#should I fully render and finish this? maybe. perhaps. will I? baby I do not know

[theofficialpresidentoftheusa]

Shame we never got to actually see Ed put his hair up. Shame we never got him in a crop top either so lemme just-

[poutyhannie]

warnings: fem!reader, painter!reader, smut, fluff, slight sub!hyunjin, slight soft dom!reader, penetration, face riding, praising

word count: +2.2k

Absent mindlessly stepping over one of the numerous drying canvas strewn around your studio, you make your way to the cabinet, moving aside one of the numerous commission pieces you’ve finally finished. There it is, in the back, fearing the prospect of being abandoned by your touch. Cautiously, your stained hands grip the paint tubes as a giddy smile spreads over your lips. Unlike the drying canisters around you, closed or sealed with half hearted hands, these tubes were abandoned because of their value. And finally, after completing all commissions, you finally have some time to yourself by yourself with your precious paints.

A tumult of colors swirl under your brush, bending and swaying to your will and to create the controlled chaos of your mind. Though your palette almost exclusively resides in the cool tones, gently caressing the monochromatic, this time, your mind swirls as sunflower yellows and deep vermillion tones fill your palette. There’s not much to think about, just a feeling to go off of. Even though you never break out these prized paints, there’s confidence in your unknowing strokes. Soon, a calm forest scene beings to materialize under your brush, maybe in sunset, where the cooling sun’s scorch now exhales over the trees with golden breath. These rays drift through the branches, illuminating the rocks, fallen leaves, and roaming critters…And a figure? You’re not sure when your brush strayed, but there’s a brown streak right at the middle of the canvas, where the light is the brightest and one’s eyesight would be drawn. Snapping out of your painterly haze, you begin scrubbing at the streak, only further spreading it. 

Huffing at this obvious blight on your calm scene, you once again allow your mind to wander and doing so usually leads one of two things. When your thoughts aren’t clouded with art, they’re of him. You’ve never thought to mix the two, always held your affections for the both at separate ends of your life. Perhaps that’s not ideal. The brush is lethargic over the brown streak as the silhouette of a tall man begins to form. There’s a halo of gold around his entire figure and you wonder whether or not to delve into the details of him when a pair of arms suddenly pull you back from your canvas. Heart in your throat, your arm stings from twisting away from the arms until a soft chuckle burns you to a stop in your tracks. 

The amused smile tugs his eyes into crescent moons and his plump lips part in laughter as he squeals, “You should have heard the sound you made! You sounded like a dying horse.” Gasps of laughter continue to bubble from him and maybe your barrage of hits to his shoulder will stop the burning in your cheeks. It doesn’t, however his eyes catch on your canvas, smile immediately dissolving into dumb wonder. Almost reverently, he steps towards it, face close and breath drying the paint as he admires it.

“You like it, Hyunjin?” His pouting smile bursts warmth in your chest. “Yeah, its really different from what you usually do,” upon further inspection, he points a long finger at the still not rendered brown figure, “Is this me? Maybe that’s why its so good.” Though you scoff, he’s being pulled close into your chest by your stained hands. A yelp tears from him and he pushes you off, inspecting the residue paint on his shirt. His eyes roll back as he holds the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically wailing.

“Noo~This can’t happen! This was my favorite shirt,” the guilty paint only further incriminates itself over his shirt as he rubs at it ferociously. Falling to his knees, he chokes, wringing his hands together at you. 

His theatrics raise a giggle in you and you lean down to tug at the shoulders of his shirt, explaining, “Hey, I have a special paint soap. Take this off.” This stops him dead in his tracks and his eyes are wide and curious as he slips the white shirt off his broad back. Fading pink lines made from your nails a few nights ago decorate his back and you blush, turning away to walk to the sink. Under cool water and the pink bubbly soap, the mark slowly fades as Hyunjin looks over at it, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder. You’re careful to not move too drastically to keep him there. 

“There,” you pat it with a smile, slinging his wet shirt over a clean easel. Hyunjin towers over you, his raven locks falling into his eyes as it takes everything in your will for your eyes to not travel down his neck to his elegant collarbones, lower to his lean abdomen and even lower to the regions you’re familiar with. The air is suddenly to hot, too stuffy and his hands burn as they trace up your face and into your hair. As he leans in, his eyes are dark and hooded, closing as you are pulled closer to his plush, glossy lips. The flavor rolling on your tongue is of something sweeter than coffee mixed with his usual taste. The movement of your lips against his is slow but his hands around your head are firm. Goosebumps raise on his tan skin as you trace your still wet hands across his bare expanse in front of you. Pressing you against the sink counter, his hardening member rubs you, causing you to let out a low, soft moan. His hands move down from your hair to the hem of your paint covered shirt, quickly twisting it off. Lips meeting yours again but you step aside, gently pulling him along to your abandoned canvas. 

His eye cracks open to see your hand fumbling for a paint brush. “No, no, no,” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back with a string of saliva between his swelling lips, “you are so not stopping to paint right now.” “It’s gonna dry,” you whine, turning away from him.

He groans, absentmindedly palming himself through his dark jeans, “You’re seriously just gonna leave me like this?”

Though he pleads to you with big, shining, puppy eyes, his neck is sweaty, his chest heaves, and his abdomen clenches when he moves his hand. There’s knowledge that his pouting holds tremendous power over you and he exploits it fully. 

In an instant, like most of your artistic inspirations usually occur, you make up your mind, returning to face him, brush still in hand. The bristles are rough against his soft skin, tracing a brassy red tone from the base of his neck, over his collarbone, to his shoulder. The sensation of cold, wet paint paired with the wiry bristles leave him gasping. 

“B-but aren’t these your special paints, Y/n?” 

“Aren’t you my special baby boy, Hyunjin?” 

