#oc: warp drive

[short-circuit-the-great]

I don't understand how you can still make sweet music, but I'm hanging onto every note anyways.

[unikirin]

Starting a Star Trek adventures campaign on the weekend, this is my main character, Lt. Saif Duran, an Orion formerly of the Borg collective (ie. an "xB"). All his limbs are entirely Borg prosthetics so he wears the skant uniform modified to be sleeveless for an easier fit!

[racefortheironthrone]

With how much focus she has received since the beginning of the Krakoa era, what are your thoughts on Storm ? And do you agree on the perception that she's becoming something of a Mary Sue?

I’m going to start with a mini-rant about the Mary Sue.

To the extent that there is any validity to the term at all, it is solely and exclusively within the realm of fanfiction. A Mary Sue is an OC (original character) whose supposed annoying omni-competence is really secondary to the main problem with the character, which is that they warp the narrative away from the main characters of the source material - Kirk and Spock or Picard and Data stop doing things that drive the plot, and instead just stand around asking "where's Poochie?"

Outside of fanfiction and in the realm of the media that gives rise to fanfiction, a prominent character who is incredibly talented and powerful and who makes the plot center around them is called a fucking protagonist - so no, Rey isn’t a Mary Sue, Carol Danvers isn’t a Mary Sue, Katniss Everdeen isn't a Mary Sue - none of them are Mary Sues and anyone who claims otherwise is showing that they have deep-seated Issues with female protagonists in their fiction.

Is Storm a Mary Sue?

Even if we weren't talking about the most prominent black woman character in fiction, I would consider this question pretty damn offensive, both because no one would ever ask this question about a male character and - in a franchise packed to the gills with hyper-powerful women who make the plots revolve around them and who even get the complementary Love Triangle - no one sends me asks about any of those (white) women.

But to answer your question: no, Storm is not a Mary Sue - she's the main character of the X-Men.

See, when Chris Claremont took over X-Men in 1975, he did so with a brand-new cast of characters, the so-called "All-New, All-Different X-Men." In no small part because they were far more diverse and more colorful than the O5 (suburban WASPs one and all), most of these characters would become break-out stars and the core of the X-Men from that day to this.

However, Claremont didn't vibe with all of the All-New X-Men equally: he had Sunfire quit the team (repeatedly), he killed off Thunderbird for shock value (a death that has only been reversed this last year), he would have killed off Wolverine if John Byrne hadn't stopped him (Claremont would later turn around on Logan once he worked out his voice), etc.

But one character that he vibed with right from the beginning was Ororo Monroe. From the very beginning, Claremont's Storm is the most powerful of the All-New X-Men, both in terms of her powers and in terms of her personality, being the only person who can face down Logan. At the same time, she's complicated by her struggles with crippling claustrophobia caused by the Suez Crisis-induced trauma of her childhood.

After a few years, Claremont tired of the African Nature Goddess routine and had Storm experience an almost total transformation that nonetheless was completely grounded in her character. Feeling overly limited by the total emotional control required of her powers, Ororo undergoes a subtextual lesbian awakening in Tokyo's underground punk scene and emerges out the other side a free spirit, leader of the X-Men, and Queen of the Morlocks.

In his most audacious move in LifeDeath I and II, Claremont had Storm lose her powers thanks to Forge's anti-mutant tech - and then defeat Cyclops in a duel for command of the X-Men without her powers - and then regain her powers in an epic cycle that saw the X-Men die and be reborn as outlaw heroes in the Australian Outback.

In sum, Storm was clearly Claremont's favorite character and, as a result had the most interesting character journey over his 16-year run on X-Men.

Storm in Krakoa

And then Storm basically lay fallow for almost thirty years. In no small part due to the pioneering work done by Claremont with this character, later writers were frankly too intimidated to touch the character and so starting in the 90s, Storm was increasingly sidelined in the comics in favor of the characters that were commercially "hot" at the time - Wolverine and Gambit, especially.

In the 2000s, the most significant thing to happen to Storm was her marriage to T'challa. While I think Reggie Hudlin had mostly good intentions with this decision - he wanted to create a black power couple at Marvel and thus put together Marvel's most prominent black man and black woman into a relationship - the result was to make Storm a supporting character in Black Panther comics, rather than a main character in X-Men comics.

I would argue that it is only recently with the advent of Al Ewing as a major writer in the X-office with S.W.O.R.D, X-Men Red, and Storm and the Brotherhood of Mutants that we've gotten a writer who's not afraid to write Storm as she deserves to be written - as the most powerful of the X-Men, the Regent of Arrako and the Voice of Sol, the standard-bearer of Magneto's legacy, and a woman trying to balance the demands of two planets and her own desires.

[ragingbookdragon]

And I'll Be An Old Troubadour, When I'm Gone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Dis my favorite GS song <3 fits my OC perfectly <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost doesn’t typically get out of the country if he can help it when he’s on leave. Rarely does he even get to Scotland to see Soap’s family. That’s about it, but somehow, Troubadour convinces him to fly out to the States and down south to see him for the month they’ve been given. It does take quite a bit of convincing, and even a great home cooked dinner and somehow wining and dining Ghost’s pants off, but he does.

Troubadour has a fun time showing him around the town he grew up in, and even takes him to the high school he played football in. He grins widely as he sees his trophy in the case and a cheering team photo behind it. He tells him stories about getting drunk by a bonfire and almost burning all the little hair he had on his chest when he decided to jump over it and almost fell face first instead. Tells him about how he managed to whoop a rival school’s tail in a street fight in a parking lot when he was a senior. Talks on and on about how he used to spend every summer on a tube floating down the river with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other, and a can of bait between his knees. Ghost’s eyes don’t give it away, but his smile is evident beneath the black face mask he wears around the town.

He drives Ghost around town, takes him to the local diner and shows him what a real country fried steak tastes like, and by the time they’re done with apple pie and coffee, Ghost is literally bursting at the seams and ready to fall over in the booth while Troubadour laughs at him. He looks good when he laughs. Like he isn’t trying to look out for everyone like Price always is. Troubadour’s good like that; the big brother they never had, the one they can go to for anything, no matter how foolish or big. He sometimes thinks Troubadour should retire and do something better with his life. Something less risky. But he knows that Troubadour is a good man, wants to do the right thing, even if he gets his hands dirty. He wants to make a difference. Wants to be the man he deserved to look up to as a young man instead of the shit father he did have. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could be a good man like Troubadour.

Troubadour tells him the cabin he’s rented is about two and a half hours out of the town and Ghost settles into the passenger seat of the 2021 Dodge RAM 1500, comfortable and content to close his eyes for a couple hours. He watches the end of the sun fall behind the mountains and watches the stars come out above the truck. So deep in his own mind that he doesn’t realize Troubadour’s hand is on his thigh until he feels his lover’s fingers gently pressing and thumbing against the roughness of his jeans. Troubadour likes to touch. He’s always holding Ghost’s hand, his thigh, his chin on the soldier’s shoulder, toes brushing his calf under the covers.

He looks over inconspicuously, taking in the side profile of the man he’s come to love so deeply, of something that came from such an admiration and respect. Ghost often wonders if Simon Riley would be the man Troubadour was if he hadn’t let his past warp him so greatly. The man’s hands are strong, firm, steady, the wheel gripped in one as he silently and masterfully turns the wheel around a winding curve when the radio plays the next song and he sees the corner of Troubadour’s mouth turn up and he starts to hum the cords of the beginning, and Ghost is almost shocked at the smooth voice that comes out of the man, like bourbon running in his veins as he sings.

Sometimes I feel like Jesse James, still tryin’ to make a name. Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am. I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song. I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

It makes something in Simon’s chest tighten painfully. Their lives are lived in an hourglass that’s running out of sand fast. Every moment is never guaranteed, no tomorrow ever promised, but the longer he spends with Troubadour, the more he hears the life he wants to be living instead. He wants to wake up at five AM for god knows whatever reason, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs drinking their coffee. He wants to sit on the back porch in the swing and drink bourbon as they watch the fireflies in the summer and talk about the change in football and wonder if the season will be better than last year’s. He wants to spend every Sunday going to a café where they complain about the same breakfast they always get but still eat it and can’t wait for the next time. He wants to sit on the steps of their home in the early winter months, and watch Troubadour chop wood and bitch that he could chip in instead of ogling him like a pervert but still take his sweaty shirt off anyway.

Simon begins to admit the one thing he’s always been afraid of, and that’s the fact that he actually wants to live long enough to die an old man next to the old man he’s come to love.

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have begun to sting until he blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, looking over at Troubadour as the man simply sings away without a care in the world other than the fact one of his biggest bragging rights is, “George Strait wrote a song about me. I mean, it’s obviously about me.”

Simon feels the world collide with everything he’s ever felt and known when Troubadour looks over as if called out to him and gives him a pearly white smile.

I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone.

Troubadour picks up his hand, kisses the back of Simon’s, an ever-present and firm promise to love him for all he’s worth for as long as he has and even into the next life and all eternity.

I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

[karespocketboyfriends]

𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚝 ����𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚠𝚗

Sylus X Evie (OC)

Warnings -> Humour, mentions of murder, Sylus getting his ass slapped, gets the tiniest bit suggestive at the end, situationship dynamic

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

I’m going to die today.

I can picture my final resting place now; a six foot hole in the ground with fresh dirt on top, a bouquet of my favourite flowers and a tombstone that reads:

‘Here lies Evie. Dead because she was dared to slap the boss of Onychinus’ ass.’

If I had more time, I would have studied black magic to make sure Luke and Kieran go out with me. But I don’t have more time, not when the re-release of one of my favourite smutty books is on the horizon with an exclusive and very limited cover.

Clearly, I value books more than my own life.

“You’re quieter than usual tonight.”

