#paint-wiped slate

[fromthedust]

Cry a River - work-in-progress

cast plaster with bronze powder & wash, dyed found stoneware, schlag-metal leafed & lacquered found object (circuit-board drilling backer), slumped iridescent black glass - 9¼"x 10"x 1½" (as is)

This will be mounted within a shadowbox frame and probably have further elements added. This piece began about ten years ago when I discovered the masonite-like circuit-board drilling backer while dismantling a decorative cloth-wrapped oriental-style box which had been discarded. After stripping the cloth off the board and removing all the adhesive residue it was leafed and sealed with tinted lacquer. A Another inch-wide strip of this box-backer was used in another piece, GOLDEN DREAM: PERFORATIONS (see below), but this larger salvaged piece sat unused in the studio, and though it was considered as a possible element in any number compositions over the years it was always shelved again as being not-quite-right. Finding the stoneware fragment with the concentric circular pattern (a bottom-side-up fragment of a large broken hand-thrown platter) and retrieving the old lip demo (which had been fitted with a magnet and sat attached onto various computers as a 'mascot' for many years), and then after doing some texture test-slumps of various iridescent glass pieces these all just came-together. Gotta make the shadowbox frame to fit next.

GOLDEN DREAM: PERFORATIONS

plywood cradle, gold-painted joint cement, paint-wiped Virginia slate, blued steel found object, dyed maple burl, schlag-metal leafed found object (circuit-board drilling backer), dichroic glass - 13¾"x 13"x 2½" - 2016 - sculptural painting exhibited once, in 2022

[internetskiff]

Breen's unfortunately pretty underrated amongst the Valve antagonists, which I suppose is understandable compared to the likes of GLaDOS or The Administrator, but just like those two I feel like there's plenty of things to talk about when it comes to him. He seems like a very conflicted character, especially if you take into account the BreenGrub account and Laidlaw's Epistle 3. First of all is, of course, the leadup to the Black Mesa incident, with the G-Man seemingly making an offer to Breen which seemingly involved overloading the Anti-Mass Spectrometer while processing an extremely pure sample of Xen Crystal - and yes, while it's pretty obvious that the order to overload the systems was very intentional and motivated by whatever deal they struck, I believe that when it comes to the aftermath he may have been sold on a lie. Considering his actions as Administrator of Earth being entirely in the interests of keeping Humanity from feeling the full force of the Combine, I don't think "Becoming the de facto leader of all of Earth" was on his agenda. Perhaps G-Man promised that whatever their deal would entail would bring about a prosperous future for humanity, perhaps all he promised was the possibility of establishing contact with another sentient species (which is something he technically did provide), or perhaps it was something else - there's simply way too much room for speculation there, I think.

A little detail from a HL:A newspaper implies that his position as Earth's administrator wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter, instead he had to go out of his way to reach out to the governments with information on how to communicate with the invaders, at which point, already beaten down by Combine forces, they simply gave him the all-clear to speak for all of mankind. This still begs the question of who, or what, gave him the knowledge of how to speak with them - however, it's safe to say if they didn't, Earth would've been left a smoldering pile of rocks and withered carcasses. Once again, he acts with Humanity's best interests in mind, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - it's either enslavement or extinction. He simply chose the option in which Humanity would survive, even if just for a little while longer.

And ever since, we're watching the aftermath. He's trying to talk the last generation of Humanity down, so they may either pass of old age or be absorbed into the Combine - at least if that happens, something gets preserved. Once again, the alternative? They'll just wipe the slate once they get the local teleportation technology they desire. Breen sees no other way than to go along with their demands. He's eventually proven wrong, of course, but he refuses to see the Rebellion as anything but a suicidal march towards the extinction of the human race, and he sticks to that belief up until he is killed by Gordon at the tip of the Citadel. Of course, this doesn't make him a good person. Not at all. This belief has lead him to seek out and destroy anyone who tries to resist. He shows no sympathy to them. He paints them as fools. He himself believes it so. This intense hatred for anyone who resists is seen perfectly in how he treats the Vance family. He views them as fools. As narrow-minded rabble in the streets, senselessly struggling against a tide beyond their comprehension. He's willing to send off a father and his daughter into a world far beyond simply to use them as a bargaining chip. Listening to the two comfort eachother as they're almost raised up to a fate surely worse than death, the only expression on his face is that of pure contempt and annoyance. He's a very fascinating character that I wish Valve would explore again if they ever do another Half Life set during a time period in which he was still alive. He's a coward that easily bends to the oppressor, yet in the end he only does it to make sure something survives. He's cruel to those who resist because he's completely convinced they're going to get everyone killed. He is the Combine's perfect puppet.

haha anyhoo so why was he straight up serving on the magazine covers in HL:A like what was up with all that

[hey-august]

March Madness Event - Winner (NSFW | Buggy X Marine!GN!Reader)

Woah woah woah, this story concludes the March Madness event!

(In case you missed it, throughout the month of March I posted polls pitting kinks against kinks. The ones that lost in the polls received short stories involving a bit of failure. The kink that won at the end of the month was slated to receive a proper story. And that's where we are now!)

I'll be honest, I did not expect this to be the winner. Then again, I should have seen it coming with how it took off in every poll it was in.

Thank you all for participating! Voting, reading, commenting, liking, reblogging - everything!!

I hope you enjoyed this event and that you enjoy this story. 🩷

Description: As a Marine, you're responsible for safely escorting the captured prisoner, Buggy the Clown. Things don't go according to plan and while the prisoner remains captured, not all of him ends up behind bars...

Teeny tiny teaser: "This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others."

Word count: ~3.4k (I don't remember the last time I wrote a one-shot this long 🥴)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, marine!reader, no use of Y/N, insertion sex, bit of degradation, cockwarming (not solely intimate, but there is some eventually), misuse of devil fruit powers

“I can fuck you harder if you uncuff me,” he said through gritted teeth. “C’mon, tell me you don’t want that.” 

The teasing remark was hissed behind your ear, sending a shiver through your body. Your weak fucking body, nearly wiped of all self-restraint. A thin thread of rationality kept you tethered to a sense of preservation, but the constant pounding threatened to snap that hold.

You were responsible for locking up the prisoner - a duty you’ve fulfilled many times without issue. Over the years, your strength and cleverness helped you climb the ranks of Marines, yet this was the first time you failed to complete this responsibility. Well, you haven’t failed yet, but the more the thread frays, the more your legs shake, the more his heavy grunts fill your ears…

Your shaky hands gripped the seastone cuffed wrists wrapped around your body. Although the pirate couldn’t grip your hips the way either of you wanted, he was able to pull your body towards his as he relentlessly slammed himself in you. 

Of all the captured criminals you ever escorted, it was the goddamn clown that broke you. The pathetic clown with a face of smeared paint. Left behind by his crew. A captain who was visibly crestfallen when none of the Marines appeared impressed by his presence.

Despite his circumstances, the prisoner - Buggy the Clown - lived up to his namesake. Nearly every comment out of his mouth was a joke, often at the expense of anyone around him. The lack of laughter after each quip should add to embarrassment and pity for the clown, but you found yourself enjoying the amusement he was clearly creating for himself. It was…endearing.

As his sole escort below deck, his attention quickly turned towards you and the warm fluttery feeling you had moved lower in your body. Silence only protected you for so long before your face was too red to ignore, giving the clown encouragement to continue. Changing tactics, Buggy started spouting cheesy and overused pickup lines. Each remark said with unabashed enthusiasm added to the heat on your face.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.” “I’d like to report a crime. My breath was stolen.” “That Marine uniform doesn’t look so bad on you. But it would look better on the floor.”

Those comments were so stupid and worked so well. A few hissed retorts and threats of punishment were disarmed with a charming smile. You had no chance of winning whatever this game was. Secretly, you weren’t sure you wanted to win. There was something alluring about this pirate who tried to hide behind jokes and laughter that you wanted more of.

Arousal easily increases in potency when mixed with other feelings. For you, it was unexpected affection and the lure of degeneracy. For Buggy, you assumed it was the fear and anxiety that comes with imprisonment. Each concoction was perfectly portioned and all it took were choice words, overly-familiar touches, and curious glances for the poison to take effect.

Alone in the room, it only took seconds to pull your pants low enough to grant Buggy access. You leaned forwards, steadying yourself against the wall, while he grabbed the lower hem of your top. His thrusts were erratic and sloppy as he tried to find a decent pace. There was barely enough time for this moment of guilty indulgence and you both wanted as much from it as possible.

Bringing his bound hands overhead, Buggy pulled you close to his chest until you were wrapped in his hold. With his hands closer to your hips, he was able to move both of your bodies at a quick tempo. He was rewarded with a whine that escaped your heavy breathing.

“S’that how you like it? Hard and rough? I didn’t expect you to be so fucking filthy. Do all your prisoners get welcomed like this?”

Fuck. Why did his voice sound so good? And why did it sound better saying such degrading shit?

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, wanting to feel more. “Sh-shut up. Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“You d-don’t want that,” Buggy groaned. “I can feel your body squeeze when I talk. You like it.” His teasing was met with a delicious whimper.

Every word from his mouth had your head spinning. You wanted so much more. You wanted to taste his voice, to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his lips on your skin, but he wore that stupid face paint. You wanted his touch everywhere, for his hands to roam your body, for him to hold you tighter, but he needed to keep the cuffs on. Buggy was a Devil Fruit user. He was dangerous. And he was breaking you down.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Buggy started describing all the ways he wanted to screw you. How good you are at taking him. He wants to hear how good he makes you feel. Lost in the haze of lust, you barely remembered pulling out the key you wore on a chain and had tucked under your clothes. Your palm ached from how tightly you gripped the key while fighting against the horny instincts crowding your body.

You were so close, so achingly close. Maybe if you timed it right, it would be okay. You could minimize the danger. That makes sense, right? It could work. The wisp of rational thought faded away so softly that you didn’t miss its absence.

“Please,” was all you could get out as you unlocked the cuffs and let them fall to the floor.

It was like you released a feral animal with that decision. You didn’t realize just how much the seastone had sapped from Buggy until you felt his bruising grip as he brutally slammed his hips into yours. Even his cock seemed to get harder as it was bullied deeper in your body. He struggled to stay quiet, grunting like a wild boar as he rut into you.

You were on the edge of the precipice, ready to throw yourself over the ledge, when a horrible sound yanked you back to solid ground. A piercing siren sound filled the ship, signaling the top of the hour and a change in duties. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You needed to finish your job before anyone found out what you were doing. Who you were doing.

In a panic, you elbowed the pirate and spun around. “They’re gonna catch us,” you said with wide-eyes.

With all his blood below the belt, Buggy was already caught off-guard by the loud noise. Your rapid change from a whimpering needy thing who needed to be railed, to a Marine who wanted to follow the rules was a lot for the pirate to follow after losing the trail of his own orgasm. All he could do was struggle to pull up his pants as you shoved him into the jail cell and locked him in. Thoughts slowly returned to his head and weakness seeped back into his body as he watched you fix up your uniform before freezing.

“What the fuck did you do?” The question started as a shout before you restrained the rest of your temper.

“I wanted to make sure you come back for me,” Buggy responded with a wink. “Besides, we didn’t get to finish. I figured you could keep it warm for me until the encore.” He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, which was baggier than it should be.

“Are you fucking ser-” The rhetoric question was stopped by the throbbing in your body. 

Between your body fully accepting the rough fuck and the whirlwind of anxiety about being caught, you didn’t notice that Buggy left you with a piece of himself. Of all the things he could have done with his Devil Fruit powers in that moment, rather than doing something, anything, that could help him escape, the clown chose to part from his dick. What a fucking joke.

