#stitch mouse ears

[sysig]

Your tastes are skewed, you know that? (Patreon)

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

NOOOOOOOOO TINY SYLVEON LOST HER EAR BOW

[wolfies-toys]

I've been sitting on this pattern and tutorial for a while now! so time to finally share it with you! I was lamenting that the jellycat pip and sugar mice were long retired and difficult to get your hands on unless you are willing to pay much more than they retailed for each mouse, so i decided to try and eyeball a pattern and make some myself! they're not exact as i only used constructed visual references but they're close! please note that this pattern set is intended for personal use only. Rough tutorial under the cut!

This pattern is for printing onto A4 but you can check your scale with the measurements I've provided or just play around with how big or small you want to try and make them! i didn't really get any wip photos of pip mouse but it's method is largely the same with the nose being the major change, which i will detail in text in the instructions below.

for sugar mouse i would recommend using polar fleece as it will act the right way for the ears to do their squishy marshmallow looking thing. but minky should also work or other similar fabrics! for pip mouse if you can find a similar curly looking fabric with a thin backing that'll be ideal but fleece will also work well, you just wont get the furry texture, you want a fabric with a little bit of stretch to it. i however would not recommend fabrics like felt or non stretch cotton for these guys as it's likely to not take shape the same as there's no give to the fabric.

once you have printed out the pattern and cut the pieces in your fabric, you'll want to sew the ears up and turn them inside out, then put them aside for later. just leave them as is for now but here you can see i was playing around with pinching the turned through ear into shape.

Then moving on, sew the back pieces together along the spine and front of face. you then want pull the bottom open ends apart gently and place the open sides flat up against the base piece so that they're aligned, it can be good to pin this in place so it doesn't shift.

then, get your tail rope, and tie a knot at either end, placing the base of it inbetween the seam at the butt so that it'll sit in the right place, then sew the seam up directly with the tail in place, make sure you sew through the rope to secure it and make sure it doesnt shift. Sew around the bases seam leaving a hole in one side so that you can then turn your mouse through.

once turned through you will want to stuff your mouse with polyfill quite a bit so it takes shape! i like to put weighted beans in mine for extra effect, you can use dried rice or wheat too, just sew a little circle pouch a bit smaller that the mouses base with scrap fabric and fill and seal! then insert into the turning hole while you stuff. once stuffing is done you can sew the hole up with a ladder stitch. the weight from the beads will allow your mouse to sit up quite well.

next you will want to get those ears you put aside, take each corner and bring the ends together in the middle. then sew them gently together at the ends with one or two stitches in about the same spot. you want them to look 3d so dont sew the ends to the back of the ear, just end to end so they meet in the center.

Then pin the ears in place on the head

then you need to ladder stitch the ears in place while they're pinned so they dont shift around, go all the way around the outside edge of each.

now you're almost done! next they just need a face! sugar mouse only needs embroidery by way of a french knot for both the eyes and nose (you can find good video tutorials on how to sew a french knot online), pip mouse will also need a french knot for the eyes but has a separate process for it's nose. (for the pip mouses nose you will need to leave the marked nose hole open and then stitch the nose fabric to the square nose backing in line with the dotted direction on the pattern, (it should look kind of baggy when it's unstuffed) sew it up completley with no hole, then cut a tiny slit in the backing and add polyfill there before closing with a basic stitch, then you ladder stitch the nose directly to the marked nose hole)

in order to hide the embroidery anchor knots i find the best way is to start by going down through the middle of the ears and then coming back up where you want the eye to be, and then going back down and up through the ear for the finishing knot, as it creates a very easy cover for them and looks nice and clean!

then you have yourself a little buddy!

haha they're great to squish! if you use this pattern i'd love to see your results!

[shibaraki]

EXCERPT FROM EDEN ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: the further you delve into the forest the farther you find yourself from your village's good graces—subsequently pushed into the arms of a creature you were warned to stay away from.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, fantasy au, naga aizawa, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of violence (reader has bruises), reader is an outcast, bathing together, nesting, monsterfucking, mating bites (not A/B/O), aphrodisiac venom (so no prep needed), dubcon (for the venom) but v enthusiastic consent, non human genitalia (hemipenes), grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, creampie, aizawa carries reader (he is big n strong)

wc: 7.3K

There are monsters in the night.

Adults would spin tales about them when you were young. You were warned not to go near the forest. To never stray from the path. If a voice calls to you, do not answer. Look at your feet and cover your ears. Thoughts filled with blood-steeped, ugly stories of such creatures: half man half serpent taller than an ogre swallowing impious people up whole. Naga, the true tempter, the harbinger of misfortune.

Children spent idle time feigning courage and taunting the so-called beasts in spite of it; playing at the treeline, skittering over the border and rushing back with a surge of adrenaline, as if the creature had been right there awaiting a meal. But above all they liked to frighten you, the runt of the litter. Snakes like to eat mice, they would jeer. Little mouse they would call you. Perfect bait.

It had been dewy that fateful afternoon. You were chased deep into the unknown. Petichor hung thick around the trees after a sun shower. Summer was drawing to a close. Shorter days, darker mornings. Your elders would call the weather ‘temperamental��� and you liked that. As though the Gods were children clinging onto those last dregs of heat, unwilling to let go.

Grass flattened wet under your bare feet, you ran from sharp stones and sharper words. Ran until the only voice left in your head was your own. Lungs tight and spasming for oxygen. You felt eyes on you the moment foliage snapped under another tentative step—but the figure before you did not move. He remained on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head, body stretched long and bare across the narrow clearing to bathe in the sunspot. Lower, right at the base of his spine, pale skin faded seamlessly into black scales that made up the thick, sinuous tail of a snake.

Your knees stung where small open wounds touched the air. A gentle breeze flowed in through the underbrush, took your slight apprehension and whisked it into the thinning redwood canopy. As a child you simply couldn’t connect something so non threatening and lazy to the monsters of old.

You approached the naga with slow, telegraphed movements. Thin pupils drenched in vermillion glow observed behind a half lidded stare. Closer then, trembling hands tugged and stretched the hem of your shirt, popping the old stitching. “Hello,” you said, voice small even to your own ears. “I—I’m not a mouse. Just so you know”.

Something flickered in his expression; a stifled inhale, a brief shift, the naga sighed. It rolled through his body, belly turning toward the sky. Sunlight reflected on the exposed underside and shimmered iridescent, stealing your breath. “That much is obvious,” he replied tiredly.

“Then, you won’t eat me?” before he had the chance to answer, you’d already been emboldened. You tottered toward him with a surge of energy and sureness. “Thank you. Can we be friends?”

“No,” he muttered, retreating into his coils.

A familiar sensation stung behind your eyes and your bottom lip trembled fiercely. It built up in your body and collapsed. Loneliness, shame, the incessant, throbbing ache in your limbs after sprinting so far. You tried again, a quiet warble. “Please?”

But a stern voice rumbled from the layers of muscle, uninterested in your swelling emotions. “Go away kid,” the naga demanded. “It’s not safe out here”.

“M’not a kid,” then you kicked the dirt in a burst of wounded anger. While bigger than you, this naga wasn’t even close to towering an oni, so you bluffed petulantly, “You’re a kid too”.

“While that may be true I am still older than you,” came the disgruntled remark. Then, faster than you could register, an arm shot out from between the dark coils and took you by the throat.