I jump at the voice, head snapping towards Sylus sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. One of several cars he owns. He isn’t looking at me, scarlet eyes fixated on the road ahead as he drives at the N109 Zone’s speed limit. In other words, faster than Linkon’s law actually allows.

“It’s nothing.” I deflect his observation as casually as I can manage. I turn my eyes to look out the front window, not wanting to risk making eye contact with him should he happen to glance at me, but also not wanting to turn away completely and raise suspicion. “I stayed up later then I should have, that’s all.”

Working for Onychinus has completely warped my sleep schedule. My patterns used to be that of a normal person, awake during the day and asleep at night, but now I’m active beneath both the sun and moon. Instead of sleeping straight through one cycle phase, I’ve learned to split my rest in two. Sunrise and sunset are my resting hours now, with daylight my free time and overnight my work hours.

Sylus hums, and the sound vibrates in my gut. I love hate the way it feels. “Reading again?”

I did fit in more reading time where I should have been asleep, but that wasn’t the cause of my hesitation to start a conversation. “Am I that predictable?”

“Painfully so.” He turns onto the street that leads to the base. “I am, after all, aware of your particular taste in novels.”

My face burns hot, much so that I cross my arms and dig my nails into my skin. “That isn’t the only genre I read. I keep more tame stuff at home.”

He snickers. “I’m sure.”

Minutes later, we arrive. I follow half a step behind Sylus as we navigate the base, the both of us headed in the same direction. My office is in his personal wing, where it has been since I got hired a year and a half ago. To this day, I still haven’t been able to get a clear answer as to why he put me so close to him. On a professional level it makes sense, being his personal assistant and all, but given the nature of his work… it seems odd to place an absolute stranger right outside your door.

Though, I’m not exactly much of a threat. I doubt a man like Sylus sees much harm in a woman whose only weapon is a pencil with a pointy end.

“Take the rest of the night off.” Sylus breaks the silence as we turn down the hallway leading to his wing.

Stunned, I come to a stop. Sylus carries on without looking back, his footsteps alone echoing off the walls. He gets a several strides ahead before I’m jogging to catch up. “But, the notes from the meeting today need to be-”

He grabs the handle of the door that leads to his private quarters, and he finally turns his head to look down at me. Not in the sense that I’m below him, but literally has to look down. “If you’re too tired to interrupt my peace and quiet the way you normally do, then you’re useless tonight.”

I huff and cross my arms. “You make me sound like someone who never shuts up.”

One corner of his mouth curls up. “Are you not aware of how noisy you are, kitten? That’s an order.”

I clamp my mouth shut to keep any witty remarks inside. Sylus waits a moment, and when he’s satisfied that I won’t argue, turns the handle and pushes open the door.

That’s when I realize that if I don’t strike now, I’ll never have a chance to do so again. The boss’ guard is down, the hallway is empty, and several escape routes are available.

Should I go light? No, better to stun him and buy myself several seconds of precious time.

Sylus makes it half a stride through the door before my hand connects with his ass, the resounding slap like a grenade in the silence.

Then I’m flying back the way we came, fleeing for my life and the exclusive book cover I’m so desperate to get my hands on. “Sorry, Sir!”

I whip around the corner, going so fast I almost crash right into Luke and Kieran. They jump to the side, pressing their backs against opposite walls and clearing the way for me to get by.

Luke cackles beneath his crow mask. “Where’s the fire, Evie?”

“I better get a signed copy, you doorknobs!”

I’m racing around the next corner seconds before their howling laughter turns into strangled yelps. My heart sinks. He’s catching up, and he’s catching up fast.

I throw myself into the closest supply closet without thinking, barricading the door with a gun rack and ducking behind a shelf of random things that I make a mental note to sort through at some point in the future. Assuming I even live to see the future.

I throw my hands over my nose and mouth to muffle my breathing when footsteps draw near. I stare through a gap between the shelves, watching the light beneath the door. A prayer my grandmother used to recite comes to mind as footsteps drew near, two points of shadow obstructing the light.

The footsteps fall silent. Neither of the shadows move.

‘Please no, please no, please no, please no, please no.’

The shadows move and the footsteps start again, the sound becoming distant until they disappear completely.

Dropping my hands, I let out the quietest sigh of relief I can manage. I’m not brave enough to risk sneaking out now, not when Sylus is still on the prowl. I’ll stay hidden in here until sunrise if I have to.

Getting comfy on the floor, I fish my phone from my back pocket. The clock reads 11:48 PM.

‘I won.’

Three hours go by. Pain attacks my spine when I finally straighten myself out, fingers numb from holding my phone and battery percentage in the red zone. I started and finished an entire book on my reading app in the time I’ve been hiding here.

No one has passed by the closet since I first jumped in here. If it was Sylus who briefly stopped outside the door, he hasn’t come back yet. Either he was still lingering somewhere in the base, or he stepped out.

Waiting till sunrise to make an escape no longer feels doable. Not if I still want to have any kind of feeling in my body.

Tucking my phone away, I uncross my legs and bite back a cry at the pins and needles feeling that shoots up them. I mentally curse out Luke and Kieran as I grit my teeth through the attack. It feels like forever before the numbness finally fades and I can stand without feeling like my legs are going to give out from under me.

The stupid wheels on the gun rack screech obnoxiously as I push it aside. Then the hinges on the door shriek as I slowly crack the closet open. Both ends of the hallway are clear, and a quick glance at the ceiling doesn’t reveal any sign of Mephisto.

I’m clear. Hopefully. I get going before that changes.

I make it halfway down the hall when something drifting from the ceiling catches my attention. It’s a black feather, and it sets my internal alarm off and has me making another scan for the mechanical crow. I still don’t see him.

The feather floats down in front of me, and my curiosity wins. My hand seems to reach out all on its own to grab it. The second my fingers brush against the soft feather, it disintegrates into black and red mist.

‘Oh fu-’

My wrist is suddenly caught in an iron grip, a pair of crimson eyes narrow, tempting lips set in a firm line. I don’t even think to run.

Instead, I blink up at him. “Hello, Sir.”

“Evie.” My name is flat on his tongue.

“About earlier,” I put on the most innocent smile in my arsenal. “It was Luke and Kieran’s idea. Punish them, not me.”

“Oh, they’ve already received what they’re owed.” He pulls my wrist until I bump into his chest. “Now, what do you think you’re owed for that little surprise?”

“Forgiveness?” Noticing the thin chain on his collar was undone, I fix it for him. “You know, Sir, I think it would be good for you to practice leaving yesterday’s grudges in the past. A handsome face like yours should eliminate as many causes of stress as possible to prevent faster aging.”

He raises a brow, not at all looking convinced. “Is that how it works?”

I nod. “There has been research done. If you let me live, I can have a full report on your desk by tomorrow night.”

Sylus hums as if considering it. Then, miraculously, he lets me go. “Leave yesterday’s grudges in the past, is it? Perhaps you’re right.” He turns to the side and lifts an arm as if to say ‘go ahead’. “Enjoy the rest of your night off, Evie.”

‘I’m so dead.’

I don’t turn my back to him. In fact, I walk backwards while holding eye contact with him, the amused smile on his face a mask for something more lethal. It’s only when I’m forced to turn a corner that I let him out of my sight.

My steps and quick and paranoid, the base seeming to stretch on endlessly before I finally make it to the exit. Then I actually make it outside, the full moon and cool air welcoming me in celebration of my survival.

“Huh.” I cross my arms and pinch my chin between my thumb and index finger. “I can’t believe I actually got away with-”

Something slaps against my ass with a swift, sharp strike. I jump in surprise, a startled yelp forcing itself free from my throat. Eyes wide, I whirl around to find Sylus smirking down at me with one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the other hanging at his side.

“Sir!” I exclaim, rubbing the spot he hit. It was tingling, though I can’t say if it’s from the slap or the knowledge that it was him who touched me. “What happened to leaving yesterday’s grudges in the past?!”

“You’re so naive, kitten. For a man who is more active at night, ‘yesterday’ is still today.” He closes the distance between us and leans down until his lips are at my ear. “Pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll bind your wrists until you’re begging me to set you free. Do you understand?”

My breath hitches. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He nips my earlobe before pulling away. “The driver will take you home.”

Even after he disappears back inside, I’m still staring at the door, my heart hammering and cheeks burning. Is a book cover really worth what I put myself through tonight?

My phone buzzed with a message. It’s from Kieran, showing proof that they held up their end of the bargain. Not only did they get their hands on the exclusive cover, but they got it signed.

‘Totally worth it.’

SFW Masterlist

Tag List:

@softlycandescent @goat-mama-breezie

[magixfairyix]

~ Woo! Pokemon trainer Darcy cause why not, based on my previous post about what the Trix's teams would be.

~ I tried for her design to be very goddess-y (cause come on, she is one, but regardless) and with both round and sharp shapes, also not fully symmetrical.

~ Also, since in my mental lore, she is a duel-type dark and psychic type trainer, I tried for the symbolism of that with the crown and the diadem, the crown being a moon and the diadem being the inside of the missing part of the moon and resting over the spot called the 'third eye' (smth smth psychic abilities and energy).