---

It was a sunny day with just enough of a breeze to keep the sails full and to blow away excess heat from the sun. The gentle wind helped dry the perspiration on your skin as you crossed the deck, towards the meeting room. While the air carried away some of the physical evidence, your body still burned and you chose to believe the unrelenting heat was shame. Punctual attendance was critical on the ship and you couldn’t even spare a few minutes to evict the pirate’s privates without risking a penalty.

With each step, you felt the fullness between your legs and the stretch from his girth. You couldn’t remember what it meant to walk normally. Every movement was over thought and analyzed. What felt normal made your core feel too tight against the intrusion. Longer strides had you worry that he might slip out. While it seemed unlikely (all of this was unlikely already), you worried about losing this bit of Buggy. There would be no reasonable way to explain a lone penis anywhere on the ship.

As hard as you tried to be upset with Buggy’s stupid horny decision, your body was still flooded with hormones that drowned logic and only allowed obscene thoughts to float. You were deep in a fucked up situation and you were enjoying it.

You arrived just in time for the meeting to start. It was a daily check-in where attendees would recite numbers and metrics that meant nothing to you. It was important and wholly unnecessary. The returning sheen of sweat and lingering redness on your face could be excused as the hustle needed to arrive on time and not the throbbing you felt inside. 

Settling into one of the open chairs, you couldn’t find a position that was remotely comfortable. There was minimal padding on the wood chairs and the backrests were at an awkward height that provided no support. Leaning too far one way pushed Buggy further inside and you just barely concealed the discovering gasp as a deep breath. 

Crossing your legs was a terrible idea, as it only added to the unforgiving pressure. The sensation attacked you both, as you felt the confined cock flex in its warm prison. You quickly uncrossed your legs, glad no one could see how they shook under the table.

Wicked voices began whispering to you, talking over the droning presentation at the head of the table. You couldn’t find any reprieve from what you were feeling. The only thing that made you feel better was giving in. You could afford to let your mind drift, this meeting was only to make others feel important. You had your own feelings to deal with.

Your mind wandered down to where those feelings radiated from. To the frustrating ache between your legs. Buggy was a good length, on the longer end of average, but his thickness was far more than average. Thankfully he got you so riled up earlier and all you had to suffer through was a burn that he quickly fucked away. Your body had grown accustomed to the wideness, but being held open for so long was different. Even through the uniform, you felt exposed. With each twitch from your hole as it fruitlessly tried to find some give against the occupant, you fell apart a little more. 

You shifted in the chair again, cautiously rolling your hips with the movement. Just once. And then again, under the guise of trying to get comfortable. Fuck, that did feel good. Your body shifted against Buggy’s member just right. You tensed against him, chasing that sensation, and receiving a heavy throb in response.

Your name broke through the fog you willingly got lost in. Your eyes snapped to the man standing at the head of the table.

“Is there something more important than going over these reports?” 

Maybe your movements weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“No, Sir. Just trying to get comfortable. I apologize for the distraction.” You spoke loudly, overriding the quiver hiding in your throat. 

Buggy was reacting to the jolt of tension that ran through our body. Clenched fists pressed into your knees and your toes curled in the little space available in your boots as you rode out his movement. It was incredibly frustrating and absolutely embarrassing. So why did it feel so fucking good?

---

The rest of the meeting ended without further incident. At least, as far as any of the attendees cared. For you, every action and reaction from either of your linked bodies felt like a whole new event to survive. You offered a tight lipped smile to everyone as they left the room, preferring a small audience when you attempted to use your weak legs. Luckily, horniness and adrenaline held you up and supported you out of the room.

The infirmary was a few doors down and it was around the time the doctor took a break. If you were lucky, the room would be empty and you could put an end to this. The luck was debatable when you opened the door to two pale faces. One belonged to the Marine who was on guard duty and the other belonged to the prisoner being guarded. A prisoner who offered you a small smile that matched the one painted on his face.

The guard started babbling when you entered the room. “H-he doesn’t look good, r-right? I brought him h-here, but they’re all on break. I’m wor-worried he’s gonna upch- upchu-ugh, pu- v- vom-”

“Get sick?”

The guard nodded with pursed lips, struggling to hold back the hiccups and sympathetic heaves that wracked their body. “Doesn’t seem ser-serious enough to call the med-ugh medics b-back.”

You looked at Buggy, trying to assess what was going on. Was this a ploy or was he actually ill? Were you going to get sick? 

“It doesn’t look that serious. I can stay with him. Why don’t you go lie down?” Your offer was accepted before you even finished speaking. 

The infirmary door closed, leaving you and Buggy in an awkward silence. He sat in a chair, hunched over, still giving you a weak smile.

“Are you okay? Is it bad?” You asked, concerned that his flashy self seemed to be affected. Crouching down, you brought yourself closer to his level.

“Bad,” he repeated hoarsely, leaning towards you. 

His trajectory would bring his painted forehead to the white shoulder of your uniform, so you intercepted. Pressing your head against his, you waited for Buggy to continue. 

“N-need you. Made a bad decision, need you, please.” One of his cuffed hands pawed at the empty space where his dick should be. 

With his strength and stamina taken away during imprisonment, Buggy’s self-inflicted secondary imprisonment was too much. He could feel everything - how your body continued to struggle around him, how warm you were inside, how you reacted to his involuntary cries and demands for more. It felt so fucking good, so deliriously wonderful, and downright torturous.

There was no end in sight, though. There had to be a reason you kept him inside, so even if Buggy could come, it would be followed with overstimulation that could go for who knows how long. Not to mention how upset you would probably be if you were unexpectedly full of his hot cum. 

Buggy whimpered at the thought. At imagining you full and plugged. Of his jizz dripping out and collecting in your underwear. Of you being an absolute fucking mess under your prim and pristine uniform, because of him.

“Please,” he whined again.

You pulled away and locked the door. “We don’t have a lot of time. Again.”

Buggy bit his lip as you held out your hand to help him up and blubbered what sounded like, “thank you.”

You understood how he felt. So insatiable that nothing mattered more than giving into these desperate needs that aggressively grew out of desire. Giving up on everything but chasing the high, you uncuffed Buggy and undid your pants. 

This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others. You shoved his hand down your pants, letting him feel how wildly aroused you were. How much of a mess he made.

His groan was laced with delight and pain at the knowledge. His touch was everywhere, committing all of the evidence of your lust to memory. As his hand crept further, it came in contact with his base and his body jolted at the touch. This was too much.

Yanking his hand out of your pants, Buggy rushed to unbuckle his and expose where his member belonged. Following his lead, you pulled your pants down and turned around. Wary about wasting precious time, Buggy pressed his hips against yours and shuddered when his cock returned to its rightful place. It felt as if his senses increased a hundredfold now that it was back.

“M’close,” he warned, struggling to set a reliable pace. 

Honestly, he was about to explode when his hand was down your pants. But he needed this. He needed to feel you moving on his cock. To feel your body react against him. To feel you explode.

As if reading his thoughts, you grabbed his hand and pushed it down. You didn’t need much. This entire time, you didn’t need much, apparently. Just his attention on you was enough to pull you off the trail you were on. And that’s what he gave you - his enthusiastic attention. 

His hand moved fervently, following the cues your body gave. The touches that had your breaths teeter on moans, pressure that had your body clench his, sensations that increased the tension in your core.

“Uh-haah, uh-huh, just like that. K-keep going, g-gonna… You’re gonna make me c-” You were cut off as the feeling ripped through your body, sharp and electric. The words in your mouth were wiped away as you fell to the indescribable surge.

Buggy huffed as he struggled to fuck through your orgasm. Your unsaid words rung through his head - he was responsible for this. You were shaking beneath him because of what he did. Your sweet sighs of relief were for him.

“Wh-where-” Buggy could hardly stutter a question he should have asked earlier.

“Finish what you started,” you said, leaning into his touch once again.

Feeling your body melt against his, accepting his thick cock so easily, pulling him deeper - that was more than enough.

“F-fucking shit,” Buggy hissed as he came. 

The climax was nearly painful as he shot stream after stream inside your body. Feeling like the release would never end, the pirate clung to you and whimpered with each pulse. Eventually, he ran out. His hold released with a shaky sigh.

Buggy struggled with words to fill the next moment. Something about how this felt good. Maybe a thanks? But before he could decide, yet another loud sound interrupted the moment. A sound that was accompanied by a lurch that threw the pirate back. An explosion. Then came the alarms. The ship was under attack by pirates. You both rushed to fix yourselves up.

“I-I think that’s for me,” Buggy said.

You looked at him incredulously. Was this all a fucking trick?

“I want you to come with me.”

His request kept you silent. This didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t think they were coming. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. But it was fun - well, I had fun. I think you did too. We can keep having fun, unless you want to keep living this stuffy life.” Buggy spoke quickly. 

His explanation was rushed, but you could see a hint of honesty among the turmoil.

Buggy held his hand out for you to grab.

---

Life on a pirate ship was different, but also similar to life with the Marines. Useless meetings couldn’t be avoided and petty drama existed everywhere. But the spirit and passion that came with piracy was unbelievably vast. Joys flew high, parties raged hard, drinks always flowed, treasure was celebrated.

And on Buggy’s ship, there was always more. More life, more color, more light. Dumb jokes, death defying stunts, fantastic skills, and stupid decisions that managed to work out in the end.

One of your favorite things about life aboard the ship were the quiet afternoons you spent with the captain. Afternoons that were spent laying in the shared bed, your body nestled against his. Afternoons full of stories and musings. Afternoons dedicated to the two of you, which you spent slotted together in warmth and intimacy.

[eternalsa2z]

Artist

You are an artist. Seeking your pièce de résistance.

Your body is your canvas. Sculpt it into a desired shape. Paint it with sagas of your transformation. Adorn it with gilded strings or sewn on lashes.

Your mind your slate. Wipe it blank. Strip yourself of everything so it can be rebuilt again. Fill it with new ideas, desires, a new identity.

You are a bimbo. Find your perfect form.

[hismourningflower]

「 forget you | hoyoverse fanfiction 」 dan heng & kaeya x gn!reader | angst, amnesia | general fanfiction. ↳ additional tags. angst with no comfort, established relationships, mentions of alcohol & drinking (kaeya), i'm not sorry ↳ ehehe... oops... happy one hundred to the xianzhou jade !!

data has been uploaded! - send an ask to join the taglist; specify genshin, honkai or both! @lovingluxury, @dumbificat, @starryshinyskies, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @ainescribe, @soleillunne

the jade's guidelines | genshin m.list | honkai m.list | previous work

DAN HENG didn't quite know what to expect when welt texted him about your situation. his own partner in an accident? he knew that he should have been persistent and gone with you and march 7th. he should have fought to go with you, he should have- he should have done a lot. after a few painstaking days of you being trapped in a comatose state within belobog's hospital with every visitation request denied, dan heng decided that he had more than regrets about this.

he spent his days and evenings restless, pacing his room with every thought rushing through his mind; would you survive? would you hate him? he figured you had every right to despise him. no amounts of time spent with his head in documentation, tracing over booklets of planets and history books regarding the aeons could ease his mind.

dan heng felt guilt, as if he only had himself to blame for standing there so quietly as you and march excitedly announced that you were going to belobog on behalf of himeko. march chimed in that you'd use it more as a shopping trip and whilst you laughed it off, dan heng silently wished he could go just to protect you. you were capable but he was anxious, losing you was the last thing he wanted.

this feeling would eat at him for as long as the doctors tending to you kept rejecting the astral express' visitation requests. he wanted to see you and now it felt as though he had to pay the price - another price... wasn't he paying enough already? his heart could rot from the amount of guilt he withheld inside of him, not daring to utter it to the older members of the crew. it could break his ribs, tear him open but he'd refuse to mention it.

miserable, dark grey clouds covered belobog's usual sunshine, painting the city in a dull appearance that could only match dan heng's numb emotions as the astral express crew navigated the streets of the city, finally on their way to see you. in march's bandaged hands - she'd taken the lesser of the injuries, coming back onboard the express with a few scrapes - was a beautifully wrapped bouquet of flowers, a bittersweet get-well-soon gift in light of the news that they'd receive along with their permission from the doctors; you had amnesia and they were still testing what you remembered from the accident.

he was nervous - no, he was far more than nervous. it showed on his face the moment they all solemnly shuffled into the tight hospital room, grimacing as they brushed against each other to gather around your bed. except there wasn't a form of excitement on your tired face but rather a look of confusion. welt cleared his throat first, eyes darting to look at dan heng's sudden loss of colour that drained from his face.