This leaves him shivering and you trace the brush lower, flicking his sensitive nipple. The other side is captured in your teeth and he hisses. Kissing up his chest, you dip the brush back into the paint, this time choosing a light crystal blue that compliments his tan skin. It goes beside the red, mixing in the middle to a bright purple. You feel his eyes on you as you trail the brush lower to his stomach, tracing the lines of his muscles, but careful to avoid his clothes. You’d rather paint Hyunjin than wash his clothes again. 

When your eyes meet, the tender, innocent willingness filling him provokes you to grasp his face tightly. There’s a yellow splat on his cheek as you squish them between your hands, looking up at him, endeared. His lips are even more impossibly plump because you’re squeezing his cheeks and your tongues are hot and suffocating against each other. With one hand, you to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his clothes so swiftly that his hard dick slaps against his stomach. 

Smiling, you kneel, tracing the brush around his trembling, soft thighs. However, the glistening red of his tip, spouting precum distracts you and you grab a deeper blue, smearing it on his hip near his hard member. Above you, whines break out from Hyunjin’s swollen lips, begging you to do something. “Am I not making my baby boy feel pretty? Do you not like me painting you?” 

“No,” he moans, bucking his hips forward into air, “I-I just really want you right now.” 

Feigning ignorance, you cock your head to the side, standing up and placing the brush down on the table. “Hm? How do you want me, baby?” You fingers swirl around the colors, proud that you used these precious paints on someone even more precious. 

“Can you please ride me?” He’s whining, fingers grasping at you. You should resist, not give in so quickly to his pouting, but can you blame yourself? Pushing him down to the relatively clean canvas tarp on your studio floor, quickly strip before straddling his hips, the cool paint smearing against your legs. Firmly, you grasp the base of his dick and line it up with your entrance, making him let out a soft, strangled groan. The stretch is nothing you’re not used to but it makes you double over, your breasts squishing against his paint covered chest as you place a trail of wet kisses on his chest and neck. After giving time to adjust, you start moving, relishing the feeling of his member dragging against your walls. He grasps your hips harshly, paint morphing into bruises. Hyunjin’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to feel anything but you on top of him and him inside you.

A high pitched, loud, pretty moan rips from Hyunjin’s throat when you quicken the pace, lifting up till he was barely inside you and ramming your hips back down. “You like that, baby boy? You like it when I’m riding you fast like this?” 

He nods, whining loudly and embarrassingly. 

You tsk, “If you keep being that loud, my studio neighbors will hear, kitten.” Deep inside you, he twitches and your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “Oh, does my baby boy like the idea of that? You want everyone to see how pretty you are under me and hear these noises you make? God, you’re beautiful.” 

His hands wander from your hips to your bouncing boobs and a spark burns through you at the contact. “I want everyone to hear that I’m just yours, Y/n. I’m your pretty baby boy,” he gasps, out of breath and chest heaving. Sweat causes his chest to glisten golden, just like your painting and you lean down to kiss up to his cheeks. 

“That’s right, baby. You let me paint you up because you’re mine.” 

“Y-you use your nice paints on me t-to make me,” he gasps softly, “to m-make me pretty.” 

You shake your head as your thighs burn and the sound of slapping skin intensifies, “You’re already pretty, baby. My pretty baby boy,” your hand goes from gripping his hips to caressing his sweaty face and his expression twists into pleasure as he cries out. “P-please! I’m g-gonna cum,” he continues to gasp, his eyes rolling back, “c-can I c—” 

“Cum for me, baby boy.” At your command, he shoots deep and hot into you and you continue to ride on him, chasing your own high as the wet, slopping sounds compound at the introduction of his cum. When you clench around him, electricity sparking through you, he cries out again, overwhelmed by the stimulation. Still riding out your high, he’s trembling under you, eyes glassy from pleasure. The paint on his chest is swirling, disrupted by his sweat and you carefully lift yourself off of him, juices dripping out of you.

“Can you please sit on my face?” Though his eyes are glassy and almost rolling back into his head, he firmly grabs your hand, tugging you down. Though the burning of your recent high overwhelms you, you lower your dripping core onto his eager, outstretched tongue, your thighs squishing his cute cheeks together. The stinging pleasure of overstimulization burns through you but you stay in place, gasping as his hot tongue makes short work of your used hole. His tongue rolls along the outside of your walls and clit, gathering the juices before plunging into you as you gasp. Thrusting and rolling his tongue inside and out of you, he pulls you closer to your second high, crashing over you from overstimulization.

The trembling of your legs barely allows you to get off of him but when you do, you collapse next to him, panting hard. The burning white pleasure of your second orgasm leaves you light headed as Hyunjin takes care of you, getting up to grab a paper towel because he doesn’t trust any of the paint stained towels you have in your studio. A wide, adorable smile spreads across his face as he watches you in post bliss. “It means a lot that you’d use your special paints on me, Y/n. I know you like, never bring those out.” 

Your lips fumble into a smile at him and you stroke his cheek, leaning to gently meet his lips with yours, the residue of both your highs on his tongue. Its soft and slow but not any less intimate as you caress his shoulders, tracing the paint down to intertwine your hands. “You’re beautiful, baby boy.”

[vapcrwaves]

━♡ guess the 24 YEAR OLD JULY baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because AOKI IMOJEN is just as BLAZING as the month of JULY. wait, why do they remind me of HIRAI MOMO? beyond that, they seemed SELF-RELIANT & BUOYANT upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of INSURGENT & RECKLESS though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX # 3 / APARTMENT # 2 / FLOOR # 2 ; they seem to have a lot going on with HER job as TATTOO ARTIST / BASSIST. 

bonjour , y’all !! my name’s jade ( she/her , twenty-one , gmt+8 ) !! and i’m super excited to meet and write with everyone !! this is my spunky kid , imojen , and i hope you’ll come to enjoy her as much as i did writing everything about her :D if you wanna plot , do not fret because i’ll be dropping in everyone’s IMs hehe , but if you prefer to plot over at discord , don’t hesitate to tell me !! <3 