~ Initially she had the four Pokemon on the right along with Unbreon and Espeon, but I gave her two of my Fakemon in the Winx Club Pokemon AU universe in my brain

~ The circle Pokemon next to Malmar is a Fakemon called Archist, and is the first Pokemon of the majority of trainers. It is a normal type when given to the trainer at the start of their journey, and it's type is changed depending on the item that powers it. Darcy's Archist is a dark/psychic type, and the item is a Whisperian Crystal that is passed down through the three leaders of the Ancestorians along with the other two crystals

~ The Ancestorians are the enemy team in this AU (ie, like team skull, team rocket, etc) and are a group of skilled trainers, scientists, and theoretical thinkers whose goal is to lean the lengths that Pokemon's powers can go and to research rare Pokemon. Though they are far from ethical, and a lot of the time capture rare Pokemon or steals them from others

~ And if you are in the Ancestorians, good luck being able to leave. Some people join out of the same drive for knowledge and harnessing Pokemon's powers, though some join out of a situation of nowhere else to go or are manipulated into joining cause they have useful skills that would be beneficial to the cause

~ Darcy along with Icy and Stormy are the three heads of the organization, and come from the Cloud Tower part of the region (as of now there is the Cloud Tower area, Alfea area, Red Fountain area, and this represents sort of the different cities and routes in those cities), and the Ancestorians have been a part of the Magix Region for a long-ass time and even the law enforcement (specialists?) can never seem to get rid of the well-protected and thought-out system

~ The Pokemon under Archist and Malmor is a Fakemon eeveelution called Thyseon, and is a psychic type. The Magix region has a lot of different areas and energies so of course Eevee thrives here the most, so it is common for new evolutions of Eevee to appear, as well as new evolutions of other Pokemon that are dependant on conditions. There is also a regional variant of Eevee in the Magix region that is white and has more fluff

~ Thyseon is known as The Vengeance Pokemon, and Eeevee evolves into it after facing tragedy leading to its death at the hands of a trainer or another Pokemon. Its need for vengeance is never sated and it takes a long time to warm up to its trainer. Its ruthless as hell, but also useful for the Ancestorians due to Thyseon's ability to warp or get rid of any person's or Pokemon's memory as it pleases

~ If you show that you are going to leave the Ancestorians or you try to run, you're gonna have Darcy definitely come after you with the Thyseon because having secret information get out like that would be bad for them

~ (This is actually part of the story of the Winx Au where all the Winx are gym leaders and my Oc, once again fucking Iorda I love her, goes to get their help to stop the Ancestorians after leaving the organization after she steals a newly discovered eeveelution (Lureon, more about it later) and narrowly escaped Darcy and her Thyseon cause the Lureon wants fucking blood and attacks the shit out of them, but I disgresssssss~)

[whirligig-girl]

Star Patrol rocket Piccard-5 encounters an artifact of the incredibly powerful White Marble Civilization. circa 2169, colorized & shipgirlified.

Commission for @foxgirlchorix, based on a render by Holly for @torchship-rpg

This is some of my best rendering work ever! These commissions do have a knack for putting me out of my comfort zone enough to continue developing my technical skills and style.

Image ID: Digital art of two ship girls in a black and blue nebula background. One girl is a very large solid white marble statue with a naked feminine form, pitted and cratered with meteoric impacts, drifting belly-down though space. Instead of a face, her head has a large hole which glows yellow-orange, with a white marble sphere held in space outside of it. A green tractor beam is being emitted towards the second girl, a Torchship named Piccard-5. She is a silver girl with her body resembling a star patrol jumpsuit. Warp drive rings circle her waist like a hula hoop. She is wearing a spherical ball helmet. She is wearing white rocket boots. She has glowing red-orange radiator panels as wings on her back. The white marble sphere's tractor beam is slowly disassembling her into individual hull sections, disconnecting her radiator wings, removing her boots to reveal the rocket propellant inside her legs, and taking her body apart. Piccard-5 is reacting with a worried or confused expression. End Image ID.

Artist's notes and concept sketches in the read more:

When this render was posted Levana immediately had the idea to make it one of a series she was planning on commissioning me for, of shipgirls based on Torchship's Star Patrol (and alien) rockets. So we quickly brainstormed how it would go down and what she could afford price-wise.

When I do big commissions with new characters where I'm creating the design without an existing OC reference, I charge extra for character design. That doesn't just go to waste! Here's the concept art page:

The White Marble shipgirl is inspired by the Eerie and Enigmatic Empty Vessels by @murmurlilies, which Levana really likes--if you look at her blog you might see one of those posts reblogged multiple times. I wanted to pay homage to the eerie and enigmatic empty vessels without directly ripping them off! The first sketch on the upper left is imagining the girl poses by breaking her arms into segments and moving them around, but that never looked quite right to me. The second is basically just a direct study of the empty vessels (with a ball head). The third is after a little more refinement--I liked the cute hair on the empty vessels so I wanted to keep the head mostly intact, and I found a way of keeping the silhouette of the jagged angular hips on the empty vessels but in a very different way! Meteoric impact damage, just like on the original Torchship render. I also used an edited version of one of the Empty Vessels drawings for the thumbnail sketch in the lower right out of laziness.

There's also a sketch of what Piccard-5 looks like when she's not being disassembled. Piccard-5 has a rounded main hull, so it looks much more like a regular space suit helmet than the frustum-shaped helmet on the Newton-2 shipgirl I sketched a while back. The Newton-2 shipgirl had heat radiators as wing shapes on her boots, but making them actual wings on her back makes the disassembly image all the more unsettling.

I changed the hairstyle on the white marble girl when I drew the main drawing because I wanted to evoke like, greco-roman marble statues, and so a curlier/braided look worked better than the cute pixie cut of the empty vessels. I'm really happy with how the final product looks. I knew I wasn't gonna be able to half-ass it with the rendering, you know, just a little shading along the edge; this required a lot of careful thought and it was a lot of fun to do! Especially where the craters interact with the terminator (line between light and dark), just like on the Moon, which I have a lot of experience sketching (see below--the following sketches were made while looking through telescopes at the Moon at night)

Here's a WIP of just the line-art:

and with the basic shading done on the marblegirl

I started with like, a cel-shaded look (?), and then went in and softened the edges, then went over it again to fix the craters. I also added the marble texture to the unshaded base layer.

For the Piccard-5 girl, I spent a lot of time trying to get the pose right. I wanted it to be a little stiff, she's in a suspension beam after all, but not too stiff? And I had to decide like, what pieces should be detached, and where should they be going. In the render, hull pieces are often displaced towards the side, but when doing that to a humanoid, it ruined the pose too much, so i avoided doing too much weird stuff to the torso and kept the disassembled pieces largely to one axis. The cross sections are hollow because they're ship decks. She's a spaceship, not a robot girl. The warp ring was suspiciously untouched by the dissassembly beam in the original render, but i had the marble girl pull a few pieces off of it in my drawing.

Probably the one thing that isn't based on something happening in the render is the belt. Like, rockets don't have belts, cosmonauts do! So that was a fun little touch.

[daydream-cement]

Vines Forever Intertwined Ch. 3

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Larissa and Fern make it to the safehouse.

Authors Note: Sorry this has taken so much time to write! I hope you enjoy!

The shapeshifter’s tone turned aggressive, her arms folded over her chest in a defiant manner, “We need to go home. We need to get back to the girls.”

Your hands gripped the steering wheel and you kept your gaze alternating between the road before you, the review mirror, and the directions pulled up on your phone. The best you could do at this point was trying to convince Larissa that you needed to keep going. “Riss, Agent Thatcher specifically said we need to stay away from Nevermore. Let’s go to the safe house. We need to rest and come up with a plan.”

“How can you say that?!” Larissa reached out and hit the dashboard in front of you causing you to jump. You hadn’t expected the sudden wave of visceral anger from your wife. “We have always been perfectly safe back home. If I can survive the Addamses, undead pilgrims, and psychotic ex-lovers, I think I can handle these people.”

It was too late to go back home. The drive would take another day and would necessitate the need to stop for gas - something you were not willing to do considering the assault you both faced in the parking garage. The safe house truly was the safest option right now. 

“There is no need for the dramatics. We are a few minutes from the safehouse... After everything that happened, we should just get somewhere safe.”

Larissa fell silent, obviously fuming that you could ever suggest not rushing back home immediately. For what was supposed to be a romantic getaway, you were certainly headed in the opposite direction. 

You completed the rest of the drive in an agonizing silence. 

While you drove, you couldn’t help but glance over into the passenger seat, but you weren’t looking at the shapeshifter. No, you were looking at the handprints melted into the car window - a now permanent fixture to remind you of the life threatening situation you both had been in an hour earlier. You found the warped window to be a terrifying symbol of life or death situations that were likely to come.

When you pulled into the driveway of the safehouse, there was an agent waiting for you both in the front driveway. After the car was in park, Larissa exited the vehicle wordlessly, still giving you the cold shoulder. 

With a roll of your eyes, you exit the car, coming face to face with the agent you would be staying with. The man was significantly taller than Larissa and you found yourself needing to take a step back in order to look him in the eye. He was undeniably handsome with a thick mane of dreadlocks and a joyful, wide grin, making you feel automatically at ease.

There was a golden glint to his brown eyes as he stretched out a hand, squeezing your hand just a little too hard. He spoke with a deep gravel to his voice, “Agent Morris. Nice to meet you. Let’s get you both inside so I can hopefully provide some clarity on everything you have been through in the past couple of hours.”

“That would be grea-”

Larissa rounded the car, cutting you off by ordering the agent about. “We need to get back to Vermont. We have no time to waste by playing spy with your organization. I have a school full of children who need me, two of them being my own, mind you.”

The agent didn’t seem phased by the shapeshifter’s demands and rather he offered her a smile and stretched out a hand to greet her as well. “I understand your concern, but you are a logical woman. Your children are more valuable to you alive, and I can assure you that your life and theirs will be in jeopardy if you choose to travel home.”

The headmistress clenched her jaw in response and turned away from you both, striding towards the house defiantly. 

The agent was kind enough to help you with the bags, offering you a quick notes version of the organization you were up against. You entered the old and cozy home and spotted the straight-faced shapeshifter who aggressively disappointed in you. As much as Larissa seemingly wanted you to sit elsewhere, you took a seat on the couch next to her, ready to hear the agent out.