"they don't remember," he whispers to himself, as if no one else was around him. he takes a moment to lean back on the wall, "they don't remember me."

it takes welt's hand on dan heng's back to guide him out of the room shakily but nothing feels real anymore. all the memories, chaste kisses and moments where dan heng had done more than warm up to you in light of his past and previous life. you remembered none of it, not an ounce of the love he'd grown comfortable enough to give you, nothing.

dan heng's legs feel weak under him as his heart tears apart. perhaps this was a clean slate in terms of his regrets in protecting you, he could have done better and now he has a chance to wipe it all clear for you - you're not angry at him but he knows it's because you simply don't remember what happened.

he'll protect you better this time, more closely and not taking his eyes off of you. maybe one day, he'll tell you about the relationship the two of you shared; the kisses under the stars and the nights curled up together reading your own books. he would still love you. he'd always love you.

it felt like a fever dream when amber came to find KAEYA while he was on a commission for the knights. he hadn't been drinking on the job when the brunette arrived nor had he consumed any that morning... so how come she was spewing nonsense about you being seriously injured on a commission?

the cherry on the top? you didn't recognise a single person who'd visited you on bedrest. not jean, not barbara, not mika or lisa, not even noelle. and as your partner, kaeya was terrified by that prospect. you saw noelle and jean daily, always in cohorts with them - hell, you would see lisa sometimes more than you saw him, thanks to the busy nature of his rank.

if you didn't remember them without a sliver of recognition, would you remember him? he found it hard to breathe the whole way back to the city of mondstadt with a restless young brunette at his side and - begrudgingly, kaeya hadn't even invited him along - the owner of the dawn winery. diluc was equally as pained to hear of your accident from amber and who was he to not be there during possibly one of the most painful times of his brother's life? he'd done him wrong before, multiple times and perhaps he had tried to brush their brotherly relationship off but he was his brother, his found family. now, he needed him.

there was only so much dread that could consume kaeya's tall body. the peaceful sounds of mondstadt no longer soothed him on his walk to the city like it usually did after a commission, no. in fact, it was killing him. he wanted to hold your face in his hands, his breath fanning over your lips as he stares into your hands. he wanted to see that beautiful smile of yours again, the way you roll your eyes at his drinking antics.

what was he supposed to do if you had forgot about him too? amber says you'd taken heavy trauma to the head. amnesia... amnesia is what ruined his life this time? not family issues and abandonment, not a family death and the awful grip of guilt and anger... amnesia. memory loss. something that had so bitterly taken his beloved from him. you'd been the first person kaeya had truly warmed up to since he drifted away from diluc. the first person to see his true sides, to see his sheer raw emotions.

kaeya had had plenty of time to prepare for this endeavour on the way into the city, knowing the chances you'd forgotten him were plenty high with how you'd forgotten the other knights. yet to hear you utter the words "who are you?" with such an innocent look to your face, overridden by confusion, it shattered his heart. his lungs felt like he was suffocating and he almost wanted to choke out 'your partner' into the air but he doesn't.

instead, with the reassuring touch of diluc's calloused hand on his shoulder, kaeya forces a weak smile onto his face, sun kissed skin glowing in the golden light of the sunset that breaks through the open window in your room as he clears his throat to reintroduce himself to you, "i'm kaeya."

his voice cracks, a dead giveaway to those in attendance that he was struggling with the reality of this. because of you, he'd lacked to drink as much on the evenings but now... diluc was already preparing to drag his brother away from the taverns, muttering curses that drinking was not the right coping mechanism. he'd be at his brother's side even if the latter reeked of wine.

kaeya would love you all over again, he'd spend so much time with you it would be suffocating if only it meant you fell in love with him again. a second chance to right his wrongs, to kiss those lips again. you were his, he wasn't going to let you fall into the hands of anyone else. he'd fix this.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[theaquamarinearchives]

[ forget you ― dan heng & kaeya ] "the day i needed you the most was the day you weren't there at all." cw. gn!reader, angst with no comfort, amnesia, established relationships, mentions of alcohol & drinking (kaeya)

aquamarine's findings. another old blog repost (i'm just getting through all of my old works tbh, just assume it's an old blog repost from here on) // past me said "i'm not sorry" in the notes

DAN HENG didn't quite know what to expect when welt texted him about your situation. his own partner in an accident? he knew that he should have been persistent and gone with you and march 7th. he should have fought to go with you, he should have- he should have done a lot. after a few painstaking days of you being trapped in a comatose state within belobog's hospital with every visitation request denied, dan heng decided that he had more than regrets about this.

he spent his days and evenings restless, pacing his room with every thought rushing through his mind; would you survive? would you hate him? he figured you had every right to despise him. no amounts of time spent with his head in documentation, tracing over booklets of planets and history books regarding the aeons could ease his mind.

dan heng felt guilt, as if he only had himself to blame for standing there so quietly as you and march excitedly announced that you were going to belobog on behalf of himeko. march chimed in that you'd use it more as a shopping trip and whilst you laughed it off, dan heng silently wished he could go just to protect you. you were capable but he was anxious, losing you was the last thing he wanted.

this feeling would eat at him for as long as the doctors tending to you kept rejecting the astral express' visitation requests. he wanted to see you and now it felt as though he had to pay the price - another price... wasn't he paying enough already? his heart could rot from the amount of guilt he withheld inside of him, not daring to utter it to the older members of the crew. it could break his ribs, tear him open but he'd refuse to mention it.

miserable, dark grey clouds covered belobog's usual sunshine, painting the city in a dull appearance that could only match dan heng's numb emotions as the astral express crew navigated the streets of the city, finally on their way to see you. in march's bandaged hands - she'd taken the lesser of the injuries, coming back onboard the express with a few scrapes - was a beautifully wrapped bouquet of flowers, a bittersweet get-well-soon gift in light of the news that they'd receive along with their permission from the doctors; you had amnesia and they were still testing what you remembered from the accident.

he was nervous - no, he was far more than nervous. it showed on his face the moment they all solemnly shuffled into the tight hospital room, grimacing as they brushed against each other to gather around your bed. except there wasn't a form of excitement on your tired face but rather a look of confusion. welt cleared his throat first, eyes darting to look at dan heng's sudden loss of colour that drained from his face.

"they don't remember," he whispers to himself, as if no one else was around him. he takes a moment to lean back on the wall, "they don't remember me."

it takes welt's hand on dan heng's back to guide him out of the room shakily but nothing feels real anymore. all the memories, chaste kisses and moments where dan heng had done more than warm up to you in light of his past and previous life. you remembered none of it, not an ounce of the love he'd grown comfortable enough to give you, nothing.

dan heng's legs feel weak under him as his heart tears apart. perhaps this was a clean slate in terms of his regrets in protecting you, he could have done better and now he has a chance to wipe it all clear for you - you're not angry at him but he knows it's because you simply don't remember what happened.

he'll protect you better this time, more closely and not taking his eyes off of you. maybe one day, he'll tell you about the relationship the two of you shared; the kisses under the stars and the nights curled up together reading your own books. he would still love you. he'd always love you.

━

it felt like a fever dream when amber came to find KAEYA while he was on a commission for the knights. he hadn't been drinking on the job when the brunette arrived nor had he consumed any that morning... so how come she was spewing nonsense about you being seriously injured on a commission?

the cherry on the top? you didn't recognise a single person who'd visited you on bedrest. not jean, not barbara, not mika or lisa, not even noelle. and as your partner, kaeya was terrified by that prospect. you saw noelle and jean daily, always in cohorts with them - hell, you would see lisa sometimes more than you saw him, thanks to the busy nature of his rank.

if you didn't remember them without a sliver of recognition, would you remember him? he found it hard to breathe the whole way back to the city of mondstadt with a restless young brunette at his side and - begrudgingly, kaeya hadn't even invited him along - the owner of the dawn winery. diluc was equally as pained to hear of your accident from amber and who was he to not be there during possibly one of the most painful times of his brother's life? he'd done him wrong before, multiple times and perhaps he had tried to brush their brotherly relationship off but he was his brother, his found family. now, he needed him.

there was only so much dread that could consume kaeya's tall body. the peaceful sounds of mondstadt no longer soothed him on his walk to the city like it usually did after a commission, no. in fact, it was killing him. he wanted to hold your face in his hands, his breath fanning over your lips as he stares into your hands. he wanted to see that beautiful smile of yours again, the way you roll your eyes at his drinking antics.

what was he supposed to do if you had forgot about him too? amber says you'd taken heavy trauma to the head. amnesia... amnesia is what ruined his life this time? not family issues and abandonment, not a family death and the awful grip of guilt and anger... amnesia. memory loss. something that had so bitterly taken his beloved from him. you'd been the first person kaeya had truly warmed up to since he drifted away from diluc. the first person to see his true sides, to see his sheer raw emotions.

kaeya had had plenty of time to prepare for this endeavour on the way into the city, knowing the chances you'd forgotten him were plenty high with how you'd forgotten the other knights. yet to hear you utter the words "who are you?" with such an innocent look to your face, overridden by confusion, it shattered his heart. his lungs felt like he was suffocating and he almost wanted to choke out 'your partner' into the air but he doesn't.

instead, with the reassuring touch of diluc's calloused hand on his shoulder, kaeya forces a weak smile onto his face, sun kissed skin glowing in the golden light of the sunset that breaks through the open window in your room as he clears his throat to reintroduce himself to you, "i'm kaeya."

his voice cracks, a dead giveaway to those in attendance that he was struggling with the reality of this. because of you, he'd lacked to drink as much on the evenings but now... diluc was already preparing to drag his brother away from the taverns, muttering curses that drinking was not the right coping mechanism. he'd be at his brother's side even if the latter reeked of wine.

kaeya would love you all over again, he'd spend so much time with you it would be suffocating if only it meant you fell in love with him again. a second chance to right his wrongs, to kiss those lips again. you were his, he wasn't going to let you fall into the hands of anyone else. he'd fix this.

the archives' notifications. @bisexuawolfsalt, @lovingluxury, @auroratumbles, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @soleillunne

@zamorazz, @zworllyx

© theaquamarinearchives 2024 ; reblogs appreciated. do not re-upload, translate, etc. my works on any platforms or feed any of my works to ai.

[mooooonnnzz]

Masterlist!

i have been inching to do a masterlist and i finally got the energy to make one!

Avatar Way Of Water ཐི♡ཋྀ

❥ Neteyam:

🐚 What Love Would Do To You ~ The stages of getting to know Neteyam and falling in love with him <3

🐚 If you go, I'll stay. ~ Neteyam has to say goodbye to the one he loves the most

🐚 I've never been in love before ~ Neteyam HC of him falling in love

🐚 Under The Moonlight ~ A moment shared between two lovers

🐚 The Lamp Is Low ~ More HC's of Neteyam

🐚 Neteyam tail HC ~ Metkayina reader who's very amused by his weird tail

❥ Kiri:

💙 I won't say (I'm in love) ~ You confess your feelings towards her and she doesn't know how to respond

💙 Kiri's tail HC ~ Metkayina reader who is very amused by Kiri's weird tail

❥ Lo'ak:

🌊 Perfect Pair ~ Lo'ak HC

Spiderman Across The Spiderverse ꔫ

❥ Miles Morales:

🕷️ Don't text and swing! ~ Miles loves texting you, what could possibly go wrong?

