#sort of the inspiration that was happening

[milky-rozen]

"Egyptians were not black!", "Egyptians were not white!", how about you just keep politics out of my art? I literally drew the gods having crazy skin colors like blue, turquoise and green, please...

Just spare me.

[olderthannetfic]

I need to vent. Please bear with me.

I feel very frustrated with myself lately. I used to write fanfic, but now I haven't been able to go beyond the "taking notes" pre-writing stage for at least two years. And what I do manage to get written down feels lazy and derivative, even by fan work standards. I thought I was going along with the big themes I saw in canon, but looking back, all I did was copy canon's big emotional moments, change a few names and places, and call it a day. There's no originality to it at all!

I've tried following all sorts of advice to break my writers block, but nothing seems to work.

I tried forcing myself to write even when I wasn't inspired. And then I gave myself a break and set aside all my WIPs. I branched out and experienced media that was either new to me or I took a second look at media I haven't viewed in a while. I tried taking inspiration from real life.

And yet I can't make anything that's remotely original or complete. I don't know what to do in order to change that. I have a very real fear that I peaked two years ago, and from now on I'll just be a consumer instead of a creator.

To me, this feels like the worst case scenario. I had talent and I squandered it. And that doesn't make me feel good at all.

--

That isn't how talent works. If you had it at one point, it's still in there even if your current first drafts suck.

First, it might be a revision problem. You now have sky-high standards even compared to before, and producing "good" writing will happen on the second or third draft, but you're too frustrated to get there.

Second, you might need a different kind of break from writing. Maybe you should take up painting or knitting for a while.

[thebigqueer]

"Was there never another ending?" - Caitvi - One-Shot

Summary: After the battle, Vi & Cait are resting in Cait's room and discussing the aftermath of the war. (inspired by "The Aftermath" by @qvert!) Word Count: 5440 Notes: CWs for sensual content (this lowkey borders being sexual but i wouldn't classify it as smut), mentions of blood & wounds. takes place after s2 act 3! Read on AO3

Vi wants to sleep. She’s been lying on Cait’s carpet for hours now, staring at the darkness behind her eyelids, but it’s been no use; it’s already early afternoon. No matter how exhausted she is, her blood is just humming too much to let herself sleep. 

It doesn’t help that Cait is next to her, hooked up to all those tubes and bags of fluid. Cait’s been released from whatever operations her father wanted to do on her since the battle, and she’s been resting on a makeshift mattress against the window of her bedroom, at her own request. Vi asked her earlier why she didn’t just want to stay on her bed, which would probably be the more comfortable option, but Cait shook her head as Vi helped her onto the mattress. “I just want to wake up to the sun in the morning,” she muttered. She offered that Vi stay on the bed, but they both knew the offer was going to be futile. After all that had happened in the past few hours, the very thought of spending a moment outside of each other’s peripheral felt dangerous. 

“You can lie next to me,” Cait suggested before drifting to sleep. “Why sleep on the floor?” 

Vi wanted to take her up on her offer. But she glanced at the tubes, and even though in any other circumstance she would have given in gladly, she knew that she’d be risking too much by taking up that space on Cait’s mattress. She didn’t want to accidentally rip out the tubes or kick Cait in her sleep. So she shook her head, brought over a pillow from Cait’s bed, and laid herself across the carpet. 

Cait narrowed her eyes at her, but her exhaustion quickly whisked her off to sleep. 

That conversation was during the night. Cait’s woken up a few times since then, each time with a jolt, followed by franting swiveling as she looked around her surroundings. But every time her gaze found Vi’s, she relaxed and let herself ease into her mattress again. At one point, she held her hand out, and Vi reached for it.

She hasn’t let go of it since. It’s the only thing keeping her anxiety at bay, knowing that Cait’s in her reach. 

Now the sun shining through Cait’s windows makes Vi’s eyelids glow in a warm orange, and she frowns in frustration. She wants to sit up and talk to Cait, but she’s not sure whether to shatter their silence just yet. Vi knows she’s not sleeping, though. She’s been playing with Vi’s fingers for the past hour or so, tracing the lines against her hand. 

“Can’t sleep?” whispers Cait, and Vi opens an eye at her voice. The sun splits through the window and arcs around Cait’s head, forming a slight blue halo around her, and Vi’s heart skips a beat at the sight. She’s lying on her stomach, face against the mattress as she looks down at her. If Vi was tired before, Cait’s voice evaporates any sort of exhaustion from her limbs. 

“It’s a little bit hard when someone’s playing with my hand.” Vi smiles up at Cait, then opens the other eye. She runs her thumb over Cait’s, feeling the coarseness of her knuckle under her fingertip. “How could you tell?”

A slight pink blooms in Cait’s cheek, and Vi’s almost surprised at how innocent she looks. “Your eyelids keep twitching. And your breathing is uneven.” Then Cait winces. “I’m sorry. I should let you rest.”  

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t able to anyway.” Vi pushes herself into a sitting position and scoots closer to the mattress, and Cait shifts herself a little to make room. Vi lays an arm on the mattress and leans her head against it as she looks at Cait. “Can’t sleep either?”

Cait huffs a humorless laugh. “It’s a miracle I was even able to dream.” 

Vi hums in sympathy. She glances at the bandage wrapped over Cait’s eye, blooming with a faint red ring, and brushes her thumb against her forehead gently. “How’s the pain?”

“All right.” Cait attempts a shrug, then winces. “Better than earlier.” 

Vi offers a grudging nod, then brings her gaze to the bandages wrapped around Cait’s torso. Guilt pulses in her chest, and she lays a gentle hand against the gauze, feeling the roughness underneath her fingers. “When was the last time you changed these out?”

“I think I’m actually due for a change.” Cait raises an eyebrow at her. “Mind helping me do the honors?”

Vi gets to her feet gratefully. At least now she has somewhere to put her restless energy. She makes her way to the supply cart that Cait’s father set up at the foot of her bed and wheels it closer to the makeshift mattress. When she returns, she’s surprised to find Cait lying on her back now, her head tilted towards Vi. The sunlight streams in a green hue through the window and spills over Cait’s body, and, despite herself, Vi’s eyes catch on Cait’s bare chest. All she’s wearing is sunlight and the bandage holding her together. 

Cait raises an eyebrow. “You’re staring.” 

Vi can’t help the smile that erupts over her face. She doesn’t even have time to bite it back before Cait sees, so she chooses to embrace it instead. “My bad. Got a little distracted.” 

“I can wear a shirt if you’d like.”

“No!” Vi’s adamance makes them both flinch, and Vi blinks in surprise. “I mean, no, it’s fine.” She meet’s Cait’s eye, and her chest heats at the sight of her gaze, so full and bright and curious. “It’s just… I like that you’re comfortable with me.” 

“But you’ve already seen me half-naked.” A playful smile dances in Cait’s good eye. “I didn’t take you to be the shy type.”

“I know.” Vi shrugs. “But I don’t just mean that. I guess… I don’t know. I’m glad that you trust me to see you like this, like it’s an everyday thing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to wake up to you half-naked.” Before Cait can respond, Vi holds her hand out. “Let me help you up.” 