“The company known as ‘Outcast Vitamins’ or ‘O-Vitamins’ is looking to bottle outcast abilities. This I’m sure you already know, but what was kept from you is the interest the company has on you both in particular.” Agent Morris took a seat across from you and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Both of your abilities are well known in the outcast world and they are more of interest to normies who are looking for a supplement they could take to give them abilities that are a little less... life altering.” As he spoke, he gestured towards you both when referring to your powers and to himself when mentioning lycanthropy. “Growing plants and shapeshifting-at-will may be a better selling point with the average consumer than lycanthropy or vampirism.” 

You inquired deeper, hoping to sell Larissa on the seriousness of the subject, “But what does that mean? What do they want from us? Do they want our DNA or something? ” 

“The process is... painful to say the least. There have been werewolves, vampires, and a siren that have been experimented on for the past few years. It’s sold as a medical study where people believe they will get paid for a few test trials, but...” Agent Morris glanced down into his hands, hesitating on having to share the survival rate. “About half of them survived... The issue with experimenting on the two of you is that your cellular makeup is different from the others. Larissa especially... Shapeshifting is something professional outcast scientists barely understand, let alone a few hacks in a lab. They would experiment and test on you for months before they might get something viable.”

Larissa spoke up, her hand reaching out and protectively squeezing your knee, “Again, what about my children and students? I have many outcasts that have a variety of abilities. Luring me away from them does not reassure me that they will be kept safe.” The intensity and coldness of Larissa’s tone seemed to have no impact on the agent. You felt the need to wince, knowing Larissa would be willing to escalate the argument if she felt it necessary. 

“I assure you there is no luring of anybody. We have agents on and around the premises of the school. According to inside sources, the company wants you two. A shapeshifter and a plant manipulator. Not only are your powers perfect for consumers, but they are particularly potent. You are both powerful and very in control of your abilities. O-Vitamins is very aware of your professional and personal history. They know what you are capable of.”

“We are just educators and mothers…” You rationalize, trying to push away the thought that there were people out to find and potentially harm you.

Agent Morris only smiled and shook his head, “I think we both know that isn’t true, doctor.” 

——

“Not only could we die… but they are after shapeshifters. Althea is in danger. Oh my god! What about my parents?” Larissa choked out the words as she dropped herself on the edge of the bed, trying to get the words out before she knew she would begin to cry. 

She looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, her arms parting as a silent command for you to hug her. You take two steps and position yourself between Larissa’s legs into her open arms. Her arms were soon raveled around you, squeezing you tight and pressing her face into your abdomen. 

You went about helping Larissa relax in the best way you knew how: unpinning her hair and gently massaging her scalp as you provided her comforting words. “We have no choice but to trust these agents. They will take care of the kids. Your parents are more than capable of taking care of themselves.” 

With her face planted into your abdomen, she shook her head, not wanting to believe everyone would be okay without her there. Larissa was preparing herself for worst case scenarios and you knew how hard it was to pull her out of anxious ruminating once she had already started. Typically, Larissa was the one to pull you out of your own emotional spiraling, but seeing her so vulnerable caused you to jump into action. 

“Honey, look at me...” You shifted your hands to either side of her face, pulling her away and holding her still as you crouched so as to look up into her eyes. Larissa seemed determined to look away from you for a moment, most likely due to her own embarrassment over crying, but you were more firm in your tone to make sure she knew you were serious. “Look at me.”

With sad (and somewhat pouty) eyes, Larissa met your gaze, shaking her head as more tears pooled in her eyes. 

While you didn’t have a full plan worked out, you needed to distract Larissa somehow and get her attention focused on something she could control. “We need to finish what we started and we will be back home before we know it.”

Larissa leaned into the touch of your left hand, closing her eyes and sounding more defeated than you had ever known her to be, “How are we going to take down an entire company? You saw the powers of that man. I’m sure they have other outcasts that can do more than melt the glass of car windows.” 

“I don’t know how, but I’d say it would be worth it to try... How else will we make it home to Al and Vi?”

The shapeshifter paused, sucking in a breath and thinking hard for a moment. When Larissa opened her eyes again, they held a new determination and fire that was much more reminiscent of the woman you fell in love with. “Tomorrow we should sit down with Agent Morris. I want to know more about this company and what we have to do. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we will be back home with the kids.” 

“That’s my girl.” You mumble, pulling her face down to press a kiss against her forehead. Releasing her face, you pushed yourself back into a standing position and brought a hand to rest on her cheek once more, “Let’s get a good night’s rest.”

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @ihavenoclue2008, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @enchantressb, @renravens, @shyladyfan, @peanutbutterprincess, @lvinhs, @ohana1996, @imlike-so-gaydude, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @oculusalien, @kimiinou, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod

[ghostbiter]

[Art by @cheesecakepaw ; Ocs are from Cats of the rolling hills ; A discord rp I co-own]

Pyrestar ; The star’s champion. Their dog. He is kept on a tight leash, a leash that binds him to the prophecy that so heavily weighs down upon him. The prophecy has warped his sense of being an individual. He is not a cat. He is merely a tool for the stars. He is driving himself further, and further from the ones he lives because he has to. He has to complete his purpose. If he does not, than why is he still alive?

Kestrelpaw ; Born as a product of an affair. Eyes have always been on the young feline. Eyes that drove her into a feeling of unease. Of unsettlement. It drove her to distance from her family, to be driven by hate. But… it her time came to an end, before she could experience life, and right her wrongs.

[ Link to join ; https://discord.gg/BwNtUvfsdB ]

[short-circuit-the-great]

Werewolf and her bug girlfriend start a robot car regime together. More at 10.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

i don’t think you notice (what you did to me) [b.h]

seven. | thankful

Billy Hargrove ✘ Win Lewis (ofc)

⇾ w.c. 4.4k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, neil's a grade A asshole, allusions to abuse, though none is explicitly shown in this chapter, smut, angry sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, billy is bad with emotions ⇾ a/n. i know i'm completely warping the timeline of season two, but i wanted more time for win and billy to get to know each other before the events in The Gate happen

[ masterlist ] [ win lewis bio ]

“So, Win, got any plans for Thanksgiving?” Max asked as she slipped into the backseat of the Camaro, skateboard in hand.  

“Oh shit, that’s tomorrow isn’t it?” Win murmured, her lips twisting slightly.  “Uh, no, not really,” she admitted.  “My dad has to work, so I’ll probably get some Chinese takeout or something and veg in front of the tv,” she said with a shrug, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.  She felt Billy’s eyes on her as he drove down the deserted country road, but he didn’t say anything.

“You’re kidding,” Max huffed.  “That’s so lame.”

Win shrugged, glancing out the window.  “It’s fine,” she said, brushing off Max’s concern.  The last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity.  She’d been left on her own for most of her life since her mom’s death.  She was used to it.

“Billy, you should invite Win to our Thanksgiving dinner,” Max suggested, speaking up after a moment, and Win could see the silent battle of wills taking place through the rear view mirror–Billy glaring back at Max, who didn’t back down, glaring right back at him.

“You don’t seriously want your girlfriend to spend the holiday on her own, do you?” Max insisted and Billy scowled, pulling up to the curb of the arcade.

“I’ll be back in an hour.  You better be here,” he said instead, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, yeah, or I’ll have to skate home,” Max muttered, rolling her eyes before shooting Win a sympathetic glance, flipping Billy the bird as he pulled away, peeling out of the parking lot.

Finally alone in the car, neither of them spoke, both seeming unable to break the silence.

“You really don't want me to come to dinner?” Win finally murmured, her eyes flitting to Billy, hating how insecure she felt.

“I just don’t think it would be a good idea,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.  His brusque answer felt like a slap in the face.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” she asked, bile rising in her throat, her thoughts beginning to spiral–she knew he was a playboy, why did she think he’d actually be serious about her?

“What?  No!” Billy exclaimed, stomping on the brakes and pulling to the side of the road so he could look at her, a conflicted expression crossing his face.  He paused, taking a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself before he spoke, not wanting to snap at her.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want you there,” Billy exclaimed, his gaze slipping, not quite meeting Win’s eyes.  “It’s just that, if you haven’t figured it out yet, my dad’s a grade-A fuckin’ asshole and I don’t want you to have to deal with that,” he explained, tensing, as if waiting for Win to tell him off, and shame filled her.

“Shit,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she silently berated herself for jumping to conclusions.  “I’m sorry, Billy,” she murmured, heaving a breath as her eyes found his. “I don’t care how big of a dick he is, I wanna spend the holiday with you,” she assured him softly.  “I can handle myself.”

Billy let out a doubtful huff, but he didn’t argue, placing his hand atop hers as a hopeful look flickered in his eyes, gone the next moment.

Throwing the car back in drive, he pulled back out onto the road.  “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered.

The next morning, Win paced as she waited for Billy to arrive to pick her up.  Her father had already left by the time she woke, leaving a note for her on the counter, promising to be home as soon as he was able, though Win wasn’t about to hold her breath for that.

When she heard the snarl of the Camaro’s engine in the drive, she pushed open the front door and slipped into the leather seat.  Billy raised an eyebrow at the sight of her and her knee length black collared dress, her short platinum hair pulled up halfway.

“What?” she asked, noticing his expression.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly.  “You look nice, is all,” he added, backing out onto the road, his hand enveloping her bare knee.  

“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” Win observed, warmed by his touch.  “You even managed to button your shirt up most of the way,” she teased and Billy stuck his tongue out at her, his hand on her leg tightening, giving her a warning squeeze.

However, the closer they got to Cherry Street, the grimmer Billy’s expression grew, his apprehension bleeding into Win.  By the time he parked in front of the house, all trace of his grin had disappeared and he reluctantly got out of the car.