🕷️ I'm Spiderman!...Surprise? ~ Hcs of you finding about miles which ultimately leads to him telling you his “secret”!

❥ Miguel O'Hara:

🕸️ How do I do this? ~ Miguel attempts to tie up your hair and fails miserably. (bad attempts of me inputting Spanish in the story is ahead, be warned😭 )

🕸️ Miguel takes his daughter to HQ ~ Miguel takes his daughter to HQ! How bad could it be?

🕸️ Babysitting Mayday! ~ Miguel has a daughter who adores Mayday

🕸️ Manicure ~ You paint Miguel's nails!

lowkey wish i wrote more for dad miguel hes so cute as a father

The Legend of Korra ཐི♡ཋྀ

❥ Korra:

💧 Nervous ~ You want to ask Korra out but you're to nervous. With the help of Bolin and Mako you finally ask her out.

i wrote like one fic for her and dipped i apologize

Gravity Falls ꔫ

❥ Stanford Pines

📖 Who Knows How Long I Loved You ~ Stanford Dad HC's!

📖 You Know I Love You Still ~ Stanford Dad HC's + inclusion in the ep in "not what he seems"

📖 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ Stanford Husband HC'S

📖 Forwards Beckon Rebound ~ Ford's unsatiable hunger for knowledge almost costs you your life and ultimately lead to his demise.

📖 World/Insured ~ Ford pushes you in a portal accidentally!!

📖 World/Insured Part 2 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back.

📖 World/Insured Part 3 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back. 2x

📖 2010 Toyota Corolla ~ HC's of Ford reacting you having a partner.

📖 I'm Glad There Is You ~ HC's of Ford reacting you getting broken up with!

📖 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

❥ Stanley Pines

🎱 Love You Forever and Forever ~ Stan Dad HC's :3

🎱 Clean Slate ~ You try to bring back Stan’s memories after the memory wipe.

🎱 World/Insured ~ Stan watches Ford pushes you in a portal.

🎱 World/Insured Part 2 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back.

🎱 World/Insured Part 3 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back. 2x

🎱 2010 Toyota Corolla ~ HC's of Stan reacting you having a partner.

🎱 I'm Glad There Is You ~ HC's of Stan reacting you getting broken up with!

🎱 Far From The Weight Of The World ~ Making a deal with Bill wasn't one of your smartest ideas.

🎱 Mable’s Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

🎱 Dream about me ~ Stan never really accounted for how similar you are to Ford.

❥ Fiddleford

❥ Mable

🌠 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ Her Grunkle Ford is married to you?! How did he not scare you away?

🌠 By Your Side ~ Trying to shield them from danger was proved harder than you thought.

🌠 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

🌠 Endless Season ~ WIP

❥ Dipper

🌲 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ He believes Grunkle Ford did some hypnotism on you. There's no way you willingly married him.

🌲 By Your Side ~ Trying to shield them from danger was proved harder than you thought.

🌲 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

🌲 Endless Season ~ WIP

credits to headers: natsusaki and anitalenia

i wonder if anyone catches that some of my titles r songs/lyrics. i usually name them after the song that i listened to while writing them

my summaries lowkey suck

[dolljunk]

So for my friend @houseofmous birthday, I wanted to give him a doll that was to his tastes but also had a bit of my flair added to it so I mulled it over for a bit.

I had this vintage 1980s Pizzazz doll by Hasbro kicking about with a stained mouth, (everybody is so creative) which took several weeks of destaining but after that, I realised the factory paint was…. not my taste so I wiped her.

There is a prototype Pizzazz that was slated for release in 1988 that was going to have a new headsculpt and new makeup so, while I couldn't exactly get Pizzazz a new sculpt I figured I would try painting her eyes to have that makeup.

Since her makeup was white heavy, I thought that it would be fun to incorporate this Glow in the Dark hair as I really hated the mullet she had and figured replacing her short hair portion would make her really unique.

While I did try to copy the style of her 1988 prototype makeup, I couldn't resist adding a few of my own flourishes to her so she's not an exact replica but rather how I ncould bring out the sculpt's beauty.

For my very first vintage Jem doll custom I'm incredibly proud of how she turned out and it has ripped the bandaid of doing other vintage Jem customs for me.

[crazyyluvr]

Gotta put Some Color in the Miserable Place — Much to Dirtyhands' Liking

pairing: kaz x gn!reader

summary: A famous graffiti artist has been roaming around Ketterdam for a while now. It was about time you set your sights on the Slat, bare and just waiting to be painted on. A certain gloved man didn't exactly like that.

genre: idk how to label it but it's the beginning of something

wc: 2.3k

content: art-inclined reader, they/them pronouns, kaz getting annoyed, ooc kaz? not sure how to write him properly yet, spraypaint exists because I need it to, fighting

note: just a little something to get me out of my slump — it sucks, i'm sorry

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1/?

Ketterdam wasn't known to be the most luxurious of cities in Kerch. Yes, it did have places where people with money could settle down and quality napkins for them to wipe their buttcheeks on, but the "slums" part of the city overpowered that luxury. There were numerous criminals, thieves, pickpockets, and people of other illegal occupations roaming around the streets, especially the streets of the West Stave. At every alley, there would be at least some signs of a beating that occurred not too long ago. Even when people inhaled the air, it didn't feel clean.

One of your biggest concerns about the city, however, wasn't about how cleanly it was. What worried you the most was about how damn plain it seemed to be.

Where was the color? The flare? Come on, if people around the lands travel to Kerch for business, they might as well have some pretty things to look at as they cautiously walked on the streets.

You took it upon yourself to rectify that. Which was why, for the past two years, you have been one of the most sought-after criminals of Ketterdam that everyone called the “Painter”. Not because you murdered people or stole kruge, no. It wasn't even because of the fact that you decided to spray your art without permission.

It wasn't really the art that concerned other people (most of the time), but rather where you decided to put it up.

Plain old alley walls weren't the only victims of your spray bottles. Your style ended up on the main doorways of well-known brothels like the Menagerie, or the ground leading to the secret bases of different gangs. It made you a target not only of officers, but of other criminals as well. You may or may not have been the cause of the Dime Lions losing one of their main strongholds to a rival gang because you put skipping stones of Pekka Rollins' name leading to it.

You were flattered by the attention people were putting on you, but you felt unsatisfied. You had tried to put at least a little bit of your art on every visible wall of the West Stave and some of the East Stave as well, but there was something missing. Like there was one part of the Ketterdam map that hasn't been colored by you.

You got the answer to your problem one mundane day, while you were coming back from the market with a bag of groceries.

The Slat.

You had no idea why it hadn't hit you sooner. Sure, the Slat was the home of the Crows besides their bar "The Crow Club." Sure, the gang had been gaining a dangerous reputation this past year. Sure, the man calling the shots was scary as hell.

But it was just perfect.

You had long admired the Crows and their leader Kaz Brekker. You had spotted him going about business during late nights when you decided to test your skills by evading the Wraith that always pursued him (you hadn't been attacked by her, so you assumed that you were really good at sneaking around).

He was a man of business, a boss that liked getting his hands dirty — maybe that was how he got his nickname Dirtyhands. You don't see much of that in Ketterdam, and that interested you quite a bit.

Not to mention he was attractive in his own, ghostly way.

The Slate was also one of the very few canvases that you had left blank in this wretched city due to some unknown and unconscious reason, but now you had just the perfect artwork in mind for it.

—————

Kaz was in a bad mood today.

He woke up to his leg in pain. Well, it was always in pain, but it felt particularly worse that day. He almost face-planted while hobbling down the stairs in the Slat.

He had a small heist, with just him, Jesper, and Inej, but it was still messed up due to the unexpected appearance of a drunk group in the house they were robbing.

He got jumped on by some stupid pickpockets, idiots who were unaware of his identity and his reputation. He didn’t obtain any injury, but the blood that still stained his black gloves and his long black coat made him feel disgusting.

Just when he thought that he would find peace in the Slat, peace in just holing up in his office with no one to bother him, he limps down the streets of West Stave to the home of the Dregs to find a small crowd gathered on the side, murmuring to each other.

They were all members of the Crows, and they were all looking at something that was on the wall of the Slat.

His already creased brows creased further at the sight of the gathering. What were these idiots looking at this time?

Jesper was the first one who first saw him, eyes drifting over his blood-splattered clothes in slight concern.

“What’s going on?” Kaz asked, not giving Jesper the opportunity to worry over him.

“It seems that the Painter finally set their eyes on the Slat,” Jesper replied, his voice containing its usual mischief and mirth.

Kaz forged onwards, making the sharpshooter step aside to make way for Dirtyhands.

The small crowd parted for him as well, conversations dying down to small murmurs as Kaz got a better look at what they were ogling at.

He had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

When “the Painter” left Jesper’s mouth, Kaz wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The days when infamous the Painter set sights on establishments or gang bases were the days when gangs or businessmen would get publicly humiliated by the art on their walls. Normally, it would ridicule the head of the place (The Menagerie spent a significant amount of money to wash off and paint over the caricature of Tante Heleen in a horrid neon green outfit) or reveal some interesting gang secrets (two gangs were exposed to be stealing from each other and there was a little war between them).

Which was why Kaz had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

The artwork on the side of the Slat was a large mural of the Dregs’ signature crow perched on the lip of a cup, but a trail of black roses swirled around it in a spiral. Surrounding it was the Crows’ motto “no mourners, no funerals” in black and white. The irregular red and white shape behind it all emphasized everything, making it look like a banner rather than something someone actually took the time to spray on a wall.

It was unlike any artwork that was spotted anywhere in the city.

And even Kaz, who’s never had any particular interest in art, had to admit that it was nice. Flattering.

Beautiful, even.

"The Painter has their favorites, huh?" A Crow chuckled, making his mates laugh and shake their heads.

"If everyone's done having a staring contest with the wall," Kaz called, making everyone turn to their boss, "get back to work."

And just like that, they lost their interest in the artwork and dispersed. Some drifted away to different alleys to visit some gambling house, most passed by Kaz to finish some unfinished business of theirs, and others went back inside the Slat.

Kaz felt a familiar presence beside him. "Can you find this Painter, Inej?"

The Wraith that appeared out of nowhere replied, "I can try, but they're slippery."

Kaz rose an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. Someone who can evade his best spider? Now that caught his attention.

"Do it. Bring them to me," Kaz said, dismissing her with a wave. He didn't have to look to know that Inej had dissolved into the shadows.

He examined the mural once more, the barest ghost of a smirk on his face. Maybe you can come around to work for me, "Painter".

—————

You were having a good time.

If running away from some angry traders was something people would consider a good time.

"I'll kill you!" One of the men chasing you bellowed, hurling a stone that hit a wooden pillar dangerously close to your head.

You laughed, a manic cackle that only came from someone facing a certain death.

You leaped over crates, weaved through people with barely any gracefulness that would have made dancers feel second-hand embarrassment, but you didn’t care. Being chased around West Stave was one of the best things to do in Ketterdam, and you were enjoying every single bit of it.

You turned left into a random alley, only to find that it was a dead end. You looked upwards, but found only ladders that led to heavily-barred windows. You were trapped.

"Nowhere left to run, scum," A man laughed, his companion grinning as well.

You turned to flash them a charming smile. "Actually there is one way, but you're blocking it, so if you'd kindly move aside so I can peacefully make my leave."