Cait grips her hand, and Vi wraps her other arm around Cait’s back to ease her into a sitting position. She hisses with each movement, but they eventually have her propped up, although slightly pale. Vi pats Cait’s knee gently as she catches her breath. When some of her color returns, she looks at Vi with incredulity in her eye. “I don’t know how you even managed to survive that wound to your body,” she croaks out. “This is horrible.” 

Vi smiles slyly. “Now we’re twins. Ready to take the bandage off?”

Cait’s eye closes as she takes a deep breath. “Yes.” 

Vi picks at the end of the tape and pulls as gently as possible. Once it unsticks from the rest of the material, she begins unraveling it from Cait’s body. It’s a tauntingly slow procedure, one that consists of a lot of cursing and lip-biting and eye-scrunching on Cait’s part, and Vi feels guilty every time Cait flinches. But eventually the gauze comes off, and Cait’s wound stares back at Vi, gaping red and festering. 

Now it’s Vi’s turn to flinch. “Yikes.” 

Cait’s face is scrunched in pain. “Don’t say that.” 

“Sorry. I mean, wow, your wound is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Despite her pale color, a sparkle of amusement twinkles in Cait’s eye. “Shut up.” 

Vi throws a grin at her, then tosses the old bandage on the ground. She grabs a washcloth and a bowl of water from the cart, submerges the cloth in the water for a moment, then wrings it out and holds it in front of Cait. “This is probably going to sting a little more.” 

Cait sighs heavily. She stretches her arms behind her to hold herself against the pain. Her head tilts back as a frown paints itself on her features, and in the sunlight, her neck flashes. 

Vi forces her gaze to stay on the wound, if only to distract herself from how beautiful Cait looks right now. She gently dabs, and it takes a while for her to clean out some of the dried blood. Cait’s body scrunches against the sting, and each twitch of pain makes Vi twitch in sympathy, but she keeps going until the dried blood is cleaned away. 

It feels like an eternity before she’s done cleaning it out, but eventually she throws the cloth - now painted in a faded red - to the ground. She reaches for a roll of gauze from the cart, then sits back down to face Cait, who looks even more worn out now. 

“Last part,” Vi says, then gently brushes her hand against Cait’s knee. “Do you want to eat anything? I think your dad left some food.”

“I don’t even know if I have it in me to eat today.”

“I don’t blame you. Ready?” 

“No.” But Cait clutches her mattress again, and a new determination comes over her. 

Vi meets Cait’s eye, tilting her head to make sure she’s really ready, and Cait offers a slight nod. Vi starts by leaning forward and reaching her arms behind Cait’s back. She moves slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible as she wraps the gauze around and around. Cait only flinches a few times, which Vi considers as progress. She can feel Cait shivering against her every time she pulls in close, and despite the circumstance, a heat flickers in the pit of her stomach at the feel of her skin, warm and humming in her arms.

Finally, the gauze is thoroughly wrapped around Cait’s waist, and Vi uses the scissors on the cart to cut through it. As soon as Vi sticks it together, Cait releases a shuddering breath.

Vi’s about to ask if she wants to lie down again, but Cait beats her to it as she slowly crawls herself back onto the mattress. As soon as she hits the bed, a sigh of relief escapes her, and she presses the back of her hand to her forehead. A gentle silence falls over them as Cait steels herself against the releasing pain.

Vi watches her breathe for a moment. The sunlight soaks her body again, and even though she’s still a little pale, everything about Cait seems so vibrant in the light. Vi’s gaze travels up to the bandage over her eye, and she reaches out to brush Cait’s forehead again. When Cait opens her good eye in response, Vi gestures to the bandage with her chin. “How do you really feel?” she murmurs.

Cait shrugs. “It’s going to be difficult to get used to having one eye. And I’m sure I have some sort of concussion. But all that matters to me right now is that I’m alive, and that Ambessa didn’t get my good eye.” 

Vi nods. Then she nips at her thumb to hide the twitch in her lips. “I know this is the least of your worries,” she muses, “but I think the one-eye look is gonna look so hot on you.” 

Cait fixes Vi with a raised, playful eyebrow. “I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” 

“Of course I do.” Vi meets Cait’s eye again, and they both giggle. But the laughter slowly dissipates into quiet again, and soon the only sound in the room is of their breathing. 

In this new silence, Vi’s eyes trace Cait’s body. She starts at her face, radiant in the sunlight, then rolls over her neck, over her bare chest, down her abdomen. It’s kind of amazing the way Cait almost commands the light to fall on her. Her gaze catches on every scratch and gash and bruise on her body, and, impulsively, she reaches out and brushes her fingers over each blemish. Even bloodied and battered, she somehow has a way of stealing the beauty from the room.

She has the look of a warrior.

Vi drags her fingers down her bandages. The gauze is rough under her fingers, and she zigzags gently down the surface, until her touch lingers over the same place where Cait’s wound is. Then she retraces her steps, runs her fingers back onto the bare skin over Cait’s abdomen. Vi can feel the shiver in her skin as she breathes, and she swears her own fingers are glowing. She flicks her eyes up at Cait again, and when their gazes connect, Cait releases a breath and closes her eye, accepting Vi’s touch. 

So Vi keeps going. Her fingers follow the trail of Cait’s muscles to her sternum, and the motion gently tugs Vi forward, too. Cait’s ribs rumble underneath her fingers, like sharp hills on her body. She risks another glance at Cait, whose blue eye pierces her once again, but now there’s an ease in it, as if she’s floating. 

Vi brushes her fingers over Cait’s heart, and Cait’s breathing shallows the barest inch. Vi takes this as her permission to lay her lips on her sternum, and the scent of violets overwhelms her. She closes her eyes, trying to permanently memorize Cait solely through her fingertips. Her lips drag down Cait’s body, leaving kisses against every bare inch of skin that she can, but she stops just above her bandages. She looks up again to meet Cait’s eye, to make sure she’s not hurting her. Cait only looks curious, like she’s eager to see where Vi goes with this. 

Vi flattens her fingertips a little more against Cait’s chest, so that the curve of her breast just barely fills Vi’s palm, and she traces her kisses up Cait’s sternum again. Then she shifts herself closer to Cait’s body, cupping her other hand against her waist to hold her better, and leaves kisses against the rising part of Cait’s breast, up into the dips of her collarbone, into the crook of her neck. Cait sighs and tilts her head, inviting Vi in. Vi takes her hand on Cait’s waist to the other side of her face, brushes her thumb against her cheekbone, savors the heat of Cait’s flush between her fingertips. She’s so close that she can feel Cait’s chest rising into her own each time she breathes, and the feeling sets her heart on fire. 

Vi pushes her fingers under Cait’s chin and forces her head to tilt just a little bit more, then lets her bottom lip trail against Cait’s jaw, runs every bruise and knick under her lip, tastes her skin humming, until she reaches her final destination: Cait’s lips. Cait parts her lips a little wider, and as Vi finds her way in, Cait traces one hand over Vi’s back, up her neck, into her hair. Her fingers cradle Vi’s head so gently, and a tingling warmth erupts at the pit of her core, like a match just ignited. Her touch is a wildfire against Vi’s skin, and Vi swears her heart’s about to break out of her chest.

Vi tries to sigh, but it barely gets anything through because each time Cait scrunches her hand, another wave of desire steals Vi’s breath away. The hand on Cait’s face glides down her body again, this time with more purpose as Vi presses her palm against the side of Cait’s breast.

