#so I ended up omitting them because I feel they are just...

[himasgod]

Cann you make ace x deuce x reader

ACE X READER X DEUCE

Where Ace sneaks alcohol into Ramshackle, and you end up drunk

Where they're both in love with you and can't contain themselves when they're drunk. What would it be like to wake up next to both of them?

This fanfic contains no smut or explicit content! It's omitted, and it goes from them being drunk to waking up next to each other. I debated whether to write the smut, but I ended up deciding not to, but I may do so in the future. Still, all characters are of legal age, and there is clear explicit consent in the fanfic. Feminine pronouns are also used, but there are no explicit references to the body.

You never knew how Ace had managed to sneak alcohol into NRC, but there it was: a glass bottle that he pulled out as casually as could be, with that grin that never bore good intentions.

"What? Don't make that face. Just a sip. It's not going to kill anyone," he said nudging Deuce, who was already red-faced just from being there with you, with a knowing elbow.

The three of you were in Ramshackle sitting on the mattress, sway of laughter that had been building for hours. The drink burned as it passed, but it made the laughter feel freer, the glances longer.

"You know?" Deuce said suddenly, his voice thick, his gaze fixed on you.

"I've always thought you look fucking cute when you laugh like that."

Ace let out a laugh, turning the bottle between his hands.

"Are you going to confess now, man? After months of secretly drooling over her?"

"You're no better! Everyone notices but her. Look at you, always touching her, always near…"

Your cheeks burned, not from the alcohol.

"Are you…?" you murmured.

"Yes," they both said at the same time.

Silence.

"But I'm warning you," Ace added, his tone trailing as he leaned toward you, so close you felt the heat of his breath on your lips.

"I'm not sharing you."

"Me neither," Deuce added, his voice deeper, something you'd never seen in him before.

The three of you were dangerously close.

There was no room to back down, only to decide.

Your lips curved into a shaky smile. Because you knew, in reality, you'd already made up your mind the moment you accepted that first drink.

"What if you don't have to share me… this time?"

Eyes lit up.

Ace was the first to move, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss, one hand already trailing brazenly down your thigh.

Deuce was quick to follow, his mouth on your neck, his fingers trembling as he clumsily lifted your shirt.

A few hours later, ou were awakened by the heat. Not the heat of the sun through the curtains, but the warmth of two bodies pressed together on either side of you like human blankets determined to suffocate you.

Your first thought was:

“Why do I feel so sticky?”

The second was:

“And why is there a leg on my stomach?”

You opened your eyes with difficulty.

The world was spinning. Your head throbbed as if drunken gremlins were marching inside it.

The air smelled of alcohol, sweat… and sex. Lots of sex. As if the mattress had absorbed the night of lust and was now slowly exhaling it in your face.

“Ugh…” a voice to your left murmured.

Ace.

He rolled onto his back, his hair a mess and a bite mark on his neck.

“Who left an elephant dancing inside my skull?”

“…Shut up, asshole…” Deuce growled from your other side, covering his face with a pillow. “Why does my whole body hurt?”

You sat up very slowly, completely naked, the comforter half-rolled around your legs.

Looking around, you saw your underwear hanging from the lamp, your bra on the doorknob, and a half-filled glass on the floor with something that definitely wasn’t grape juice.

“Don’t tell me we’re still in Ramshackle…” you muttered in horror.

“Yeah… and we definitely broke about fifteen rules…” Ace said, grinning crookedly, still with his eyes closed.

“Fifteen? Ace, you broke the ‘no alcohol’ rule, the curfew at 9’ rule… and probably the ‘no threesomes in shared beds’ rule.”

“Hey, hey, it wasn’t a threesome, I did not touch you, Juice,” Ace protested, opening one eye to look at you. "It was a… very close competition, by the way."

"You guys are idiots," you said, grabbing a pillow and throwing it in both of their faces.

You didn't bother to cover yourself. You'd both seen—and done—too much for it to matter.

"Are you going to kick us out now?" Deuce asked, sitting up slowly.

There were your fingernail marks on his back.

He didn't seem too bothered by it.

"Kick you out? I can't even move. I'm trapped between two snoring drooling human heaters."

"I don't snore." Ace raised an indignant eyebrow.

"You do snore," you and Deuce said simultaneously.

An awkward silence settled for half a second. Not out of regret, but out of a brutal realization

What the hell are you going to do about all this now?

"…Okay." Deuce stood up carefully, still half-naked

"I don't regret anything, in case anyone doubted it."

"Nor do I," Ace added, with a crooked smile as he scratched his chest.

"But next time, I'll go first. Fair's fair."

"Next time?"

"If you want, sure," Ace said, winking at you.

"If she wants, I'll cook her breakfast and buy her aspirin," Deuce added, his shirt already half awry, still looking at you with that awkward sweetness that made you smile even when he was naked, disheveled, and probably still drunk.

Oh yes he was, he mumbled before falling back onto the bed and returning to his original position.

"Look, fuck off. My whole body's aching. It's the weekend, we don't have to go to class, and no one except Grim ever comes around here, so just lemme sleep…"

You said as you lay down and covered yourself with the sheets while you lay down like a star, putting one leg over each of theirs.

"Where's Yuu?" Grim muttered, dragging his paws across campus. "She said she would do Crowley's errands Mmm, she's probably asleep! I'm going to… Ugh, that stinks!"

The poor grim stopped dead in front of the bedroom door.

An unmistakable mix of heat, sweat...

"What the hell happened here…?" he complained, pushing the door open just a crack.

Just enough to see tangled legs, Ace's shirt hanging from the window handle, and Deuce muttering in his sleep, "…gimme... the bottle..…"

Grim yelled.

"YOU'VE SINNED AGAIN! AND THIS TIME IT'S DOUBLE CRIME! IMMA CALL RIDDLE! OR GOD! OR BOTH OF THEM!"

You just groaned from the bed and covered your face with a pillow.

Ace, still half asleep, stuck his middle finger out from under the sheet.

Deuce just mumbled, "Five more minutes… please…"

[cbge]

and now back to the usual tomfoolery

[sskk-manifesto]

!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[inknopewetrust]

Soak

Summary: Jack knows how to cure the remnants of a difficult day.

[Jack Abbot x Doc!Fem!Reader] [WC: 3.8k]

Warnings: 18+!, themes of The Pitt and ED happenings, established relationship (married), non-sexual bathing, heavy angst, Jack is a romantic through and through and a total wife guy, mentions of therapy and trauma related to work.

You thought you’d long forgotten what it felt like to be loved—to be in love.

That intangible feeling of knowing that the nervousness of devotion meant something further omitted itself, taking residence in catacombs of empty recollections. It was amassing eons of ashes without realizing how quickly time had passed because sorrow struck with a heavy hand.

The simplistic goodness of love became harder to grasp when the abandonment grief stole from it.

Love. To be loved, or love, sounded so… childish.

Or the need for it, rather, that boiled inside of you like the most warranted reward you could not catch in the palm of your hand. It slipped through, time and again, at the sake of someone or something else you’d never saddle up to. Perhaps love was of importance and priority rather than devotion and emotion. It all hung the same way in the end.

It’s the ghosts that manifest when the whiplash fades away who spur periodic devastation in the face of hardship.

When you met with ghosts, it was hard to recall what they may have looked like before. Time was a cruel fiend as it masked the memories that had once been placed upon pedestals and preceded to maul them with a grisly sheen. Yet when moments of great pain cement themselves to torture you for years, it’s far too easy to remember the lasts compared to the firsts.

But time struck you with a thunderous arrow.

Cracking across the sky for your ears only, it lodged itself in your chest and forced laborious breaths to steady a foundation unearthed by fate. Today had just been “one of those days.”

The kind where you forget that love cocooned around you. Where against devastation, a healer sat in the mist.

The department riddled itself with the calling of a executioner. Perhaps at your hands, according to some of the distraught families that passed through the halls of the ED. But you knew deep down it wasn’t any fault of your own. You tried. You tried so hard to save them. However, when a MVA comes crashing through with three carloads of victims and little hope for recovery, the grim reaper sits in the shadows waiting for the right time of emergence.

And then his scythe cuts the sound of a monitor going flat. The sound never escapes you.

The sound, and the words of the families consumed by grief, also linger far longer when the shift doesn’t seem to end. One turns into two, then three, and so forth until the relief of the day shift greets desolation with a kind smile and knowing statement of “rough night?”

But it’s not enough to make the horror disappear completely. You hear it when you transfer your charts to Collins, in the turn of your lock against your locker. You see their empty eyes behind your lids as they close at the first sight of sun after twelve long hours. And you feel their hand going lax in yours when Jack’s crosses the center console to try and say “I’m here.”

It doesn’t ground you in the way he hoped it would. The silence calcifies at a stop light seven blocks from home.

If the radio hadn’t been lowly playing a pop tune, you would have heard the sound of your blood pumping through your veins. The shallow breathing of chaos; a tense worry growing in your chest that the world was unraveling too quickly. A rising panic in your soul.

Jack’s thumb grazed the back of your hand.

“What are you thinking for breakfast?”

You didn’t hear him. Lost in that endless swirl. His voice was sunken to an abyss.

“Hey.” Jack moved your hand gently. He said your name as you blinked, clearing away the fog.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I was… what did you say?”

Jack dismissed your apology. “It was bad day. You don’t need to apologize.”

His hand in yours filled an empty cavern. It filled up like liquid in a jar and made your heart ache at your ignorance. Jack didn’t do anything. He was here. He was trying to comfort you. The bad days didn’t cancel out the good ones and Jack too carried with him the scars of a past he would much rather forget.

But the sun rose again on another day and no matter what, you just had to keep going.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The light still hadn’t changed.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But I’ll probably make an appointment to talk to someone about it.”

Jack nodded knowingly, thumb drawing comforting lines continuously along the back of your hand. The light changed to green and for a moment, you were appreciative that his focus transitioned back to the road.

“That’s good.” Was all he said in reply.

You wet your lips in anticipation of speaking more but the words halted in your throat. Breathing in shakily, your free hand ran fingers over your forehead. Jack squeezed the one he held.