They both looked at each other before turning back to you. "Not until we've got our money."

You pretended to think for a moment, not knowing what they mean, until you widened your eyes. "Oh! The money! That's what you were after? Why didn't you just say so?"

You rummaged through your deep pockets. "Here it is!"

You took a few quick steps forward and took out a spray can, squeezing it and drifting it over the closest man's eyes, creating a thick yellow line across his face.

The man yelled and stepped back in surprise, prompting you to catch his heel in yours and pull, making him fall.

You bent down to punch him twice before rummaging in his pockets, taking out a few loose coins and pocketing them.

You turned to face the other guy, who you found already on the ground with a figure standing above him.

The Wraith.

"Oh." Your gaze alternated between the sudden assistance and the man on the ground, before you decided to focus on the one standing and smiling at them. "Thanks for your help, Miss Wraith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave —"

You turned, only for Inej to block your exit, making you sigh. "What is it that you want from me this time?"

"For you to come with me to the Slat," Inej responded, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the alley.

You sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

—————

"Look, if this about money, I don't have any. I'm very broke." You stared at the man sitting in front of you, a desk separating him from your standing figure.

The Bastard of the Barrel didn't respond to your statement, opting to just look at you, his eyes examining your movements.

You let the silence drain on for a few more seconds before you lost patience. "What do you want?" You asked, frustrated.

"You're the Painter," He responded, putting his elbows on his table and lacing his gloved fingers together.

You waited for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't continue, you replied. "Yes."

"Everyone in Ketterdam is aware of your reputation to leaking powerful people's information," Kaz finally continued. "But that's not what's interesting. What intrigues me, is how you acquire the information in the first place, when the Wraith has never spotted you out in the open other than spraying on some random wall."

You shrugged. You had your ways, and if the Dirtyhands didn't know your methods, then there was no way you could reveal them. "I have my ways."

Kaz rose an eyebrow. "I can have you killed right here and now, did you know that?"

"And I’ve gotten out of these chains three minutes ago, did you know that?" You mocked him, shrugging the cuffs off and tossing them on his table. Inej moved, pulling out a dagger. Kaz put up his hand, and Inej paused, waiting.

You approached the desk, putting your hands on it and leaning forward, leaving half a feet of space in between your face and Kaz's.

"You want to know my methods so you can have the Wraith master them and use them," you said, leaning a bit more. "But then she can't. No one in this place can do what I can."

"I suppose there's an underlying deal somewhere in those words," Kaz hummed, seemingly unfazed by the distance.

You grinned. "Indeed there is. I can work for you, as long as I get paid. I'll do my thing, get your information, even infiltrate a few places if you like."

"Hmm," Kaz thought about it for a moment. "Two thousand kruge for each mission."

You paused. That would be enough to buy your food and pay your rent for a week or two, maybe even enough for some new clothes.

Yeah, you didn't have that good or luxurious of a lifestyle, but hey, money is money.

"Alright," You decided, sticking your hand out to seal the deal.

Kaz stared at your hand for a moment, before taking it. You pulled him up from his chair, face now barely away from yours. "If you think about double-crossing me and leaving me out in the cold, then you risk some of your own information being revealed... Rietveld." Your voice was barely louder than a breath, words only for Kaz’s ear.

His eyes widened, looking at you. Just the mere mention of his old last name, the one he shared with his brother, was enough for the water at his ankles to pool around his knees.

But you had already pulled away, brushing against the Wraith with a nod as you left the office without another word.

"What was that?" Inej asked — more like demanded.

Kaz didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the door. It took him a long pause to reply.

"The start of another painful alliance," Kaz muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The start of something indeed.

[kit-williams]

Gift Giving

Male Lead: Palion Hiss Female Lead: Muse Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marine Canon Status: Yes think of this as the prequal for Palion's part in I love you fluffuary fic

Note: I don't know if this dips into fluff still or leans more into Yandere? If you lot feel like this doesn't

Palion felt himself preen as his hands moved over the porcelain. The several masks all lined up looking absolutely perfect in form as they all were taken from what was left of his Muse's good half of her face to get the idea of what a beauty she once was... but he couldn't bring himself to fix her fully. Slaanesh could heal such things... the flesh shaping of the biomancer was top notch and he could but... Palion didn't want to ruin what his muse held.

What she held? His attention. Palion grabbed brushes, both for paint and makeup, makeup pallets with their soft shades of eyeshadows... blushes... lip paints... as well as the array of vibrant colors as well as ones with precious metals interlaced. Something that was increasingly finicky for his sycophants to hold recently. He was bored with everything that had caught his eyes for centuries had suddenly grown boring.

He looked to the various masks lined up as he tied his long white hair back into a bun as he just sat there looking at the mask in front of him. He was tempted to call his muse in to just sit and discuss with him as she was rightfully jumpy and nervous around him... thankful like a mortal should be for when a god ordains to give them attention... but still wary of a new hand feeding her.

He dipped a brush into the blush as he slowly brushed it over the high delicate cheeks. His fingers brushing the interior of the mask feeling the padding on one side to keep it from irritating her scars. Made of soft inoffensive material so she wouldn't be distracted by the sensation of it... her attention could be somewhere else. Like upon him.

He hummed softly as he painted the white mask's lips a deep color. As they looked at him with their soft inoffensive smile... a pleasant thing to greet his eyes. Oh how utterly boring such perfect little baubles had become to him but then his Muse came into his life. He brushes another calm color for the eye shadow as he starts to paint flourishes and designs along the side.

Would she like his gifts? He muses as he thinks about his muse as he decorates each mask only having to wipe one completely clean as he let his passions get the better of him. No... these were to make her feel special not to be a visual fantasy for him. She was already that for him. This wasn't for him... if anything he would put her in a small outfit letting everyone see her perfection! He puts down his brush as his fingers tingle with excitement at the thought of her not wanting to be in a heavy drab robe and always hiding her face!

But Palion felt the need to acquiesce to her desires. He's broken far too many muses before her... he's forced his will upon the unwilling. Or he's used his honey coated words to get them to push a bit further and further... he's ended up with far too many dead darlings. He sighs blowing a strand of hair that has fallen out of place, relishing in the fact that even after all this time of perfecting putting his hair back... strands still rebel against him.

He looks at the porcelain masks with a soft smile as there is one for several cycles and he is certain he will order some more to be made... for her for special occasions! Unholy days! Celebrations! Oh the thoughts flood his mind with creative thoughts! He taps the data slate taking a few pictures of the masks before sending it to a group chat of his brothers, and then to the one that made the masks as he requests more to be made.

He gets himself all cleaned up and ready.... a nice wine in hand and wraps up the gift in a delicate looking bag. He is certain she will show some appreciation for being so thoughtful. Getting her a nicer but still humble looking robe to cover her whole form and these masks. He is certain that he will at least get a smile out of her!

Fluffuary TagList: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[liv-andletdie]

Zelink Week 2024 - Fading

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) @zelinkcommunity

Summary: To become an immortal dragon is to loose oneself. Zelda struggles with holding on as the years go by. Ao3 Link [x]

---

For a moment there is nothing. A moment of stillness as the inevitable draws near, where fear takes root. The stone lodged in your throat burns you from the inside out. You take a breath and in this moment, you remember the ones you love. The reasons you are here. 

And in the blink of an eye, you forget. 

The transformation isn’t as painful as you mortal self had once feared. Warmth and light take over as you begin to twist and change. Soon enough you will forget this too. Memories of what it felt like to first take flight, how natural it felt, how new, will fade like footprints in the sand.

Gentle Beast, why are you crying? 

Your tears stain the earth below. Did they do that before? You can almost remember the feeling of it. Water running down too small cheeks. Someone brushed them away. Who is that? Do you remember who she was? 

Was her hair golden? Or platinum? Or crimson? Was her skin painted? Or bare? When she spoke, was she kind? You can almost remember her being kind, can’t you?

She isn’t here to wipe your tears now, Great Dragon. And still they fall, crashing to the ground hard enough to leave craters - painting the land around them in shades of white. Those glyphs 

Dagger, Slate, King

Why do you know these shapes? Why are they familiar to you? 

Why can’t you remember?

Ancient Creature, how long have you been flying? You launched from the humble earth and never set foot on it again. The wind has been flowing through your mane for as long as you have existed in this state. But just how long was that? You know, Wise Beast, that you have not always held this shape. You know that there was a time before this endless flight. You know you were something else altogether. 

You once knew what that something was. 

Dagger, Slate, King

The past stares up at you from so far below, so far away and long ago. Calling. Begging. Can you hear me?

The King

Who is he? You are frightened of him, for him, of losing him. The grief you once held close to your heart is nothing now. Faded from days, months, centuries of flight. But the man… the men… the names are still somewhere in you. Tucked up and under your chin like a garrote wire or a nesting bird. 

Were you ever small enough to hold a bird that close? 

The thought surprises you. Surely you have always been this size? Always ancient and bestial. Six legs, sharp teeth, weeping eyes. Ah, Being of Light, you have surely always been you. 

In one form or another. 

If only you could remember

The land below you has grown and shifted so much since you first started on this journey. And you have watched, unchanged, all the while. 

Buildings and mountains come and go - so familiar and yet so alien. Longing fills your chest for some forgotten life. A life that is not your. Cannot be yours anymore. 

Little ones sat all in a row, planted like the vegetables in your garden. A silent laugh, a soft smile, rough yet gentle hands. Flashes of the being you once were. Freezing springs, endless prayer, those tears wiped from your cheeks. 

You do not remember, Mournful Creature, but you know that you long to. And you long to long for it - for the emotions trapped in your gullet. You cannot bring yourself to claim it - each rise and fall of the moon makes the fading worse. You were once frightened of the fading. Frightened to lose who you were. 

You cannot remember to be frightened now. 

Dagger, Slate, King

These glyphs used to mean something to you. 

Why can’t you remember? 

It’s as you’re passing over the scars you’ve inflicted that you feel him. Footsteps across your brow, barely there, barely stable. You can feel the air as it passes through your mane, your talons carve trails in the clouds around you, and He clings on. He braces himself along your snout, garlands of blue and white petals adorn you like a crown. There is a part of you that 

would have once cried out at the sight - but she has long since gone. Slipping from your careful grasp like the sands in the hour glass. 

Yes, Lost Creature, in another lifetime those flowers would have meant something to you. 

“There you are,” he says. His voice is quiet and careful. Rough around the edges from under use. He speaks to you like one would speak to a lover… was that what you were to each other? “I’m sorry I took so long.” 

It hurts. It hurts to hear him. His words beg for a response that you cannot give. Your mouth is too large now, tongue unwieldy, you cannot wrap your lips around the sounds that you wish to make. Comforting words become twisted into low grumbles and high shrieks. It is pointless to try. To talk to the man resting against your horns, weaving flowers into your golden hair. 

But you still try. You still want to try. 

A long lost part of yourself demands to speak, to call his name, to whisper adorations against skin and teeth and bruised knuckles. And while your memories evade you like shadows in the night, a part of your soul still remembers. It still cries out. 

I’m here, I’m still here. I know who we are.

He is leaning against you now, the warm line of his body right between your eyes. You can almost see him at the edge of your vision. He’s got his hair tied up, the well worn fabric holding it back is bleached white. Images, snippets, try and break free to ambush you. Blue fabric wrapped around a wrist, sword worn hands scooping blond strands back. The steam of a cooking pot billowing into the air, cheeks flushed red. 

“Karin’s missing you,” he sighs “Aster too. Symin’s doing a great job with them but… it’s your school.” His hands run over your fur. There is a heartbreak in his voice - halting and painful. “You should be there.” 

Tears well up in your eyes once more. For this man. For these children. All sat in a row. Flowers in your garden. 