*   𝖕���𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊   ╱  ʙᴀꜱɪᴄꜱ   .

name  :  aoki imojen  nicknames  :  yoki , jen . age  :  twenty - four . birthday  :  july 27 , 1996 . zodiac  :  leo sun , aquarius moon , sagittarius rising . place of birth  :  tokyo , japan . currently living  :  seoul , south korea . occupation  :  tattoo artist , bassist . pronouns  :  she / her . orientation  :  bisexual biromantic . ethnicity  :  japanese .  spoken languages  :   japanese , korean , english .  character insp.  :  kat stratford from 10 things i hate about you , bridget vreeland from sisterhood of traveling pants , effy stonem from skins uk , young carol rhodes from gossip girl tv series , rhonda smith , mia’s backstory from if i stay . label  /  tropes  :  hoyden , icarian , insurgent , reveller , the rebellious spirit . pinterest  :  here .  aesthetics  :   scared of commitment , but has 7 tattoos. a habit of endlessly lighting a lighter. platform boots to boost your height. but then again, sneakers for comfort while running from the cops. forgetting to discard empty cigarette packets from your bomber jacket. spilling your fifth espresso onto your drawings and designs , maybe it’s time to sleep. a frightening look on your face which millennials like to call a resting bitch face. the heat ruining your collection of leather jackets. finding comfort in your friends who seem to understand your mood swings. having a pet cat who’s as feisty as you. spontaneous adventures live inside your head and your friends fall victim to those ideas. liking the rays of the sun more than the moon despite being a night owl. oversleeps anyway. trimming your bangs yourself because you couldn’t be bothered to go to the salon. overcooking your sunny side up eggs. sleeping to forget problems. drinking to forget problems. epitome of a ride or die. 

*  𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗    ╱  ᴘᴀꜱᴛ   .

aoki imojen was born to understand what it was to live a life with no structure. her father was part of a rising band in the 90s, toured all over small venues in japan that they slowly rose to a known local name, and imojen has seen all the chaos unfold from backstage in the arms of her mom. however, slowly transitioning into the year of 2000s, the economy was still struggling from the lost decade and the income from touring never sufficed for a growing family. imojen’s father was forced to leave the music scene with the help of her mother’s influence: “it’s time to be serious”; and work multiple jobs in order to fully provide for his first child and the another growing one inside his wife’s womb. 

growing up, imojen’s no stranger to music and her father loved to introduce rock music and bands to imojen’s upbringing. she adored b’z and the gazette, and it leaves no doubt that imojen’s father had been her greatest influence in life. as she grew older, not only did they share identical music preferences and influences, but imojen’s learned to play various instruments— the bass being her favorite. imojen’s also stemmed from that infamous reckless behavior his father’s known for back in the day, and when the teenage years came, so did the impetuous reputation begin. 

imojen and her mother aren’t exactly as close as she was with her father. in fact, their relationship was a toe out of the civil line. it got worse when imojen started to focus on the band she created with friends instead of school and late night practices turned to never returning home for a few days and having the audacity to blatantly lie when asked where she was when asked. it’s hard not to blame her mother when she assumed things for the worst. imojen’s gone quite defiant especially when she discovered that her and her father’s relationship had began to run askew. imojen blames her mother’s interference with her father’s music career as much as her father did, she loved him so much that she was completely blindsided to always take his side. and when the divorce papers came and went, imojen chose her father as she always would. 

her father got a job as a musician locally and eventually overseas, however, money didn’t come by so fast and easy initially. instead of going to university, imojen invested in learning the arts in tattoo design and worked as a tattoo artist to help with the bills. the pair finally thought to settle in korea when imojen’s father got a permanent job. and at this time, imojen has decided to try pursue a career as a musician as well, hoping that the thrill in her early band days are still well stored in her system. 

*  𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗    ╱  ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ   .

imojen can never be satisfied of living in the same area for so long, or at least under the roof with the watchful eye of her father. work’s payed well and imojen decided to move out and get an apartment of her own. hence, she found dallyeog, parties almost every single day, drags everyone into spontaneous adventures, comes home terribly drunk and wakes up with a huge hangover—well, still pretty normal. aside from the norm, imojen working at the tattoo parlor and taking gigs at bars as a bassist, imojen’s investing in writing music as well. she hopes one day to finally finish at least one song she’s been procrastinating for far too long and convince her father to make them a rock duo instead, but a band of her own would fantastic too.  

*  𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗    ╱  ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ   .

imojen looks quite mean at first glance, and it doesn’t help that she’s indifferent towards anyone who isn’t part of already her friend. she doesn’t hate, hate is such a strong word, she simply doesn’t have the attention span for people that don’t interest her or she doesn’t know fully well to enjoy a conversation with.

honestly has the gina linetti energy “how was i supposed to know there’d be consequences for my actions” as she literally does anything she wants before her brain can even weigh the pros and cons to it.

imojen enjoys taking risks despite the relaxed attitude and seemingly nonchalant view in life. it might be a surprise to learn that she’s quite ambitious, but underneath, she does aim for the highs (both meanings) in life, except there isn’t exactly a time frame for those and would much rather pursue them steadily. 

everyone can depend on imojen to have a good time, or if someone needed a friend to vent to, she can surprisingly be all ears, but never follow her words of advice. she does mean well, it’s just that she doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time and is quite reckless,, like ask her to pick between two choices and she’ll advice you to take the riskier one bc “it’s fun don’t be a prude”.

she is more sympathetic than she let on. imojen’s not very vocal especially with her emotions and on what she exactly feels about other people’s situation. serious conversations? catch her yeet away from those. they render her uncomfortable, most especially if it is about her. however, seeing her friends gloomy doesn’t sit right with her that she does anything to make them crack a smile. 

believes that people should be left to roam free and that authority is useless and ruins the fun— hence why she’d always be caught defying them. yes, she uses her brain, but acts more towards intuition and what she felt like doing that day. so yes, she might loves setting her life on the line.