“It’s ok,” he said so softly you could barely hear him over the spin of the tires against asphalt.

It’s ok. Not “you’re going to be ok” or the “situation that is completely not normal is ok” but the “it’s ok” not to be whole. That the cracks under your skin were natural after trauma. Your chin trembled as you became overwhelmed by the agony stored inside of you.

Jack hated that he couldn’t do anything more to soothe the hurt. Because when you loved someone with every fiber of your existence, the pain they carried fused with your own.

Love encompassed something larger, abstruse. It was a feeling buried deep inside of you that only awakened at the moment of greatest necessity and Jack always seemed to let that emotion bloom. It unfurled in the palm of his hand and he held tight on to it knowing what time could do if he was not careful. Jack was cautious. He walked a fine line between giving too much and never giving enough but he tried—and that’s all he was asking of you now. Try. Breathe. Breathe.

And when the tears fell four blocks from home, he let you cry in the car. He forgot about breakfast, about how nice sleep would be in a few hours.

Jack didn’t shush you. He didn’t push you to wrap up your emotional plea for the sake of the car parking in the garage. He turned off the engine and pressed the garage door closed with the remote which further shut away the world beyond.

It was just you and him and your sorrow.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. Five minutes, ten… but the tears did end like they always did. They dried up and left you empty again.

“I just don’t know,” you started when you felt sturdy enough to talk, “how many more kids I can see die on my table.”

Suddenly, you hated being a pediatric physician. You hated that all of the kids that came into the ED found themselves in a room with painted animals and some of them saw their joyous faces and others never had the chance. You hated that parents blamed you for ending a life that had barely begun and you couldn’t fathom understanding an ounce of why they always seemed to place the blame on you.

You tried. You tried and wasn’t that enough?

“It’s their little fucking hands. Their little fingers and toes and eyes that have the life sucked out of them and I’m the last one they see.”

Jack listened. He didn’t push.

“And the parents today,” you groaned at the thought. Inhaling in a wet, unattractive noise to clear your senses, your body was overwhelmed by its impassioned overture. He loved you enough not to care.

“God… I’ve never wanted to quit until today.”

“Today was a bad day,” he repeated.

“Today was an awful day,” you corrected.

“You’re going to carry it with you forever.” You knew his intrusive stare was targeting your face but ignored it. “You’ll never forget the ones who don’t get to see tomorrow.”

“I keep thinking,” you shook your head a little with a self-deprecating laugh, “about how I, we, get to go home after a family’s world is changed so drastically. And I pretend that nothing happened and that it’s normal to see this every other day and pretend that when I close my eyes, I don’t see them every time.”

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Jack reminded you. He didn’t. He just coped differently.

Sometimes he stood on the rooftop wondering if life would be different if he stepped off in the opposite direction from which he came. He saw the world disappear from the gazes of his vets and the ones he saw in nightmares fueled by the hot smoke and sands of a place far from home.

“But I don’t know how to function otherwise, Jack. I can’t separate them anymore and I don’t know how to get back on track.”

“You said you were going to talk to someone, yeah?” He moved his head to catch your attention and those light, hazel eyes bore into you deeply. He needed that confirmation that you were listening and understanding him.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Then it’s not your job yet. Okay?” He looked at you expectantly. “It’s not your job yet. It’s not going to change without help but until you get that help, talk to someone who knows how to help you, then what more can you do than breathe? I am here, baby. I will always be here.”

You stacked the tasks. Heal, heal, heal. Find a solution, be “normal,” and find something else to bide your time with while the struggle remained.

Jack brought you back to earth. Back from the endless orbit and to the ground where he could be the one to help for what little hours of peace you were granted.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then the dorsal and your wrist before turning it over and pressing into your palm repeatedly. Back and forth, back and fort, soothingly.

“Just breathe for me, alright?” He mimicked a slow intake of air before exhaling. Jack nodded at you to copy and you did. Once, then twice, and another.

“That’s it,” he encouraged.

You breathed in, then out. Over and over until the tremble of your hands ceased enough that it wasn’t the only thing he felt. Jack pressed the pressure points until your hand was pliable and unfurled with tension.

Focusing your attention to the outside of the car, you looked out into the garage through the windshield and viewed the streaking wet remnants of water lingering behind. You hadn’t even noticed it on the way home.

“It rained?”

“Snowed,” Jack said.

“Badly?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack’s voice gained levity. You saw a flicker of a twinkle pass by his gaze when you looked toward him now. “You have the precipitation levels beat today.”

“I’m basically a prune at this point, I suppose.”

“Eh.” He let go of your hand and unbuckled his seat. “You’re a pretty prune then. The most beautiful prune I’ve ever seen.”

You shook your head at him, letting your seatbelt come undone too. “You don’t have to flatter me because you feel bad.”

“I will flatter as I please,” Jack scoffed. “You’re mine and I will compliment even if you’ve pruned the most prune-y you’ve ever pruned.”

Like routine and an attempt to lessen the burden of grief, both of you exited the vehicle and opened the doors to the back seats where your bags stored themselves on the way home. As you met Jack’s eyes across the space, he had both bags gripped in his hands before you even were given the chance.

“Jack,” you lamented.

“Go inside,” he nearly ordered. “Go change and I’ll meet you in a second.”

You sighed, holding onto the door as if it supported all of your weight.

“I can carry my own bag.”

“I know.”

“Then let me?”

He pondered it for a brief second before disagreeing. “I’ve got it.”

“J—“

“Are we really going to argue over a bag?” He asked. “Go,” he motioned to the entrance to the house via the garage. “I’ll put these away and then I’ll come find you.”

Jack wasn’t going to take the objections you stored like ammunition to a greater folly. His stubbornness had faults but he wore good intentions in the moment.

“Fine,” you faltered. “Alright.”

“Good.”

As you lingered a moment longer, the tiredness of it all washed over you quickly. You shut the door and felt relief take hold upon crossing the threshold into your house. It smelled like the two of you. It felt like the both of you. It calmed when endless cycle of catatonic winters brought forth a dome of doom.

The car door closed with a beep not long after. Jack deposited the bags in the mud room along with his badge that lay in a tray beside the door. He place it atop yours and paused at the pink tint that faded into the white letters of your “doctor” plate.

It carried home. It always did.

The echos of home held sounds of you. And while his hearing wasn’t what it was twenty years ago because of the lingering legacy of service, he still knew what was you and what the ringing was. The sound of the lights going on in the bathroom that left a small hum burn through the room—you. The sounds of shoes clattering to the floor and a drawer opening in the dresser of the bedroom—you.

His life was filled with the symphony of you and even on the darkest of days, he listened to nothing but.

You felt the water run over your fingertips from the faucet. Warm and greeting, it was a luxury of the morning.

The house you had learned to love was a concession made of you both. A sanctuary of space; somewhere to heal and to love and to rest that met the untraditional needs of a unconventional household. The bathroom was one of those places. The vanity stretched across one wall with a golden, warm lighting cascading across its speckled white marble and a Spanish cedar wood beneath it.

It was spacious and accommodating. But as you looked up into the mirror and at your reflection marred from the day, your eyes caught the tub, seldom used, in the background. The porcelain often sat dry—an inconvenience because of its deep edges and lack of grip. Even in your own pampering you avoided it as habit from Jack’s own difficulties using it.

But he had insisted on it years ago. He said that you’d use it one day and still the days were far and few between that you did.

It caught your eye now, however.

You thought about what it would be like to fill it up and see the steam roll off the top of the water in swirls. The tendrils reaching and floating to the ceiling quietly while your back would rest upon the smooth, cold ceramic.

“The pipes might be rusty.”

Jack’s voice bit through the stream of water coming from the faucet and your eyes darted to the doorway.

He stood leaning against the frame with his arms crossed at his chest. Peering at you with knowing eyes, you half-figured he knew every thought that passed through your mind at any given moment. You turned off the sink.

“I’ll just take a shower.”

“Why?” His brow furrowed. “We have a tub for a reason.”

“Yeah but it’s—“

“A really nice, expensive, tub.”

“And really excessively tall.”

“It’s a soaker.” Jack walked into the bathroom and pulled a towel from a cabinet adjacent to the shower. “They’re supposed to be big.”

You watched him moved about. “If this was another day, I would have made a joke about that.”

“I can’t wait to hear it when a better day comes.”

It was his turn to turn on a faucet. The tub creaked to life with a coarse turn of a golden cross lever. He knew you liked the water set hot, so he turned it warm enough to warrant a longer bath. He opened up the shower door and pulled out the stool from inside of it and place it beside the tub and sat down.

“What are you doing?” You pivoted to rest against the vanity while he sat there in his black shirt and cargo pants. At least, you thought, it wasn’t his dirty scrubs.

“I’m waiting for you,” he said frankly. “Come on, take off your clothes.”

He saw the way your shoulder’s sagged as your body began to take the brunt of mental pain. You challenged him to change his mind with one look but he wasn’t going to budge. The stubbornness of Abbot men ran deep within his blood.

This is what love was.

He held out his hand from his place on the stool and beckoned you. You breathed in, and then out, just as you had in the car.

And then his hand enveloped yours once again.

“You know,” Jack started lowly, “it’s not a bad thing when someone wants to take care of you.”

His hands traveled to your hips and lifted your scrub top slowly. His touch melted warmly into the skin of your stomach and around the sides of your waist while his legs parted and brought you to stand closer. You loved the feel of his hands on your body. Not now for pleasure, but to know that he was there. He’d always be there if you let him.

“And somedays, all I want to do is make sure you’re ok. So when you’re not, I want to take care of you.”

Therapy was doing wonders for his communication.

“It’s a pity this doesn’t have a door,” you motioned down to the tub as it began to fill near the halfway line.

“Like those old fuckers have?” He looked at you with a joking offense. “I’m gray, not ninety.”

“You know what I mean.” You knocked his shoulder with your fist. He rocked back then toward you in return jokingly. His hands pulled at your top and you helped usher it over your head.

“I would rather not be alone.”

“I’ll be right here,” his eyes laid heavy into yours.