Reflexively, you gripped the naga’s wrist with both hands. But you didn’t flinch. Rather than fight his hold you waited, rabbit-footed heart beating in your chest. Violence was nothing new to a runt like you. The hand slid up to your chin and forced you to keep his gaze. His eyes flickered strangely there in the darkness. Red like fresh blood. The ire in them faltered at your spiritless reaction.

“Annoying human. Your lack of instinct will get you killed,” the creature stated. You said nothing. He continued, “You’re far from home. Follow the river to your settlement. Do not come back here”.

You recall how abruptly your senses sharpened at his mention and latched onto the distant sound of running water. He freed you from his grip, pale limb slinking back into the recesses of his twisted tail. He reminded you of a snail receding into its shell. Boring, lazy and slow moving. Naga were not so frightening, you concluded.

You returned with reluctance, following the riverbank until the end of your new world where it broke into a wishbone shape and wound around the village. Adults frowned at the dry mud caking your feet, ankles and calves. Their calloused fingers squeezed roughly around your wrists and dragged you to the springs to scrub you raw.

“Where on earth have you been?” one asked, mouth set in a frown. Another held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressed into your collarbone with intention to bruise. “Your stupidity is going to curse us all,” they shook you in place and their strength only grew the more you fought. “Do not provoke the naga. Understand?”

Faces twisted in disappointment haunted you all through the night. Eyes sore and puffy. Tears soaked into your shirt; you could taste them in the back of your throat. Oval-shaped bruises adorned your collar yet your throat and your jaw remained unblemished, if not a little tender. You were hurt, but not by the one you were warned against.

Your second excursion into the forest to see the naga was of your own volition. He was not where you first met him but nearby, curled up beneath an ancient tree, right where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. The wind billowed. Branches swayed and bent their spindly fingers, pointed at you, almost accusingly.

He appeared to be sleeping. Again. Arms folded atop his tail, chin rested on the cradle it made. Perhaps there was something wrong with you—as the elders often stated—but you were not entirely stupid. You kept your hands to yourself, letting only your eyes wander as you crept close enough to see the soft curve of his jaw, the sloped nose, the youthful cheeks.

Long dark hair draped loosely over pale shoulders, expression serene while he rested. You thought he was lovely. Not at all beastly. Right down to the dip of his stomach, where skin vanished into bony hips and an obsidian tail.

A guttural hum startled you where you stood. Unmoving, the naga murmured, “Do you have a death wish?”

That voice untied every knot in your body. “N—no,” you held strong. “I told you, I want to be friends”.

“And I told you that’s not happening”.

When he peeked at you through dark curtains into those dim eyes there came a softness, as though atoning for his harsh words. Under that gaze your stomach started to rumble. “You’re hungry,” you shrunk, palms pressed flat as though to snuff out the sound. “Humans need to eat multiple times a day, do they not?”

“…Sometimes,” your agreement was barely a mumble. “If there is enough for me”.

The naga scrutinised you and your answer, displeased by it. After a long silence he unravelled and asked, “Do you want food?”

Hope filled you from root to stem. You bloomed. Stretched for the open sky like a flower seeking sun, bouncing on the tips of your toes. “Food?” you echoed excitedly. You trailed after him and nearly tripped in your haste. He caught you with the end of his tail and sighed. It coiled tightly around your middle and inched you along with him.

Having glanced surreptitiously in his direction, your warm human hand swept across the cool dark scales. They were glossy and smooth, unlike anything you’d ever felt. As he moved you sensed the power in his limb.

“What do naga eat?”

“Anything. Fish, birds, insects,” he told you. The coil around your waist flexed as if to check you were there. Hearing your trepidation his tone lilted as he added, “But what you’re really asking is if I eat humans, aren’t you?”

You rubbed where you thought his belly might be and pondered aloud, “Would you, if they deserved it?”

He scowled over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. “What kind of a question is that, kid?”

You wilted at the sharp verbiage, feeling scolded, though unable to understand his offense. After all, that is exactly what the villagers would say of you if ever he decided to.

That only seemed to fuel his frustration. You worried in the face of it, for a weak moment. Warnings you’ve clamoured in your conscience, soon chased by immediate guilt. Your new friend had offered kindness and there you were, assuming the worst of him.

Sensing your turmoil the naga cautiously brought his hand to your head. Front to back, pausing at a vulnerable, unmarked nape. He attempted to pet you. Wide eyed, you stared ahead until every leaf in the grove coalesced into a green blur. His touch had been deliberate, soft and soothing despite the tension set in his face.

Laid in the palm of his other hand was a pile of plum red berries. The coils relaxed to recline you into a comfortable position and wordlessly, you shared the small treat together. Teeth glinted sharp in the daylight, made to rend flesh from bone. They sank tender into thin skin until it burst and he hummed at the flavour enjoying a simple pleasure like any human boy would.

Their fruity tang clung to your tongue. You took your fill and more. “Thank you…” your voice lost strength, no name to fill the blanks.

“Aizawa,” he muttered. A rough swipe of his thumb across your lips wiped away the citrus. “It’s Aizawa Shouta. And don’t speak with your mouth full”.

The sky darkened on the eventide. Aizawa bid you a flippant farewell, your name at home in his mouth, and you erred on caution, changing course to wash the dirt and foliage from your body. Loud was the pounding of your heart against your ribs, a frantic beat. But nobody batted an eye at your presence, nor the absence of it.

Those short excursions continued for some time. Be it a stroke of boredom, or loneliness, you would find yourself treading back through the banks, to Aizawa’s territory. There was never a discernible path leading to him. Your legs would simply take you there, heart magnetised like the arrow of a compass. Whilst the village raised you with harsh, inattentive hands, he became your North. Years passed together and eyes turned as your insatiable curiosity grew, along with your carelessness.

And with that carelessness came consequences.

Fate is a funny thing. You are sprinting through the forest, feet pounding against the dirt alongside the ghost of your childhood self. The enraged shouts have long since tapered into silence yet you can’t allow yourself to slow. Your limbs ache, a bone deep permafrost, fatigued muscles clenching.

They’d followed you yesterday. Unexpected, given how deliberately people avoided the village border. Everything collapsed in one fell swoop. A single misstep and your life was upturned. You heard their plans to confine you in the shrine and knew—you’d never be able to see Shouta again.

Lost in your muddied stream of consciousness your foot is caught in a bundle of jagged roots. Mossy fingers coil around your ankle. You stumble, taking impact to the knees. The sting is muted as it knocks the air from your burning lungs.

You gasp, a wet and raspy breath; an apocalyptic spring fills your chest. The trees are in bloom. High above the blossoms are pale pink, like branches covered in snow. Ash flowers fell slowly to coat the ground. They get in your hair, your clothes and your eyes.

Shouta finds you there. He has always had the uncanny ability to sense you in his territory, as though the forest were an extension of himself. Your neck strains to lift your head, looking through lashes to see his silhouette. Red eyes flash in the distance, and in a mere blink he is at your side.

“Shouta—”

A low, guttural sound reverberates in the back of his throat. You’re scooped into his embrace. He is gentle with you, always aware of the difference in size and strength, and your heart beats harder for it. “You’re early,” he says. “What happened?”

You exhale through the fresh tenderness searing, “They know”.

Shadows shift above you. A curtain of hair hangs in your periphery. Shouta sinks until your eyes are level. Big. He hit a frightening growth spurt after his juvenile shed. A broad chest, shoulders corded with muscle, his long tail heavy enough to disturb the natural topography of the forest floor. Uneven scars littered across his skin from territorial disputes that you were not privy to. The most recent curves along his right cheekbone, fresh and pink.