*   𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   ╱  ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ .

plastic hearts   ╱   someone whom imojen shares a passion for music with. the both of you are like peas in a pod as you both are in the same wavelengths as each other. they may not have the same types of music, but open enough to share a plethora of music playlists.

angels like you   ╱   the typical bad-good influence trope wherein imojen’s reckless behavior and liberated thoughts on legalities have gotten your muse in various dangerous but fun adventures. on a flip, your muse may be the reason why imojen’s woken up at 8 in the morning, bright, well, and not hungover.

prisoner   ╱   an angsty and toxic relationship that imojen could not get enough of. everyone sees this partnership (romantic or platonic) of destructive nature, both of you may or may not know, but regardless it can never be broke off no matter how hard both try. 

gimme what i want   ╱   the typical fwb relationship, we can add spice to it, but on the base that’s the idea. 

night crawling   ╱   imojen’s ride or die, the person she would instantly run to for an adventure, midnight strolls, alcohol escapades, and vandalism. but as things you both do burst into haywire, you’re both aren’t afraid to be open to each other too and spill secrets or bodies hidden in the closet. 

midnight sky   ╱   perhaps a new acquaintance?? friend?? that doesn’t exactly have a first good impression of imojen?? maybe vomited on your muse the first time they met, or jen was really mean for no reason under the influence of alcohol?? she’s chaotic so perhaps it wasn’t a good first meeting. 

bad karma   ╱   imojen hasn’t been exactly an angel all her life, and perhaps karma has run around to bite her in her ass. your muse might’ve been somebody who hurt imojen; either a terrible break up or severing trust, let’s explore :D 

golden g string    ╱   a band :D maybe nothing too serious, just a group of pals playing and making music together :D  or maybe the group's been playing gigs for awhile now and wants to head into the big leagues :D

honestly im so down with anything so !!!!!!

[dweetwise]

ok lowkey. that spirit thing was mweh😘 how strange yet oddly interesting. if you dont mind doing something similar... could you ... maybe write something where Zarina befriends the Nurse? like the nurse is getting bullied by all the other survivors and Zarina is just like 'bruh why?'. this happened once in a match and i cant get it outta my head😤🤡 love LOVE your work. keep it up

[thanks anon ily 😳😳😳 hope this is ok! there’s a special place in my heart for baby nurses, they are so pure <3]

zarina never had to deal with op old nurse bless her

Zarina befriends the Nurse: ficlet

Hearing yet another wail from the Nurse echoing across the map, Zarina looks up from her generator into the misty grounds of the asylum. The match had surely been going on for nearly ten minutes already, and the teleporting killer had yet to down any of the survivors.

Finishing up the repairs on her generator, Zarina starts navigating towards the sound of the screeches. On her way, she doesn’t spot a single one of her teammates on any of the generators, and frowns in irritation that the killer had apparently decided to farm with the others without anyone deeming it necessary to inform her.

“Forgot about the new chick again, huh?” she mutters to herself, already having had some trouble fitting in with the rowdy group of survivors and their already established dynamic.

Zarina finally reaches what seems to be the center for the commotion, arriving at the shack where Feng, Nea and David are running around in circles with the killer teleporting through the structure, landing a hit on David who the girls then immediately begin patching up right in front of the killer’s face. Zarina huffs out an annoyed breath that her assumptions were correct, turning away from the spectacle and fully intending to go elsewhere and refuse to participate in the others’ dumb little game, when...

“Oi, over ‘ere ya cunt!” David taunts, causing Zarina to clench her fists and whip around, ready to give the asshole Brit a piece of her mind for insulting her--

Only to see the still injured David pointing his flashlight in the Nurse’s face, prolonging the killer’s already painful looking fatigue state. Zarina swallows her misdirected anger and takes a more thorough look at the events unfolding at the shack.

She sees Feng Min get right up in the killer’s face, doing her stupid butt dance,  while Nea chain blinds the killer with her own flashlight, rendering her useless for a few more seconds. The killer takes a wild swing in Nea’s direction, but the street artist sidesteps.

“Ooh, big swing!” Nea mocks, clicky-clicking her flashlight and moonwalking around the Nurse while the killer recovers from her miss. 

“Baby killer, baby killer!” Feng’s high-pitched laugh echoes through the area as the gamer feigns vaulting the shack window, causing the Nurse’s bonesaw to uselessly hit the wood with a dull ‘thunk’.

“Couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with that aim--” David taunts from the shack entrance, making the Nurse quickly blink to him. David dashes through the pallet, avoiding the hit and proceeds to throw down the piece of wood on the killer, flashlight at the ready and already pointing at the Nurse. “Baited ya, bitch!”

“She’s so boosted!” Nea laughs, moving into position to reset the pallet in the blinded killer’s face while Feng injects a healing syringe into David’s shoulder. When the Nurse finally recovers from the combination of the fatigue, stun and blinds, only to have the now upright pallet be slammed right back in her face, Zarina decides enough is enough.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Zarina demands, approaching the scene. “Hey Zarina! Look at this baby killer!” Feng says, obnoxiously spam-pointing at the stunned Nurse. “Shouldn’t you be doing gens?” “Don’t get yer knickers in a twist, we’re just horsin’ around,” David grunts, rolling his shoulder from the sting of the syringe needle. “But why, though?” Zarina asks, shooting a glare in Nea’s direction where the Swede is once again blinding the killer with her flashlight. “Haven’t you done enough?”  “No offense newbie, but maybe you should go find a gen and leave this to us, yeah?” Nea says, a cocky smirk on her lips.

That moment, the Nurse manages to get control over her movements and executes a precise teleport to an injured David, only to have the syringe take effect a split second before the hit and fully heal his wounds, merely causing him to get injured again. Zarina thinks she hears the Nurse groaning in defeat, and she doesn’t blame her. With Nea sprinting right back up to the killer, flashlight in hand, and Feng running after David ready to tank a hit, the Nurse readies another blink and, to everyone’s surprise, teleports away in the direction of the main building.