Cait’s neck arches at the touch. 

Then Vi pulls away, and Cait blinks up at her, a daze buzzing in her eye. 

Vi looks at Cait from here, watches her brow furrow in irritation. She tugs Cait’s bottom lip with her thumb, and another pinch of desire makes her want to dive right back in, but there’s a weight beginning to settle in her chest that pulls her back. Something about being this intimate right now, after everything that’s happened, feels… wrong.

She looks up and glances at the tubes still connected to Cait. She looks at her feet and spots the old bandages on the ground. She doesn’t look out the window, but she can hear some shouting every now and then as the world tries to rebuild itself outside. 

Then she looks down at Cait again, and just as she expected, the world drowns itself out of her peripheral. She just wants to stare at Cait like this for a bit, memorialize the view of her in the light. Before the sun disappears.

And suddenly Vi realizes why she feels so off. All that destruction outside, and here they are, keeping themselves in this little bubble. 

“Careful,” Vi says finally, and the way Cait’s brows dig deeper into her frown makes her smirk. “Can’t have your wound opening up again. We need you up and running, Commander.” 

Cait releases a huff. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but there’s barely any fire in her words. Her hand in Vi’s hair glides down, down her neck and down her shoulder and down her arm. Her fingers whisper over Vi’s bicep, and Vi watches her gaze run over her arm, one finger carving over the lines of her muscles, then tracing her tattoos. Even though it was Vi doing most of the kissing, something about her touch feels more intimate than anything they’ve ever done together, like she's trailing promises against Vi’s skin. She closes her eyes and lives in the touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Cait murmurs now. Her voice is soft, like sweet clouds against Vi’s ears, and behind her closed lids, Vi can almost pretend she’s floating. 

“Probably better than you.” Vi opens her eyes and runs her hand against Cait’s bandages gently. But there’s a subtle weight in her words, and Vi knows that wounds are not what she’s talking about. 

As if reading her mind, Cait drops her fingers from Vi’s arm to her hand, holding on a little too tight, and Vi’s throat aches all of a sudden. “Seriously, Vi,” she insists, running a thumb against her knuckles. A beat of silence passes, and then she whispers, “I want to know what happened.”

Vi looks down to watch her touch, and with every motion she makes, Vi’s chest grows heavier. 

After a moment of hesitation, a long sigh drags out of Vi, like a snake that’s been coiled up in her chest. A new exhaustion falls over her, and she drags herself onto the ground again, knees pressing into the soft carpet underneath her. She crosses her arms against the mattress and drops her head into them. In response, Cait turns to her side, folding her arm underneath her head as she watches Vi, her good eye filling with overwhelming concern. 

“She’s gone,” breathes Vi. “Her and my father.”

She surprises herself by the casualness of her tone, like this is an everyday occurrence. And maybe it is. After all, hasn’t she been practicing this line for months? She’s been practicing it ever since she first met Jinx, when everyone was trying to convince her Powder had died. 

But it’s only now that it’s become true. 

If Cait’s surprised by the news, Vi can hardly tell; the only difference is in the way her eyebrows cower together in the middle. “I heard,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, Vi.”

Vi looks at her through her lashes, then points her gaze down to the foot of the bed, to the blanket cowering at Cait’s feet. She shrugs. “I guess it’s probably good news for you, though.” 

She almost regrets the words as soon as they come out, because she knows it isn’t fair to Cait, not now. But she can’t help it; it’s a thought that’s haunted her ever since the night of the attack.

Jinx’s missile had been bad enough; the attack at the memorial was Cait’s breaking point. She had narrowed her gaze on Jinx so easily, like suddenly the rest of the world didn’t exist. And Vi understood - sympathized, even - but watching Cait’s every working thought narrow in on Jinx like she was just another one of her sniper targets made Vi’s skin prickle. Jinx became a shot she refused to miss, and even though Vi told Caitlyn - told herself - that Powder was gone, the thought of watching her sister die at Cait’s hands made her stomach turn with every step closer to Jinx. 

What made her even sicker was the fact that she’d followed so blindly. 

Cait releases a deep sigh, but she stays quiet for a moment. And Vi’s grateful for that; right now, all she really wants is silence. Maybe it’s not fair to Cait, but maybe she wants her to sit in the implications of her words anyway. 

Maybe she wants them both to sit in the weight of their mistakes. 

“I don’t think it’s good news.” The gentleness in Cait’s voice surprises Vi, though she doesn’t really know why. Vi turns her gaze back at Cait, only to find that Cait’s own focus has shifted to the foot of her mattress as well. “I know Jinx and I have never seen eye-to-eye, but… things are clearer to me now.” Cait closes her eye, and Vi wants to reach out to touch the crinkle that appears between her brows. She doesn’t, though. “I don’t think she was ever the villain. I think I made her out to be one because… because I wanted someone to blame. I think she was… a product of failed dreams. A victim of her environment.” Then Cait meets Vi’s gaze. Her eye shines with so much sincerity, so much fear, that it makes Vi want to eat her own words. “An environment that I regret ever playing a part in.”

Vi begins to draw circles against the mattress sheets. She’s quiet for a moment, and the silence feels heavy on her shoulders, like a weight pressing over both her and Cait. The weight of responsibility, of truth. 

“I guess it just feels a little stupid.” Vi shrugs. “It felt like every move I made with either of you, I was making the wrong one. Like any time I tried to protect one, the other would always be pointing a gun at me. There was just no winning. But now Jinx is gone, and the game’s over, and I failed to protect her or save her, and it’s just… What was all my fighting for? If she was just going to drop out like that, what did I fight for all that time?”

Vi closes her eyes, and when she does, all she sees is the glow of the Hexgates beneath her, almost beautiful, blue as Jinx’s hair. Powder’s hair. And she sees the light in Jinx’s eyes, almost violet, as she looked up at her, an eerie peace solidifying in her irises.

Always with you, sis. That smile, soft and subtle and beautiful. Her Powder, in a different body. Her Jinx, in a new form. 

And then she fell, the distance between them growing stronger with every passing second. 

“I don’t think you failed, Vi,” Cait says, and her voice an anchor on Vi’s thoughts; she finds her gaze swimming back to the present. “I wasn’t there when she died, but if there’s anything I’ve seen from the few times I’ve seen you together…” Cait blinks a few times, as if trying to clear her vision. “You have such a deep bond. Even after all that time, even after everything you’ve done to each other and have been through, you loved each other. I saw it in the way you protected her in that explosion at the camp. I saw it in the way Jinx gave herself up without any hesitation - she thought it was going to save you.” Cait’s eyes harden in thought, as if trying to piece together a puzzle, and the sight of her frown makes Vi almost want to laugh. If there’s anything Cait loves doing, it’s finding answers. “I don’t think her decision to fall was you failing to protect her. Maybe it was her trying to repay the favor. Maybe she was protecting you.” 

Vi considers this, frowning. “Well, she did a pretty shit job. Nothing’s going to protect me from the guilt of knowing she sacrificed herself for me, all because I was stupid enough to think Vander was still in there.” Vi’s eyes prick with tears, and against her will, her chin begins to tremble. “That’s just my problem. I don’t expect people to change.” Vi lets out a shaking breath, trying to ease herself out of a sob. “But they do. They always do.” 