Your gaze lingered as you took in his expression. Mouth downturned in obvious discontent but eyes dark, pensive. Beautiful even when he is doing nothing at all.

Shouta’s irises flickered in the softening light of the afternoon sun. Fingers drumming on lacquer scales. “They know?” he repeats. Irritation coated the words, as it often did when speaking of your village. “They should have realised years ago”.

Like him, you had shed your own urgent adolescence. The world became smaller and you preferred it that way. It spun around Shouta as if he were your own axis. When you were with him there was something much bigger than childlike wonder.

“That’s different. I wasn’t anything important. But now I’ve… been slacking on my duties to see you,” embarrassed, you tear up the thinning grass, seated at the foot of his coils. “I’m old enough to be of use, so my absence is noticeable,”

“You were a child. Running off God knows where. You’re lucky an orc didn’t decide to pick his teeth with you,” the snap in his voice almost hurt, but there was no bite nor true anger aimed at you. You’ve had these arguments before.

“I’m lucky because I had you to protect me,” you amended gently, a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth. It took a while for you to realise that he tailed you home each time you visited, just to be sure. His scales shift at your back, carrying the praise through his body. “I know it bothers you, Shouta, but this is just how things are. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on”.

“This is not about you being careful,” Shouta mutters, though you get the sense he has no energy to truly argue. You hesitate in the brief silence. He takes you by the wrist, not the hand, and you pout about it.

He encourages you to come. You tread through the thick, clammy air as the sun beats down on your shoulders. Shouta takes you up the valley. Where the treeline ends the mouth of the river funnels south, surface glittering softly as the currents part around a large rock in the centre; top smoothed down flat for sunning. You watched while he sunk into the water, tail disappearing behind him as it submerged and disturbed the silt.

“Come on,” he coaxes begrudgingly. You dither by the edge, picking at your sleeve.

“I can’t get my clothes wet”.

Shouta reaches the rock, bracing an arm against it. Draped in open sunlight he turns to level you with a flat look. “Then take them off. Don’t bother giving excuses. I already know you’re wounded, I can smell it”.

Shit. You wince, resting a hand over the marks across your ribs and hip. You were so sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

Anticipation churned in your stomach. You’ve never been nude in front of him before—though not for lack of wanting, and you suppose he himself has always been naked in human terms. You swallow down trepidation and lift your shirt over your head, gaze resolutely pointed away from the river, which rippled with every minute shift Shouta’s tail.

The currents are a cool caress against your body as you step into the river, soothing the bruises. Tentative, you wade further, arms folded over your breasts for some semblance of modesty. Once you’re standing in waist high water something hard, smooth—Shouta’s tail wraps around you and pulls you close.

“Deep water,” he mutters softly. You’re pressed skin to skin. His throat bobs and he looks away. “Can’t have you drowning”.

“Right,” you say, left breathless by the proximity. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Sinew and muscle expands. Rigid scales dotted along his navel press against your abdomen as he sprawled around the sunning rock. “Thank you”.

He hums in lieu of a response. Small waves lap up your spine as he adjusts his grip, holding you with one arm around your lower back. Shouta traces his thumb over the large mark on your pelvis, the claw tip catching. “You said they found out. So this is the result?”

You grimace weakly at the subject. It was naïve to hope he would let it go. “It’s my fault. I was careless,” you tried, slumped in his embrace as though filled with wet sand. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand. I should’ve tried to explain years ago—”

“You and your misplaced guilt,” Shouta’s jaw ticks. He inhales deeply, his next words quieter on a long exhale. “Stop rationalising their mistreatment. They’re stuck in their ways”.

“Maybe. But I…”

The truth was that an ugly part of you had never wanted them to change for the better. You wanted Shouta to yourself for as long as he’s willing and their ignorance made it so. Fear kept them away. But it also stoked their anger.

“I can’t help but wonder why they're so against it,” you tuck your chin and smile despite the lump lodged in your throat, suddenly feeling naked in all manner of ways. “They treat me like a curse. And I know it’s natural to fear what you don’t understand, but if they just knew you—!”

“Humans should fear my kind,” Shouta interrupts, a bite to his tone. Your eyes dipped low, and you traced your fingers over the intricate mosaic of scales across his clavicle to avoid his sharp gaze. A short moment passes. “Your association with me doesn’t make you a harbinger of ill omen,” he murmurs, sweeping his hand along the planes of your back in silent apology. “If anything you’ve been protecting them from one”.

You lift your head. His pupils dilate, soften. “I have?”

A broad palm wraps around the nape of your neck, the other resting over your bruised hip. Shouta’s thumb brushes over your pulse. “If not for your insistence and naïve altruism I would have killed them for neglecting you,” Shouta admitted, bringing you tighter to his front. You’re taken deeper, until your feet no longer reach the riverbed and the cold no longer bites.

“When will you prioritise yourself?” he continues. “I’m starting to think you would pull out your own teeth if it could guarantee you’d never hurt anyone”.

You smile, a little dazed by how favourably he regarded you. His skin is cool under your fingertips. “That’s not quite true,” you trace the scar beneath his eye and he slows, turning into your palm. The pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. There you find those monstrous teeth, large and sharp behind his lips. The touch feels momentous, like something only lovers do. “And either way, I’d still have yours to protect me”.

Shouta rumbles at that. The vibrations loosen up the tension in your chest and satisfaction gathers warm in your belly. “Lean back,” he murmurs. Anticipation swoops through your belly as you recline in his arms, cradling you above the ripples to wash your body with his own hands.

“This water has healing properties. Further down the mountain the river splits and forms a hot spring,” Shouta’s claw-tipped fingers brush your nipple, pert under his attention. Your breath hitches. He pays it no mind, palm sliding over each breast and along your shoulders, wiping down the sweat and dirt. The pressure remains delicate around your waist, careful not to agitate the bruises.

Shouta kneads the soft parts of your body even after the filth is gone. You hum, allowing yourself to enjoy his attention. Everything feels heavier. Gravity bears hard on your arms as they lift to brush the wet hair back from his face and you marvel at how his eyelids flutter closed, one after the other. You comb through his roots, scratching lightly over his scalp before working loose the knots at the ends.

Something is beginning to swell beneath you but a quiet contentment overwhelms the reciprocal arousal stirring in your gut. Watching the tension in his face trickle away, eyes falling closed so dark lashes fan over pale cheeks. Your fingertips trace along the smattering of scales by his temple and notice a new vivid sheen to them.

“You look brighter,” you murmur, curious.

Awareness flies over his features. You almost miss it given how swiftly he buries it, taking on that familiar monotonous air. After years spent detailing the subtleties in every fleeting expression and spoken word you’ve become quite accustomed to Shouta concealing his embarrassment.

Turning away from your prying eyes, the line of his jaw becomes sharper as he swallows. “It’ll soon be my seasonal rut,” he tells you, feigning indifference. “My scales are more vibrant for the purpose of attracting a mate”.

“A mate?” you echo uselessly. Dread churns in the pit of your stomach. You knew well what having a ‘mate’ entailed. A white hot sensation prickles at your nape that not even the cool water can quell. In your naivety—and perhaps, selfishness—you’d never considered that he might find somebody else. Somebody suitable. “That’s… really great, Shouta. But who? I thought you chased off the last bed of naga that passed through?”