“LMAO she gave up!” Feng laughs, the sound grating on Zarina’s nerves, as she begins patching up David. “Let’s go after her!” Nea suggests. “NO!” Zarina yells, absolutely done with her fellow survivors’ bullshit against the clearly struggling killer. “You’ve already won! Don’t you have any empathy?” she scolds the trio. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is the taaxic flashlight against your wittle journalist’s ethics?” Nea mocks, fake pouting. “We’ve put of with ‘er shite for years, least she can do is take a couple pallets in tha face,” David grumbles. “Yeah you try versing a five blink Nurse with a mori and tell us how fair and balanced that is,” Feng says, hands on her hips. “Whatever, that’s your problem,” Zarina says, not about to entertain the trio about whatever grudges they seem to be holding. “Just do the fucking gens and leave.”

With that, Zarina makes her way to the main building, thankful that the others seem to stay behind, at least for now. She feels compelled to apologize to the killer on her so-called friends’ behalf, once again trusting her strong moral compass to guide her to the right decisions. Before long she finds the Nurse in one of the rooms on the second floor of the asylum, sitting on a windowsill with an old photo frame in her hands.

“Umm... miss killer? Excuse me?” Zarina makes her presence known, peering in through the door frame. “You didn’t have to intervene, girl,” the Nurse says with unexpected softness and clarity in her voice. She looks almost serene, ominous heartbeat gone, sitting primly in front of the window and torn dress flowing gently with a breeze from the derelict wall.

“I know, it’s... I couldn’t just watch. I’m sorry about them, they’re--” “It’s fine. Truly. I understand,” she says, looking down at the photo again. “I haven’t exactly shown them mercy in the past, I would not expect them to act different.” “Are you... okay?” Zarina asks, cautiously approaching. The Nurse sighs. “This place, it... brings back memories I’d rather forget. I feel my focus slipping and my head is just not in it today.” “The others said you used to be more powerful--or p-perhaps just more ruthless, before...?” “I suppose that’s true,” the Nurse chuckles. “There was a time where I lost myself completely, the entity filling my mind with hatred. Now... I’m weaker, more often a disappointment to it, but... perhaps it’s for the best.” “Umm... not to point out the obvious, but--don’t you think it might help to take the bag off of your head so you could see better?” “You’d offer advice to me, an enemy? A rather peculiar survivor, you are,” the Nurse says, fondness in her voice. “As for the matter, I am able to see just fine, courtesy of the entity. Hiding my face is a choice, one of the few I still have. I--” her voice cracks. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject.” “What a curious one you are. Never give up that fire,” she says. “As for covering my head... he always loved seeing me smile,” she says, fondly stroking a finger over the picture, before handing the frame to Zarina, taking her completely off guard as she fumbles to grab the item.

In the frame is a picture of a happy couple on their wedding day, both smiling brightly and embracing each other. The man looks like a proper old-time gentleman, complete with a top hat and silly mustache. The woman is gorgeous, her pale skin and white gown a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and deep emerald green eyes.

“Is this you?” Zarina asks, slightly taken aback, reminded of the fact that the killers probably used to be normal people, just like her. “It was the happiest day of my life,” the Nurse says wistfully. “That was his favorite photo. He said it brought out my eyes, he--he loved my eyes, said they were a reflection of my soul, of our happiness. Which is why I can’t let anyone see my face.” “Because now you’re... unhappy?” Zarina asks, trying to understand. “Because I don’t want anyone to look into my eyes and see the madness that consumed me,” the Nurse whispers.

Zarina is at a loss for words, intrigued about the remorseful killer’s past but not wanting to pry further. She stares at the photo and tries to imagine how the cute, carefree woman in the picture could have ever turned into a bloodthirsty killer.

The sound of the exit gates being powered snaps her out of her thoughts, finally handing the frame back to its owner.

“Thanks for telling me all this,” Zarina says. “Can’t have been easy, what you’ve went through.” “I should be thanking you, for indulging a silly woman her tales,” the Nurse says. “Feel free to stop by, should you happen to wander into this realm from the campfire. I don’t often linger here, but... maybe it would not be so bad, had I company.” “You know, I might just take you up on that offer,” Zarina says, offering a small smile. The sound of a gate opening and the end game triggering reminds her that she’s on a time limit. “Shi--shoot, I’ve gotta run. See you around, uh... ms. Nurse?” “Please, call me Sally,” the killer says, primly bowing her head. “Zarina, was it? Do be careful out there. Your kindness might just be the end of you.” “Doesn’t sound so bad, as far as causes of death go,” Zarina quips, offering a cheeky grin before sprinting off the find the gate.

[sally is precious fight me. and lmao i didn’t even try to be subtle about who toxic nea is inspired by]

[novarin]

The Fox & The Crow.

                                                    - Music -  

Midnight.

The slow lull in the constant onslaught of attacks had been a welcome respite to the ragtag Merc crew that had gathered under men that went by Talon and Stellan. While Novarin originally had intentions of his own, he could not deny when Jackary approached him to repay a favour that he go in the Mage’s stead... For now.

That had been days ago, nearly a week and there had been radio silence from the Kirin Tor Archmage since then.

On top of that, Nova had also been asked to drag along a tiny Vulpera, a runt even amongst the society of fox people and blind on top of that. What Jack had seen in this little thing was beyond Novarin but he hadn’t been in the position to argue - he owed Jackary that much. It was no secret that many had begun to baby the Vulpera and Nova was less than thrilled to have a blind snack on the field.

‘Oh, please! Let me take night watch... You need rest and I can do it! I really can!’ 

Kou had begged him... Pleaded with him to take over the night watch in his stead and to let Novarin have a bit of rest. Reluctantly, he had agreed, only because others would also be there. What could a blind fox honestly do? 