“What if I help you?” You proposition as his grip moved to your pants. He slid them down slowly. “I can help you too. We’ve never tried it.”

“Because I’d rather not end up a patient with a description of ‘one-footed man who ate shit trying to get into a tub not made for him.’ It just doesn’t seem… right.”

You unclipped your bra and handed it to him. He put it on top the pile growing in his lap of your clothes. Instead of ogling you further, as you removed your panties and then your socks, he turned to the edge of the tub and poured soap in. Jack stirred it with his hand as the warm water radiated up his arm and the bubbles began to form around it.

Your hand found his shoulder as you tried to carefully maneuver into the tub without incident. Jack’s other hand shot out, guiding the small of your back into the water.

“Are you sure?”

The softness in your sad eyes poured into his heart. He sighed, admiring the way the bubbles hid you from view as you pulled your knees to your chest and rested your head on them.

“It’s kind of lonely in here.”

“Baby,” he let out a small chuckle. “You really want me in there?”

You nodded. The hand he had left in the water retreated and crumpled your clothes into a ball. While he was still preparing his protest, he caught the back of his shirt behind his neck and slipped it off gracefully.

“I might die for real this time.” Only people who faced actual death could joke about that.

“Well then I really don’t know what I’d do with myself,” you turned and watched as he stood to remove his pants.

“Waiting for a show?” His hands paused at the button.

“I like looking at my husband. Can’t a woman admire a handsome man?”

His lips curved into a smirk. There was a way you always distracted yourself from the flood and it was through him. Jack knew it, because he had been guilty of it too. But there was nothing telling him that when he reached the edge of the tub and you rose with your body dripping with soapy water and helping him the best you could into it, that you were trying to have sex to forget about it all.

It wasn’t healthy, for either of you, to fall into that habit.

Without incident, he slipped into the position behind you and you settled back down between his legs and for the first time, Jack was appreciative of the purchase. It was relaxing and it was peaceful and he wasn’t going to worry about how the hell he was going to get out of it.

You moved the soap bubbles between your hands in front of you while his arms rested on the tub’s edges. As he relaxed, he knew that if his eyes were to close for an extended period of time, he’d be out like a light. But you kept the water moving. Mildly lapping with every listless sway of your hand and the cupping of bubbles to be brought back down to the water.

After a few minutes the sounds ceased and though he had closed his eyes, he sensed the way you shuffled back toward him and carefully, as if not to spook him, leaned backwards against his chest.

And suddenly, you were at peace too.

Love floated into the spaces left cracked from the day. It caressed your arms and folded over your shoulders to hold you tightly together and feel each other in a moment of quiet reflection. A tidal wave breeched your shores again. Jack felt your body trying to ignore it. Tears slipping through your closed eyes as he nudged his head to an angle that now rested against yours.

His mouth close to your ear, hot breath against the side of your face.

“Just because we can’t save everyone doesn’t mean we are any less deserving of a good life,” he whispered.

Your hand cleared itself of soap underneath the water and drew back up to the side of his face, gliding across his features to leave a trail of wet and back to his hair where the strands were a little damp.

“I love you so much.”

A beat.

“I love you,” you breathed.

“You are a good doctor, a great doctor,” Jack affirmed. “One day or twenty of them don’t decide that you’re not.”

You thought you’d long forgotten what it felt like to be loved—to be in love.

That thought was easily forgettable now.

A/N: jack abbot has been eating at my brain for weeks like a parasite and i needed to write for him so badly - also not proofed yet so don’t assassinate me

[patricia-taxxon]

I want to set the record straight regarding a certain OST for a short film that should be coming out later this year, because one of its directors is making false and hurtful claims about me and my business ethic. After he made a prominent appearance on a drama stream about me & wrote a section of my callout doc, I told him that I wasn't interested in dragging him publicly, but that has felt more impossible as time goes on and I realize the extent of his misrepresentation. I had a vision of this film being able to release quietly in spite of everything, but I don't think that can happen, and I fully expect him to try and hurt my chances at further work.

In 2023, between techdogs 4 and 5, I worked on music for a then good friend's student film. It is by far the most technically difficult job I've ever had, and I did it for free. Now, before you get mad, this is partially (mostly) my fault. I never negotiated a price beforehand, and when I found out partway through that I was working for free, I let it slide for fear of being disruptive. If I was asked to quote a price today, it would have been approximately 900 USD. The work was a hellish and grueling experience, technical in ways I'd never been prepared for, and I sorely regret not putting my foot down, because I was hollowed out by the end of it.

A big portion of his callout against me is concerned with, bafflingly, my decision not to contribute my own money to the film, which at that point would have been a negative paycheck. I didn't pay the thirty dollars that I would've had to pitch in for the film to be screened, and I considered that a fine payment for the nine hundred dollars of work they got from me. He goes on to write that I'm rich anyways, I pay hundreds of dollars on album art (business expenses that I know I'll make back when the music is released) and "furry porn," because apparently if I am occasionally willing to drop a pretty penny on a pleasure purchase then I should simply be compelled to pay them randomly for things I hold no stake in and that I signed no contract for. He also mentions that I paid them later for the DCP file at another screening, of course by that point I had gotten the vibe that they were wanting for me to drop money on their project, so I did, giving the post-hoc justification that "i guess in this case I also care about the film sounding good." He writes "well I guess that was something she deemed worthy" without realizing the implication would then be that he did not see my own work as worthy.

Let me make this clear, this is like if a voice actor worked on my video game for free as a favor with no expectations of royalties, and then I asked them to help me pay to get the game on steam. This is presented along reheated second, third, fourthhand accounts of sexual misconduct.

And before we move on, to the claim that one album artist had to wait for years before receiving payment, this is true. I did forget to pay one artist, and only found out after their assistant contacted me years later, where I then paid six times the asking price as a late fee. I was commissioning over ten album arts every year, and as of now, this is the only time I have made this mistake.

It is impossible for me to refute his claims about the personal time we spent together in Omaha, as it would just be my word against his. I will just say that he should know the omitted reasons that I have grown to feel I was disposed, discarded, and taken for granted by him, and how he has nothing to do with why I hold those memories at that film festival so highly. He also does the classic thing where he positions allowing me to pick the movie in the evening as this favor he did, making me unknowingly rack up debt for a bargain I never consented to.

During all this, he has expressed an existential fear of being harassed for going public about me, and for this reason I want to say that I still hope that this film can be released without a fuss, but his continued participation in a harassment campaign against me has done far more to tarnish his reputation than I ever could. If you really cared about your image, pressure Crim to re-record that drama stream without your embarrassing petty grievances in it & delete your testimony from the callout doc. Thanks.

[catscidr]

// taking care of your dogboy (hsr edition!) //

i. note — sry i havent been posting yall i got a job + ive been working on three cosplays at the same time bc my local con is coming up lmao (´ཀ`」 ∠) however the brainrot never stops. it only takes a break. a little break of approximatively. a month. ish. ......... anyways dog hybrid hsr boys brainrot !!! lmk if we want more of this with more boys •ᴗ• comments and asks are appreciated hehe ii. includes — blade, gepard, boothill and gn!reader iii. cw — slice of life stuff turning into smut, possessive behaviour, overstim, slight dom/sub dynamics, real messy stuff, manhandling. use of the word "hole" to keep reader gender neutral iv. wc — 1,9k

blade is a mutt riddled in scars and dirty bandages from living on the streets and fighting to survive.

you think he might be some german shepherd mix, but he refuses to let you swab his teeth n gums for a dna test (last time you tried you narrowly avoided a punch to the face. he apologized in his own way afterwards), so whenever people ask, just say he’s a rescue to avoid revealing that you actually just… don’t really know what breed he is. they usually drop the subject and simply go on their merry way, seeing as he wasn’t the type of pup to appreciate affection from strangers anyways– it’s rare for you to leave the house in the first place, though.

you had to switch to a remote job because blade is just so persistent when it comes to you. although possessive is a much better descriptor, because he doesn’t let anyone near you. whenever you leave to get groceries he ends up practically breathing down your neck from how close he gets— acting as if he were your literal shadow— glaring at everyone that gets too close to you. you’ve made it a habit to always go to self-checkout lane so blade doesn’t scare off the cashiers.

the second you get home he’s all over you, determined to rid you of that outside stench and replace it with his own. you started packing your grocery bags in a way that nothing will break if (read: when) you suddenly drop them on the floor, all because you’re so familiar with blade’s impatience.

he holds you still by engulfing your body with his, knees caging your hips as he grinds into you, shallow and deep. blade’s growls and huffs fill your ears just as much as his cock fills your hole, his knot kissing your tightness from the outside.

“do you like this? like how i have to fuck you every time you decide to go outside again when you could stay here,” with me blade omits, his tail swishing back and forth on the bedsheets behind him, the sound just barely grounding you to reality.

your grocery bags were long forgotten on the foor (as they usually are), your mind too foggy to function. clawing at the sheets, you try to crawl away from blade’s grip— to no avail.

he tuts, craning his head to bite down onto the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “i might just need to mark you for extra precaution,” he bucks into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. you hear squelching, the constant plap! plap! plap! from his thighs smacking against your ass and whine, broken babbles leaving your kiss-bruised lips.

“b-blade, y’can’t- ah,” he shushes you by plugging you full of his lengthy cock, his knot almost threatening to press inside of you. you whimper, feeling lightheaded from a mix of both nervousness and arousal.

he soothes the hickey he left on your neck, licking it languidly as he stills to bask into the way your hole throbs around him. warm and tight and oh so tempting.