At this, a frown etched into Shouta’s brow. “You’re making a few unnecessary leaps in that head of yours,” he mutters. “At what point did I say my mate needed to be a naga?”

There’s something in his voice that gives weight to what he’s doing. It echoes an unspoken proposition. Unbidden from the recesses of your mind rose the wishful thoughts you’d imagined so often they were practically dogeared. A shiver trickled down your spine, caught in a gauzy yet comfortable silence as Shouta continued to clean your body.

The tip of his tongue peeks out to taste the air once he’s done. You fruitlessly will your body to temper its desire, to feign some semblance of control as you lift your head, no longer denying him the answer written plainly on your face.

“…I want that,” you confess, picking up the thread he left. You rub across his shoulders and bring your palms together in the middle of his chest, folded over his heart. “I can't go back. Take me home with you. Keep me”.

Shouta looks surprised—a microexpression, if anything; imperceptible to anyone but you—as though he hadn't expected you to accept. You’re warmed by the idea that he might’ve been hoping for more without expectation.

That’s all you’ve ever known, failed expectations.

A beat passes. You think he might be giving you a grace period—allowing time for a regret that never comes. When he realises you’ve no intention to take it back he sucks a hiss through his teeth, and you’re close enough to see his thin pupils spill into his irises until they’re inky black.

The river breaks around you, water foaming at the surface as Shouta unwittingly guides your knotted bodies to the shore. “I see you’re still as reckless as you were when we were children,” he says, sounding hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to”.

“I’m saying yes to you, Shouta,” your voice strains, desperation creeping in when you feel his arms loosen and your feet brush the wet bank. “Teach me what I don’t know because I hate leaving. I hate missing you”.

The rough sensation of Shouta’s scales against your inner thighs rippled through your body, core tightening as he retained his grip around your waist. “This is not a conversation we’re having in the open,” he takes you both out of the water and you shy away from the cool air.

He bends over to collect your clothes and drapes them in your naked lap. You clutch the fabric close, “Where are we going?”

“To my den. No questions until then”.

The journey to Shouta’s den is long, deliberately so. Caught in his coils you go, without trepidation—like a willing little mouse, your mind whispers. Only on the third cycle do you realise that he is purposefully traveling in circles to cover his tracks. Aside from the occasional birdsong and cicada you don’t hear anything for miles. It’s so peaceful that you forget that a world exists outside of this vast, sprawling forest.

In time he reaches the den. The sky has darkened to an early dawn, the gloaming orange light casting shadows over Shouta’s face as he leans over you to shield you from the overgrowth to get to the entrance.

Arched tall and gaping, the bumpy outer walls of the cave are fissured with fingerlings of old tree roots. Shrouded in darkness, Shouta slithers around the stalagmites protruding from the floor with ease. Inside the air is thick, humid as he carries you deeper, metres further down, refusing to release you from his coils.

Meandering into a broader section, Shouta spreads out easily in the cavern. You blink around as your vision adjusts and notice narrow streams of light threading through the stalactites hung on the ceiling. Twinkling are various trinkets, tied around and dangling from the spikes. Jewels, chainmail, rusted daggers, cutlery.

When you were a young you’d spend sleepless nights imagining where Shouta lived, conjuring possibilities only a child could. Despite that curiosity you never asked to see his home—you knew, innately, as an avid observer of creatures big and small, that it would be an invasion of his privacy. But of everything you imagined it had been nothing like this.

There’s a wide alcove at the back of the cavern, housing what appears to be a nest near an extinguished fire pit, still carrying the faint scent of smoke. Shouta lowers you into it and slinks away for a moment to discard your clothes. Warmth engulfs you, insulated in the structure. There are branches both large and small intricately woven and padded with an assortment of pelts, lichen and moss. Most notable is the snakeskin used to hold together the joints of the nest.

You pinch a piece delicately between your thumb and forefinger. It’s thick, smoother than expected. “Is this yours?”

Though far off his voice reaches your ears, “Is that your first question?”

Shouta returns holding what looks to be a blanket. His tail drags behind him. The sound ripples around the space. When shaken out and draped over your bare lower half you discover that the blanket is actually the rest of his shed. It’s beautiful, inexplicably silky while being heavy and tough.

You tug the snakeskin higher up your body and note how fervently he tracks the movement. “Yes, it’s mine. It strengthens the nest,” Shouta explains, beginning a languorous dance circling the nest as though he were adding himself to it. Your attention does not stray as his tail coils upon itself, lap after lap until you’re entirely surrounded.

“You’ve been planning this,” you comment. How long had it taken for him to craft it? Did he imagine what you’d think? “It’s beautiful”.

Pleased with the height, Shouta’s upper body slinks down into the centre where you wait. Home. Not simply a place but an extension of his body, like the forest. You’re directly in the heart. A place that you alone have been allowed to see.

Your mind drifts to the feckless creatures and travelers who’ve wandered this way only to be killed. But rather than fear, or sorrow, a distinctive emotion welled up inside you. You felt special.

“It’s mainly instinct. Not much planning,” he says.

You reach to cup his cold face in your hands. Cheeks flush, like all the blood in him had rushed to the surface to greet you. He rumbles as your thumb traces an arc along his newest scar, tucking his chin to nuzzle into your palm. It’s cute, though you wouldn’t dare say that.

A content hum vibrates behind his ribs, “You’re so warm”. Then you feel the tentative press of lips and of fangs underneath. He kisses your heartline. You falter at the uncharacteristic show of affection, clutching his snakeskin tighter. His dark gaze falls to your partially covered chest. Low and supple he asks, “Do you know what it means to wear a naga skin?”

You slowly shake your head.

“Naga gift their sheds to be used in nests or as armour for their mates,” propped onto his arm Shouta presses closer, forcing your thighs to bracket the thick of his tail. “It’s viewed as a public claim,” he stops short a hair's breadth from your wanting mouth, sharing a shallow inhale.

Filled with intrepid awe, your fingertips walk the slope of his throat, hands laying flat to his chest. A hummingbird’s wing, a pulse belying his nerves. You reach for your voice, “Does this make me yours?”

Shouta blinks, pupils dilating. The distant trickle of water dripping from the stalactites echoes throughout the cavern. You feel his stomach clench where your touch slips lower, “Are you sure you want to be?”

“Since you fed me those berries in the east valley”.

“You were a child,” Shouta huffs, doing a poor job at appearing unaffected.

“Children sometimes imagine falling in love, you know,” a small, sad smile comes unbidden to your lips. “I never had anyone to play pretend with,” you tell him softly, meeting his eyes. “You always took care of me. Back then I wondered if that’s what it’d be like to have a husband when I came of age”.

With a furrow in his brow, Shouta cradles your jaw. He tucks his thumb against the corner of your downturned mouth, “A husband?”

“The human equivalent of a mate. A husband or wife,” you say. “Marriage is a promise to be together for the rest of your lives”.

“And you want that. The rest of your life,” Shouta’s words are hoarse, they sound thick in his throat. He brings your foreheads together, almost reverential, and dark tendrils of hair fall around you. “With me?”

You swallow. “Yes. I want…”

Your wandering hand stills at his navel, right in the bend where skin turned to scale. You’re reminded that he isn’t a human man. What you’ve been taught about sex and the parts that go along with the act—that knowledge is mostly worthless here.

Curious, you palm the growing bump where a cock would be, index finger tracing the thin slit along the middle, teasing him as you would tease yourself. Shouta grabs your wrist, arm braced above your head to rock into the touch, a frisson of iridescence rippling through his scales.