‘Stay low n’ stay outta trouble, ain’ need none o’ th’ figh’ers in danger jus’ t’ save ya. Ya hear some’n, ya call f’er help.’

Perhaps he had been too hard. Those thoughts slipped through Nova’s mind as eyes had finally begun to close and drift off into his first nap in what seemed like days.��

Until...

“Multiple frostwyrms incoming from the west, at least 5 spotted, accompanied by scourge and cultist ground troops - ETA 15 minutes.  Everyone to arms, we’re going to intercept them just outside the Crossroads. Work together, have each other’s backs, and don’t die. Booze is on me afterwards.”

Nova sprang awake from the incoming message, Talon’s voice echoed hard into his ears and in the process of trying to awaken from his groggy sleep, Nova’s white eyes snapped open in the hard realization that not only were they under attack... but Kou was right in the middle of it all and likely making a nuisance of himself. Such thoughts spurred him further into action, pushing himself from place he had come to rest. When Nova snagged his blades, both hissing wildly at him upon reconnecting to their cursed owner.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck...!” Strapping both to the harness on his back, the Shadowblade leaped forward to sprint towards where he had last left the fox in the midst of the forming chaos. Everywhere and all around, people were getting ready, the call to arms nothing shy of phenomenal. They’d all worked together very well thus far and though Nova kept his distance as a scout, the now underlying problem was that the blind Vulpera was likely going to be a sitting duck in the midst of a heated battle.

“KOU!” Spotting the Vulpera who had indeed just been standing in the middle of everyone running around him, the way the little creature had his head tilted up in the exact direction that Talonoa had called out was something to be marveled. For the briefest moment, Nova almost swore that the whole blindness had been a lie... That was until Kou twitched an ear and glanced over his shoulder to try and hear who was calling for him.

“Nova? You should be resting—” Kou tried to smile, cheerful as ever in such a chaotic situation. The roars echoed through the sky of the approaching madness like thunder crackling and ripping across the sky.

“Kou, listen t’ me, ya need t’ go back t’ camp, alrigh’? I ain’ fuckin’ playin’ this cute lil’ game anymore where ya think ya coul’ be useful in this situation.”

“But... I can be. I can fight.” Kou’s bright smile began to falter into a look of concern, perhaps a bit downtrodden that Nova truly felt so little of him. It even showed when those adorable ears wilted, drooping from the tiniest of pouts.

Before the pair could even remotely finish their argument, the bestial roars were at their doorstep and a wave of ice had been blown right at them. Nova dove forward with every intention of trying to at least block it and protect Kou but before he could even move, his eyes snapped wide, watching the little fox simply raise a paw to the air.

Without even seeing the breath, a wave of warm light caressed over the pair like a shield, deflecting the would be attack and almost instantly melting it away, sparing them from being frozen in place. Others close within the vicinity had been blessed with such but it wasn’t akin to the Holy Light of Azeroth at all, it was simply a mimic of it, an illusion to fit in.

“You—...”

“We can discuss this later, but Mister Talon has said that if we stop the Frostwyrms, we get free alcohol.” That ever peppy tone returned and soon so did the waggle of that fluffed tail at the proposition of free things.

How could Novarin argue with that logic?

“Fine..! But we’re ‘avin’ a serious fuckin’ discussion ‘bout you leavin’ this t’ th’ professionals when we’re done. I won’ force ‘em t’ babysit ya!” Growling in frustration, the Shadowblade withdrew one of his blades to brace himself for the impact that had begun to turn around and come back for them. Already he could see one of the Frostwyrms arch back to fly directly towards the unlikely pair.

“I wish you would relax more, yes yes. Maybe get some therapy for that pent up anger. Are you missing someone, Mister Nova?” Kou questioned, still not even facing the beast that was coming right at them.

“FOCUS YA LIL’ FURBALL! ‘FORE I PUNT YA BACK T’ CAMP!”

Helplessly shrugging, a certain dark aura gathered at the Vulpera’s feet, within moments it quickly took over his entire body. “Just get its attention and bring it down closer, yes yes?” Was the only reply Kou gave as tiny claws raised up to the sky again, allowing a bit of his own power to reach out in a wave of unity, a feeling of Fortitude rushed through the Crossroads, blessing his allies with a sudden sense of adrenaline and power.  The sensation alone was cause for Nova to pause and bring his free hand up to his own chest, surprised at the sensation coursing through his veins.

Perhaps... Just perhaps this little beastie wasn’t as useless as Novarin thought him to be.

Seeing the skeletal dragon finally come close enough, Novarin reached to his hip to grab the small contraption on his belt and aimed it upward to pull the trigger - the grappling hook shot out at blinding speed to latch onto the bones and pull the rogue with it. Scaling up with the retraction of his handy gizmo, the Shadowblade landed as best he could, hanging on for dear life when the wyrm took such as a signal to retract and fly higher into the air.

“No no! I SAID BRING IT DOWN NOT MAKE IT GO UP!! YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY!” Kou yelped, speaking into the comm for Novarin to hear him.

How could those milky eyes see that? How did he know the dragon was going up? Was Kou faking it this entire time?

Turning his attention upwards to watch the rogue’s energy tangle with the Frostwyrm, Kou waited patiently on the ground, knowing full well he could trust his teammates to handle the others that were in mid attack. A hand reached behind him to pull his staff free of it’s strap and with a slow inhale, the serpent’s skull atop it seemed to open when whispered incantations escaped the Vulpera’s tiny muzzle. The eye sockets lit up with a brilliant white glow, clearing the fox’s vision to reveal the luminescent gold hues below. The tiniest little smirk twitched and with a swipe of his hand, a torrent of shadows swirled around him from the skull of his staff, rendering the creation of a fully formed serpent and hovering shark beast to flank either side of him.

It seemed Kou’s outlandish stories may have held some sort of merit.

Novarin noticed the spike of energy below and with a renewed sense of possible hope that the fox was indeed capable of combat, he started the climb, hanging on for dear life when the Frostwyrm he was attached to began to spin and roll to try and shake the rogue free. Much to its dismay, Nova remained tightly latched, faltering only on his foothold for a brief moment.