“shit, wanna fill you. wanna… have everyone know they can’t have you. you’re mine, mine to love ‘n mine to fuck,” you’re not lucid enough to process his thinly veiled confession, too busy writhing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to get him to continue moving.

you might want to invest into some good concealer or into those skin coloured tattoo patches to cover the bruises and bite marks blade’ll leave on you if you want to continue being a functioning member of society. you can’t really be walking around in public as if a dog had just mauled you right before you left the house, can you?

gepard is a golden retriever because of COURSE he is. similarly to blade, he likes to invade your personal space a lot— not because he’s possessive, but because he’s extremely protective of you.

the random bruises you used to randomly notice on your body faded as soon as he came into your life. gepard’s soft, lingering touches healed them; gently placing a hand on your hip before you bump into sharp furniture so it doesn’t hit you, redirecting your head to his shoulder as you nod-off in the train before you bang your head, and so on.

it’s a full-time job and he’s working 24/7, always on the lookout for anything that could possibly hurt you as you saunter off… wherever, without a care in the world— because he took care of everything!

he would clean the apartment for you, cook (though you usually insist you do the cooking; a human doesn’t have the same taste in food as a hybrid), and even act as your own personal alarm clock. gone were the days of being woken up by loud, blaring beeping. gepard woke you up with forehead kisses instead, making your mornings much more pleasant.

but poor geppie, he’s always taking care of you; so take care of him, won’t you?

every so often you’ll sit in his lap to help him get rid of whatever stress he held in his body. your hands will knead at the muscles in his broad shoulders, all while you simultaneously kiss away the strain in his face. his brows are furrowed as you do your best to soothe his muscles; you never forget to smooch his cheek, nose and the corner of his lips.

though the attention and gentle acts of affection always ends with your hands lower than they should be.

“ah ah, no touching, remember?” you murmur in his ear playfully. you had been at it for what felt like hours; gepard’s cock and abdomen was smeared with the remnants of his cum, skin tacky from his previous loads. your hand shows no sign of stopping, not even when he begged oh so sweetly.

“c-come onn. just… jus’ wanna kiss…” and who were you to deny your sweet boy? your lips find his in a heartbeat, his tongue swiping over your own sloppily as he breathes you in like a depraved man.

the only condition you had when you did this was for him to keep his hands to himself— at least until you both decide to move on to something else. until then, his fists clench the sheets beneath the both of you, and his ears stay flat on his fluffy head.

“i’m… i’m close again, g- aah, please, please…!” he begs, cock weeping precum as you continuously jerk him off. you smile, absentmindedly rocking your hips to the rhythm you held him prisoner to— gepard was too engulfed in the warmth of your hand to notice, anyways. “cum whenever you want sweet boy,” you purr, and he keens as he buries his face in your neck, his hips lifting off the bed ever so slightly as they meet your hand and he thrusts, riding the high of his orgasm.

sticky cum coats your hand for the nth time; you relent your grip on his cock for his sake, instead choosing to shower him with chaste kisses all over his face. gepard whines, taking ahold of your waist weakly as he breathes into the crook of your neck.

“geppie, your han-“ he cuts you off, swiftly switching positions so you’re now laying on your back as he hovers over you, chest rising and falling quickly, catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. gepard’s tail wags slowly behind him as his hands creep up from your waist to your chest just as slowly- you feel his cock harden against your pelvis, precum spilling from his pinky tip.

“‘ts my turn now,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your neck.

boothill is the most obnoxious dalmatian hybrid you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen many, or at all). but he’s made your life so fun so you can’t be too mad at him

he’s always dragging you out of bed to go do something— could be going to the park nearby or sit in the living room playing video games on your dusty console, it doesn’t matter because he’ll MAKE you step out of your cozy nest!!

you’re glad he’s friendly, because you’re not sure how you would handle such an excited hybrid when you left the house. people come up to the both of you to chat and he indulges their questions, essentially leading the conversation (while you stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say).

boothill is also great with kids, unexpectedly. 9 times out of 10 when you go to the park he ends up playing with someone’s child, bright smile on his face as he messes up their hair with a rough hand. they’ll throw a frisbee for him to go catch and he’ll do it happily, or he’ll even… teach them how to beat people up.

(you stare mortified as he teaches a little girl how to throw a proper punch only for her to then punch her parent when she leaves boothill’s side. you go up to them and apologize profusely, forcing boothill to bow with you.)

he also loves to help you out, even though he’s not the greatest at household chores— but he definitely tries! though he is a stellar cook, which never fails to surprise you whenever he’s on dinner duty. he just… really sucks at everything else.

it’s… mostly because he just has so much energy. he sweeps the floor? nope, he’s picking off the pieces of the broom off of the floor because he accidentally broke it. he’s fixing your bed? nuh uh, you’re throwing out the ruined bedsheets because he accidentally tore them to shreds somehow.

so, with all of these accidents happening because he’s just brimming with energy 24/7, you started purposely exhausting him. or, rather, gave him the green light to exhaust you until he tires himself out.

“booth-aah, w-wait, you’re being too…!” you fall over on top of his hard chest, keening at the new angle his cock reached inside of you. he repeated his assault on the spot that made you see stars as your jaw gaped, broken moans leaving your lips.

“don’t tell me y’re tapping out.. haa, already!” boothill grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. he throws his head back with a loud moan, abs tensing as he nears yet another climax— the 5th one of the night. maybe, maybe not. you lost count after the third one.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck, focusing on the feeling of his cock plugging you full instead of the soreness, the burn in your muscles that came from your knees holding you up on his lap.

watching you riding him will always be his favourite thing in the world, even if he always ends up fucking up into you and taking back control at the end of the night.

“gonna cu-uum…” you whine, clenching around his length almost painfully tightly, hearing his breathing hitch as an orgasm is ripped out of him in consequence to yours. boothill’s fingers dig into your ass, his hips lifting off the bed as he cums deep inside of your sloppy hole again, sticky fluid building up beneath the sheets.

you collapse on top of him fully, chest heaving against his own as you come back to your senses, slowly but surely. boothill’s ears perk up, hearing how your breathing had evening out.

“so… got another round in ya?”

[kirlicues]

Townhomes for Large Families | Sims 2 Apartment Lot Download

500 followers! Wow! Thank you to all of you who have given this page a follow. I'm glad that you are enjoying the homes and hope they are making your neighborhoods prettier and happier places. 😊

As a little gift I've put together my first official apartment lots: Mapleview Terrace built on a 5x3 lot, and Hydrangea Court built on a 4x3 lot. These lots are free of CC that is not Maxis made. The Season Pre-Order bonus swingset is included in the larger lot, but if you use the Sims2Pack Clean Installer you can opt not to install it if you don't want it.

These townhomes were built especially for your larger sim families. Each home comes with 3 bedrooms--the larger lot even has one with a 4th bedroom!

The down side is that this means they are on the more expensive end of things and they aren't even that fancy looking in my opinion! The Mapleview Terrace apartments come furnished and will cost $3590-$3822. The Hydrangea Court Apartments are unfurnished except for the kitchen and bathrooms and will cost $3874-$3884.

But, let's take a short tour and you can decide if they are worth it for you.

These apartment lots were meant to be a set. They are fairly simple and non-descript on the outside, and you can line multiple lots up for a whole community of cookie-cutter apartments. 🤣 Feel free to paint them different colors though if you wish.

I originally built the shell on the larger townhome lot shortly before Apartment life came out. The goal was to have a place to stick the Maxis families that came in the sim bin so that they would have access to a telephone and not be unreachable except for as "walk-bys".

Here's what they look like at the back. These apartments are nearly identical in floorplan layout, one has 3 units and the other only has 2.

Mapleview Terrace:

Hydrangea Court: Putting solar panels on the roofs can help off-set the cost of rent I discovered, thanks to the helpful members of a Sims 2 Facebook group. 😊 The other lot has them too, but they just didn't make it into the picture.

Let's take a look at the floorplans!

Mapleview Terrace - 1st Floor:

Mapleview Terrace - 2nd Floor:

You might notice a slight theme to each home. But feel free to remove the furniture and redecorate if you want.

Here's what Hydrangea Court looks like. The layout is pretty much identical to Mapleview Terrace, but I did put nicer appliances in downstairs:

One more thing, The neighborhood view for the larger lot has the maple trees seeming to do a little "wave". It's just because I rotated them when placing them, but they should all be in a perfect row on the lot. :)

If you notice anything "off" about these apartments please let me know and I will try to fix the issue. If it's something that can only be accessed in build mode and the option is greyed out you can use this cheat and fix the thing: 'boolprop AptBaseLotSpecificToolsDisabled false' ...Just don't forget to turn it off by typing 'true' in place of 'false' when you're done!

A huge thank you to the folks in one for the Sims 2 groups on Facebook for letting me know what apartments needed or didn't need. 🎉

500 Followers Gift - Townhome Apartments Set: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home uses 1 piece of CC, which is a Maxis pre-order bonus item from Seasons that you may already have in your game. It can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want it though.

CC List (Included): -Seasons Pre-Order Bonus “Garden Swing of Bliss and Harmony”

Default Replacements Shown: -More realistically colored Hydrangea shrub from @peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Hydrangea shrub’s flowers will look neon blue. Purple Lupin shrub from Peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Lupin will be blue. -White Wall Top Texture Replacement by Maranatah at Mod the Sims -Neon panels removed on the Forbidden Fruit bar/island default by Shastakiss. Pay attention to the special instructions. If you only want the Maxis counters adjusted with no additional new recolors you'll only need to pop "shasta_CEP_nl_nightclub_island_bar.package" in your downloads folder. -FreeTime bedding defaults by CuriousB

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hii, may I ask for a fic where scara and reader are a pair of emo best friends listening to emo music, super loud! In her room while her parents are fighting? They've always been sexually curious and experimenting. Soo reader's sad, he says fuck it, gets on top, and starts grinding his knee against her clit?

Usually, they NEVER get too far, so the reader knows that he's committed when she moans.

Soo cunnilingus? Maybe they likee each other? Praise? Calling her parents dumb and just validating her complaints (like if u going to fight dont do it around your spawnling?) A little bit of 'we could do better than them' bc reader is lowkey scared of ending up like them???

Please ik this is a bit too detailed, im kinda venting lol. Please feel free to omit a bunch if you must.