“Hey, it’s gunna be alright, I promise,” Win insisted as they walked up the sidewalk together, stopping at the front stoop.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, though he seemed distracted.

Win smiled encouragingly, taking his hand in hers as she raised up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek.  Billy’s expression softened and he turned his face to steal a kiss, grinning down at her before pushing the door open.

Inside, the warm smell of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie met them and Win took a deep breath, inhaling the nostalgic scent.  Billy’s dad sat on the couch, watching the football game, a can of beer in hand, and Win gave him a cursory glance.

Neil Hargrove was the definition of straight laced, his appearance neat and tailored, everything in place.  Billy had told her that he worked as a security guard, and with his mustache, Win would have probably guessed it–that or a cop.  There was nothing soft about the man, and when he turned his stern gaze on her, she felt like she was being sized up.

Before Billy could pull Win to his room, Neil spoke up, stopping his son in his tracks.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?  Don’t be rude, come back here and introduce your girlfriend,” he snapped and Win could instantly see the shift in Billy’s demeanor–the way his shoulders hunched slightly and his jaw flexed, setting in resignation as he stared ahead flatly.

“I want to meet this girl you’ve been staying out all night with.”

At his words, a sinking feeling opened in the pit of Win’s stomach, making her wonder just how much that night together had cost Billy.

“Win, this is… my dad, Neil.  Dad, this is Win.  Win Lewis,” Billy said haltingly, as if the words were being pulled from him, reluctant even to call the man his father.

“Nice to meet you,” Win said, flashing him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You’re not what I expected,” Neil mused, returning her smile, though his too held no warmth.

Win wanted to ask what exactly he expected, but she held her tongue, determined to be civil, at least for Billy’s sake.

“So, Susan tells me your father’s working today?” Neil continued, glancing between her and the television when one of the teams scored.

“Yeah, he works at Hawkins Lab.  They’re really busy right now, I guess,” Win murmured and Neil nodded.  

“Sounds like he’s working hard, like any good American should,” he exclaimed and Win had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yeah well, he should at least get to spend the day with his kid,” Billy grumbled, slipping his arm around Win’s waist protectively.

Neil’s eyes flashed.  “Sometimes when you’re an adult you have to make sacrifices, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that,” he said pointedly, his voice dangerously low and Win felt Billy tense next to her.

Thankfully, it was then that Susan appeared, stepping out of the kitchen to greet Win.

“I thought I heard voices out here,” she said, carefully keeping her eyes away from her husband as she crossed the room to wrap Win in an awkward hug.  “I’m so sorry your father had to work today, but you are always welcome here,” she insisted, pulling back to smile warmly at Win.

“Thank you,” Win murmured, ducking her head.  “It smells really good,” she added, which made Susan’s smile grow.

“It’s not quite finished yet, another half hour or so,” she said quickly and Win followed her further inside, grateful to get away from Neil.

“Do you need any help?” Win asked, ignoring Billy’s sharp sidelong look.

Mrs. Hargrove, however, practically gaped at Win, completely taken aback by her offer before finding the words to respond.  “You’re so sweet for asking, but it’s fine, really.  Besides, you’re our guest, you shouldn’t be put to work,” she exclaimed, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t mind,” Win insisted with a shrug.  “I feel kinda bad I didn’t bring anything.”

Billy snorted, amused at the thought.  “That’s probably a good thing,” he teased under his breath, hastily avoiding Win’s elbow as she tried to jab him in the side, her lips twitching into a grin despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Susan assured her.  “Though, I suppose if you really want to help, there’ll be plenty of dishes to wash after dinner.”

Win nodded before Billy pulled her away, growing too impatient.

“Hey Max,” Win greeted, sticking her head around the younger girl’s open bedroom door as they passed.

“Hey Win,” Max called back, looking up from the comic book spread open on her bed.

Win didn’t have time to say more before Billy was yanking her to his room and she let herself be led.  This time when he pushed open his door she noticed a small latch fastened to the top corner of the outside of his door and the implication behind its presence was clear. Win wondered how many times Neil had locked Billy inside his room and her stomach knotted at the thought.

Once they were inside, Billy quickly shut the door and strode to his bed, plopping down unceremoniously.

“You okay?” Win asked, joining him on the edge of the bed.

Billy let out a long breath.  “Yeah, m’fine,” he finally muttered, his voice gruff, like talking about it at all made him uncomfortable.  “Sorry for my dad’s behavior, he’s such an asshole,” he growled, shaking his head, and Win gently placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s fine, I was expecting it,” she murmured, the question she wanted to ask waiting on the tip of her tongue as she deliberated it.  Wetting her lips, she decided to just ask, her lungs burning the longer she held it in.  

“What happened after that night that you stayed over?  How much trouble did you get in?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment and at first Win thought Billy was just going to ignore it.

“Nothing.  Nothing happened,” he finally replied, eyes staring straight ahead, his voice clipped and hard, as if it took all his effort to keep it under control.

“Billy…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped and Win pulled back, dropping the subject, her heart in her throat.

After a moment Billy glanced over, his expression conflicted, as if he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth, his father’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Billy, Maxine!  Come set the table!”

Billy’s jaw flexed in annoyance, but he pushed up off the bed.  “C’mon, it’s almost time to eat,” he said, holding out his hand to help Win up, the gesture as much of an olive branch as he could give at the moment, and Win took it, letting him pull her to her feet.

They met Max in the hallway and filed into the cramped kitchen to grab the plates and silverware while Susan dished all the food into serving trays and bowls for the table.  Once the table was set and the food all brought out, Neil made his way in to cut the turkey, taking his place at the head of the table.  In the other room the television babbled to itself, the game still playing in the background.

“Everything looks amazing, Mrs. Hargrove,” Win said as the side dishes passed around the table and everyone took what they wanted.

“Thank you, Win, that’s very sweet of you to say,” Susan replied, practically beaming, and Max piped up as well, echoing Win.

“Yeah, Mom, really good.”

Neil didn’t glance up from the turkey, but his words were clearly meant for Max.  “You could’ve helped your mother more.  Sooner or later, you’re going to have to know how to do this.”

Max’s face tightened, but she merely looked down at her plate, biting back the comeback she wanted to hurl.

Once the turkey was sliced, it too circled the table and Win speared a piece with her fork, getting it halfway to her mouth when Neil cleared his throat.

“Shall we say Grace?” he murmured and Win quickly dropped her fork, awkwardly folding her hands like the others with the exception of Billy who rolled his eyes when his dad wasn’t looking.  

Not really paying attention while Mr. Hargrove prayed, Win shared a secret look with Billy, thinking it was awfully ironic that Neil was leading them in prayer, projecting this wholesome family man image when really he was the biggest bully of all.

When he finished, Win quickly shut her eyes, opening them with the others, as if they’d been closed the entire time.  Neil didn’t say anything, but it seemed his first bite was the actual official cue for everyone to start eating.

Win’s mouth was full when he suddenly directed a question her way.  

“So, Win,” he began, placing a strange emphasis on her name.  “That’s an unusual name,” he mused, seeming to veer off from his original question.  “Is that short for something?”

Win nearly choked as she swallowed to answer, clearing her throat awkwardly as she stalled, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“Uh, yeah, it’s short for Winrey.  My mum was British,” she explained.

“British.  Huh,” Neil grunted, taking a drink from his glass.  “Play any sports?  Cheerleading?” he asked, his gaze flicking to hers for a moment before focusing back on his plate.

“No, I’ve never really been all that athletic, except that time I tried gymnastics.  I’m more into music and cars,” she said, shooting a small grin at Billy who snorted softly and shook his head.

“Music and cars,” Neil repeated dryly and Billy’s grin vanished as quick as it had appeared.  “Sounds like you have a lot in common,” he said, his tone flat, as if he didn’t really think that was a good thing.  “Sounds like you found yourself a keeper, wonder how long it’ll last before you fuck it up,” he said, glancing at Billy as if just waiting for him to snap back.

Everyone at the table fell silent, their eyes dropping to their own plates, except for Win.  She stared incredulously back at Neil, taken aback by the bluntness of his comment.  Next to her, Billy’s jaw flexed and his grip on his fork tightened as he seethed in silence.

Win however, wasn’t as adept at biting her tongue, muttering the most smart-assed comment that sprang to her lips.  “Well if you can keep a wife…”

Neil’s eyes narrowed at her across the table as he chewed slowly.  “Excuse me?” 

“Oh!  Who wants pie?” Susan exclaimed quickly, jumping to her feet.

“I do!” Max said, latching onto the distraction.

“Neil?  Honey?” Susan asked pointedly and he finally tore his gaze from Win, turning his attention to his wife and nodding.

Win ducked her head as she ate, grinning to herself.

Susan returned moments later with the pie and dinner resumed without any further conversation directed at Win or Billy.  Neil, for the most part, ignored them to go on about how great Reagan was for America.

By the time dinner wound down, Win was ready to slip away with Billy, wanting to make sure he was alright, but before she got the chance, Susan asked if she minded helping with the dishes, and Win reluctantly agreed.  She had offered to help earlier, after all.

Standing next to Susan at the counter, she dried the plates as the other woman passed them to her.  

“It’s so nice having another woman in the house,” Mrs. Hargrove murmured, smiling softly to herself.  “Maxine’s not exactly the feminine type, so…” she trailed off and Win nodded in understanding.

“My mum died when I was about Max’s age,” Win admitted, looking down at the serving dish in her hands.  “I miss this kinda stuff too,” she murmured and Susan’s sad smile returned.

“You know,” she began, pausing nervously to glance around, as if making sure her husband wasn’t in earshot before continuing.  “I’m glad Billy met you,” she said quietly.  “I-I think you might be the best thing to happen to him in a long time.”