The airy groan in his throat quells your anxiety and feeds your longing. Chin tilted, your mouths aligned, a petal-soft brush that shakes him from his reverie and draws him back. You complain and curl your arms around his neck, missing him. He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t retreat any further.

“Careful,” he lifts his upper lip and pushes the tip of his tongue to his left fang. A pinprick of his blood wells there. “You’ll catch yourself”.

“Are you venomous?” and you pout, noticing the mirth flickering across his face. “What?”

“Not in the way you’re imagining. Pay attention,” he answers, and bends to tuck his nose into the hollow of your throat. His jaw unhinges, tasting you with a deep inhale. Oh. Your pulse rockets when he drags his fangs there in suggestion of a bite—breath held as they barely break skin and an abrupt heat tingles around the scratch.

“Wh—what does it do?” you gasp in wonder, poking the blooming mark as Shouta hums, descending to drag his lips over the peaks of your breasts.

“Humans call it a lot of things. An aphrodisiac, drug, relaxant,” he says. Each word is a kiss left everywhere but the one place you need it. Blood rushes to your ears. “A mating bite eases the burden. Makes sure your body ready for me,” you watch on with bated breath while he reaches lower, and jolt, ensnared in his half lidded gaze as he lightly drags his knuckles through your wet folds. His thumb finds your clit, massaging a few light circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch, and Shouta grins at your soft whine, “Though you’re already doing that beautifully on your own”.

Desperate, you grapple at his shoulders. He rises with an indulgent smile and you lean to kiss him. A clumsy thing, open mouthed and needy, receding enough to make room for protest before kissing him again, and again, nipping the seam of his lips. Hair stands on end as the world suddenly tips on its axis and your positions are reversed.

You’ve no chance to mourn the loss. Shouta lay on his back. He sinks into the nest and draws your knee over his hip. A shiver licks up your spine as you sit low on his navel, entirely bare and wet; with him being so sensitive to his surroundings there’s no doubt he can feel the beat of desire between your thighs.

The flesh spills between his fingers as Shouta squeezes your waist. “I can feel you throbbing,” he murmurs. His own heat is swelling between you. Sticky arousal smeared on your inner thighs. Shouta’s vent pulses in time with his heart—and yours. You exhale a shaky breath, relieved and exhilarated that he wants you too. The growing pressure pushes against your clit and your hips twitch, a fleeting stutter to relieve the ache.

Shouta groans. Large hands find purchase at your hips, appreciating how your body yields to his touch, and encourages you to move. “Oh,” comes a soft gasp, feeling his swollen slit flower open beneath your cunt, leaking arousal. The friction, or lack thereof, is incredible, and you repeat the motion, seeking it again.

It’s slick where your bodies meet. The obscene wet sound of you rocking together leaves you dazed. Shouta’s lower half shifts as arousal zips through him and the nest creaks. “Fuck, feels good. More,” you demand breathlessly. Something else nudges against your clit with every pass, two heads budding from the vent, and your eyes screw shut—

Two?

A groan falls from Shouta’s mouth and your frantic realisation dissolves. You can hardly think. He licks the curve of your throat, nuzzling the barely-there-mark he’d left. Infinitesimal and yet it hasn’t stopped throbbing. An ache spreads through your hips, his hands rutting you against the swell with a desperate rhythm.

“Shouta,” you say, overwhelmed. “Do it. Bite me, fuck me, please. Please. I want—I want to—!”

The sharp pain is dulled so quickly you’re not sure it was ever there. Shouta sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck, a hand firm at your nape to keep you still. Vision blurred, your mouth drops open around a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you—the venom close behind, forcing your seized muscles pliant and stoking your arousal until it’s burning from the inside out.

Shouta releases your neck and trails his fingertips along the length of your back. You whine, a helpless and confused little sound, when the heat allays under his affections. Your thighs are trembling, slipping down his hips as you use the last of your inertia to curl into his chest.

He cradles your limp form amongst his coils, creating a protective barrier around you in such a vulnerable state. “I have you,” he says, the shaky baritone of his voice coaxing your eyes open. Half-cognisant, not quite in and not quite outside of yourself.

“…It’s too much,” you pant.

“I know,” Shouta kisses your temple, paving his way to the corner of your mouth, “You’re doing so well”.

You turn lazily into the kiss. Your thighs have fallen open further, and you subconsciously raise yourself up to better the angle. The blunt tip of one of his cocks nudges through your folds and a white hot sensation prickles over your skull. Shouta lowers you onto his cock with care, muscles corded tight in obvious restraint, wanting to ease you into the stretch. He’s thicker than a human, subtle soft ridges lining the sides, caressing you in places your fingers could never reach.

You begin to tremble and the air is pushed from your lungs with a gasping sob as he splits you open. The sensation is hard to decipher through the haze. Your ears ring, the sound high and metallic. It isn’t numbing—no, you can feel everything, every minute shift, pulse and ridge. It’s an intrusive, satisfying ache, an insurmountable pressure. There’s no part of you he isn’t touching. You consider, the thought vague and half-formed, that when Shouta bit you something in your brain must’ve rewired itself. Synapses crossed, addled by venom, convincing you of pleasure where there would otherwise be pain.

Your small world grows ever smaller. Shouta is all encompassing. His dark hair is tickling your face, smooth scales rippling under your cheek. He’s saying something—he must be, because his mouth is moving above you, murmuring what sounds like sweet incantations of your name.

An immaculate red glow pools into his irises as they roll skyward, brow furrowed in concentration. His second cock drools across his belly, where it lay trapped by your bodies. The slick underside of his cock wet and pulsing against your clit, fully sheathed.

“Do you have any idea how you feel—fuck,” Shouta’s jaw clenched as his cock recedes, leaving only the tip kissing your folds, before he fucks into you again. A shudder quakes through his coils. They constrict around the nest and Shouta pins you to his chest, thick arms held firm around your shoulders and back, tightening with every squirm. “Mine. Knew it had to be you,” came his hushed babbles, composure finally fraying at the seams.

With the surety that you’re not in pain, his pace grows, his rhythm earnest. Laved in shared arousal, you’re so wet every ingress is indelibly easy. To call yourself helpless would be to imply that you wanted to escape. You surrender to the unending, overbearing rapture, sprawled over your Shouta’s lap like a pile of loose skeins with a drunken smile. Chest heaving in exertion despite doing so little. The atmosphere is so oppressively humid that it’s hard to catch your breath.

It feels like he’s carving out something irreplaceable inside of you. A space that only he can fill, a craving only he can sate. Your hips stutter uselessly, grinding your clit against his other cock. Rather than building to a climax it feels as if you’ve toppled into one that never ends, only ebbs and flows without ever ceasing.

Shouta pulls you impossibly closer, so close your could feel the long stretch of his torso, every raised scar and curve. He nudges your temple until your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you’re looking at him. “Soft. You’re so—shit. You’re so soft. Human,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, short tendrils of hair sticking to skin. You flutter around the flared head of his cock as it pulls out, “Look. I can feel you sucking me back in. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You follow his gaze, watching the dark, inhuman length of his cock disappear into your folds again and again, strings of moisture stretching between you. “Shouta,” his name feels thick in your mouth. You blink, air cool against your wet cheeks. “I need—I need you to—”

Nodding deliriously, his bruising grasp on you shifts. Shouta fucks into you feverishly, with an intensity that you fear might engulf you.“Fuck—!” a tremor quakes through his coils. Something audibly snaps in the nest. Shouta’s hips stutter, a long, breathy moan pulled loose deep in his chest, drawn out as a wet, sticky heat fills you—so much that it leaks between your thighs—and the immediate relief of his release has you clawing crescent moons into his shoulders.