-shyent💗

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. clit stimulation. cunnilingus. praise, validation, and comfort.

it wasn't too detailed at all. i hope this makes you feel better, hun❤️ i think we all can relate this more than we like to admit😞

you have your hands covering your ears, your eyes squeezed shut. not even the loud music playing in your room soothed you. your body was tense with restless anxiety.

and scaramouche couldn't stand it. he knew he needed to do something. anything. anything to get you to focus on him and not the sounds of your parents fighting downstairs. when you are focused on him, it was like he was the only thing in this world. you noticed nothing else but him.

he reached over and took your hands off of your ears. you'd told him once that you enjoyed the sound of his voice. he put his lips next to your ear. "i can take you somewhere else, if you want," he offered, moving closer to you on your bed.

you shook your head, turning the music down a little. "no, it's okay. it wouldn't really matter. i am still going to know that they are fighting," you would still be tense the same way be it here or at his house.

"i can go tell them to shut the fuck up," he offered, it was more of a way to get to you smile. because it he really would. he would open your door and shout at them to shut the fuck up. loudly. he didn't give a shit. and that's the exact reason why you smiled, if only a little.

"you know, they might shut up if they hear me making you moan," he tentatively posed the idea. more to see if you would crack another little smile, but at the same time, he was completely serious. his hands had gotten up your shirt and into your bra while you were making out with him the other day.

he sure made you moan when he started pinching and stroking your nipples. he fed off of it. his hand has been so close to dipping into your panties. he is so fucking in love with you he couldn't stand it. making you focus on him would calm you down.

and that was what you needed.

you need him.

"you think they might?" you asked. his eyes widened a little. his cock pulsed with the hope you were serious. there was only one way for him to find out.

"i think they might," scaramouche turned down the music, and put his hands on your shoulders. he felt you immediately relax a little the moment you felt his touch. he laid you down on your bed, drinking in the way you blushed as you looked up at him.

he counted himself lucky that you wore a skirt today. your skirt bunched up around your thighs as he got on top of you. tentatively at first, he started to rub his knee on your clit. it wasn't long before your breathing turned shaky sounding, your clit starting to swell and throb.

he shivered as your juices began to soak his knee. he increased the pressure, keening soft moans from your throat. he would've leaned down and kissed you had he not wanted to drink in your face starting to contort with pleasure.

you rocked your hips up, grinding your clit on his knee. he could see the whole world falling away from you, focusing only on him in a way that made his cock ache more. your panties sticking and unsticking around your clit added extra friction, hazing your senses with pleasure.

you have forgotten all about your parents.

reaching your hand up, you caressed his cheek. "scara, can you make me feel good?" you asked, letting out a louder moan as he twisted his knee on your clit.

scaramouche did not need to be asked twice. how many fantasies had he had about you that started off just like this. the amount of cum he spilled into his hands jacking off at night to thoughts of you said as much.

there was such a look of desperation in your eyes. desperation for him. you are depending on him, and scaramouche latched onto that. "your parents really are fucking stupid," he moved down between your legs, moving your panties aside. you blushed seeing his mouth hovering above your pussy.

his tongue swept out to part your folds. he'd lost count of times he'd jacked himself off thinking about you grinding your pussy on his mouth. he licked long slow stripes up and down your pussy, groaning as your taste saturated his tongue. "i can't have my precious pet being so tense all the time."

the blush on your cheeks darkened hearing his words. something about hearing him call you his precious pet made your clit swell and throb more. you shifted restlessly on your bed, your hips jerking up to grind on his tongue.

scaramouche wagged the tip of his tongue around your clit, making moans come from you instead of words. your hands found the back of his head, pushing his mouth down onto your pussy as you sought more friction.

"that's my good girl," his praise filled you with an arousing warmth. it was like something snapped in you. whimpering softly, you knew in that moment, you would do anything to hear it again.

"say it again, please!" you cried out, tugging on his hair. the pleasure coiling was so strong it made your eyes water, your thighs trembling as he latched his lips onto your clit.

scaramouche chuckled softly into your messy pussy, keeping his eyes focused on you so he didn't miss one twitch or contortion of pleasure. "my good, sweet girl," louder moans tore from your throat, your walls clenching empty around nothing. "we can do better than they can," he released your clit with a wet pop, licking his lips before focusing his tongue on your hole.

"i'm in love with you!" you suddenly cried out. the words came tumbling out of your mouth, his tongue felt that good working your pussy over. groaning, he prodded his tongue inside of you. "i've always been in love with you!"

he swirled his tongue inside of you. pleasure burst white hot behind your eyes. your hips bucked shamelessly into his mouth, enjoying the comforting way his fingers dug into your thighs possessively. "fuck me with your tongue, please."

the way you were starting to babble made his cock pulse and strain in his pants. scaramouche was sure your parents could hear you. and he fucking loved it. "go ahead, kitten. let them hear what real pleasure sounds like."

his tongue worked over your pussy with extra vigor, snapping the knot of your orgasm to curl tighter in your core. his thumbs skimmed over the insides of your thighs in encouragement, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

you couldn't help it. scaramouche's tongue made you cunt sensitive, your release gushing onto his tongue suddenly. "so fucking sweet," he growled, eagerly lapping at your release like a starved dog.

he didn't take his mouth off of your pussy, tongue fucking you through your orgasm until you were breathless and shaking. when he kissed you, you didn't think it would be intimate tasting yourself on his tongue.

[melrosing]

Do you think Jaime actually feels remorse for pushing Bran?

god im sorry but i just find it baffling that there are people who think he doesn’t. genuinely baffling, i dont know what books they’re reading. there is to start with the fact that Jaime literally says he’s ashamed of it -

“I'm not ashamed of loving you, only of the things I've done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell . . ."

like idk how this could even be interpreted as anything other than remorse, so what is the issue?? that he doesn’t say it enough times?? and I think it really does come down to that for some people who just really struggle with the ‘show don’t tell’ of it all. for people who can follow ‘show don’t tell’, it will have been fairly apparent before this line that Jaime regrets what he did, and certainly clear afterwards.

the reason that the latter audience will pick it up is because they’ll have come to understand the style of Jaime’s internal narration, which tends to omit a great deal, or obscure true feelings behind facetious remarks. we never see Jaime say ‘I like and respect Brienne’ - in fact he continues to mentally insult her in AFFC. but - strangely! - when Ronnet does the same in front of him, Jaime strikes him. why does a man who internally insults Brienne care when someone else does it?? well we must surmise that despite what Jaime says or doesn’t say, something about his feelings have changed!! show. don’t. tell !!

so when Jaime suddenly comes out with the fact that he is ashamed of what he did to bran, despite never having said or even thought as much up to this point, the reader is meant to understand that Jaime has been doing this work, but owing to the style of his internal narration, we haven’t been partial to it! Jaime sometimes comes across as almost embarrassed by his better instincts, which is why he disguises them facetiously (observe his dialogue after rescuing Brienne from the bearpit, he almost wants her to believe he did it as a joke). it is in keeping with Jaime’s characterisation that he hasn’t just outright said ‘gosh I really shouldn’t have done that I feel terrible and would love to make it up to bran some kind of way!’

if you wait around for lines like that, you aren’t going to get them and you’re going to end up missing the story that’s taking place between the lines. you’re going to be so fixated on why jaime hasn’t stated his remorse in a style that appeased you, and miss the fact that Jaime’s arc is taking place because of his remorse.

so when Jaime said he had once wanted to be Arthur Dayne but became the Smiling Knight instead, what do people think he means?? what actions of his do they think Jaime is identifying as in befitting of the smiling knight rather than Arthur Dayne?? genuinely what do they think is going on???

[todoriin]

adore me, hold me and explore me | moze x afab!reader

18+ NSFW, MDNI or i will delete your account, vanilla ass sex, no established relationship, obsessive themes from moze, cunnilingus, p in v, porn no plot

Being Feixiao’s closest advisor means you get to experience various interesting interactions.

Since joining her ranks, you feel as though you’ve lived through countless lifetimes, consulting and strategising with her and Jiaoqiu against formidable foes and expansive armies. You’ve seen the Merlin’s Claw swing her blade and slash countless enemies in half, learnt medicinal techniques from Jiaoqiu that may cure simple illnesses, like the common cold. 

However, the most interesting soul, without a double, is a certain Shadow Guard of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, one you have the pleasure of working with most intimately. Figuratively and… literally.

There’s a creak coming from the windows of your bedroom, the hinges wincing softly as they’re pushed open gently but too wide to be an action of the wind. At this stage, you’re no longer surprised by the stealthiness of the intruder, after all, you had purposefully left the windows open, waiting for the moment an intruder who could coat himself with invisibility would show up. 

Besides, it’s nearing dusk, he promised he’d visit then. 

“Good evening, Moze,” you greet, back turned to him as you look in the mirror, swiping balm over your lips before puckering them. 

A breath of satisfaction leaves you when he finally materialises before you, purple haze clouding out around his silhouette, revealing the usual, skin-tight attire he opts for daily. It’s a shade you’ve grown to love now, seeing it everyday (and taking it off for him a few times a week).

“You look nice,” he comments, words curt but sweet. 

You omit to tell him that you didn’t doll up because you doubt he’ll live longer with that information. “Thank you,” is all you say, smiling up at his reflection. Then, a cold hand comes up to your neck, fingers resting over your pulse as he traces your skin, eventually snaking back to fix your hair.

“The lipstick you wore today also looked nice,” he mumbles, meeting your gaze with his piercing one. 

You turn around in your vanity stool, swinging your legs over to the other side of the seat as you look up at him. His hands move up slightly to cup your jaw, indiscernible eyes gently admiring your features as you look up at him. Here, in your home, he can unwind, a skilled assassin let in to a haven too safe for him and the blood on his hands.

That’s why you’re perfect for him, because you know how to slice a man’s neck and leave him begging for more.

“Did you like it, Moze?”

He’s silent as ever, opting to just play with the strands of your hair. There are moments when Moze is silent because he does not wish to speak, but there are always thoughts circulating in that head of his, you realised that a year into the job when he started providing a sarcastic retort whenever he could. This time he’s silent because he doesn’t know how to respond, rendered speechless as you blink up at him. 

It’s an honour to render a man like him speechless, but you still want to have your fun.