Then she meets Cait’s gaze, and Cait’s eyebrows rise in both concern and regret, and Vi is suddenly hit with a wave of dread. Her thoughts flicker back to that moment in the sewers months ago, the two of them leaning against the wall, warm in the chill of their surroundings. How sincere Cait looked. How hopeful Vi had been. 

And she knows Cait’s thinking exactly what she’s thinking. 

The air around them hangs heavy and dense, and Vi’s shoulders burn under the weight of the moment. She knows what she’s implying, and she knows she has Cait backed into a corner. Suddenly the world around her feels darker, smaller. Like she’s back in her prison cell. 

“I don’t think change is something you can stop,” Cait says, and the way her voice wavers, Vi knows she’s trying to tread cautiously. The distance between them, though minimal, feels too deep and treacherous. “You’re talking about change as if it’s your fault people change. But it’s not, Vi. People change for a lot of reasons. For love. For a greater cause. For grief.” Cait’s eye closes and takes a deep breath, and Vi knows she’s thinking of her mother. “I don’t think it’s stupid for you to hold onto hope for people. If anything, I think it shows how big your heart is. You look for the good in everyone, especially those you care about. That’s a strength a lot of people don’t have.” Cait frowns. “It’s a strength I didn’t have, and look where it landed us. A war on our front step.” 

Vi narrows her eyes and points her gaze at a loose thread of the sheet. She picks at it. “Was it strength when I thought Vander was still in that… that body? If I had just moved like Jinx told me to, she wouldn’t be gone now.” 

Cait’s gaze moves past Vi, to a spot above Vi’s head, as if looking for the answer behind her. She’s quiet for a few moments, and with each passing second, Vi’s heart feels heavier in her chest.

“Jinx made her choice,” Cait says finally, bringing her gaze back to Vi’s. “I know this is so much easier said than done, but you can’t blame yourself for what she chose to do.” 

“Was it really a choice, though?” Vi’s brows furrow, and she can feel the tears burn against her throat again. “I didn’t really give her much of one. I was the one just standing there. If she hadn’t shoved Vander away, it would’ve been me falling instead.” Vi blinks, and for a fleeting moment, she imagines it: her in Jinx’s place, falling right down with Vander. Her being the one to hold onto him. Sure, she would’ve died - but Jinx would’ve been saved. And now a tear slips out. “It should’ve been me.” 

“At what cost?” Cait asks, and the adamancy in her voice makes Vi flinch. It must surprise Cait, too, because she blinks as if the voice wasn’t even hers. Then her eyes soften, and she reaches out and threads her fingers through her hair. The touch brings some semblance of calm over Vi, and she closes her eyes. “You can pretend that sacrificing yourself would have made things better, but they wouldn’t have, Vi. If it was you who fell, I don’t think Jinx would have been able to handle it.” Cait’s brows furrow. “Ekko told me she was about to commit suicide before he convinced her to come. If you had been the one to go, I think that would have just sent her over the edge. I have no doubt she would have jumped right after you and Vander.” Cait tilts Vi’s chin closer gently, urging her to look at her. “Think about it like this. If you had been the one to fall, who, exactly, would you have been saving?”

Vi narrows her gaze at a spot on the mattress as she considers it. She knows there’s some truth to Cait’s words - Jinx might have followed her down. And, for a brief second, an eerie calmness falls over Vi at the thought. At least then we would have been a family again, she thinks selfishly. 

Maybe Cait has a point - maybe there was never going to be a good ending. Someone was going to die at that moment. But still - the regret has been burning a hole through Vi for hours now. 

Was there never another ending? Another future?

For some reason, the question makes Vi’s chest burn with rage. Cait’s asking too much, suggesting too much. Her fist slams into the ground, so hard it shakes the floor around them, and her face falls into the mattress. Her knuckles pulse with pain, and that pain bounces all the way back into her heart and transforms into a sudden wave of desperation, and a sob explodes out of her, so painful she’s convinced her chest has cracked open in half. The fabric around her becomes wet as her tears come pouring down. 

“It’s so unfair,” she seethes, her words muffled by the mattress. Her voice catches in her throat, and another sob cracks her chest like lightning. “All that waiting… all those years wasted in a prison, telling myself that I’ll find her or die trying. And the moment I do… She just fucking leaves.” Her sobs fall easier now, as if some coil in her chest has been released. “It’s not fair.” 

Cait doesn’t say anything, and Vi’s grateful for it. The silence gives her the space for her grief, and she takes every inch of it that she can. In the vicinity of all the high walls and empty space of Cait’s bedroom, Vi’s ears echo with every sob that racks her body, and each echo sends another wave of devastation through her heart. It turns into a vicious cycle of grieving and listening, grieving and listening. 

Then Cait’s hand touches her own, and Vi tilts her head to look at her. Her heart cracks even further at the glistening in Cait’s own eye and the sucking of her bottom lip, as if she’s trying not to break for Vi’s sake. Cait’s thumb rubs over Vi’s bruised knuckles, and even though she feels hollow and exhausted right now, the motion still brings a sense of comfort through her. 

Cait leans forward and kisses Vi’s head, slowly, softly. And when she pulls back, she brushes her thumb over Vi’s cheek.

Even though she doesn’t say anything, her touch feels like an apology. A promise. 

And Vi’s tears come hotter than ever.

Vi’s not sure how long she’s sitting there, ruining Cait’s sheets with her tears, but eventually she opens her eyes again. Except they feel weird - swollen and stiff, like stinging weights on her eyes. Her face feels hot, her nose too heavy. And, as she blinks up, she’s surprised to find only darkness above her. 

With a start, she realizes she’s lying on the ground again. A blanket puddles around her. 

She feels a weight on her waist, and she looks over her shoulder to find Cait on the carpet with her, fast asleep, the tubes and vials removed from her body and a sweater over her. Her chest rises and falls against Vi’s back with each breath she takes. 

Vi’s eyes burn again at the sight of Cait, down on the floor with her, curled up against her, but this time the tears feel lighter. Not happy, but not sad either. Just relieving, like shme’s shrugging off a heavy weight. She tries to keep quiet, but her attempt at holding back her tears makes her start shivering, and Cait’s eye opens. She frowns in confusion, bleary with sleep. But when she searches Vi’s face through the darkness, the furrow in her brows releases, and she moves her hand on Vi’s waist to touch her cheek, her fingers soaking in her tears. She pulls Vi’s head gently towards her, presses her forehead to hers. 

Vi breathes out a sigh. And she lets her eyes flutter close again.

[emmabirb8]

My first official venture into a super rare pair, EmmaStan, aka Emma-May Dixon and Stanley Pines!! @cosmo-shell and @slug-ball opened my eyes to the concept of these two, and WHOA the potential really stole my heart. It's absolutely not what they're serving out front, lmao, but the ship has bewitched me body and soul nonetheless. I just fell in love with the idea of these two tortured souls finding comfort in each other during the most difficult periods of their lives. They've been through HELL and deserve nice things. 😊💖 (And Emma-May in particular deserves WAY more love and attention in this fandom!)

My personal interpretation of Emma-May was mainly inspired by this piece by @birdskullz and this piece by @cosmo-shell.

Check out my AU fic for them here if you want! I haven't attempted a multi-chaptered fic in a VERY long time, lol, so hopefully this one will pan out well. First two chapters are up, but I've got more drafted out that will be posted very soon!