Tipping over the crest, a final wave crashes over you. The convulsions force your eyes shut, so tight that pinpricks of light pierce the solid darkness, transforming into a kaleidoscope of vivid colour. The world falls away for a fleeting moment and you only feel yourself clamping around his cock, soaking his lap.

You resurface slowly, as does the sensation returning to your limbs. Venom remedied, easing in your system. You inhale, wince at the tenderness making space beside the contentment in your body, and Shouta runs a smoothing hand down your spine. It sweeps back up to your nape to gently trace the bite on your neck. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

You press a kiss to his collar, another under his jaw, “I’m sore and sticky. I’ve never orgasmed that hard in my life. But you didn’t hurt me”. Shouta purrs at that. It’s a noise you’ve only ever heard in the golden hour, when he’s sunning himself. Pure contentment.

You cup his cheek and gently turn him to face you. You kiss him, mouth bruised, fangs peeking through parted lips. Dark eyes soften. He’s no longer inside of you, noted with a weak clench, and his second cock remains half hard between your stomachs. Free to move, you wiggle in his embrace until it lines up, the suggestion kindling to the now twinging emptiness.

Shouta huffs, a loving admonishment, and carefully guides his second cock inside you. You hiss at the sensitivity but it isn’t unpleasant. Satisfaction balloons in your chest and you curl up against him with a pleased hum; no urgency, together for the sake of closeness.

“I’ll feed you and help you wash after I’ve calmed down,” he says. There’s no sign of discomfort or regret in his voice as he stares toward the mouth of the cave. Just a primal need to be alert, to stay vigilant for his mate. “I’ll be a little overbearing for the rest of the night. Be patient with me”.

Your gaze too lingers at the maw, recalling those blood-steeped, ugly stories of monstrous creatures. Indeed there are monsters in the night. But none of them are here.

A wide smile pulls at your lips, “We’ve got all the time in the world”.

[sematarygirls]

🍃 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── getting high and making out with barry

   you huffed, making your way back to your bedroom as loud music pounded in your ears and practically shook the floor underneath your feet. you had tried to get your brother to turn it down at least a little, but he was drunk and probably high out of his mind—as he usually was when he threw these stupid parties—so your words had gotten you nowhere.

you should've known you wouldn't get a moment's peace when your parents announced their anniversary trip, leaving you and your brother in your big house on figure eight all alone for a week.

where your brother was always throwing or attending some big blowout, trying to impress his asshole friends and any girls that would look in his direction, you much preferred solitude. you liked spending your time in your room alone, bingewatching cheesy romcoms, gruesome horror movies, and any and all procedural dramas you could get your hands on.

even you could admit that it was a little pathetic, living life as a glorified recluse that had never even had her first kiss at the ripe age of eighteen, but sometimes, you preferred it that way. though, sometimes, when you were really getting into your own head, you found yourself lonely and craving adventure—not that you would ever go out and seek it.

"oh," a noise of surprise fell from your lips, your body reacting with a small jolt as you re-entered your room and saw a boy sporting a buzzcut, probably a few years older than you, smoking a joint on your bed.

The boy took a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly as his deep brown eyes slowly raked over your figure, a smirk playing on his lips. "shiiiit, sorry," he laughed. "this your room?"

of course, it was just your luck that a handsome—and way totally stoned—boy would have stumbled into your bedroom during the five minutes you had abandoned it to go argue with your stupid brother.

"uh, yeah," you nodded, eyeing him warily as you hesitantly closed the door behind you to drown out the sounds of the party downstairs that had carried.

he hummed at your answer, nodding as he took another hit. "you mind if i hang out?" he asked casually, as if he wasn't a strange man in your bedroom, which you suddenly felt very uncomfortable in as you realized a man had never been in your room before. the room practically screamed lonely loser virgin with the way your stuffed animals were propped up on the pillows neatly.

"i guess not," you shrugged, your cheeks turning warm as you tore your eyes away from his piercing gaze, looking down at the fluffy pink carpet at your feet. you should have asked him to leave, but you didn't, instead allowing him to continue occupying your space.

he grinned, patting the space beside him on the bed. "come here," he beckoned, his voice low and smooth, almost hypnotic. "no need to be shy, princess. i don't bite...unless you're into that."

your teeth caught your lip, nibbling slightly as you considered his words. it probably wasn't the safest idea to sit next to a stranger on your bed with no one else around, but he seemed nice enough. either way, your body seemed to react before your brain could catch up and decide better of it, carrying you over to him and sitting on the edge of your bed beside him.

you looked over at him nervously, your fingers dancing over the stitching of your pink quilt, carefully plucking at it—a nasty habit you had that was slowly pulling the string out.

"you're so jumpy," he noted, his brown eyes following your movements with interest—his pupils dilated from the weed. "and quiet, like a little church mouse," he grinned, clearly teasing you as he took another drag and slowly blew the smoke into your direction. "you got a name, church mouse?"

you coughed a little, waving the smoke away as he blew it at you. his eyes bored into yours expectantly, willing you to give him an answer, and you did, quietly telling him your name.

he repeated your name slowly, letting it roll off his tongue, as if tasting it. "pretty name for a pretty girl," he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours as he shifted a bit closer, his thigh brushing against yours and making your breath hitch. "name's barry," he introduced himself.

you felt a little silly that something as small as eye contact and his leg brushing yours was having such a big effect on you, making your heart race in your chest as your eyes widened a fraction, but everything about this moment felt so surreal—like something straight out of those cheesy romcoms you loved so much.

he smirked, noticing your quickened breath and wide eyes, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. "relax, princess," he urged, offering the joint to you. "maybe some of this will help mellow your ass out."

"i don't smoke," you said, eyeing it warily. truthfully, you should've said 'i've never smoked' in the name of honesty. you'd be lying if you said you weren't atleast a little curious, but you'd always been too afraid.

"oh, come on," he coaxed, his tone softening as he held it out to you again. "just one hit. it'll help you chill out," he explained, seeming to know the exact right things to say as he patted your thigh comfortingly. "i promise it won't hurt you. i mean, it's not like i'm offering you meth or nothin'."

you bit the inside of your cheek nervously, contemplating his words. it wouldn't be so bad if you just did a little, right? besides, you couldn't live your whole life so sheltered and afraid. reluctantly, you reached out and took the joint between your fingers, your gaze darting apprehensively over to him.

"atta girl," he praised you, his voice low and encouraging as you guided the joint up to your lips. "inhale slowly," he instructed, his eyes locked onto your parted lips. you nodded, carefully placing it between your lips and sucking in. "hold it," he told you, licking his lips subconsciously as he watched you carefully. "there you go," he cooed, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your thigh as he watched your brows furrow in your attempts to hold the smoke in your lungs.

your inexperience was apparent when you exhaled, breaking out into a coughing fit that had your cheeks blazing with embarrassment.

he chuckled softly, rubbing your back as you coughed. "it's alright, princess, you did good," he reassured you, taking the joint back and taking a long drag himself before exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around his face. "you'll get the hang of it."

"thanks," you said softly, your stomach feeling all fluttery at how nice the boy was. you grinned after a beat of silence, feeling a little less shy and a lot more happy as your body buzzed, clearly affected by the small amount of drugs you'd ingested—it was just your luck that you were a total lightweight.