“So quiet, I’ll take it as a no?” You ask, rising from your chair and walking past him. An arm snakes itself around your waist before you could get too far, tugging you right back against the chest of the Shadow Guard. “Use your words, Moze.”

“There are no words worthy enough to describe your beauty.”

Your mouth drops slightly as a sudden shyness creeps up your expression, an uncontrollable smile that you can’t hide behind your hands tugging on your lips. “Smooth talker,” you retort, pushing his chest lightly, but he hardly budges. 

You’re used to being the one to initiate all the conversations, as well as ending them.

“The day must have been treacherous. I’ll make some refreshments for you.”

Just as you turn to go downstairs, he’s once again tugging you back against him. This time, he leads you to the edge of the bed where he sits down with you standing between his legs, now a head shorter than you. Your positions have switched, now it is you running your fingers along the hood he keeps on his head, looking down into his multi-coloured eyes.

“No need for any of those,” he denies, “I am well.”

“Are you sure? No tea, snacks?”

“I have no desire for any of those, only you.”

You look away from him, bashful from his flirtatious words that he says in that serious tone of his. Seriously, how can he say that with a straight face?

“Okay, fine. You can have me,” you mutter and a phantom of a smile appears on his expression, eyes glimmering when you finally give him the indication he’s been waiting for. The thin strap of your top is being dragged down your shoulder and you shudder when he hovers a ghost of a kiss over your pulse point, getting flustered when you then feel him smile against your skin. “Please don’t tease.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” in an instant, your chest is bared to him and his hands creep up to explore the expanse of your body, touch gentle but purposeful, as if he was sculpting your curves himself, careful not to ruin you with any rogue or unwelcome grazes. “I’ll reap what’s mine.”

Then, he yanks your shorts off and cups the back of your thighs. A yelp leaves your lips when he suddenly switches you around so that you are now sat on the edge of the bed, and he, awaiting on his knees before you with hungry eyes.

There’s no time to think because all of a sudden, his mouth is on you, infiltrating your most sensitive part and the whimper that leaves you cannot be held back. You don’t know when your leg got on his shoulder, but it grants him more access as his tongue licks up a slow, torturous swipe up your entrance. 

“Moze!” You exclaim, legs twitching as if trying to kick him away, but he immediately holds you down you, an arm wrapping around your thigh to keep you there. 

You’re his target after all, he won’t stop until he’s through with you.

“Be good and take it,” he says against you, pressing a kiss to your clit before sucking and you gulp at the sensation as filthy sounds fill the atmosphere. No matter how many close nights you’ve experienced together, you’ll never get sick of him, grip inhumanely tight to keep you still as you beg for mercy, but the feeling of his mouth is too sweet to push away. The apex of his tongue circles the nub as his spare hand crawls up, collecting the slick from your entrance before two fingers intrude, breaching your walls. 

When he curls them, you know you’re done for, falling against the mattress to try and deal with the onslaught of pleasure that Moze knows how to inflict. It keeps coming in waves and waves, and neither his fingers or tongue lets up. You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt tears drop down your face and onto the sheets. 

He’s pumping into you, briefly curling and scissoring his fingers, and his ministrations on your clit go from suckling to tracing shapes with the bud; a cruel torture that eventually results in a buildup of tension in your lower abdomen. 

You warn him about your incoming orgasm with a shrill cry of his name and a babble of words that loosely resembles a sentence, and the only thing he says in response is:

“Let go, pretty.”

So you do, mind becoming cloudy, hazed with nothing but the feeling of pleasure. Moze has now swapped his mouth and fingers, tongue lapping up everything you give him, licking you clean whilst his thumb rubs your clit in circles, trying to prod more out of you; a routine choreographed for your demise.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your core, letting you come down from the high as he presses a few kisses up your stomach. 

His hawkish eyes watches as your expression untwists itself, no longer contorted by overwhelming pleasure. He can’t help the way his gaze then drifts to your chest, how it rises and falls hurriedly, still trying to regain your breath after he stole it. 

Your reverie is interrupted when you feel his tongue licking your entrance once again, folds pulled back by his fingers to bare more of you, and your nerves flinch at the sensation of pleasure enhanced to the maximum. “Moze! Stop!”

He obeys, pulling away immediately, serious expression unchanged save for the little glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time,” he gruffly promises. 

Wrapping both of your thighs around his waist, you’re maneuvred further up your mattress by the assassin, completely helpless in his grip as he moves you however he wants. You would not have wanted him to stop anyways. 

Nimble hands shed his clothes and you unabashedly admire the sight between your legs, eyes so brave to wander across a scarred body that none others will get to lay their eyes upon. You trace the curve of his defined torso, how the shadows and light dance along the crevices, enhancing his already-impressive muscles. You leisurely run your gaze further down, following his abs to his cock.

Red and leaking with precum. 

It was intimidating when you first came face-to-face with it, and whilst you’re still impressed by his size, he’s taken care of you through the process every time, walking you through the pain and adaptations whilst being completely patient with you.

You want to prepare and take care of him like he had with you, so without thinking, you reach out and begin stroking him exactly how he likes it and a grunt passes by his lips, composure faltering ever so slightly.

There is no other Moze would bare himself like this to and, as a sign of his own twisted desires, he wants you to think the same of him. He wants you in ways he cannot justify, especially the part of himself that drips with violent and obsessive tendencies.

Should he get too close, he fears he will devour you when neither of you are expecting it.

Although, recently it seems that Moze allows himself to indulge in pleasures that he hadn’t permitted before, and as his hand wraps around your wrist to stop your ministrations, he can’t help but smile at the small pout that graces your lips. Rubbing his erection along your cunt, your slick coats his underside whilst his hand leisurely travels around your torso. Your supple skin hasn’t seen the severities of the battlefield, hasn’t fought and handled the brutality of men and blades like he has; the distinction between the two of you almost makes him seem like a monster.

A monster who wants to hide you from the darkness in which he lives in. 

“What are you grinning at?” You ask from under him.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, lowering his face to yours to press delicate kisses on your skin and you shift impatiently, eyelashes fluttering and hands clenching into fists. 

He notices the subtle action, takes it as sign of desperation that he wants to devour and dissolve into his veins, as if keeping a part of you with him forever. Aligning his cockhead with your entrance, your moan is unrestrained when he finally breaches your walls.

Slowly, Moze bottoms out, hands holding your hips to press you flush against him as you squirm. He doesn’t mind the way you wriggle around trying to adjust to his thickness and length, he’ll patiently hover above you, pressing soothing kisses along your face whilst staying as still as a shadow.

Even as your walls twitch and clench, he doesn’t budge, refusing to move until you are ready for him to. In a way, being connected with you like this makes him feel closer to you, and it brings a sense of peace that he cannot find elsewhere.

You are the source of it, the centrepiece of all his desires and he cannot swallow you down anymore. 

“I’m okay now,” you whimper.

He reels his hips back, almost pulling out before slamming right back into you and you cry loudly. “You sure?”

“More, Moze, please don’t be cruel to me.”

Cruel? He wouldn’t dream of it.

Setting a bearable pace, the room is filled with a cacophony of moans and continuous ‘plap, plap, plap’s of skin meeting skin. You are still the centre of his vision, eyes hardly straying away from your expression and body, keenly watching every microreaction of yours. He notices the way you shut your eyes tighter when he angles a particular way, cock breaching the most sensitive but pleasurable parts of you. 

It’s insatiable, his appetite for you. The only thing he wants to do is bring you to endless highs, over, and over, and over again.

Gradually, his pace speeds up over time, violating your insides with the neverending push-and-pull. Every time his hips snap back to meet yours, cock buried to the hilt, you feel the strands of your sanity slipping away. All you can do is babble his name and whimpers of how good he feels, hands reaching blindly for any part of him that you can hold.

He dives right into your open touch, torso leaning down to now hover directly over yours and the added heat of his body temperature makes you feel even more lucid. His shoulders are so broad, the planes of his chest defined, and stomach so toned that it drives you insane with desire; added with his precise strokes and thick cock, you don’t ever want him to leave. You don’t ever want him to stop. 

“Moze-” his lips are pressed against yours, swallowing the moan of his name and every other small noise you make as his member relentlessly spears you. 

He kisses you again and again, never straying too far, but parting often to let you catch your breath. 

“Moze, I’m-” you cry out in between kisses, “I’m gonna-!”

“Me too,” he gruffly responds, “relax for me, you’re clenching too hard.”

His words have the opposite effect because next thing you know, you’re cumming again, spasming around his cock as his strokes try to lure more out of you, draining you for all you’re worth. When you’re done, all of your nerves are fried, limbs weak and unable to hold themselves up for long without any support, but Moze hasn’t come yet, so all you can do is take his desperate and hurried strokes as he catches up to the last bit of pleasure.

Then, he comes to a halt whilst hot ropes gush into your cunt as he twitches inside you. Suddenly, his teeth latch on to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

You catch your breath in unison, waiting for him to finish completely before moving again, and when the final load is emptied, he’s capturing your lips in a kiss again. It’s hot, and your muscles feel like jelly, but he’s still desperate for more of you despite being as humanly close as possible. 

So, only moments after both of you have descended from the peak, he begins moving again, gently shushing any of your protests with a light kiss that breaks down your already weak defences. 

The squelches and plaps this time are obscene as he slowly eases in and out of you, grinding weakly whenever your walls twitch around him, but none of it is enough to quell his desire.

And he won’t stop until he has his fill. 