Writing out some key HCs about Emma-May and a rough timeline of events I constructed for my AU fic under the cut here:

Emma-May's family moved from Kansas to Tennessee when she was less than a year old, so she was raised in TN

Her mother is black while her father is white, and she has two older sisters

She became friends with Fiddleford and his siblings sometime during childhood

She attended college in New Jersey (went to a school I made up called “Gertrude University,” sort of a ref to the real university of Rutgers), majoring in botany, while Fidds ofc went to Backupsmore somewhere in the midwest 

Met Stan by chance once as a college student about a year after he was kicked out of his house and was still struggling with treasure hunting (probably around 1970 or 1971)

Married Fidds anywhere from 1973-1975 when they were in their 20s – felt pressured from family and society to get married, but they were best friends and did love each other (but the marriage was covertly strained from the beginning bc neither could get what they truly needed from each other – best friends don't necessarily work as a married couple even if some level of attraction is there along with the love)

Had Tate in the early-mid 70s, both love him to pieces and Fidds was a very devoted father up until he started unraveling 

Fidds left his family around the very late 70s to early 80s to work with Ford

Fidds abandoned the portal project in the early 80s, at that point already having started his descent into madness due to his reliance on the memory gun

Emma-May filed for divorce after becoming fed up with his bizarre behavior, lack of calls home, and a big fight they had around Christmas of the early 80s

The “homicidal pterodactyl-tron” attack happened during springtime after that Christmas, and this solidified Emma-May's decision to take Tate someplace safe (to stay with her aunt who lives in another state) while she set off to Gravity Falls herself to try to track Fiddleford down and figure out wtf happened to make him so different and dangerous 

At some point either right before or after the pterodactyl attack, Fidds created the Society of the Blind Eye and subsequently lost what remained of his mind and memories

Emma-May bumped into Stan, once again by chance, the night before he arrived in Gravity Falls upon Ford's request

[official-sonic-team]

sonic movie 3 review

okay let’s discuss the major changes they made in this movie

gerald is alive and well: instead of execution, gerald was simply imprisoned for the past 50 years. he’s 110 and they don’t explain why he’s still alive. assumingly it’s because of shadow’s quill but they don’t actually explain it. he manages to vie for freedom by completeing the eclipse canon schematics for GUN to build. but gerald is very much alive and a very large, active player in this movie

Maria’s death: a GUN soldier does not shoot her. an accident during the shut down of the project shadow causes chaos energy to explode. maria is killed in the explosion. gerald, who was in the blast and roughly the same distance as maria, inexplicably lives. they don’t explain that. but the takeaway is 1) maria dies from an accident 2) she doesn’t even die trying to save shadow. worth noting there’s also no “sayonara shadow the hedgehog”

shadows backstory: shadow was NOT created by Gerald robotnik. a meteor crashed into earth and he was inside. the scientists were researching him as a power source. he is again 1) not created by Gerald 2) NOT a cure for maria. maria probably isn’t even sick they make no reference to it gerald just likes having her around apparently

the final story: ok where to start. 1) there is no space colony ark. shadow and maria and gerald are in some sort of underground military base and that’s where every thing happened- no ark. 2) there is NO biolizard/final hazard. he’s referenced one time as a Godzilla rip off and that’s it since gerald don’t make shadow. 3) the big final issue is that gerald set the eclipse cannon to destroy earth. Sonic and shadow manage to divert the cannon fire. however, the eclipse cannon’s power core becomes destabilized and if it blows, it’ll decimate the atmosphere of earth. Sonic fell from space during them pushing the laser away from the earth so shadow is the one who pushes the eclipse cannon far away from earth while eggman stabilized it long enough for shadow to do that. the cannon blows up and eggman and shadow are presumed dead.

there is no chaos control: shadow uses it like a handful of times during the initial team sonic fight and then it’s not really used ever again. they don’t chaos control the eclipse cannon they just push it around. no fake emerald either.

the moon being destroyed: is an accident. while they’re trying to divert the laser from hitting the earth they accidentally hit the moon. it is not an intentional show of power from eggman, it’s just an accident.

i think those are maybe the BIGGEST changes. obviously no rouge either. they also treat the GUN commander as a good guy who dies Heroically.

one of the other big differences is that there’s a super sonic & shadow fight. shadow critically injured tom by accident and sonic uses the chaos emeralds to turn super to fight shadow over it. sonic eventually decides to not get his revenge, and his resolve in his own character inspires shadow to help him stop Gerald’s plan of destroying the earth.

i think I’ll just break this into pros and cons

pros:

this was definitely better paced than the previous two movies. it felt a lot more like a sonic adventure

tails and knuckles have a meaningful role to play and aren’t completely shoved aside

i think they handled shadow vs sonic fights relatively well? im still not impressed by them not entirely being seen as equals but he’s not ridiculously overpowered, sonic manages to do a good job against him.

cons:

WAY TOO DIVERGENT FROM THE GAMES. they made so many unnecessary changes. shadow’s backstory is just an entirely different character

the gerald/eggman b-plot was actually unbearable. firstly i despise jim carrey as eggman so he was also never going to be good as gerald. it’s just slapstick everytime they’re on screen together and it’s SO dissonant to the shadow & sonic storyline it’s actually unbearable to watch.

incredibly stupid how they tied eggman to the major plot they very easily could have kept him releasing shadow

they just made no effort to explain anything about gerald. why is he still alive. how did he survive when maria didn’t. like if you’re going to change up your adapation you need to explain WHY and HOW this happened.

honestly im not super impressed with sonic’s revenge plot because shadow and sonic could have easily been tied together by the fact they both lost someone (maria and longclaw). i think it probably doesn’t help that i don’t like tom. also im not usually interested in revenge when the person isn’t even killed? tom still lives and isn’t even like…. permanently injured or something from shadow. so it looses its value to me in that way. i think sonic’s inability to work with a team also doesn’t make a whole lot of sense given sonic 2 and him working with maddie and Tom before. like i understand he has isolation issues but it’s been expressed that these movies have taken place over YEARS so this doesn’t feel like an entirely reasonable arc

all in all i think this is a 5/10. if i didn’t have any knowledge of sonic it could maybe be passable. but the gerald and eggman routine is genuinely unbearable when the movies tried to hit on some deeper levels and themes.

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet) yeah we full blown yandere babes, dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 5: Endure

Crocodile talked you through what he was doing as he cleaned you. He ended up cleaning you twice, because the first time you were still out of it, but he didn’t seem irritated by it. His voice was soft, and his touch was careful, and while he easily manhandled you, there was nothing left of the beast that had plunged his tongue into you earlier.

He dried you off after, and carefully brushed your hair.

A fresh shirt of his, and he helped you roll up the sleeves, pulling you into bed with him and sleeping beside you with a gentle, almost chaste manner. Nothing happens during the night, except one of the deepest, most satisfying rests of your life.

In the morning he hands you a small box after breakfast. You look at it a little oddly, but open it to find a black leather choker, with a simple golden clasp on the back, and a twist of gold on the front.

“It’s a collar.” He explains. “One you can remove with a single hand. You’re not required to wear it, but it will act as an effective warning to anyone on the island that you are my… guest.”