"see? i told you you'd mellow out," he said with a soft laugh, his arm wrapping loosely around your shoulders as he pulled you in a little closer to him.

"uh huh," you giggled softly, looking up at him. your eyes widened a fraction as you realized just how close your faces suddenly were, his warm breath fanning over your face as he smirked down at you.

he licked his lips slowly as he gazed down at you, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. "you're pretty, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "real pretty."

"thanks," you breathed out, looking up at him. you'd never kissed anyone before, and in any other situation, the rational side of your brain would probably be screaming at you to pull away, but he was awfully pretty and the way he was staring at you had your heart skipping a beat.

"you gonna let me kiss you, princess?" he hummed, his gaze locked on your lips as his thumb gently pressed down on your bottom lip, making you part your lips slightly.

you stared up at him, as if you were in a trance. your mind was slightly foggy, and all you could focus on was his hands on your skin as you nodded. you really, really wanted him to kiss you.

his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and then, ever so slowly, he leaned in. his hand slid from your cheek down to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he angled your head back gently. your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed against yours, so soft and warm. you leaned into him, letting him set the pace and following his lead as your hand curled into the fabric of his t-shirt.

he kissed you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips. his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, asking for entrance. you weren't quite sure what came over you, but you craved feeling more of him, tasting more of him, so you parted your lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth and slot against yours.

he groaned lowly as your tongue tentatively slid against his own, deepening the kiss. his hand on your back slipped under the hem of your top, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of your lower back. you hummed into his mouth, grip on his shirt tightening as you tried pulling him impossibly closer. the feeling of his warm hands on your bare skin had your head spinning.

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, and he smirked at your dazed expression. "we should stop," he murmured, his voice tight with barely-contained self control.

"right, yeah," you nodded, your body alight with desire, but as much as you wanted to, it probably wasn't in your best interest to lose your virginity to a man you'd just met. doing drugs and having your first kiss slash makeout session seemed like enough adventure for one day.

his heated gaze never left yours. "alright then," he said, his voice still rough. "we'll, uh, we'll finish this later, yeah?" he asked, his hand still resting on the small of your back.

you giggled at his phrasing, your stomach doing flips at the thought of seeing him again and the idea that he wanted to see you again too. "i'd like that," you smiled softly, nodding.

he grinned wolfishly, standing to his feet, your eyes following his movements closely as he headed to the door. "i'll see you around, princess," he winked, opening your bedroom door and allowing the sounds of the party going on downstairs—which had completely slipped your mind amidst everything that had just happened—to fill the room.

"yeah, see you around, barry," you nodded, your mind still reeling as you watched him leave and close the door behind him. a wide, stupid grin broke out on your face as you fell backwards on your bed, squealing excitedly to yourself.

[violenteconomics]

The first years working together to stitch Yuu and Grim their own Dorm Uniform, like maybe one based off of the ghosts or off of Mickey. (I feel so robbed that they havent made or gotten one yet I DON'T CARE THAT ONE OF THEM IS A CAT LET THEM HAVE FANCY STUFF CROWLEY!!! 🥺)

anything 4 u, baby.

it's epel's idea, surprisingly. with yuu's birthday coming up, and as the only one who knows about fashion design (pomefiore drills it into you, he couldn't NOT know if he tried), he gets to work making his own ramshackle dorm uniform.

he also pulls ace into it to have his professional fashion opinion on it, since let's be honest: pomefiore student or no, a city boy like ace knows WAY more about fashion than a country bumpkin like epel.

but how to design it? well, all nrc dorms have to fit three standards:

they have to be practical for the dorm dimension they're in (ex. how savanaclaw uniforms have boots because the outside terrain can be hard to walk on)

they have to take clear inspiration from the member of the great seven they represent (ex. how octavinelle hats have nautilus shells on them, just like the one the sea witch used to wear all the time)

they have to represent the "spirit" of their dorm (ex. heartslabyul uniforms tend to have half-painted roses on them)

what epel and ace came up with was a white, hooded cloak -- ripped, raggedy, and patched up with mismatch pieces of fabric. keeping the cloak together is a black, mouse-like symbol with overexaggerated ears, that operates much like a buckle. underneath the cloak is a black dress shirt with white suspenders, crimson shorts with white pockets, and pale yellow low-heels.

since yuu and grim live in all the 4 seasons, the cloak can come on if it gets cold, and it can come right back off if it gets hot. the cloak itself takes clear inspiration from the ghosts and the run-down nature of ramshackle. the underneath is... well, based on a dream epel keeps having for some reason, but it seemed fitting.

with his design secured, ace asks ortho to generate a visual for his design for ramshackle's uniform (while epel can design, he can't draw to save his life). ortho is happy to do it, obviously, and grateful to put his creative talents to use. he even adds a light blue gradient to the cloak to give it a more ethereal vibe.

then, epel asked sebek to sew it for them (being one of the only one of the freshmen who bothered to learn how to use a needle and thread (spinning wheel reference, baby~)). sebek does it in that tsundere-like manner of his, saying that he's "only doing it so the ramshackle prefect doesn't keep embarassing all of us", but even though he only uses a spinning wheel, he has the whole thing done in less than a day.

jack and deuce don't have much to do with the process at all, but yuu and grim are more likely to take the present more seriously if it comes from the two most trustworthy people in their friend group. yuu and grim open the box, and yuu is so moved by the gesture, this act of kindness from nrc students of all people, they start crying.

(and to correlate with your next ask-- yes. eventually, the freshmen DO all get ramshackle uniforms, lol. except instead of a mickey logo keeping their cloak together, it's their respective coffin logos.)

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

synopsis; a tender moment away from the chaos.

pairing; Alicent Hightower x brown!Targaryen!reader

a/n; a drabble for my love, mine all mine. requested by a lovely mutual from ao3. fluff for my gay mothers. they deserve it.

It’s a miracle from the Seven that the raven hasn’t been struck dead by the heat of Alicent’s eyes.

A letter has arrived, hailing from Dragonstone. Princess Rhaenyra declares her soon return to King’s Landing—- the note wrinkles under Alicent’s fingers.

It has been two months.

Two months since the incident with Vaemond—- who broods in his self-pity. He's been a sore thumb, he doesn’t quite mesh well in the king’s court. He reeks of the sea, and his insistence of traveling to Driftmark has not ceased.

Rhaenyra, nor Laenor doesn’t have any inkling that Alysanne has been born. Alicent has relished in her selfishness, savoring all her time with Alysanne, and you.

Even in the past days, Vaemond has barely held Alysanne—- Alicent ensured of that. Now the Realm’s Delight is to return and soil Alicent’s life once more.

A dread burdens Alicent’s mind as she tosses the letter in the fire’s pit, watching it smolder to ash within the flames.

Alicent worries. She worries that Rhaenyra will meddle. Snatch Alysanne under the guise of a doting aunt—- and her plain featured sons mingling with Alysanne, Alicent scoffs under her breath.

A sinking sensation caves inside Alicent’s cavity, her footfalls faltering.

Mutely Alicent enters her chambers, moving in the silence as a mouse.

Her quarters are warm, provided heat from the burning hearth. Thankfully, the windows are shielded by the floor-length double curtains—- white and green. A comforting dimness casts upon Alicent. Candles are lit, providing a dew hue.