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[marsmaladeee]

it's been a whole year since how to build an ocean: instructions by the one and only dirtbag boyband @bearsintreesofficial was released!!! how and what!!!!

as we approach the Next Era i wanted to do a drawing to commemorate everything that's happened in this one. this is maybe my biggest drawing ever and i've put a lot of thought into it and it has soooo many references to the past era in it!! so i'll explain all those under the cut :))

i love this album so so so much and i hope this drawing conveys even a little bit of that!!!

i took everything i knew about the themes of the album and tried to distill it into one piece. the band's mentioned that the album is themed around coming home, reconnecting with your hometown, feeling lost and not really knowing your place in the world. so they're stranded in the middle of the ocean on a boat and trying to navigate their way back home!! haha. it's based more directly on a line from idwba - "when i step onto that ferry, and the man demands his pay". initially i had the boatman charon in the drawing too, but i ended up taking him out as it was kind of confusing!

i wanted it to have a kind of whimsical, fantastical vibe so there's a tree growing out of the boat. why? just for funsies!! on a qna i asked what the band thought the biggest visual symbols from this era were, and they answered maps, the ocean and scrapbooky vibes, so i've given the ocean is a big feature in the drawing. that's what the album's named after!! . callum and george are reading through some maps (callum's are screenshots of croydon on google maps or OS maps of the croydon area, and george is holding the map from the album cover). for the scrapbook vibes i've made a version that looks a bit like a scrapbook page, and a regular version as well.

over on iain and nick's side there's the cake callum baked for the baby shower announcement stream. there's a vase full of daffodils like from that one photoshoot. there's the banner they used to announce ttllm on tiktok, dj l8 nite kitten's head from the iwfc mv, and iain's infamous jleeves. there's two books in front of nick: flights by olga tokarczuk, which the album is named after, and the myth of Sisyphus by albert camus, which is referenced in injured crow. iain is drinking coffee with a raven flying above them whilst nick drinks hot chocolate, and there's also a crow with a bandaged wing - an injured crow, if you will :)

beside callum and george there's the giant mechanical skull callum gave to george on stage, the wizard hat nick had on tour and the bubble gun from the seaside tour. there's also George Jr, the raccoon hand from the spill the beans challenges on the subathon, and the chillies which were also from the subathon. there's also a can of chickpeas. this one's a funny one because iain actually told me to put it there themself! not even a joke!! i asked for an object to put in the drawing and they said a vase (which holds the daffodils) and a chickpea. i drew a can of chickpeas instead because a singular chickpea kind of just got lost in the drawing.

on the back wall of the boat there's a number of engravings. behind nick there's a bike for cycling, jaded - a song that was meant to go onto htbaoi but never made it - and a line from your favourite coat which was used as a clue for the arg leading up to the album announcement (thanks to @asherapparently for sending me that!!). the engravings on the far right side are the lil ghost from the ttllm music video, and the boatman taken directly from the album cover. i mentioned before that i had to omit him from the drawing so i thought i'd pay homage to him here.

finally, there're paper aeroplanes from your favourite coat, confetti for all you get is confetti, and the sign says '463 miles', like the bus route mentioned in henry says. on the side of the boat are a number of photos taken from instagram & twitter posts from this era, and the symbols from the album cover and the back of the vinyl are engraved onto the side of the boat - each one representing a different song. the streamers tied to the tree are in all the colours of the album.

bears in trees if you see this - your album is beautiful and wonderful and i love it dearly!!!

[kastalani123]

The Riordanverse is, ultimately, a children's series so it's expected that the nitty-gritty, darker details of certain things get omitted. Still, I think it'd be interesting to see the demigods, each raised for slaughter in their own way, be the soldiers, the victims, the prey that they grew up to be for both godly and mortal reasons.

Percy always keeps Riptide in arm's reach, always keeps his fingers curled around it, ready to unsheath it every waking moment. He sits and stands with his back flush against walls, eyes and ears always open to seek the slightest hint of danger. He trusts Paul, he trusts Chiron — he still watches every minute shift of their expression, of their body for warning signs. He keeps outside Dionysus's range, ensures he always has an open exit within reach. The smell of alcohol makes him dizzy, nauseous; his thoughts leave his body sometimes, when it gets bad enough.

Annabeth keeps a packed bag at the bottom of her closet when she stays at her family's home; she has places she can stay and her parents and Chiron have been good, but her feet still itch when they frown a time too many. Nobody knows she still sees spiders sometimes, feels her skin itch with their crawling. She makes Percy swear he'll never leave the room before she wakes up unless it's truly necessary. She puts boards on her bed's edges so she'll never fall while she thrashes from nightmares; falling would only make it worse.

Leo sits far from any open fires and leaves if people start roasting meat; Plan C is used sparingly once he isn't constantly fighting for his life. His tool belt can't make food, but it stores more granola bars than he could ever carry without it. He makes himself near-unnoticeable earplugs after New Year's and he avoids looking at himself; his body is too whole for being blown to pieces and half the time he's sure the chunks are rotting around Camp Half-Blood where they should've fallen. He tries to keep from unnecessary interactions; he can't have things tying him to some place, not when he's mapped out dozens of escape plans. He smiles longer and wider than ever before.

Hazel doesn't wear jewelry; the only exception is a wooden bead bracelet Nico gave her after she rejected a golden necklace. Walls close in around her, dust and liquid clog her throat, stones crush her bones– she comes back to the present. She clings to affection like a drowning man to a piece of wood, but keeps watch for signs that it'll turn against her. Silence haunts her every step; she keeps an MP3 player and headphones with her at all times to drive it away.

Frank gathers up his form and pours it into a mould of himself, does what he can to keep it from spilling through the cracks. His fingers are littered with scars and scratches, with a trail of broken mirrors left behind in their wake. There are always voices arguing in the back of his mind — not his father's, but not his own, either; just a phantom screech pulsing through his head. He drowns them by sinking into new responsibilities, new dangers, shaping himself to fit while trying to remain himself. The crackle of burning wood follows him everywhere he goes and he can do nothing to down it out — only stare at whatever he had managed to save from his suicide to remind himself he does not need to worry about it; he has already crumbled into ash.

Piper dives into Oklahoma, into mortality, like she'll suffocate without it. She remains far from everything, though not far enough to be out of the loop, because she needs to know about every prophecy, every end of the world, every step and challenge her friends face. She calls them on a bronze-infused phone, not a rainbow, even if the camera and the notifications and the everythingness of it blind her like a spotlight and the thrum of electricity runs through her veins like venom. She paints her face a bit misshapen here, a bit discolored there, a bit unsettling everywhere, and Shel understands. She understands and she loves her and she says it's beautiful not in aesthetics but in the potential protection it provides, as Piper intended.

Jason had learned every rule with the mere intention to break it, to tear through the chains of military life that had been clamped around his throat for as long as he could remember. He had chased life, rather than the survival he had clung to for so long — packed every second of his ticking down time with it. Finally with freedom, but so little time with it, he snatched every piece of it he could: a mortal highschool, a movie theatre, a mall shopping spree, a room of his own — all carefully documented in stacks of journals, ever breath of air and glimpse of the sun, with copies upon copies stashed away so that his memories could never again slip away like sand between his fingers, so that his friends had something of him left, after his life of nothingness.

[niby-skaje]

Emmrich shouldn't be allowed to become a Lich if romanced.

Okay. Hear me out.

Regardless of our personal views as a player/Rook on a subject of lichdom, I feel, given what we've learned, that lich lords of Necropolis should not allow Emmrich to become a lich if he has a beloved.

Lichdom is important. It is rare - so rare that Emmrich himself mentions that he was the lords' first living petitioner in a long time. There aren't many liches there I suppose. We only get to see a maximum of three at a time. It is not something to be trifled with, as the process is some high, advanced magic with the soul sifting required and the journey one has to partake - journey of self-discovery and learning to even be considered worthy. And then it still can go wrong. Our soul may still fail the final test (I assume it must be a possibility).

And then, the burden - the burden of knowledge, of power and responsibility that they have. We know that if we choose to bring Manfred back, then lichdom is lost for Emmrich forever for it shows that he cannot accept that others, those dear to him, will inevitably die, and that would mean that he might be susceptible to the abuse of power, as the lich we speak to states. Such power in the wrong hands could easily lead to tyranny.

But when Emmrich is romanced, he becomes even less able to accept mortality - this time not only his own, but Rook's as well. And while lichdom may take away the fear of death he's felt all his life (if in a healthy way, that's another matter entirely), it replaces it with something new - the fear of losing his love. And not just fear - the knowledge, the certainty, that Rook WILL die. If not now, then someday, in twenty, maybe forty years. But it will. It is as certain as life and death itself.

And Emmrich has waited so long for the love of his life! Even if we omit all the banter and all the little things in the game, he himself tells us that we are the best thing that has ever happened to him. Most magnificent, in his own words. And from the little bits here and there we get to know that he longed for that kind of love all his life.He has turned to other things, to the pursuit of knowledge and immortality, because he has given up hope - only for love to find him so late, right on the doorstep of his lichdom. He accepts it, he allows himself to be swayed by that love, he immerses himself in it completely, like a besotted fool (again, in his own words).

With all that, we know that once the time comes, he cannot and will not let Rook go. He may have slight doubts and we may talk to him about it, but we know that he cannot really choose and in the end he refuses to do so, assuring us that his love will be unchanged even as a lich. But that is not true, for now his love is different, as he now knows that we will be parted and he will remain. The dread he's felt all his life now changes its target, and the love and the fear become so intertwined, so painful, in a way he didn't even expect.

Very, very dangerous for someone with such immense power.

And then, after being trapped in the Fade he tells us that he will allow nothing to part us again. "Not in this, nor any other world". He will find a way, no matter the cost. Even as a lich, though some of his senses may be altered or dulled, he still feels, the emotions still flow within him as they did when he was mortal, perhaps even more so. He loves Rook more than anything in the world, he dreads the time when they will be separated, he dreads how he would go on without them, how he would mourn them for eternity... though now he has all the power and knowledge and time of the lich. He may be able to find a way - even if it is an abuse of the responsibility of his new position. He is blinded by love, even in a state that should transcend all things mortal.

Lich lords are not supposed to care about themselves, for they are meant to serve the Necropolis, to thwart any dangers outside of mortals' grasps, they are to guide and protect. A higher purpose, not of the flesh and the heart, but of wisdom and reason.

With all that in mind, with all the potential for abuse of power he is given, I cannot fathom how the lich lords could entrust such power to romanced Emmrich - or anyone else, for that matter, who is unwilling to sever their ties with the mortal world once and for all. For me, there should be no doubt that to ascend as a lich, one must shed all mortal ties, whatever they may be - and that includes love.

Emmrich's obligatory tax.