Forgetful Beast, please say that you remember. Remember being more that you are now, remember being less. Remember crayons on paper, dirt under fingernails, the sound of chalk against a black board. The life that you left behind. The love. 

Why did you do this? You knew once. The people, your reasons. You cannot let this fade claim any more of you!

“I’m going to fix this.” The man, so determined, so steady. Who is he? You know him! A part of you needs him. A part of you loves him. Do you love him still? Can you love him? Has time stripped you of that mortal need? Has your new shape made you so different?

“I promise, I will find a way to fix this.” There is a torment here. This part of your past, a man you have waited millenia for, is so close to you. And yet you cannot grasp it. 

What is his name? 

What is your name? Have you ever had one?

He stands upright on your brow and you hear him heave a heavy sigh. He is shaking, as if he is holding back sobs. Blue and white petals flit in and out of your vision. You know these flowers. 

Silence… Silent, something silent. 

“I’m sorry. I took too long.” His words are quiet, swallowed up by the wind as it blows through him. “I will find a way to get you back. I promise. Please forgive me, Zelda.” 

Zelda. 

Zelda

Zelda

Dagger

                 Slate

                              King

                                          The school house

                                                                           Your Garden

Oh. 

Poor Creature. 

I am so sorry. 

You feel a scream build in the back of your throat. Hundred and thousands of years spent in silent, patient flight. Hundreds and thousands of words you cannot say. Hundreds and thousands of apologies turn to snarls against your teeth. It hurts. The transformation hurt more than you expected it too. The weight of your losses begin to crush you, guilt at broken promises lay like stones against your shoulders. It is too painful to go on like this. The fading is mercy. 

In the blink of an eye, you will forget, my sweet. 

You use this last moment to remember, to speak. Of course you have still been robbed of your voice but you have to try. His name, lodged in your throat, burns you from the inside out. And as he launches himself from your snout, you let out a mournful cry. 

It means “Link.”

It means “I miss you.”

It means “I remember. Find me” 

Fin

[ckao03]

Part 3 - Priming (For covering the skin color (ie, for an oc))

If you want to change the skin color (such as for an OC turtle), you need to start with a blank slate by covering the original color.

[Please note that no matter how you prepare and protect the figure, the joints in the arms and legs will always scrape away your paint and reveal the original plastic sooner or later in those areas.]

If you still want to continue...

You'll need: A can of white spray primer (Mr Hobby's Mr Base White 1500 or Citadel's White Scar work well. Citadel products are found in most model/hobby shops)

Arrange your figure in a t-pose, lay it on newspaper or paper towel and, IN A WELL VENTILATED OR OUTSIDE AREA, spray the figure in light sweeps from side to side, from about 10-12 inches away. You do not want to coat the entire figure all at once; you want to let it dry, and apply thin coats until the figure is eventually covered. Spraying too much too fast will cause the primer to run down and 'flood' the details.

If you flood your model, it can be a difficult and lengthy process to remove the primer. Solvents used to dissolve and wipe away the paint can sometimes melt or disfigure your toy...

If you want to practice first, try it on a cheap toy or figure from the dollar store (You could always paint that, too!). Use extra patience with this step.

Also, always read the safety instructions on the can before using any sort of spray and use breathing protection, like a chemical rated respirator when recommended.

[scummy-writes]

A short tidbit about my ikevil Oc.

This contains descriptions of menstruation along with hopes of having a child.

Thump.

Again.

Thump.

Again.

Thump.

Her hand hits rhythmically against the wall, fist entangled in the hair at the scruff of her neck. Pinching, digging nails in deep, as her eyes bore into the cloth between her legs. Stained with thickened blood. More of it drying on sheets of toilet paper, dripping further into the bowl.

She shouldn’t have expected otherwise. She knows this routine; every few months she goes without bleeding. Every few months, the irrational hope builds within her, day after day, until she believes that maybe, she’s succeeded this time. A twist in her stomach, a panic trying to etch within the walls of her chest, clawing against the few strands of sanity she believes she has left.

Then, after the pseudo symptoms startup - her body's way of reinforcing the deranged hope laden inside her - it comes crashing down sometime around the third month. In bits of uterine lining and the starkness of blood against her pale underwear.

Again. And again. Her own special cycle of blood and tears.

She’s unsure of how long she’s sat here staring, thumping the side of her fist against the wall, thinking. Wishing. Her thoughts twisting into self mockery. Into pitiful soothing attempts. Moving her body feels like a herculean effort, one she has to avoid registering in her mind, running on old routines. Wiping up what mess she can. Stuffing toilet paper between her labia and underwear. Scrubbing her hands clean, until they burn under the water, scalding, turning red.

Looking into the mirror is pointless. She feels the way her eyes burn from staring, that she’s pale and reflecting the emptiness of her womb - a blank slate, under strain and ready to fracture.

With a deep breath, she opens the bathroom door and steps out into one of the many hallways in Crown. Vases are intermittent with the windows, a cacophony of various stages of bloom between them, interspersed with paintings of random subjects. Her nails dig into her palm, flexing, shaking off the urge to grab the nearest vase and see how loud the shatter is in the still hall.

The idea leaves her in a short trance, feeling herself take a step, no two, closer to them, before a sharp pain in her abdomen causes her to suck in a breath with a wince. It's what finally causes a sting in her eyes, the reminder of another short lived dream crashing down upon her.

It's conflicting in ways that tangle within her thoughts - she never wanted a child when she was one herself, yet as she grew into her curse, the want demand left her spiraling. Shedding hysterical tears at the drop of a hat, flying into a rage when nothing seemed to ensure pregancy.

A familiar chuckle draws her attention, lungs stilling as she hears the tap of mens shoes. It what finally kicks her feet into gear, ushering herself further away, a creep of shame crawling up her back as her body burns despite the pain. Longing for companionship while her scattered thoughts plead against it.

Shame, stemming from her mother. From her mind speaking against her heart. From the way her hands shake, feeling as though they belong to another person entirely. The only thing that manages to soothe it for now in the escape into her room, the click of a lighter, and a whisp of smoke filling her lungs.

I'll have to put more of an explanation of my oc one day. Quite literally had to have the server help me come up with her name an hour ago.

Her name is Mary. She has the rumpelstiltskin curse, which allows her to turn things into gold with the touch of her fingers. She does have an ample amount of control on this, thankfully, but the crux of it is that she's left craving having children of her own, while the curse eats away her uterus' ability to actually have children.

I honestly want it to be that the longer she has her curse, the more it turns her ovaries into gold, but thinking about the mechanics of that gives me a headache.

She's going to be different from my other ocs, as I am gonna base some issues I have with PCOS and PMDD with some things she goes through. Honestly, exaggerated for her, but... yep.

I'm unsure of who she'd be paired with. I don't know of j*de that well, but he doesnt seem much like the type for casual sex? i was gonna rib that they'd be ewb (enemies with benefits), but I don't really know if any of the guys would fit with her...???? congrats, mary, you're the first OC where i had no guy in mind when making you.

[maryonmega]

Twin Stars - Chapter 11

Better than nothing (even pain?)

((A bit on the shorter side. Sorry))

You turn the shower as strong as it can get so Mirabelle won't hear your breakdown. Would be unfair, but so would to force yourself to be silent. 

 

You're a ghost. You were a ghost. Except not anymore. You're a sole survivor to people who are alive. You're a blank slate and carry baggage.

 

You're...

 

You're Sisyphus, no? Siffrin's sibling. A wanderer embraced by a family of choice.

 

You...

 

You still wish you could forget.

 

You know it won't happen.

 

But...

 

You want this life. You really do want this life.

 

Will this get twisted too? Rotten untill it falls apart?

 

This is how everything you dare want ends, isn't it?

 

When you get out already in your bed clothes (you like them. It's comfy. And you got it second hand so it didn't drain the little coin you had back then), the bathroom is full of steam. Does Mirabelle like hot showers? You can't remenber. You hope so. 

 

Did she like hot showers? Did she know how to sew? Could she sing? Could she paint? What's her favorite shade?

 

Your memory. Your precious memory. You condensed into a few hours. You broke before you truly had the tiny freedom Stardust was granted. Even the sweetness leave a bitter, rancid aftertaste. 

 

You call her to go to the now free bathroom. She comes out a few minutes later, already with the net thing on her hair. You need to figure these words out, dang it.

 

You lie down.

 

You...

 

She came out of the hall entusiastic. Why did you have to mess things up by holding a torch that should not even exist?

 

Close your eyes. In, and out. You're just going to sleep, like normal people do after watching a sixteen hours long play.

 

"Uhn, Sisyphus?"

 

Oh, no.

 

You sit up to look at her. Her gaze is soft. You get a sense of deja vu.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Are, un, are you really fine?"

 

The softness never left, but there's something else there, too. You can't remember if you got to know this side.

 

If it even existed. Before.

 

You didn't forget her name again. You still remember all of their names. You remember much more than you have the right to. It makes you even more painfully aware of what you forgot.

 

"I mean, I know the last part of that play was pretty sad, but, uhn, you kind of... looked like it was worse than that? I know it might not make sense, but! It kind of started before that?"

 

You know. You also know she's onto you. Maybe a little less than the Researcher but she is. Did the ordeal with Stardust turn something around?

 

She's rubbing her fingers. You know she's putting on effort to not bite her nails. 

 

"I know we're not, close, but, if you need to tell something, or, uh, a hug? Console, I mean, I wouldn't mind..."

 

"A hug would be nice, yes."

 

She doesn't hide that you took her by surprise. She also doesn't give enough time to second guess your decision before making her way to the bed you're sleeping on. It's not bad, right? You're taking up her offer. And, she's not wrong about you, so...

 

Her hug is gentle. Not tight, just firm enough to be soothing, grounding you with the pressure you with the pressure. She lets you lean on her torso. You hug back. You do lean. A warmt and care that no gods could erase if they tried.

 

Real. Warm and solid and real. Everchanging, even if she doesn't see it, because, now, she's living again. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. 

 

You don't realize you started crying untill she pulls back and wipes your tears. She mumbles "there, there" with each pat like you're a stray animal she's luring to a vet. 

 

You wonder if that's really as much a metaphor as you thought at first. 

 

"Thank you." You choke out. 

 

"It's ok." She says, her voice still soothing. 

 

You love her. Blind you, you still love your Mirabelle, but your soul is determined to love this one too. 

 

You don't know what to think of that. You don't want to think about that. You don't have a choice about doing so or not. 

 

You hug your pillow when you actually go to sleep. The cry tired you out. 

 

Her hands. Her warm, small hands. Calloused from battles and gentle like her heart. As good as in your memory. 

 

You want more. You don't dare ask for more. You feel like a summer plant with yellowing leaves. You feel like you'll drown if she waters you again. 

 

Your sleep is mercifully dreamless. 