Once close enough to the bony structure of the dragon’s neck, the cursed blade Nova had been holding onto was slammed in between the bones to help give him a handle to hold onto and brace himself for his next crazy idea. The same grappling hook he had used earlier was aimed and fired, latching the claw of it into the back of the Frostwyrm’s jaw and instead of following it with the retraction, Novarin yanked hard, forcing the beast’s head down and to turn hard right, guiding it back directly towards the little fox and his shadowy figures.

“If you have a fuckin’ plan, I SUGGES’ YA DO IT NOW!” Nova called out through the comm, the wind torrent causing quite a bit of static on his end. They were going to crash at this rate and at such a momentum, Novarin knew he’d be flung off.

“Yes yes, big plan, much surprise, very soon.” Kou teased in reply, chipper through the drastic attacks they were suffering. Once Novarin and the dragon were within casting range, Kou shot out his claws, outstretched towards Nova with all of his might. The serpent shot forward, fangs bared. The biting shadow sank hard into Novarin’s torso, not painfully but the life grip was certainly attached and with minimal effort, Kou yanked the rogue, blade, grappling hook, and some bone back to his side to free the Shadowblade of the crashing dragon. 

It didn’t stop there. 

The Vulpera swung his staff up in an arching motion and soon the shark took its own bite but not into Novarin, into the dragon instead, splattering the darkness onto the bones to create a tether and slow the beast down considerably as it was trying to pull itself back up to avoid crashing. Guiding the dragon as best he could, Kou braced himself for impact, forcing the beast to hit the ground.

The agonizing roar echoed out and as a claw swiped angrily at the two attackers, Kou and Novarin both dodged out of the way - Nova far more out of shock than he should have been. In truth, they needed a better plan, not just the dodge fest that was coming out of the pair trying to keep the wyrm’s attention.

“Get t’ th’ side!” Nova called out but just as he did, a single swat of that tail slammed into Kou, knocking the tiny fox several yards and gashing his soft white fur open from the sharp bones. The loudest, most pitiful yip sounded when he rolled in the dirt, the crimson already began to stain the white fur. Kou curled up a moment to apply a firm amount of pressure to the wound as if it would help stop the pain, the very wind knocked from him.

Novarin narrowed his eyes, reaching back to unsheathe his second blade, letting the whispers of the cursed objects further incite chaos into his ears.  Squeezing the blades tightly, the spikes within the handles ejected, piercing his palms in the now scarred holes, the curse he had tried to avoid using at all costs but now? Now it was personal. No one got to kick the fox but him.

Both swords ignited into a bright glow once fed the droplets of blood, causing a burst of power to course through the Shadowblade. He calmed, eerily so, and with a single kick off the ground, Novarin vanished in thin air. When he returned, he was above the dragon to swipe down with both swords in a devastating blow and just as the blades connected, he vanished again. Novarin was a flurry of blood soaked rage, the disappearing act was a sequence of particularly hard strikes in a killing spree, each time reappearing in a different direction.

This distraction was enough to give the Vulpera time to pull himself up and wheeze, shaking off the glancing blow. His paw reached for the staff not far away and with another soft mutter of words, the serpent and shark made their way back to his side again. It took little convincing to let the specters avenge the wounded Vulpera and with another spike of energy, both rushed towards the flailing dragon, coiling around the beast until they dove into the ground, hiding for a blink of an eye.

With absolutely no warning, dark chains shot up from the ground to attach themselves to the dragon, coiling around the limbs and locking the beast in place, all easily controlled by a single paw in the air and a panting fox who wasn’t wearing his usual smile but instead, a frown of pain. The milky clouds had already begun to return to the glowing gold eyes but he wouldn’t let that deter him from getting the job finished.

“Anytime, Mister Nova!” Kou called out as he held the vice grip on the beast with all of his might. He was struggling to contain a dragon that could have had him as a snack but for his new friends? He used all of his might to restrain the Frostwyrm.

Upon command, Novarin reappeared from the shadows, diving down into a full evisceration with both blades crossed to snap through the Frostwyrm’s neck like a pair of scissors. With ferocious velocity, the Rogue went straight through, decapitating the beast and severing the Lich ties that brought it to life. He landed in the pile of the skeleton that began to collapse, struggling as the last of the Lichfire faded from the heart chamber of the fallen creature.

Once slain, Kou exhaled the breath he had been holding and stumbled back to collapse in a sitting position and press his palm to his side. Ears folded back a moment, frustrated at himself for getting hurt. The shadows recoiled back into him and faded away, leaving the tiny fox alone.

In realization that the Vulpera had collapsed, Novarin pushed himself up from the rubble to sprint over. He knelt down, intent to search and see just how badly it was. “Hey, ya alrigh’?”

The clouded vision raised towards Novarin’s voice but the roars of more dragons were deafening to those overly large audits. “I will be.. But the others need our help! No time to sit, yes yes!” Giving the best smile he could muster, Kou pushed himself to stand, shaking off the small gash in his side in favour of finding the others to assist.

“Mm...” Nodding, Nova offered two quick pats to Kou’s head and stood up, turning to face the others that were in their own battles. “Shall we?”

“For Azeroth!” Kou chirped, running as best he could with the tiniest of limps, ready to jump right in.

“F’er Azeroth.”

> @koukikai <

>Mention: @talonoa @inistellan <

[that-curly-haired-lesbian]

13 Days Of Ficmas - Day 2: Scarf

A/N: Hi guys, welcome to day two of @13daysofficmas!

Today's prompt is: Scarf

This is set Christmas Eve 2020, Taylor and Karlie have been publicly out for about a year and married for just under that.

Also not beta'd yet again so blame any mistakes on me.

As usual, if you don’t like the idea of real people being fictionalized, don’t read this, thank you!