Win looked up at her and her shock must have shown on her face because Susan only nodded.  “You’re a good influence on him,” she insisted.

Win wanted to laugh.  Certainly that wasn’t true.  She felt, if anything, they were both bad influences, but of course she didn’t say so.

Once the dishes were all washed and dried, Win went in search of Billy, but his bedroom was empty.

“He’s out in the garage with Neil,” Max said, watching Win from her door.

“Oh,” Win breathed, frowning, worried about what the two men could be talking about.

“What do you see in him?”

Max’s question took Win off guard and for a moment she merely blinked at the redhead, trying to think.  “I-I dunno,” she spluttered, her brows pinching further. "I mean, I know he can be kind of a jerk–"

"Kind of?" Max scoffed, interjecting.

“Yeah, okay, more than kind of,” Win agreed begrudgingly.  “But I guess there’s more to him than meets the eye,” she continued, shrugging.  “I know that’s hella cliche, but it’s true.”

Max eyed her and for a moment Win thought she was going to scoff at her again, but all she said was “maybe” with a shrug.

“When you first started going out, I thought you were too nice for him, but maybe you’re rubbing off on him.  Or maybe he actually really likes you,” she said.  “I’ve never seen him act like he does around you,” she added and Win’s lips tugged into a small grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and trust me, he’s been out with a lot of girls,” Max said, wincing as soon as the words were out of her mouth.  “I mean, you know,” she added, her freckled cheeks flushing before she quickly shook her head.  “But I don’t think he’s ever actually dated anyone before,” she admitted and the thought that she was somehow more special than the others made Win’s stomach flutter.

“Anyway, I hope Neil’s wrong and you guys stay together.  Billy’s not as terrible when you’re around,” Max said, sharing a small smile with Win before the garage door slammed open and Billy strode back inside, his expression tense.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said brusquely, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

“Uh, okay–” Win began, but Billy was already heading impatiently for the front door.

“I wrapped up some leftovers for you to take home for your father,” Susan offered, coming out of the kitchen with a plastic bag full of aluminum foil parcels.

“Thank you, he’ll appreciate this,” Win murmured, accepting the bag.  “Uh, thank you again for dinner,” she said hastily, nodding to Susan and Max, who lingered in the hallway.

“It was our pleasure,” Susan called after her as Win followed Billy.  

Outside, the sun was slipping toward the horizon, casting the darkening sky in an orange hue as the wind picked up, blowing several dry leaves past their ankles.

“Hey, you okay?” Win asked, jogging to keep up, but Billy didn’t answer, slipping behind the wheel and slamming the door shut.  Win joined him in the car, her brows furrowing with worry.  “Billy,” she tried again, firmer.  “Did something happen?”

Billy started the engine, keeping his eyes on the road.  “It’s nothing,” he said, finally glancing over at her, a tightness around his eyes as if he were fighting to keep something in, to keep his mask in place.

“It’s not nothing,” Win said gently, placing her hand on his arm and Billy tensed.  

“I said it’s fine,” he insisted, gruffer than intended, but Win didn’t pull away.  

“I’m sorry,” she murmured and Billy snorted, the sound harsh in the quiet car; he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the radio.

“I told you my dad would be an asshole,” he mumbled, tearing down the empty road.

“It really bothered you, what he said about us,” Win ventured, though it was less of a question and more an observation, and Billy’s expression tightened further, his lips pursing angrily.  “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about–” Win began, her words cutting off as he suddenly veered off the road and threw the Camaro in park.

“He doesn’t know shit,” Billy growled, leaning across the center console, his lips colliding with hers as his hand slipped behind her head, holding her in place as he kissed her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth.  “I need you,” he groaned, raw desperation lacing his deep voice, usually so velvety smooth and coated in honey.  “Need you so fucking bad.”

Win gasped, her head spinning at the intensity behind his bruising kisses, all teeth and tongue, as if he wanted to devour her.  Once she caught her breath, she kissed him back just as fiercely, grabbing hold of his jacket and moaning into his mouth as his hand slipped between her thighs, his thumb pressing circles against her clothed clit, sending heat rushing through her.

“Get in the back seat,” he commanded, nipping hard at her bottom lip before pulling back and unbuckling, throwing open his door.

Gasping at the sudden disappearance of his lips, it took a second for Win’s brain to catch up and she hastily followed suit.  Billy was already around the car by the time she stood and he opened the back door, his mouth hot on hers as he guided her, lowering her back onto the seat. 

Reaching under her dress, he tugged her panties down impatiently, freeing them from her legs before straightening to unzip his pants and free his throbbing cock, a desperation to his movements.

“Billy—!” Win yelped breathlessly as he yanked her to the edge of the seat and pulled her legs apart, bullying his tip between her folds and rutting into her.  “Oh—“ she gasped as he sheathed her, waiting only a moment for her to adjust before he was pumping into her, his thrusts sharp and frantic. 

“Oh fuck—“ she groaned, bracing herself with her arms, her entire body jolting with each desperate snap of his hips, the air filling with the lewd smack of skin against skin and Billy’s labored pants.

“Want you to cum,” he growled, freeing one hand to once more thumb her clit, gathering her wetness on the pad of his finger so it would glide over her delicate nub easily, sending electricity shooting through her.  “Cum for me, Win,” he grunted, the words a harsh plea, as he fucked her into the seat, and she had no choice but to obey, the tightly coiled spring of pleasure snapping at his relentless assault on her clit. 

“Fuck—BILLY!” she wailed, cumming hard, her orgasm hitting her like a train, but Billy didn’t stop, fucking her through it til his hips stuttered, bottoming out as he filled her, his chest heaving as he emptied himself deep inside.

For a moment neither of them spoke, too dazed to formulate words, merely panting hard to catch their breaths.  Billy pulled free, hastily tucking himself back into his tight jeans before grabbing her discarded panties and slipping them back up her legs, helping her to stand.

Before she could speak, he pulled her into his arms, holding her to him tightly, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“M’sorry,” he murmured hoarsely, as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check and not quite succeeding.

“I’m glad you were there,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.  “It made today… bearable.”

Win buried her face against his chest with a sigh, the tension from before leeching away.  “I’m glad I was there too,” she whispered back, warm tears catching in her lashes.

“C’mon, I better get you home,” he said reluctantly, clearing his throat, and Win nodded against his chest.

––

“I’ll call you later,” Win murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss before opening the car door and slipping out, grabbing the bag of leftovers.

Billy nodded, giving her a wave as he backed out of the drive, leaving her standing in there as the sun disappeared completely below the horizon.  Win watched the Camaro slip away into the night before turning toward her house.  Her dad’s car was parked in the drive and several lights burned inside.  She wondered how long he’d been home.

“Hey,” she greeted as she opened the door, finding him standing listlessly by the counter.  David’s head snapped up as she came in. 

“I’m so sorry—“ he began, but Win shook her head fiercely, cutting him off.

“You’re here now,” she said, rounding the counter to embrace him, her chest tight.

“Did you have a nice time at… Billy’s?” he asked, still struggling to say his name without any vitriol and Win snorted, pulling away to open the leftovers and fix them both a plate.

“Yeah, it was alright,” she said.  “His stepmom sent some food home for you.”

“That was nice,” David mumbled, running a hand through his dark hair as he watched Win plate the food.

“They nice people?” he asked and Win shrugged.

“His stepmom and stepsister are,” she answered, biting her lip.  She wanted to tell her dad everything—about Neil’s abuse and the way his family walked on eggshells around him, about how Billy shrank in on himself, flinching at nothing more than a sharp look or word from his father, but she hesitated.  What good would it do?  What could her dad even do about it?  And how would Billy react?  His embarrassment at the situation was obvious.  Would telling her father just make things worse?

David frowned at Win’s sudden silence.  “You okay?” he asked, ducking his head to peer at her suspiciously.

“Y-yeah, I was just… thinking,” she replied disjointedly, quickly clearing her throat and throwing one plate in the microwave.

“I’m gunna change, I’ll be right back,” she said, retreating to her room.  Once she pressed her back to the door, she let her frustrated tears fall.

⇾ taglist. @b1tchywheeler @super-unpredictable98 @santacarlahorrorshow @oliver-sykes @wherethewitchersare @elliethesuperfruitlover

[pennyserenade]

sleeping with the television on

chapter four - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: m (mature) tags/warnings: talk of sex, language, self-depreciation, angst word count: 2.4k summary: in the aftermath of poor decision making, javier and mariella pick up the bits of their lives. a/n: javier peña you're crazy but i love you

Mariella waits for Javier outside the convenience store, tapping her fingers nervously against the steering wheel. The thud thud of the music coming from the car speakers is so loud that it sends low vibrations throughout the entire vehicle, and she welcomes it, relishing the occasional mind-numbing peace that comes when the music reaches a high. 

As she nudges the dial up, she watches Javier through the front panes of the store. There’s no one else in the parking lot and the day is so warm; she figures if anyone were to pull up, they’d take this to be an act of end of summer glee, not temporary insanity. Earlier the radio jockey had introduced the song as Santeria. It’s got that summer sound, gritty the way all songs seem to be these days, but slow enough to dissect, to sit with. If she could think about anything other than what the hell had happened at her house, she might find she likes it. But she can’t. Of course she can’t. But she’s trying. 

She can still feel the warmth of Javier’s fingers on her skin. It had been the only bits of intimacy she’s had since that sultry Washington day with Henry, months ago, and her body clings to it, not wishing to forget as easily as she wills it to. There’s no denying it, but what had happened between her and Javier had been a mistake, something they’re surely going to pretend never happened, and probably won’t be able to move on from. An irrevocable mistake. She is tired of being so familiar with them, of having to be in the constant motion of moving forward and not looking back because of it. Henry bookmarks June, and now Javier will be the highlight of her late August—a new, terrible nightmare to replay endlessly in her mind. 