Taking it out of the box you put it around your neck, surprised at how well it fits, and how easily it clasps and unclasps. You leave it on with a smile and see a smirk pull at Crocodile’s lips. He’s pleased, and you imagine that’s as close to a genuine smile as you’ll see on his face.

After breakfast, Crocodile was back to work. You didn’t know what the island full of pirates did, but it apparently created a massive amount of paperwork. As far as you’d sorted the last couple of days, Crocodile dealt with expenses. Pages and pages of numbers and accounts, and it all blurred together no matter how often you tried to watch him work.

“You can sit in my lap while I work.” He says evenly, eyes not even shifting over to you as you stand nearby watching him. “You’re so small it won’t hinder me.”

He leans back, and opens his legs, patting the space on the chair between his legs. You aren’t sure why you decide to accept the offer. You just know that the room smells nice, and he smells even better, and the space he’s offering to let you sit probably smells the best.

The leather of the chair is a smell that doesn’t linger. Instead the sweet scent of old scotch, honey, and warm sand curls around you. The steady scratch of his pen along the paper, the faint whiffs of ink that lead your nose back to his smell, it’s all a little mesmerizing.

The even pace with which he works is probably from years of practice. Not so slow he’s easily distracted, not so fast he’s burned out before the day is done.

The only breaks in his work come from the people who come into the office space at seemingly random intervals. You didn’t pay the much mind, the vulgar scents of harsh salty air and often unwashed pirate dissipated quickly. No one ever lingered long, giving their report and then leaving.

Sometimes a stern man who said nothing would come in and leave more paper, or take papers. He didn’t smell vulgar, but he seemed to pay little attention to Crocodile and even less attention to you.

The scent, the steady thrum of work, the soft lighting of the room. It was relaxing. Terribly relaxing. Some part of you was concerned you were too relaxed, but a larger part of you was happy for it. Happy for the contact. You knew the concept of touch-starved, but since you had been allowed contact with your omega attendants, you hadn’t considered it. You weren’t devoid of physical contact.

But you had been denied a kind of it. The pleasure of physical intimacy and the relaxation that came with having that euphoric feeling flood your senses.

It was addicting.

Or at the very least, you weren’t against feeling it again. Certainly not at Crocodile’s hands. Hand. His very large hand. Large, broad shoulders. Large tongue.

You can’t help squirming a little at the idea, but you force yourself to stay still. You want to stay perched in this space for as long as you can, and if you make a fuss he’s likely to make you leave. You’ve only been around him two days, but he’s disdainful of idiocy and inefficiency, that much is obvious.

“Will you help me relax?” He hums, setting down the pen.

You nod, mind a little fuzzy from the scent of him. You wanted more of it, more of him. You needed it to be stronger, but you didn’t know if saying so was rude.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” he explains, large hand cupping your breast. His finger brushes your nipple through the shirt and you gasp, shivering in his lap. “Or beg me for more.”

He rolls his finger over your sensitive flesh until your nipple is hard and you have a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds of your panting. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, the warmth rolling through you was already maddening and he’s only just begun.

Rolling the small nub between to fingers he tugs a little, a slight smile forming on his lips when you gasp, biting your lip and moaning. Your body is trembling against his chest, and he wants little more than to pin you down and fuck you until you cry, but he wants you to beg for it.

Needs you to beg for him.

The whimper that falls from your lips causes him to reach over and play with your other nipple, his forearm brushing against the tingling right side as he teases your left with his fingers.

“This… this relaxes you?” You question, the shivering pleasure skittering through your chest and heating your body.

“It does.” He answers honestly.

“To-touching me?”

He flicks his finger lightly over the tip of your nipple. “Yes.” The cool metal of his hook rests on your thigh, sliding and pulling the hem of your shirt up with it. “Everything you do when I touch you like this relaxes me.”

“It’s… it’s not relaxing for m-me.” You admit. You’re squirming and whining, but you’re not pushing him away or asking him to stop.

“It’s not?” He questions, knowing amusement in his voice as he twists your nipples, tweaking one then the other. “Should I stop?”

“No! No, ah, no, it feels good… it does.” You cry. He’s gone back to rubbing lazy light circles around each stiff peak, moving back and forth between them, never leaving one unattended long enough to soften and relax. You’re worried you’re going to stain the chair, you can feel the mess pooling between your thighs at the attention.

But it’s not enough to bring you over the edge.

He leans down, lips close to your ear. “Do you want it to feel better?”

“Buh-better?” You need a minute to pull your thoughts together. “Orgasming, you mean, like last night?” You question, body rolling in his as his hook threatens to expose you at his desk.

“You want me to make you cum, little flower?” He purrs and you feel the sound coil around your thighs and lick at your ears.

“Yes! Yuh-yes please, please.” Nodding, you mewl as you’re shifted easily, turned around and sat up on his desk.

Hand and hook grab the top and rip it open, sending buttons flying. He leaves the shirt on you otherwise, your back to the door.

“Put your feet on my thighs, and your hands on the desk.” He instructs, helping you and guiding you as you move into the position he wants. Your face is flushed, and you’re panting with need. It’s not a heat, but you’re so desperate for him to make you cum again that you’re not thinking clearly. Your ass is barely on the edge of his desk and you can see and feel sand moving up your stomach.

The small handfuls of sand brush your nipples, teasing your skin.

“Haaanngh!” You gasp. “Rough, it’s… rough,” your breath falls down your lips as the gritty sensation sends thrills into your chest.

“Painful?” He questions and you shake your head as the sand rolls and shifts over your stiff nipples. “Good.”

His thumb rubs against your slit and you wonder if he’s going to put his lips down there again. Instead he rubs your clit once before pushing your labia apart and slowly working his middle finger inside of you. It’s an easy intrusion, you were wet before he started teasing your breasts, and now you’re almost painfully needy.

The sweet stretch of his thick finger pushing inside you makes your hips buck. He moves with you so he doesn’t go too deep too fast. Once his entire finger is inside you he presses his thumb against your clit and starts rubbing slow circles.

“Haa, haaa… that’s…” You gasp. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding into his thumb and riding his finger. You’re pushing off the desk and bracing yourself against his legs, practically fucking yourself on his finger while he teases your clit and nipples.

Pleasure ripples through your muscles, curling around your lungs and leaking from your pussy so much you can hear the soft drops with each wet shift of your hips on his finger.

You don’t care about the sounds. You don’t care about his eyes on your body, but you do like that he’s watching you. It’s the high you’re chasing, the one he’s letting you reach for. It felt so good yesterday, and you can feel it coiling through you again. Building. Tightening.

A knock at the door stutters your pace for a second, but one look from Crocodile has you continuing to move. Your lips are pressed together and you’re trying to be quiet.

“If you stop, I’ll edge you until your next heat.” He warns softly. His eyes stay on you even as shame pricks tears at the corners of yours. You nod, lips still pressed tightly together.

“Come in.” He calls out and your body tenses for a second as the doors swing open.

“Please,” you whine softly, still riding his finger. His eyes shift from your body to the figure beyond.

“Don’t dawdle in the doorway.” He growls and you hear the footsteps approach.

“Please, I-.”

“Keep doing what you are doing, or I will strip you bare and take you in front of this man, do you understand?” He snaps the words and you nod your head, focusing on him, and his hand, and his sand and trying to desperately ignore the other person.