[crustyfloor]

While the notion that Sua had omitted the full truth about death to Mizi, and that's the reason Mizi resents her, is still true, the new comic might present a new reason for why Mizi resents/hates Sua as much as she loves her, and it deepens the complexity of the former reason in Mizi's perspective (plus I'm just here to ramble about some of Mizi's struggles more)

Mizi resents people for objectifying her, because she is a beautiful, friendly girl, she's crowded and adored by many but not understood, that's how she encounters so many people who believe they're entitled to her because "that's the rule" or because, well, why should she say no? Just like that dogshit npc who essentially accused her of leading him and others on because she was intentionally acting foolish and exploitative without any worries, (very similar to the way women are treated like Satans spawn-like temptresses in real life if they dare disappoint and not please)

Mizi resents people who don't think about getting to know her beyond what she represents or what she can offer them. things that simply contribute to how much of a pampered object she appears to her peers, that's why she was so disappointed by Till's answer. There might be men in a woman's life who won't know anything about her, won't care about her as a person, yet will still be adamant about their feelings even against her wishes; it just reaffirmed her self-hatred. She wanted a friend out of somebody she genuinely admired and cared about and felt like she couldn't because his idealization really set him back and put a strain on their dynamic, "Is it that hard to not like me?" (side note it seems like an odd question from her because it prompts an obvious answer, probably sounds a little dense too but I think it's genuinely what Mizi resents, that like other people around her, it is so hard for him to get over it and see her beyond the idealized perception, and she thinks its her fault for it)

Mizi resents people for assuming everything about her, or thinking she's genuinely so perfect and has it easy, while she knows how much she struggles, she genuinely doesn't want people to hate her and she doesn't want to hate people in turn so she feels as though she must internalize it and not burden others. (That's in part where the people pleasing comes from, if not out of necessity, she's genuinely just kind, but doesn't know how she can possibly make everyone happy, so it's easier to pretend)

(Again, it's so fascinating how Mizi presents a lot of parallels to women's struggles in real life because this comic, in some parts, is a commentary on that stigma and normalization )

That's why the scene with Mizi and Sua is so significant to me, because while Mizi is bitter toward people who perceive and treat her a certain way, she's especially upset when Sua does it too, the person she loves most and confides in most, is accidentally dismissive and insensitive to Mizi's experiences because Sua too believes Mizi has it easy, she doesn't fully understand- "at least you don't get dragged around like me, must be nice right?" She ends up sounding like the other people that Mizi is upset with

I described this a little in some other posts, but all in all, the way Sua believes Mizi's people-pleasing bubbly facade at times, and Mizi too wanted companionship and an escape in Sua, is the reason they're co-dependent on each other, it's the reason why Sua is so protective of keeping Mizi as naive as she thought she was, because Mizi's happiness was her escape, that too is the reason she felt like she should keep pretending and lying until they had their time on stage. After Sua dies, Mizi realizes that Sua must've known about the full truth of death, yet didn't tell her, Sua didn't want to taint Mizi's "perfect and oblivious personality," and so lied to her; it's similar to other instances where people assume things of Mizi, and what they think is out of her control no matter what she says, so I think this just adds more complexity to Mizi's reaction to Sua's death, Mizi's upset that she thinks Sua assumed she wouldn't have been able to handle it, that she didn't need to know, and so left her clueless, because of that Mizi wishes she could've been able to do something and she hates herself for taking on that facade in the first place and "causing Sua's death" like the manipulative and exploitative person she thinks she is

[kompot505]

and here are the kompot!af2 designs! morward, pasless and voixer aren't really my favorites so they didn't get a spot. and verfection is not in af2 o_o

if you guys want me to draw any stuff of these guys please lmk?! or ship art... i ship everyone here (Excluding Cyalm!!) with everyone so ask and you shall receive. i want to interact with the fandom even if its small :-)

ramblings, artist commentary and design notes below! (it's a LOT)

holy crap it's finally done. i've been chewing on this for at least a month. not because i had no ideas for the designs (most of the time) but because drawing this many characters is so tedious...

it was even worse than the kompot!regretevator references i did, which had 17 characters! LORD

general design notes:

all of the points' bodies are completely made of glass, through and through. it's "anomalous" glass because they move like people obviously but you get it

all of the points must have their gradients be very prominent. in fact, when stylizing, you can just omit all of the details and color them in only as their gradient lol

all of the points must have their symbol on their clothing, except solgon, naen and yawgate, which have cyalm's symbol instead!

they are wearing pants trust me its just.. gradient pants.. h

SPEAKING OF THE LEGS THEY LOOK LIKE THAT DUE TO LAZINESS. no need to tell me .

per character notes/inspirations (WALL OF TEXT apolocheese):

👽 kompot: who is this guy? you might recognize his hands from the new af2 icon! he's my design for ss2, just an oc :-) if anyone wants to know about him feel free to inquire! (inb4 "isn't he you?" - he's more of a mascot than a sona!)

☁️ cyalm: supposed to look angelic, classy and have a holier-than-thou vibe. clothes are always perfectly pristine. the cloud patterns are animated! the wings are optional, the halo is not!

🛠️ shallare: engineer/mechanic thingy. always carries tools and spare nuts n bolts around. their glasses are safety goggles! also they have soot or oil stains on them most of the time.

🎶 signol: performer, bartender, classy lil thing! their sleeves are rolled up for the sake of playing instruments more easily. long ass coattails and for what... the pizazz...? tch

❄️ compale: cozy winter dweller. kinda russian-esque... i'm balkan so forgive me for that. the inside of their coat is super fluffy! can have optional mittens!

🪓 ploque: woodworker/woodcarver type design. has two bandannas for no reason, but uses the one on their neck while working to deal with the sawdust. only has one protective glove on their non-dominant hand!

⭐ anshine: their outfit is meant to match the angels'/residents of maytown's clothes. wings optional, halo mandatory! their watch is also heavily preferred. their 'sleeves' are a separate, singular piece of fabric draped around their arms

🌒 ulipse: supposed to look like they live in the desert! very covered up to protect from the sun. their shawl/scarf has dangling moon symbol charms all around!

🐉 arrolin: sorry i just love qipao so much.. LNY chinese festivities based! the shawl/scarf draped around their elbows has floaty properties and always remains in place. the dragon patterns are animated!

🤖 mino: robot!! their torso is completely exposed, the only clothing they have is the shrug and the stirrups! the antenna extends, mostly for comedic effect lol

🌔 ixol: probably the one i took the most liberties with? tropical vacation mixed with weirdo freak vibes! their cape is animated like a flame at the bottom! the cracks on their arm are permanent and display a glitched screen. the flame around their head doesn't hurt.

❌ stratosfear: their cape is similar to ixol's, but it tears instead of "burning". their stinger is part of their body despite being disconnected - it also wags LOL. supposed to have both a hero and villain vibe? ended up a cowthey??

⁉️ solgon, 💲 naen, 🔒 yawgate: cyalm's lackeys! they all have the same uniform styled differently. solgon and naen swap their bandannas every few days for fun! yawgate's is based on a conductor's and stewardess' uniform!

thank you for coming to my yapfest..! i hope it was fun to read. i want to talk about af2!!

[dranna]

Here, I dig my grave

Contents: depression

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I used to think that a dead person’s words and actions die with them. 

Now, as I open my eyes yet again to the blinding, ruthless sun, I know that it’s not true. They dissolve into small pieces sinking deep into everyday life, marking everything they touch. 

I used to sit at that tree to read in my worn, thin clothes. Those old, used books and old shabby fabrics and old never ending hunger. I fancy seeing them and that young creature there still. 

I always knew that grief was something that sank under my skin. I felt it. But I didn’t know that it could be a new set of skin within me. 

Severus woke up in his simple, uncomfortable bed. A few faded sun rays were flying weakly into the room, leaving light yellow lines behind them. They entered uncertainty, looking around in the tight space of Snape’s chamber. 

It was a small room, but densely packed with various kinds of objects. Books were stacked next to one wall of the space opposite the bed. There were so many old, used volumes, their pages yellow and marked with ink, omitting sweet smells of herbs and curses, that they towered till the ceiling. Next to them stood a minor table which was so fully covered with strictly organised glasses, vials and cauldrons, empty or filled with dark liquids, that you couldn’t even tell the original shape of the furniture. 

Above the vials was the only window of the room. You could see a vast and open space behind the frame, showing the shining water of the lake, the gloomy yet mysterious Forbidden Forest and endless hills and valleys beyond the horizon. Life was blooming outside with infinite colours and scents. On the school’s ground you could also see that senior tree, standing lonely and cold. If you listened close enough, you could almost hear the tale it wanted to tell, but the broad spring weather with all its chirping, blooming and shining overwhelmed it's melancholic voice. It remained a frozen fruit of winter amongst the lively spring. 

“To what purpose Spring, do you return again? You can no longer warm me with your empty promises. I’ve said goodbye to you, a long time ago.”

Opposite the books from the right and to the window from the left was Severus’s only bed. It had a shaky structure which yowled to the slightest movement. He got up automatically without a feel, his form moving on its own, following an old routine. 

He looked into the only mirror and he saw a face. But whose face is it? Because I don’t recognise it as my own. Or was it always my face I just forgot? 

The yellow rays were powerless against the icy darkness he felt himself in. His room was lit, yet it seemed to him he was in a slimy darkness that sticked to his outer skin, freezing him until a familiar numbness came. He gazed at the face his mind told him was his. He saw a sickly figure, skinny in stature and in soul, with eyes which reflected the blackness around him in his irises. They looked exhausted and dull, without any ounce of the playfulness nature tends to possess, however they still shone with a strange light.

He turned and looked out of the window to another world, where the wind carried thousands of colors and smells, planting seeds for flowers to grow. The air was light and warm, with the sun shining in its ginger glory above the dying tree. 

“Ginger? How long ago has it been? Since I felt anything but this freezing emptiness?” 

As he looked at the tree he remembered a question that was asked of him countless times. “Why are you always wearing black?”. He didn’t answer then. However now, as he was looking out of his gloomy cell, he knew. 

I’m mourning the person who I could’ve been.