When she was younger she had imagined this perpetual displeasure and lost feeling would fade, that she would one day come into herself and find home in her body and in her mind. She knew mistakes would always exist, but she figured the ones she’d be making would be minimal: signing the kids up for play-dates at the same time, forgetting a doctor’s appointments, spilling coffee on her dry cleaned, white shirt. The mistakes she makes now are sophomoric, the type that are meant to be turned into life lessons. Don’t fuck married men, even if they are your ex-husband and you might still love him. Don’t kiss a man you hardly know, especially if you suspect he might be as lost and clueless as you are—even more so if he’s only a ten minute drive away from you at all times, and the son of your father’s friend. This is the moral and social curriculum covered in high school, and yet she’s failing it. 

She wants to leave, to drive as far and fast as she can, to a place where she can be anything, all over again. In Washington she is already a rich history, endlessly steep and wholly complex. In the roots she lays, a teenager on the cusp of the rest of her life at eighteen, then a young married woman at twenty-three, and finally the tragic divorcee at twenty-seven. At thirty-four she sits somewhere above the surface, not a teenager and not a wife–not even a native anymore–but a mistress in all ways. Her clandestine affair is preserved in room number 27 at the Motel 6, as well as in the hollow of her unforgiving mind. 

In Laredo, Texas she is a warped retelling, a character not of her own: a welcomed stranger at seventeen, some the befallen daughter with heavy tears at twenty-eight, a dedicated daughter at thirty, someone’s green teacher at thirty-two, and now, incredibly, soon to be the wind’s favorite whisper at thirty-four. If there isn’t already, there will be one more rumor. 

Mariella is the girl who used to be married but isn’t anymore, and she’s nice, the prodigal daughter despite everything. And because she is a good girl, always, everywhere she goes, she never, ever does the things she did with Henry—or the things she’s done with Javier for that matter. But she does, and she wants to find a stretch of earth that will forgive her for it—maybe even one that won’t absorb it the way the previous ones have. 

Henry was meant to be the fix to this—to be the end all, be all, no matter what. She married him for forever, not for the five years they got, two of which were tense and miserable. She has a hard time remembering those at all, save for the ending, and now she's in this pitiful, twisted epilogue where she’s the other woman and still struggling. Mariella finds she has to close her eyes to stop the tears from coming. Anger and frustration well in the pit of her stomach, and it’s all new, all over again. She hates Henry and this, and herself for letting her reserve go when she’d do so well at keeping it in check her entire life. 

There’s a sudden knock on the passenger side window. Mariella startles and then reflexively turns down the radio. Javier smiles at her, a reserved, embarrassed grin, like he knows he’s interrupted something. She reaches over and rolls down the window on his side, trying her best to collect herself. Her smile is timid, embarrassed, too, because he has caught her in the middle of something.  

“Okay..?” he asks. For a moment she thinks he’s asking about her, but then she sees the cigarette in his hand and realizes he’s asking her if it’s okay to smoke. She nods, almost adds “be my guest,” but finds her voice caught in her belly, along with everything else. 

Javier moves to the edge of the empty parking lot and lights his cigarette. Mariella rolls the window back up, but unlocks his side of the car and eyes him through the rearview mirror. With his back turned to her, it’s easier to watch. His shoulders rise when he inhales the first drag of the cigarette and fall back when he exhales a few moments later. She can see the muscles in his back even beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He is classically handsome, lean and broad-shoulder, pouty-lipped, mustached, topped off with intense brown eyes. His warm summer tan is accentuated by the blue in his shirt and though she can’t see him, she knows he’s got the top two buttons undone to reveal a bit of his bare chest. From recent experience she knows he smells good, too—enticingly masculine, with strong hands and warm tongue. 

When the radio jockey comes back on, urging listeners to phone in about their relationship issues, Mariella turns the station with a soft grunt, pulling her eyes away from Javier. What she knows, from her recent habit of listening to late night radio at the movie store, is that she does not like those segments. They’re painfully earnest. The idea of baring it all for a perfect stranger, in front of thousands of other strangers, embarrasses her. Maybe if she didn’t make such a perfect candidate, she might like them more. Be it as it is, she relishes the sound of the Macarena instead. Javier comes back mid-song. He slides into the car without a word. His clean scent has been swiftly replaced by the pungent smell of Marlboro Reds. She’d probably hate that more if she didn’t envy him the vice. 

Cigarettes are the acrid smell of soft rebellion, and of nostalgia. It reminds her of her grandfather’s yellowed finger tips, and that time Henry had taught her to hold a cigarette. Neither of them smoked, not really, but he’d learned just ‘cause in high school. They sometimes sat in that apartment she’d told Javier about, passing a lone cigarette between them. They’d take turns blowing the smoke out the window above the toilet, stripped to their underwear, laughing covertly, like lovers. Like friends. 

“Ready?” she asks Javier. 

“Yeah,” he nods. As he buckles himself in, he takes a sidelong glance at her. She hesitates to meet his eye. Whatever it is he wants to say to her, he must forget it by the time she finally does look at him. They offer each other cordial grins before she turns her head, pulling out of the parking spot as the energetic sound of the Macarena fills the charged space between them. 

Javier discretely smiles at the lyric Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena. If there’s a God, he might be a cruel bastard. 

——

The classroom smells vaguely noxious, not helped by the stuffy, midday humidity carefully wafting through it. In their absence, the sun had risen and descended upon the school, creating an atmosphere that’s now relentless and overbearing, not safe for human life. Even the box fans on the desks, try as they might, fail to overcome the potent mixture of fresh paint and strong Texas heat. It goes without saying that their work is finished for the day—something they both feel silently grateful for, standing side by side in their shared awkwardness. 

Mariella gamely faces the room long enough to write a post-it note that reads “FRESH PAINT — PLEASE CLOSE UP BEFORE YOU GO. THANKS” for the janitor named Eddie. While she does this, Javier wanders the hall, doing his very best to ignore the sticky sweat that travels its way down his back. He figures he must smell like a story he won’t want to tell Chucho. One that he will, in all likely, not tell Chucho. Today’s cologne is Eau de Remorse, with hints of bone deep guilt, and unbeatable ennui, and he can’t wait to shower, to scrub his entire body of this day. Maybe to forget it ever happened, the way he seems to do with much of his life these days. 

The only thing tethering him to the school now is obligation, heavy as a stone, and to what he doesn’t exactly know. Maybe to her, maybe to himself. More likely to the latter. While the cigarette had pacified his craving, it had done very little for his nerves. He’s too high strung as is, the type of anxious that will keep him up for nights if he doesn’t leave her on better terms than this. 

“You didn’t have to stick around,” she says softly, coming up  to him once she’s finished. “You could’ve left. I wouldn’t have been offended.” 

Javier licks his lips and offers her a pacifist’s grin. “I wanted to see you out,” he half lies. He shrugs his shoulders as if to say It’s nothing, and tries with all his might to find words that can make up for what happened. 

She’s being so passive, almost as if they’ve been reverted back to their original roles: he the customer, she the clerk. It’d almost be easier if she were angry with him, so he’d at least know on some level what he could do to fix this, but she offers him nothing. Mariella holds her cards close to her chest, an emotional enigma in her own right. 

Maybe it is because she confuses him that he finds himself, perhaps pervertedly, more enticed by her than he’s been by anyone in a very long time. Or maybe it's because he knows the inside of her mouth, the taste of her, the way she feels pinned between his body and the counter, and that hasn’t happened to him in months. Whatever it is, it makes him feel boyish–timid in a way that is not befitting of someone of his stature or age. If she had any doubts about what sort of man he was in comparison to his reputation, he's sure he’s done very little to help them. 

The great thing about Mariella, though–the thing she possesses even now, staring up at him with an almost clinical gaze–is that she doesn’t seem to push ideas on him at all. She’s the first person since he’s been back that hasn’t asked him about Colombia, or Pablo Escobar, or what he plans to do next. She takes him as he is, reveals herself through her own stories and allows him the room to do the same. Retrospectively, he understands that he could’ve really liked Mariella. Of course he understands now that she’s got some hang ups of her own, but if he’d just taken it more slowly, allowed her to open up to him. 

But, as Chucho had been fond of telling him when he was a younger man, he’s made his bed, and now he must lie in it.

“I’m sorry, Mariella. I really am,” he tells her soberly, after a beat. She shuffles her belongings in her arms, looking away. Her tan cheeks tint red and he looks away too, back at the trophy case he’d been inspecting before she’d wandered up. This time she doesn’t soothe it over with her polite “it's alright,” but lets it hang between them, a curious, burning thing they will share, conspire about. 

On the way out of the school, he touches the small of her back instinctively, if not politely, guiding her through the doors. The touch is so sudden and unexpected she startles slightly beneath him. He draws his hand back, ashamed, startled too, and they look at each other. 

It is as if there is a ticking time bomb between them, and he came as close as he could to setting it off. His eyebrows furrow, the lines between them deep. In her eyes he sees for the first time that she is not angry, or mad, but embarrassed. Maybe even confused. Something exists between them that shouldn't, and this time he doesn’t make the same mistake as last time. He keeps his space, nods his head politely. “Goodbye, Mari,” he whispers before heading to his own car. 

As he stalks away, she stands, watching him go, thinking how curious of time it is to choose to use a nickname for the first time. 

Mariella knows she will see him again. That she must. Though she is no prophet, she foresees that Javier will be, in some way, her careful undoing, the stretch of forgiving land she needs to move forward, and not backward. How he will do it, she doesn’t know but for the first time she is ready, open to seeing. She sticks around for a little longer, and forgives him more deeply than he could ever hope for as he rides home silently, thinking that he’s ruined something nice forever.