“Report.” Sir Crocodile snarls and the poor messenger stammers a few times unsuccessfully until he finds his words.

You have no idea what the report was. Even if you weren’t trying to ignore him entirely, you hadn’t really kept up with what people had come in and reported earlier. Crocodile’s sand was tugging at your nipples making you whine and moan no matter how tightly pressed you kept your lips.

“No,” you gasp softly, voice barely above a whisper. The pleasure was building and you knew you weren’t going to be able to hold out until the messenger left.

The messenger goes quiet and Crocodile shifts. His hook presses harmlessly into the middle of your back and he holds you close, bending down enough to look into your eyes as he fucks you with his finger. The lewd wet sound of his finger pumping in and out of your vagina is all you can hear, and his thumb against your clit pushes you over the edge.

You hold onto his shirt, mouth open and gaze hazy as you come undone for him, fluttering against his finger. He keeps going until you’re a panting, shivering mess, your orgasm dripping onto the floor. Pulling his finger out he licks the tip before pushing it into your mouth.

“Get out.” He says, never taking his eyes off you. You’re licking and sucking the finger in your mouth, too focused on him and the taste of your pleasure against your tongue to care about the man. You can hear the hurried click of his shoes against the floor, and the door closing behind him.

Crocodile lays you down on his desk, letting the shirt fall to either side of you. His finger is still in your mouth as he leans down and licks your body. His tongue starts against your throbbing pussy, and trails a thick, heavy line up to your breasts. You squirm beneath him, hands holding onto his arm as his teeth graze your skin.

An impossibly large bulge presses against your soaked slit as his cock strains against his pants. He pulls his finger out of your mouth and puts the curve of his hook under your chin, teeth nipping at your collarbone as you hear his belt being undone.

“Beg for it,” he growls into your skin, the sound of his zipper the last thing you hear before a hard and throbbing length lays against you.

You can’t look down, but it feels massive. Far too large for your body.

“Please,” you sob, the hazy pleasure in your eyes quickly being replaced by cold fear. “It’s… you’re too big, Sir, please.”

Even as you say it, your legs stay open and two thick fingers push inside you. The stretch is sweet, and taut, fear tightening you up, but it doesn’t hurt. The loud squelch of pleasure lets his fingers go in deep. Your cry is half pleasure, half surprise, and he looms over you, keeping your face tilted back with his hook, but still looking into your eyes.

“Beg for it.” He repeats, scissoring his fingers gently inside you. “Beg like a good girl and I’ll make sure it feels good.”

“Buh, I-.” You moan as he pushes a third finger inside, gritty sand wrapping around your legs and pushing them wide. “Please-please, I… I want you… you, inside me,” you stammer the words, hands holding onto the gold guard that attaches his hook to his wrist. “I-.”

“Say what it is you want,” he instructs.

“Your… your…” Your mind whirls through all the possible words, but the aching pleasure inside your vagina is distracting. “Thing! Your cock!” You gasp the word as his fingers push in deeper. “Please! Please p-put your kuh-cock in my… my heat, my … you’re going to split me in half.” You sob.

“I won’t.” He asserts, licking your scent glands. No one’s ever even run fingers over that part of your body. The new pleasure sends a shiver through your whole body and you can feel the rush flood over his fingers. “Relax. Tell me where you want it.” He urges you on, your hands trembling against the gold.

You mewl, blood rushing to your face, and close your eyes. “Puh… my pussy… please.” You suck in a breath as his fingers curl inside you, sending stars into your vision. “Please, please put your, your cock, in my, my pussy, please, Sir, please. I’m buh-begging for it, please, please.”

He licks at the delicious parts of your skin more, sending shivers through your body and ripping gasping cries from your lips. When you could form words you continued to beg him to take you, even though the idea of it scares you.

More than the sand that held your legs open, and more than the tongue, teeth, lips, and fingers that licked, nipped, kissed and pet you, his scent was driving you to the brink. No one’s smell had ever bothered you. None of the other omegas that cared for you, none of the rare few alphas they let watch you writhe in pain, no one else until now had a scent that sank into your skin and clawed at your brain.

“Please!” You scream. “Fuck me, I can’t take it!”

His hook moves away, and his hand is under your head, holding you and forcing you to look at him as he begins to push in to your hot, wet, needy cunt.

Crocodile’s POV

His eyes were blown wide, taking in every detail. The way your cunt shivers at his tip as he pushes in slowly. The way your mouth hangs open, unable to say anything more, your tongue slipping past your wet lips, tears dropping down your cheeks.

You’re not in your heat, but the scent of fear has turned to need and he feels like he could tear pieces of the savory smell from the very air. What fools thought your scent had been ruined? What utterly worthless people dared to tell you that you needed fixed?

He can feel your toes curl as his tip pushes in deeper, the pleasure finally over taking the sheer stretch and you breathe in. Your lungs fill and you clench against him, hands pawing at his chest, fingers flexing against his vest.

You gasp air in once, twice, unwilling to let it go, or unable to think of such an action as he stretches you to a degree that must seem impossible. If you weren’t so deliciously wet, if he hadn’t stretched you with his fingers, you’d be in incredible pain right now.

And by the seas he almost wants to break you.

“Breathe,” he commands gently and you finally breathe out, the clenching pressure turning to a fluttering shiver and he takes the moment of relaxation to push the rest of the way in. His hips snug against your thighs, the sands dissipating now that there’s no way for you to close your legs. You’re not in a heat, and he’s not in a rut, so there’s no throbbing knot at the bast of his cock, making it easier for you to take him.

“See? You took it all.” He purrs, guiding your gaze so you can see it. “You’re made for me. A perfect fit.”

Your POV

He pulls back and you watch as the thick, bumpy shaft slowly exits you. You can’t believe something that is easily the size of your own forearm can fit between your thighs. That it isn’t actually splitting you in half, tearing you apart from the inside, is beyond you to really comprehend right now.

It does, however, feel amazing, and as he pushes back in, your body shivers and jolts, as pleasure licks you from the inside. You writhe on the desk, held in place by his hand on the back of your head, and mewl as he slowly hilts again.

Only to slowly pull back out.

It’s almost painful how carefully he pushes back inside you, leaving your body desperate for something it had never had before.

“Fuh-faster, please, faster!” You cry, as he hooks your leg in the crook of his left arm, pushing it back and pinning you more securely to the desk.

He grinds into you for a second before pulling back out faster this time. The long, smooth motion is still slow, but he presses back in faster, pulling out a little more quickly. Your body is shaking, and the building pleasure is both similar to the times you’ve cum before, and very different.

His first heavy thrust in pushes the air from your lungs, it rushes past your lips and out into the air in a breathy moan. One hand is on the bell of his hook, the other clutching the forearm that disappears into your hair and holds you in place. Fear tenses your body, but it’s not fear of him, or fear of pain.

It’s that as he speeds up and falls into a faster and faster pace, the loud, wet smack of his thighs against yours, you just keep ascending. The pleasure is only building. It’s an overwhelming climb and when you look at him you know he knows.

He’s not going to show you mercy.

“Too much!” you squeak. “It’s - it’s gonna be- too much! I’ll die! I’ll die!”

“You’ll live.” He husks and the way his words drip from his lips and grab your throat makes your heart pound.