 

~~~

 

Mirabelle checked on you as soon as you got out of bed. You didn't have to lie about feeling better. 

 

It still hurts. An ache in your chest. Like your heart haven't beaten in years and is now getting reused to doing so. You don't like it, but... it's better then hollowness.

 

You want to hold her hand. You know you'll drown. You put your cloak on and hold your own hand under it.

 

Today there isn't quite a pinpoint. You thought the groups would swap, but that's silly, no? Of course it is, the family agreed to travel together. Separate would kill the porpuse.

 

So, you wander around, but this time it's a good thing. Mirabelle is on the front again. You... 

 

You don't have it on you to reach for her again. But, you don't want to be too far. Or too close to the little couple (you can tell that Stardust also cried last night). You hang by the middle, near the Researcher. Like this, you could almost believe-

 

No. Not really. 

 

~★~

 

There are places with trees and bushes. You're not sure if "plaza" is the right word. You're sure they must be beautiful in summer. Too bad it's not summer. 

 

Last night was embarassing. Crying your eye out like that after being fine for over a week. But, it was also good. In a way. You felt horrible at first, to let out that you let them die more than once. Even in the morning, even after being told again and again that it was the King's fault for killing them and falling asleep with rain noise on the ceiling, the part that reminds you that you were the one with the duty of knowing still persists. 

 

But, not as loud now? Now, as you smell the still slightly damp earth, Isa's strong arm around your shoulders, your family's comments about plant care a comforting noise (Pétronille seens to be on some sort of tennis with Odile, Mirabelle looks like she'll take notes as soon as she gets some blank paper), you feel somehow light. One way of distracting from the festering thoughts. 

 

It's ok. It's ok. Ok, not really. For sure not, but... Your family can protect themselves now... And you'll never stop protecting them. It's just... mutual now. Better like that. Twelve eyes is much better than just one to look out for things. Right? Right?

 

"... you have to let them breath, or they're not gettin' tall. That's why the best ones are wild."

 

You... for sure did not make a noise when Nille got louder.

 

"Why are you even so bothered? It's not like you can grow things now." Bonbon cuts in, and see the opposite aged ladies back off like it was a comand. 

 

She triggers your fight or flight instict, but... She's far from bad. 

 

You see Loop looking at the situation and smiling. It doesn't look faked. 

 

Taking advantage of the focus being on the three for now, you hold the hand hanging off your shoulder.

 

Hard to have a boring moment. 

[nonobadcat]

A real world AU Gothic Romance - Final Chapter

Artwork by the amazing @obsidianne-art

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Readers 18+ only

Content Warnings: PnV relations with a literal ghost, toys, mirror

Chapter Three Word Count: 3.9k, Ao3 Mirror

Part I ---❤--- Part 2

Sunday October 23rd, 2022

At six in the morning, you awoke to the screech of a train horn, and a full bladder. Wiping your half-matted hair out of your face, you creaked to your feet and wrapped yourself in the comforter. Dragging your warmth with you into the bathroom, you climbed onto the toilet with one eye open…

…and proceeded to pee fire.

By nine in the morning, two inquisitive text messages and one graphic description of chafed skin summoned your best friend to the landline like a fox to an injured bunny. 

“Well, of course you’re gonna give yourself a rug burn using something rough like that!” Serenity spat into the phone. “What were you thinking?!”

Um… how horny you were for some dead man’s dick?

Gripping the cold pack between your thighs, you winced. “Since when is thinking involved in that kind of thing?”

An annoyed snarl echoed from the other end. “Look, if you can’t use your fingers, you need to use a toy or something!”

You scrolled through the adult toy listings, eyeing up the options. Fake glass cock. Fake silicone cock. Fake plastic cock. Fake hot pink plastic cock with a little vibrating branch that looked like Vienna sausage. Hitachi wand. Egg thingy. Silver bullet? That sounded more like a solution to a werewolf infestation than something you wanted to put between your legs.

 “Give me a break Ren-Ren! There’s too many different options,” you protested,  scratching the back of your neck. “How am I supposed to know what to buy?”

You could practically hear your best friend’s headache as she loosed an indignant sigh. “All right. I got you. Do you want inside or outside stim?”

“Um…” you scrolled past a fake tentacle with weighted Kegel eggs. “Both?”

“Then order a rabbit.”

“What’s a rabbit?”

“Heaven have mercy,” she muttered. “Sit yourself down because this is going to be a long talk.”

Monday, October 31st, 2022 4:013 pm

Eight days after your sexual re-education lecture, a text message notification dinged your phone as you passed through the center of Smalltown, USA. Pulling into the old brownstone library, you parked your car and took advantage of the only five bar signal in Podunk County outside of the Walmart plaza. Not even the smell of garlic and deep fried something pouring out the vent from Wang’s Chinese Buffet could distract you from your excitement. The message was from USPS.

Your package has been delivered.

Oh good, Mrs. Murray’s pack of angry, push-face Pekingese hadn’t eaten the mail lady. You weren’t so sure when you saw her tearing down the sidewalk last week, being chased by bubble-fluff Cujos who probably asphyxiated for their efforts.

As you looked up from your phone’s screen, blustering winds painted the smooth cement walkway to the library doors with curled, brown leaves. A plastic sign reading “Trunk-or-Treat - 5pm - Halloween” flapped in the wind. You eyed the library's posted hours before cutting the engine. Perfect. For once, you were done with house calls early enough to go inside. Snagging your purse, you schlepped up the walkway to the glass doors and pushed your way in.

Paper cut-out ghosts and fresh pumpkins from “Miller’s Prize Winning Patch” coated the warm lobby with seasonal excitement. Tiny rubber bats flapped from the door frame, leading visitors up a trail of plastic “Big Foot” tracks to the circulation desk. Pinned into a vintage, slate colored silk dress with billowing mutton sleeves, the head librarian paused her frenzied typing just long enough to adjust her golden Prince-Nez spectacles. She tugged at the frilly trim of her high collar, fussing with the long lace. The upturned brim of her wide, feathered hat reminded you of a bowl. It didn’t budge as she lifted her head to face you. Considering the number of long, pearl tipped pins she’d inserted through the felt, it probably would have shrugged off an EF5 tornado by having a glass of sherry.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Curtwright." You folded your hands neatly on the desk. "I'm sorry it took me so long to make it in. Work has been savage."

The librarian smiled and turned to the squat metal, bookcase marked “holds”. She pulled down a heavy grey text labeled “Miller’s Antiques Encyclopedia”. “It’s just so good to see that old house cared for by someone who really appreciates its history,” she replied, passing you the massive reference book. 

“Speaking of which, do you know what happened to the Shimura’s son after the fire?”

She hummed, tapping her chin. “Not off hand.”

You sighed. “Oh well.”

“Did you find another picture in the old furniture?”

“Uh…” Your cheeks burned as images of the naughty dream drifted across your mind. “Something like that. There was a young man in his twenties with wavy white hair. He looked a little different but I could swear it was the same person.”

“If you know the date, we can check some of the old town records.”

“There wasn’t a date on this one.”

She tugged at her sleeve. “Do you remember what his clothing looked like?”

You crossed your arms. “A red velvet jacket with these fasteners that looked like a marching band uniform.” Closing your eyes, you tried to picture the outfit you were wearing. “There was a woman in something that looked like your dress. It was really tight fitted with these slightly poofy sleeves—”

“Poofy at the shoulder or the wrist?”

“The wrist? Sort of anyway. The end of the coat was wide like a funnel.” You scrunched your face. “It was short and the shoulders were smooth, like a normal suit coat.”

“Bell sleeved jacket with Bishop sleeve shirtwaist. Probably Edwardian then. Did the dress have an S-shape that made the chest and butt stick out?”

You nodded.

“Pouter pigeon. Classic Gibson Girl look,” she murmured, leaning into the conversation. “Must have been the early years. Was there a hat?”

“Yes. It was kind of puffy and made of felt.”

“Did it have a brim?”

You pinched the air. “Maybe a small one?”

“A beaver felt Toque. I’d guess 1901 to 1904. By 1905 they were back to the Leg-of-Mutton style shirts.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Let’s go check the old town records.”

Leading you across the open floor, she motioned to some leather bound volumes on the far wall behind the “Historical” desk. Labeled by decades, each volume was four inches thick. She tugged down the 1880-1910 binder and gingerly flipped through the yellowed pages. You leaned on the beige, laminate countertop, peeking over her shoulder. All at once, a single certificate caught your eye.

“There! Shigaraki! That was the name I saw.” You pointed to the small slip of paper. “What is that?”

“Huh…” She turned the book so you could read it. “Adoption paperwork. It looks like little Shimura was adopted by someone named… well… the first name is smeared but the last name is clearly Shigaraki.” Mrs. Curtwright wrinkled her long, roman nose. “I wonder if he was related to the old Dr. Garaki that used to practice in town.”

You cocked your head. “Why are you making that face?”

She lowered her voice to a whisper and cupped her cheek. “He was a notorious grave robber. They tried to run him out of town but he had some rich friend from New York that prevented it. Supposedly, the buddy had underworld connections.” 

“Oh…”

The librarian winked at you. “I’m not sure how much I believe that. Why would a crime syndicate come all the way to this little town?”

As you thought back to the scars on your dream lover’s face and how powerful his grip had been, the idea of him being more dangerous than you first realized didn’t seem that out of place.

Mrs. Curtwright flipped the page. “Oh, it looks like they changed his whole name after the adoption. No wonder Tenko Shimura disappeared from the records at the end of the Victorian era.”

Printed on the fragile paper in ink the color of night was the name you’d been searching for: Tomura Shigaraki.

After a quick stop off for $7.99 per pound Chinese buffet take-out, you rolled down the solitary drive to your Second Empire home. Pointed wrought iron trim along the edge of the tall, Mansard roofline looked like rusty knives against the thick, overcast sky. A cold, late autumn breeze slapped your cheeks. Pulling the hood of your Carhartts up, you crunched up the gravel drive to the front door. You snatched the “discreet” cardboard package off the front porch and fumbled for your keys. The old oak rattled in the breeze, its leafless twigs snapping against each other like dried chicken bones being crushed under foot. With a shudder, you headed inside and locked the door behind you.

Wang’s fried food and wonton soup proved every bit as delicious as the smell promised. However, sitting alone at a table built for many left a cold disappointment balled in your chest. You picked at the scrumptious meal, surveying the empty walls and vacant shelves. Maybe some photos would help? Did you have any printed pictures aside from the Shimura kids? Pressing your forehead against the smooth wood, you groaned. 

“I need to get out more.”

After dinner, you settled in the front parlor to await any visitors. Nursing a cup of warm apple cider, you sat in the bay window, clutching a wide plastic bowl full of Kit Kats, Reese’s Pieces, Snickers, Fun Dip and SweeTarts. Dusk descended on the world outside. Trick-or-Treat hours came or went, but no costume coated child made the long trek up the barren gravel drive. 

“Guess this isn’t suburbia,” you muttered, eating your tenth candy of the night. “The kids probably go to Trunk-or-Treat because the houses are too far apart.”

Disappointed and lonely, you flipped off the porch light and retreated upstairs with your package. 

Flopping onto the bed sheets, you rattled the white and red box. The flesh colored, rubber-free cock flopped in its clear plastic packaging. Heat filled your cheeks as you tugged open the safety seal. As you flexed the internal rod, the moveable skin wrinkled in your fingers. You snorted with laughter, positioning it into a raunchy curve. Taking your new toy into the bathroom, you cleaned it gently with unscented soap before sticking it to the side of the porcelain basin. Giggling to yourself at your suddenly well endowed sink, you flipped on the shower and started in on your nightly routine.

Twenty minutes later, with the bedroom door locked, you peeled the plastic organ off the side of your sink and wet the base. Bathed in the flickering light of a single wick oud and musk scented candle, you snatched up your bottle of “personal jelly” from the nightstand. Then, you headed for the bare, wooden floor just beside the heavy, mahogany bed. Tossing the comforter pillows down, you fluffed them into a makeshift nest. The fake cock came down on the wooden bedframe with a lewd smack. It wiggled for a moment before standing tall directly in front of the antique oval mirror. Heat glowed in your cheeks as you adjusted the bendable shape into a less intense curl.