[sunset-a-story]

OC Most Likely Tag Game

Rules: Answer with which of your OCs would be the most likely to do the statement, then give new statements for the next person.

Thank you to @pandoras-comment-box for the tag in this one!

Most likely to get lost.

Probably Hannah. She isn't prone to paying attention when someone is driving so she isn't super knowledgeable about the area--but she IS prone to just start confidently driving with the assumption that she'll figure it out.

Most likely to adopt a stray

If it's a stray animal? Marek for the Pet Program. If it's a stray person? Darwin.

Most likely to earn a punch in the face

Earn as in deserve a punch in the face? That could be several folks: Reeve and Misha come to mind immediately but it isn't likely to happen. That said, the character most likely to earn as in get punched in the face is Scott. (If only because once you hit in him the face, you've thrown the first punch and now he can beat the crap out of you without getting in trouble so he'll happily take the punch.)

I'll no pressure tagging @elizaellwrites @urnumber1star @gracehosborn @void-botanist open tag.

Your Most Likelies are:

Most likely to end a hike with a pocket full of rocks

Most likely to kill a houseplant at warp speed

Most likely to lose their phone while it's in their hand/pocket

[aerbiscuit]

Feelin’ kinda sad because I’ve thought up a new furry fart OC, but I can’t try drawing him for this blog because my art style is too distinctive and I already post non-kink stuff online...

So you’ll just have to hear about him through text!

He’s a half-raccoon, half-skunk hybrid named Ravi. However, ever since childhood, most people have saddled him with the nickname “Rank,” partly because of him being a raccoon-skunk (no amount of “I’m a Skoon!” changed anyone’s mind), partly because his skunk-spraying genes got warped into having constant flatulence instead.

Ravi used to hate being called “Rank,” but once he got into college, he made a few fart-loving friends who called him “Rank” lovingly, almost like it was a point of pride. The change of context was more important than he expected. To strangers and acquaintances, he’s Ravi, but if you’re a pal and can share a room with him after binging on wings and milkshakes, you can call him Rank all you want.

Rank is a cute pudgy guy who, while big in the middle, is pretty short. He doesn’t look like a kid per se, but his size and sweet nature makes everyone love to baby him. The only thing that drives people away is his butt, which - while large and just as invitingly fluffy as the rest of him - is often spewing out the results of his snack binges. He’s got em all: nervous farts, angry farts, silent ones, rumbly ones… Rank’s friends could fill out a catalogue with the classifications.

However, none of his farts beat his “spray” farts. Despite being half-skunk, Rank can’t actually spray. He just doesn’t have the glands for it. But his body must have retained a memory of what it needed to do, as Ravi’s farts do change when he’s angry, threatened, or wants to enact revenge. They get louder, longer, and a LOT more condensed. Those farts will stick to you all day. If he quickly turns around, points his butt at you, and raises his tail…. yeah, you better run.

Let me know if you guys wanna hear more about my new furry guy!

[arcademoss]

Deltarune: Process Of Assimilation Concept AU

Process Of Assimilation is a horror-centric, insert-friendly Deltarune AU that focuses on the residents of Cyber City, the protagonist, and Spamton G Spamton himself. CW // body horror, losing control of body, gunshot at end of song The protagonist is unrelated to Spamton in a familial sense / is an adult (so not Kris). They are open for oc inserts but canonly have history with Spamton of some sort. At the start of the AU, the protagonist is outside of Cyber City. Spamton was at his lowest; post downfall. He was prone to lash out, and desperate to make some sort of progress in his life. He harbored deep-seated resentment towards those who sat back and watched his descent; desperate to be the Big Guy of Cyber City again; or perhaps merely to secure a sale. Anything, just anything.

Given his obsession with his crash and burn; Spamton had found himself vulnerable to a phenomenon merely nicknamed "the anomaly". The nature of this enigma, whether it be a virus or a glitch (or something entirely incomphrensiable, remains shrouded in ambiguity as no explicit explanation provided. Nevertheless, it gradually engulfs Spamton, gradually usurping his body and mind. It slowly alters his very essence, driving him towards infecting the entire Cyber City. The process of his assimilation initially caused him distress as he fought against it; however, over time, this pain transformed into a sense of satisfaction, as he experienced a newfound level of power previously unknown to him. It was sweet as sugar to him, and the newfound power he felt in his non existent veins was something he couldn’t let go of. In the midst of his transformation, he became aware that he could subject the residents of Cyber City to this anomaly, thereby bending reality to his own perfect vision.

Spamton discreetly spread the anomaly among pedestrians strolling along the city's sidewalks or unsuspectingly traversing the alleyways. His careful approach is rooted in his limited understanding of the workings of this anomaly, as he strives to ascertain how it works.

A slow infection is much more merciful. The victim does not typically begin to exhibit a total alteration of their physical form until several days to weeks following assimilation. This variant causes the individual to experience a gradual shift in their personality over time; rendering them more apprehensive and inclined to emotional outbursts. Their mere presence in any given space emanates a pungent odor of contagion; however, with time, this scent becomes increasingly pleasant to their senses. The concept and AU itself draws inspiration from Kiss Me (Kill Me)

In stark contrast, a sudden infection evokes anything but mercy. It induces excruciating agony, subjecting the victim to an overwhelming influx of thoughts, leaving them trapped within their own mind as their corporeal form undergoes spontaneous and grotesque transformations. Their bodies become nothing more than mere puppets under the control of Spamton. Their actions are dictated solely by his will, despite their continued awareness of their surroundings.

Sudden assimilation profoundly impacts the victim's physical state, resulting in a warped semblance of their former selves. Their mouths often become grotesquely elongated, their limbs drag on indefinitely, and similar abnormalities manifest. Moreover, once assimilated, they are rendered incapable of speaking in their own will. Any attempt to speak culminates in a spewing of unintelligible and distorted sound. During the process assimilation, if they attempt to speak, their customary voice alteres into something resembling garbled text-to-speech. Upon full assimilation, they are entirely deprived of speech unless Spamton is puppetting them. Should they make effort to speak post assimilation, their mouths emit static, spilling over with the “flesh” of the anomaly.

The worst kind of assimilation, however, lies in groups. During excessively violent assimilations, a possibility arises wherein victims may conjoin and form what is commonly referred to as "amalgamations". They are rendered permanently fused and any attempts to disentangle them are excruciatingly painful for the amalgamation's entire corporeal form.

Upon assimilation, they are unable to die; instead in a state of limbo between life and profound darkness. They are spectators, helpless witnesses to the complete takeover of their being.

Despite the abhorrent nature of what he’s doing, Spamton fails to realize himself that he is the villain of the story. His own perception of reality has been warped by this anomaly, endowing him with a rosier perspective while reality contradicts his delusion. As the city itself falls dim; every advertisement around the city is unceremoniously supplanted by Spamton's own face, reminiscent of his bigshot days. Swatch, Blue, a select number of other individuals, alongside the protagonist, stand as the sole people who evaded assimilation (at least to start). Yellow, Orange, and Pink had succumbed to assimilation; while a significant number of other addisons have become amalgamated.

The protagonist, upon returning to Cyber City, bears witness to the dire state of affairs, as most of the city has fallen under the influence of Spamton’s hivemind. The city now lacks its once vibrant essence, with the sole remnants of color emanating from the advertisements. 

The protagonist managed to capture the attention of one of the assimilated citizens, whose eyes had become consumed by a static; just like the others. Spamton can see through them; and as mentioned prior; there is pre-existing history between the protagonist and Spamton. The only way they managed to escape was through Blue and Swatch. Out of the survivors, Swatch had become the core leader during the take over (Queen having been assimilated herself and trapped away). Blue, the protagonist, and Swatch are all individuals that Spamton held genuine care for, albeit it all but the protagonist inevitably fall victim to assimilation. Swatch in an act of noble self-sacrifice allowed themself to be assimilated in order to protect the other two. Conversely, the circumstances surrounding Blue's assimilation remain enigmatic, posing an unresolved question. The AU is designed to be driven by mystery, and for things to be more open for the audience. 

Spamton’s official design is also shrouded in mystery; the protagonist’s first altercation with him is while he’s in his final “Queen Bee” sort of form. He resides in the Mansion, his hivemind connected from the basement specifically. As of now, the visualization of many of the characters (aside from Pink, whose design is in the works) is up to people’s imaginations. There are canon design aspects of Spamton however, consisting of; Long fingers that are sharp at the ends but still puppet-like Neo-like attributes; at least one pair of big wings Glasses act like a searchlight beam  Saliva and tongue are made out of pure static, and eyes are complete static underneath the glasses Has two to three pairs of arms Heart is exposed, tainted with the goop of the anomaly Chest is open, showing the heart He has fangs (either vampire or curved) Jaw can unhinge and unlock Very Very Large Neck can elongate outward almost endlessly

[babbushka]

The Heat That Drives The Light, Book 1: Before The Otherness Came

Ben Solo (Kylo Ren) x OC

Chapter 1

7.5k

Preview:

Ben likes hyperspace, that strange in between. Neither here nor there, neither then nor now. Traveling through time and space, bending the cosmos, the fabric of the universe to his whim. It’s peaceful, and Ben doesn’t often get peace. His mind has been quiet for the first time in ages, well...since the last time he flew. It’s been so long since he’s been out of orbit like this. He almost wishes he didn’t have to travel through hyperspace, that he could simply cruise all the way across the galaxy. But that would take him years, and he needs to be at this planet within the hour.

Almost reading his mind, a melodic chirping sound crackles through to the cockpit, his droid alerting him that they’re about to drop out on the other side.

He turns autopilot off, not entirely certain what he’ll find when the stars warp back into place, the galaxy no longer rushing past him.

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