Your breath falls out of your mouth in short bursts, forced out with each heavy thrust as he starts to properly fuck you. You can’t plead with him, you can barely pull air back into your lungs as your heart pounds and your body flushes with heat.

Crocodile leans down as your pleasure finally starts to break, his body rubbing against yours and teasing your throbbing clit. You suck in a breath as the orgasm slams into you and he claims your lips, devouring your scream and your mouth as you cum hard against his cock. Your legs kick and twitch as your toes curl and flex.

The heavy kiss steals what little air you had, and you’ve not the sense to try and breathe any other way. The pleasure and lack of oxygen is a dizzying combination, and you don’t know if you’ll pass out from pleasure or lack of air. As the orgasm subsides, he breaks the kiss, leaning back as you gasp and cough to catch your breath.

 He doesn’t let up, letting go of his hold on your head, and pressing his thumb into your clit. He’s still holding your leg with his other arm, and he moves enough to carefully put your neck inside the curl of his hook.

You don’t need him to tell you not to move.

You focus on breathing as the pleasure builds again, worried each uncontrollable twitch of your legs and fingers will prove to be too much. You’re caught in the beasts jaws, completely immobilized, and any useless thrashing on your part would only lead to harm.

You carefully put your hands on the hook, steadying yourself against it as the second orgasm threatens to overtake you. You don’t want to defy him, or even appear to do so, but you can’t control your own body right now.

“Please,” you gasp. “I can’t… can’t stay still… I can’t, it’s-.”

He growls, and you see what you saw before. Eyes that seem too reptilian, and teeth that seem too sharp. A face that’s terrifying and beautiful. Protective and inevitable.

“If I hurt you,” he growls, his voice deep and grinding between his teeth like rocks. “It would be on purpose.”

He slows a little, his thumb still teasing your clit.

“Beg.” He commands.

“Please,” you let go of his hook and reach out to him. “Devour me.”

The growl that rolls in his chest, the light behind those amber gold eyes, the smile that splits his face. You let your arms fall to the desk, submitting to him completely as he resumes fucking you. The pleasure rolls through your body, but it’s not your will that moves you. Every twitch and whine pulled from you is because he commands it.

Every shiver and gasp is because he’s granted you the pleasure of it.

You’ve given in for now, drowning in the vice-like grip that forces another orgasm into your exhausted muscles, but you know. You cry out in euphoria as the pleasure drags you under, and you know. His thick cock throbs inside your hot cunt and he fills you full of his seed, and you know.

You know if you don’t escape him, he will claim every fiber of your soul when you go into heat.

What you don’t know, is if it’s what you want.

[lskamil27]

what was your inspiration to create your game? how was the creation process?

all the best, and good luck with the game! :D

OOO I CAN DEFINITELY ANSWER THIS!!

My inspiration for Weeping Rosemary was? a bit varied throughout it's creation, since I had first conceptualized it in 2018. I don't recall what led me to it, but I remember first creating Ophelia and drawing her around this time.

Weeping Rosemary was originally a webcomic series, since it was what I knew best and what was easier for me around this time, even though I always imagined it as a game in my heart. However, uni came along and made me too busy to continue it - which, to be honest, might have been a blessing in disguise LMAO

The story of Weeping Rosemary was... not well written at all. Coming out of the hands of a teen who's main consumption of media was edgy horror manga, or really outdated harem anime; the writing of it was so juvenile and cringe ( and not in a 'but free' way! )

As I got older, and my interests expanded, as well as my own growth within myself - it affected a lot of how Weeping Rosemary has changed and developed.

Now, for what inspired - a lot of it is the gothic! And not gothic as in like, the fashion & makeup, etc. ( though I still like these elements a lot ); but the books of gothic novellas! The books that mainly inspired me being:

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

And then of course, movies such as Crimson Peak, directed by Guillermo del Toro, and the series Penny Dreadful. They are other media I like as well that have inspired me, but I can't comment solidly as I only know them from an outside POV ( for now ), like Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, and Bram Stoker's Dracula, for example.

I really like sensual ( sexy? ) horror, that does a nice balance of blending in elements of sexuality with terror - and I feel that gothic novellas do a nice balance of this; which is what I plan ( and hopefully succeed ) in with Weeping Rosemary's full game. It's also why WR's horror is not, like, a loud jumpscare horror, moreso than a subtle horror.

As for the creation process - The game production had commenced around February of this year, as it was my final semester as a art student. I had to do a thesis and all I knew was that I realllllly wanted to make a game, but I was unsure of what. I decided to revise and redo Weeping Rosemary, my webcomic, because I felt confident that I could not only give it the writing it deserved, but make into the game I always imagined!

My dear friend & classmate had the program, and she gave me hers, and so I got to work! Weeping Rosemary became my thesis, and I had completed the demo game around?? April 30th?

I'll show in the images below, but I had done a lot of writing; around almost 30 pages of script writing and 5 page outline to hand to my professor so he could see my plan. And then a lot of thumbnail planning and art to make for the CG and sprites! As well as see what art style would suit the game best.

Some progress shots, to show the general gist:

[sunnystrikerz]

Mac and his scary titan privileges :]

[bakawitch]

Yandere magical cat girl with giant scissor swords, here to make a certain magical detective's life harder, it's Miss Mouser!

By the daylight, Marinette is just an ordinary girl working in a haberdashery, but at night she prowles the Parisian streets under a magical alias, hoping to attract the attention of Detective Roux by committing various nonsensical murders with nearly undecipherable clues left behind leading to her location.

[cfffrk]

[faxaway]

this curious mf always analyzing something

feat live @peskellence discord reaction:

[llitchilitchi]

me and @oduvany binged Redwall together a little while ago so I decided to doodle a DSMP/Redwall crossover feat. mice c!DTeam, fieldmouse c!Tommy and dormouse C!Punz

[peachcitt]

from: thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

start from the beginning // read the november chapter // read the most recent chapter (january)

hey listen. look me in my eyes. have you read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you want your life to be forever changed you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you are a person who is breathing and alive you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. thank you

[bibiana112]

I don't think the bad response to vengeance saga is due to it being too video game anime coded I think Jorge had to falter somewhere in this project and this ended up being it, it's not a terrible big mistake either and is still awesome to see a guy in his position who's not exactly a first timer but that has used his storytelling media in a way that's all around innovative and experimental still have nearly flawless execution of every album so far

Ideally to me, Hermes would tell Odysseus to not open this bag too soon he'd make sure the audience knows in his song that aeolous put the storm in there again but that the other gods blessed it in some way too, a passing mention of them too wanting to get at poseidon that this is the will of the gods now for Odysseus to return home, in a way that wouldn't change anything about the intensity and emotional catharsis of 600 strike cause then in the last animatic of the stream you could only convey that visually

Absolutely no hate to the 3D animator that was called in but even if it was the most professional made flawless renders and animation I've ever seen it would still break immersion too much by staying in that general style in my opinion, and doing that alongside asking us to believe poseidon was taken down by a mortal on a jet pack with no molly or outside help beyond the wind yeeting him up was just asking too much of our suspension of disbelief to go alongside that level of immersion break

[eliounora]

most of the time I'm sure I'll never find a relationship but then sometimes I get this idea in my head that maybe there is someone out there for me and it's like WHOA WHOA WHOA. where is this ounce of hope coming from. get it off me