On the other side of the room, Tomura leaned against the other side of the ornate frame, strong fingers crawling at the glass. Blazing red eyes watched tentative hands smearing the textured organ with gelatinous lube. Then slippery digits found their way between your legs. Closing your eyes, you leaned back against the pillows. Tomura licked his rough lips as soft thighs spread for his viewing pleasure.

Smooth but firm, you teased apart your folds, working your way towards your sensitive nub. The pad of your finger lifted hooded flesh, tickling the nerves with deep, slow swipes. Musky moisture pooled in your core as a low moan slipped from your swollen lips.

One finger dipped inside, tracing over stippled flesh as it followed the curve of your body. Your wrist ached, pressing your palm tight over your clit as needy hips rolled of their own accord. Your eyes squeezed shut. Tossing your head back against the side of the old bed, you pinched one pert nipple between your fingers.

“Tomura…”

At the sound of his name, Shigaraki’s hard teeth bit his thin lips to blood.

Groaning as your hand pulled away, you climbed to shaky legs before kneeling in the nest of bedding. Lowering yourself to your forearms, you shuffled back and reached behind your hips. False flesh slid between your thighs as one hand pressed it hard to your core. The dildo’s artificial skin puckered. Thighs clenched tight, you rode its length, letting all the world fade into the feel of its sultry friction between your legs. Your body quivered as gaze drifted into a glazed stare.

Tomura groaned, savoring the erotic sight. Positioned directly in front of his mirror, you glided across the toy. The teasing sway of your tits combined with occasional peaks at pebbled nipples was exquisite torture. A bead of thick pre-cum rolled down his fingers. His eyes never left your blissed out face.

Spreading your hips and squeezing your lips, you pressed the rounded head in between your folds. Tickling yourself with the tip left your body shaking with need. You sunk back, letting your new purchase worm its way past your entrance. Quivering hands fisted the blanket. When it dipped inside, your eyes went wide.

“T-Tomura!” you stuttered. 

The toy’s delicious curve was well worth the trouble. It fit like a hand in a glove, following your body’s arch to that tender spot along the front of your pussy. Drool pooled at the corner of your lips as you leaned into the sensation, letting the veiny craftsmanship set your nerves ablaze. Slick fingers gilded across your clit as you rocked yourself back and forth between twin pleasures. 

Shigaraki’s eyes bulged, following every nudge of your hip as you rode his pathetic replacement. Irritation bristled across his skin. He clenched his jaw, watching the toy with burning envy as it slipped in and out of your body. A steady stream of breathy curses poured from his mouth as he waited for the right words to come from yours.

“Tomura… ohmigosh Tomura!” you moaned. “Need your cock.”

Not yet. Not until you said it.

“Please! Please! Tomura! Ngnnn—w-want you so bad.”

So close! Too close!

As you bottomed out against the base, you let your tongue hang like a dog in heat. Saliva pooled at the tip before dripping onto the blanket below. Tomura’s nails raked the glass. The candle light flickered. You looked dead in the mirror and fixed him with a lust drunk smile. 

“Take me, Tomura Shigaraki.”

All at once, a hard hand pinched your jaw. You glanced up, only to see a feral snarl. Massive, tombstone wide teeth flashed in the thin light. Pale waves of ghost white hair framed his heart shaped face. Blood dripped from his broken lip as he sneered down at your intoxicated smile.

“T-thought you’d never come…” you mumbled.

Red eyes glowed in the din. “Thought you’d never ask,” he snarked back.

In one smooth motion, Tomura dragged you to your wobbly feet. You stumbled into his chest. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, he kicked the comforter aside. The mattress squeaked. One massive hand pressed your cheek first into the springs as the other hoisted your hips against his. “You know you really ticked me off, putting on a show like that.” 

“S-sorry,” you muttered, scooting back against him. “Didn’t know what else to do…”

He rolled his eyes, slotting himself between your thighs. You gasped as cool, firm flesh clipped your raw clit. His hoarse voice growled in your ear. “No more games and no more toys. From here on in, the only one you wag your tail for”—a thick, cold weight pressed against your hot entrance—“is me.”

You nodded.

He chuckled, patting your cheek. “Good girl.”

Tomura canted his pelvis to meet you. One stroke at a time, he worked his way inside, spreading goosebumps along your skin. Icy fingers spread your lower lips, soothing your friction sore nub. Warm breath steamed from your every pant as your ghostly lover molded your pliant body to his cock. When he finally seated himself deep inside, an experimental roll of his hips left you writhing in the sheets.

“Oh no, no, no .” He taunted. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Grasping the meat of your thighs, Tomura set a steady, bouncing pace. Every thrust pressed you deeper into slippery sheets. Your clit tingled. Crawling pleasure prickled up your nerves. His girth filled you to the brim, baring you to him in ways that set your skin ablaze. Soon, the rhythmic creak of the mattress was drowned out by mewling cries of unbridled ecstasy. 

“Like that, do you?” he demanded, pressing into your farthest walls. 

“Mmmm To-Tomura,” you moaned, arching your back. Another grind of his thick cock left you slurring your words “A-ah! L-love it!”

He leaned his weight forward, licking the shell of your ear. “Slut,” he rasped. 

“D-on’t mind”— You buried your warm face in the bedding and grinned—“being your slut.”

With a curse, Tomura ripped himself out of your body. You flopped to the mattress with a confused whine before turning to face him. Before you could speak, he grabbed your shoulder and flipped you on your back. Cracked lips smashed against yours in a frenzied kiss. Cold hands dragged you over the side of the bed, as he hoisted your legs over his hips. When he broke the kiss, a skeleton wide grin split his face from ear to ear.

“Oh?” A creepy chuckle shook his chest. “Is that so?”

With a snap of his hips, Tomura buried himself deep in your cunt.

You yelped, clawing at his shoulders. Long hair tickled your cheek as he pressed his nose into your neck. Hard teeth nipped at the delicate skin. He reached between you, boney fingers toying with your clit. With a gasp, you writhed on his cock. His free hand cupped the back of your head, tilting your face.

“Take a look at how naughty you are,” he whispered.

When you saw yourself in the mirror, your breath caught in your chest. Though you could see him plain as day, there was no one reflected in the glass. Instead, your body hovered in midair, back curved and nipples tight. Between your thighs, glistening in the candlelight, your naked core clenched around nothing. Heat flooded your brain, torching all rational thought. You gulped.

Tomura turned your gaze back to him. Half-lidded eyes paired with his smug grin sent a shock of lust though your insides. He chuckled at your expression before rolling his hips again. When you gasped, he smothered it with another hungry kiss.

“Mine,” he growled.

Locking your hands beside your head, Tomura trailed his scratchy lips down the column of your neck. You whimpered, turning your cheek into the sheets. Squirming legs clamped to his sides. An eerie chuckle rumbled from his chest and he buried his nose in your hair. The wet smacks from each firm thrust filled the air like a lewd base beat. When he settled upon one particular motion, you choked on your own voice. 

“Oh?” He sneered. “Here?”

Tomura leaned into you, rolling his head across your walls. 

“T-Tomura!” you whined, arching your back.

A shiver wracked his body. “Again,” he commanded, pressing into the spot that left your vision swirling grey. 

Your toes curled. “Tomur-ah!” 

He sped the pace, pounding you against the sheets. The springs squeaked their protests but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of his feral panting. “Again!” he hissed.

Closing your eyes, you wrapped your legs around his back. “Tomura…” you moaned, pulling him tight against you.

Shigaraki swore again, wrapping his arms under your shoulders. Burying his face in your neck, his movements stuttered. Tingling waves of pleasure rippled down your thighs. You tensed, clamping your body down until the electric vibrations rattled your brain. He surged forward, pounding relentlessly into you. 

“Gonna take my cum aren’t you? Take it like the good little slut you are."

As coarse white hair clipped across your swollen clit, your world swam behind blurry tears. Half formed thoughts slurred from puffy lips.“Want it. Want your cum so bad!”

Tinged with the taste of copper, his feverish kiss threatened to suffocate you. You tongue met his in an intoxicating dance. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your body coiled tighter and tighter. Just when you were about to snap, he whispered one final order:

“Say my name.”

“TOMURA!” you yelped as your world exploded into white hot bliss. 

With a strangled grunt, Tomura emptied himself inside you. Out of breath and shaking, he collapsed on top of you, grinding his hips against you over sensitive skin. As his seed leaked around the sides of him, you pressed your forehead against his. Clammy skin met flushed flesh as you tried to still the spinning room around you.

Climbing to his elbows, Tomura swept the stray hairs away from your sweaty brow. A cruel cackle filled the room. Scarlet eyes gleamed with villainous mirth as he lifted your chin. 

“Boo," he whispered.

 ❤ ~Fin~ ❤ 

Need more dark, gothic romance with hot villains? Check out my original reader insert novel:

Maid For Your Master by Afipia Felis

Available world wide in paperback and ebook.

CW available here

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"...It also has a lovely dark plot that really gives off the best historical tropes in a really well thought out world :)..." - (Amazon Kindle)

"Delightfully Devious! One thing I also particularly enjoyed about this book was the POV. Its very seldom that you find well written novels written this way. This was a very thrilling book and I can't wait to read more!" - (Goodreads.com)

Read the first three chapters for free on Amazon and Google Play.

Artwork:

Character design by Obsidianne-art

Chapter seven Excerpt By NoNoBadCat

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[thedomesticanthropologist]

Here's sad Sivvus things

He was an early writer and journaled almost every day up until he turned 18

After the Hag Deal (which he doesn't really remember much of) he began to pull away. A few decades later his mum asked if she could have his old journals

He agreed, and she reads them sometimes, remembering who her son used to be, how hopeful and kind and sweet he was.

His family doesn't know why he went sour, except Idun, his older brother, who knows something went down but hides it because it's his fault (he was supposed to watch Siv)

Sivvus never lost the love of his family, he just stopped seeing it and being able to receive it

They respected his solitude but would even send letters of invites to all the things. The letters would pile up outside his door

They spent decades trying to get him to engage with them, but he only ever performed out of obligation, like there was a wall between him and others.

Eventually his magic fed into his emotional issues, creating an energetic shield that causes others to keep their distance, disregard him, or 'slide off'. This effectively stopped people from trying to help, because when they got close their minds would get fuzzy and the idea would go away.

Though he is a druid, he keeps his emotional so sheltered that he fails to connect with his plants or animals on a deep level. They all love him, and flock to him, but he can't feel it. Like watching a video of a cat vs petting one, there's always something in between

The Hag took all of the emotions attached to his childhood memories, and a few memories as well, in exchange for making him powerful. Sadly, with no connections in his heart, he had no reason to use his power, and the trick of the Hags Deal was sealed. He may be one of the most powerful druids in the Feywild, but he sits alone in his garden and rots because the world is Uncomfortable Now

Siv never actually lost the ability to feel, the Hag just drains his emotions when they are strong. After a few bad experiences, he began protecting himself from her by trying to simply... not feel.

90 years of increased isolation, slowly pulling away because all feelings and experiences felt sharp and new and he balked against it, he ended up losing all of his childhood friendships as well as his fiancee

He doesn't even recognize this as a loss because he can't remember what it feels like to care about someone

Being wiped clean like a slate having the chalk brushed off, Sivvus placed himself upon a shelf and became the orchestrater of his own mouldering existence

There are still a few paintings of the family when he was young. In them, he's always smiling

His younger sister is only 60, she never knew him as any different than he is now. If she did, she would have been the only one to never give up trying to get him back, because his magic shield doesn't work on her

It doesn't work on her because she spent 20 years in Faerun, and intra-planar travel interrupts Sivs defenses

If he went to Faerun, his Hag couldn't reach him anymore and the emotion-sucking would be permanently broken. He doesn't know this, because he never traveled. He could have broken the curse decades ago.

If he pushed through the Hags draining of his emotions he could use his powers to block her out, but because he shies away and hides from it, it enables her to continue what she's doing

You don't know what you don't know, and sometimes that means you hurt yourself more than the bad thing that happened to you could ever hurt you

Sivvus is a metaphor