his hair with defeat. "Kalrick," He chuckled nervously. "The demonic can't possess anyone without consent. They can't have you, unless you give permission over yourself."

"I..." He froze. He knew that, anyone with mild knowledge on the subject. How had he not considered that?

The barista behind the counter called for their Oder.

"I- I don't remember."