TW: Brief mentions of homophobia :( Also vague allusions to sexual activity I guess, lol

Check out day 1 here

Read it on ao3 or on Wattpad

"Baby, do you need any-?" Karlie Swift-Kloss began as she walked into the largest of the four bathrooms in the New York City penthouse apartment she shared with her wife of just under a year.

Immediately at the sound of her voice Taylor, who was standing in front of the mirror spun around, thus foiling Karlie's initial plan to wrap her arms around the shorter woman from behind.

"You!" The singer said dramatically, jabbing a long, thin finger into the air towards Karlie, "this is all your fault!"

"What? Tay, what are you...?" Karlie's words trailed off as she took in the sight before her and knowingly smirked, gradually letting it grow into a large grin before she finally burst out laughing.

"This isn't funny, Karls!" Taylor said, exasperated as she threw her hands in the air. Karlie put a hand over her mouth, trying to quiet her amusement, but wit no success.

"Yes, it is," she managed to choke out between her (perhaps childish, but absolutely warranted) fits of the giggles.

"It most certainly is not," Taylor hissed, her blue eyes dark and her facial expression tense and unyielding. "I'm 31 years old, I'm going on stage tonight to sing Christmas songs in front of all of America as we count down the minutes to Christmas Day on national fucking television and you," she said, dramatically poking the younger girl in the chest, "gave me a fucking hickey." She whispered the word as if this act would somehow cause the large, aggressively red bruise perfectly visible on the side of her pale neck to shrink or disappear. Karlie's laughter only doubled. "I- I'm," she started to say, but it soon became very clear that she was still laughing too hard to speak.  She took a few deep breaths, calming herself. "I'm sorry," she finished finally only to then immediately shake her head at her own words.

"No, I'm not. I'm not sorry."

"Karlieeeeee!" Taylor whined. "I'm so mad at you, this is wildly inappropriate and unprofessional and, I don't even know, but I'm mad at you!" She was pouting, trying to look as miserable as possible, but her wife only snickered. "Oh really?" she asked teasingly and without any protests from the singer she pulled Taylor close, letting her fingers trail nimbly down the shorter girl's neck, pausing at the mark and meeting those blue eyes, no longer making an effort to wipe the teasing grin off her face.

"You didn't seem to mind at the time," she said, her voice low and accompanied by a smirk that was now going from teasing to seductive.

She caught sight of Taylor biting her lower lip, but no doubt feeling Karlie's eyes on her Taylor did her best to seem unaffected by what was being implied.

"In fact," Karlie whispered from somewhere low in her throat, her lips dangerously close to Taylor's neck, "I seem to remember you enjoying it quite a bit..." Triumphantly she felt Taylor shudder ever so slightly against her, perhaps at the words or at the warm breath hitting her skin just right.

Regardless, the action caused Taylor, seemingly not even fully in control of her own actions, to press herself closer to Karlie, tilting her head up and thus exposing the unmarked side of her neck.

"Oh, but I would, you know..." Karlie warned into Taylor's ear and just like that the spell was broken and Taylor pushed her wife off, groaning in frustration and rolling her eyes. "Stop it, I'm still mad at you," she insisted, but her voice was considerably softer now and a light blush was making its way onto her cheeks.

"What if the makeup won't cover it properly?" Taylor asked and her voice was so small now that Karlie felt genuinely sorry for the first time in this conversation.

"Everyone is just starting to get used to the idea of us," Taylor said, sitting down atop the toilet lid as she spoke, "if I go out like this there will be a reaction, you know...And I don't know if a charity Christmas concert is the right place to open up a public conversation about all the kinky gay sex we're having..." There was a faint smile on her face at this, but Karlie avoided her eyes, knowing that Taylor wasn't joking. "Hey," she said softly, "you know, one hickey isn't exactly indicative of kinky, gay-"

"No, I know," Taylor said immediately, "but you know as well as I do that's where everyone's minds are gonna go..." Karlie did know, they had been out since just before the wedding, but even a year later they were still mindful about packing on the PDA too heavily in public, partly because they were so used to hiding and partly because they knew the idea of homosexuality was all fine and dandy as long as no one had to actually think about or imagine what they do behind closed doors and she knew Taylor worried.

"Hey I have an idea," Karlie said leaving Taylor alone in the bathroom for a second before returning with the huge, red, knitted scarf Taylor had found at a Christmas fair last year.

"Scarfs are Christmas-y, right? And you look cute in this one!"

"Karlie," Taylor said holding back a laugh, "There's not even any snow and it's like, 46 degrees out!"

"All true," Karlie admitted, "but you do look adorable and very festive in this."

"Thanks, I think I'll take my chances with the makeup team, they should be here any minute."

"Okay, last chance," Karlie said, dangling the scarf in front of Taylor with a grin.

"No," Taylor said, taking the scarf out of Karlie's hand as she spoke and proceeding to press a sweet kiss to her lips, "but, since you like it so much," another kiss. "Maybe. You. Should. Wear. It?" She suggested puncturing every word with a kiss. "To make up for the matching one I'm about to give you..." At that she leaned up, sucking gently at Karlie's neck, chuckling against her skin when the younger woman gave an involuntary little gasp at the sensation when Taylor briefly added her teeth. Then she stepped back and inspected her work before holding out the scarf.

"Yep, the makeup team is only for the people on stage so you now need this more than I do. Besides, you look cute in it too, you know." Taylor smiled and helpfully draped the scarf around Karlie's neck.

"Nuh-uh," She protested when Karlie went to take it off figuring that the cameras would have a harder time capturing anything they weren't supposed to on someone in the audience and thus rendering the scarf unnecessary. "Wear it for me," Taylor explained, an assertive edge to her voice now, "and I'll make sure to give you more than one little love bite wherever you want as soon as we get back....Consider them an early Christmas present."

With that she left a gaping Karlie (scarf and all) helplessly watching Taylor go, deliberately swaying her hips as she did.