A spacious chamber, meant for the queen, her only reprieve. In the corner, is a cradle with toys.

Sniffling as her shaky fingers unclip her earrings—- she stops in her tracks.

On her massive bed, there lay three sleeping lumps huddled.

Alicent quietly steps closer to the bed, a small tender smile curls at her lips. Sunk into the massive stitched quilts, pale and sepia arms interlocked—- and tucked in the middle is a small bundle with short tuft of silver, and chubby brown curling fists.

Helaena rests to the left, as you lay asleep on the right of the mattress. Alysanne stretches her small arms, and settles back in her sleep.

Alicent is grateful that you can understand Helaena—- and be her comfort. Helaena is a painfully shy, and odd child, but she is Alicent’s pride and joy.

That Targaryen strangeness, how sweetly you would coddle Helaena as a little duckling. Especially, when Helaena would get fussy, you always calmed her down.

It’s only you that Alicent fully trusts with her children, how you helped her when she didn’t feel any bond with them when they were freshly born.

Eased the burden of motherhood, let her rest when the children got too rambunctious, and she felt the threads of her sanity snapping.

Alicent quietly sits at the edge, her hand finding rest on your hip, caressing you through the embroidered quilt. A sweet sight that calms Alicent, the stresses melting away from her skin.

Alicent’s hand leans to Alysanne’s little chest, feeling her breathing under her palm. Her finger stroking the plump cheek, her small sleepy huffs. Moving to Helaena’s silver head, curling her hair behind the shell of ear.

Alicent’s body yearns to rest, she stands to get up for her vanity.

Alicent tugs on the emerald fabric, undressing and freeing her flesh. The dress falls in a wrinkled bundle by her feet, leaving her in her undergarment sheath.

Walking to her dresser, as she untangles the gold ringlets from her thick waves. One by one, removing the rings on her fingers —- all but one.

The one you gifted her, on that day on Dragonstone. Alicent can still feel the warmth of the sun, and the sweet whispers of shared vows. She twirls the bejeweled ring between her finger tips, a small smile curls.

Bare from jewelry and confining lace, thick waves of curls bounce down to the nape of spine, Alicent’s eyes gaze through her mirror—— catching yours in the reflection.

She hums a giggle. With a grace to her step, Alicent walks to the bed. Curling under the quilt, you gaze at Alicent sleepily. Cuddling Helaena’s little body to her chest, Alicent interlocks her ankles with yours.

You can tell by the way Alicent’s eyes droop that she’s been thinking too hard —- worrying too hard.

Tenderly, your knuckles graze Alicent’s cheek. “What ails you, my dearest?” The pad of your thumb soothes under her eye, cupping her face. Alicent holds your hand in hers, eyes closing with a dejected sigh.

For a split second, you stare at her red cuticles.

“Nothing of importance.” Alicent says, kissing your wrist. “The council’s insistent bickering over the realm.” She swallows.

It pains Alicent not to be honest with you, but your love for your sister has not yet simmered. She intends to keep you away from Rhaenyra as long as she can, hoping that a distance can be reached between your eldest sister and yourself.

Not only for yourself, but for Alysanne’s future.

“As the Princess, I order you to stay,” both of you giggle quietly. “I command the Queen’s presence.”

“Ah, how could I disobey an order?” Alicent jests. A happy toothy smile. A comfortable heat encases you both. Alicent plays with Alysanne’s soft tuft of hair.

“How did they fair the day?” Alicent asks.

“They fell asleep rather quickly,” you say, looking at the girls adoringly. “Helaena was excited to show Alysanne her toy bugs.”

Alicent scrunches her nose, “I prefer the wooden ones, I found one crawling near my dresser.” You suck in your lips, to stifle the laugh that rips in your chest, shaking.

Alicent tuts, “Pray to the Gods, you don’t discover a beetle dancing in your sheets.” She speaks through a laugh, her smile wanton now. Her cheeks glowing.

Small conversations, and a few kisses flowed through the hour. Within the noon, all fell in slumber, hugging in embrace.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Made New

| Synopsis: Your husband, Kento Nanami, comes back home after Shibuya. Only he isn't quite the same.

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Reader

Content Warnings: Body horror, Creature! Nanami Kento

Story:

Grief, you think, can make you do strange things.

When your brother died, you remember going around all throughout the house, opening all the doors in all the rooms, convinced that if you find the right one, you would find him there. 

Lying on his bed, perhaps. Sprawled on the couch like a cat catching a sunbeam. In the garden on his hands and knees, dirt under his fingernails as he carefully repot another plant, a new member in his already vast collection.

You had even checked the cabinets and the drawers in one last, desperate bid, to find your brother still alive. Perhaps shrunken to the size of a mouse, to be kept in the cup of your palms, in the stitched pocket of a well-loved shirt, where you could keep him safe, always.

Grief does not, however, make you hallucinate.

You open the tap. 

Water, clear and cold, gushes out onto the glass. 

Fills it. 

Spills out.

You don’t move. You barely even feel the wetness on your hand.

“Honey?” Your husband’s voice fills your ears. “The glass is filled.” 

You look down, surprised. 

Oh. 

Then you drop it, and it shatters. When you laugh, it sounds like there is broken glass in your throat. You are surprised you do not bleed. 

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll get another one.”

Kento does not answer. 

You don’t even bother cleaning up the mess in the sink, instead filling another glass and bringing it straight to your husband.

He is, after all, thirsty.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

His fingers leave a red smear on yours when he reaches for it.

(Grief does not cause you to hallucinate. It does not leave physical marks.)

The blood on your fingers is a physical mark.

You close your eyes.

Grief does not have a scent. 

(Or perhaps it does: you remember how after your brother’s death, you could no longer stand the scent of roses. They had been given by the dozen during his wake.)

But you do know this: grief does not smell like blood and burning hair.

Something in your chest unclenches. Your heart perhaps, finally being able to beat again. Your lungs, finally being given permission to breathe, after having been robbed of it for so long. 

Your husband is alive. 

He’s returned. 

You would thank every God that ever existed except–

(Dear God, why did he have to return like this?)

Your husband, Kento Nanami, has come back a horror. 

You open your eyes to find your husband choking, he vomits up blood and ash, a smear of black tar on your pristine kitchen table. Acid rises in the back of your throat. It smells terrible. 

But your body remembers him, even when your mind struggles to call him familiar, and you are at his side before you even have time to think about it. The process is so familiar it is almost mundane: one hand reaching up to rub circles on his back, the other reaching up to brush back his sweat-slicked hair.

Except your hand meets empty air. Your fingers scrape against the smooth, bloodied flesh of his scalp, where all the hair had been burned off.

You flinch.

He notices.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says quietly. “It must be hard to see me like this.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart clenches in your chest. You feel as if you are watching the news of Shibuya station all over again. The realization that Kento, your Kento had rushed into that madness. 

That burning, sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach at the idea that maybe, just maybe, your husband will not be able to come back home after this one. 

But he is here, he is alive, and you are ungrateful. 

Grief wells in you like tears. It is a rock in your throat preventing you from speaking.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry.”

His hand–the one where the flesh hasn’t been burned off, to lay bare the muscle and bone, the one that is still whole–reaches up to squeeze yours. 

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Kento says softly. “It’s a shock. I understand.”

He had come back from Shibuya two days ago, a shambling mess of blood and muscle and bitter ruin. The left half of his body had been burned beyond recognition, an empty hole in his skull where his eye should be.

(He had told you later that it had popped like an overripe fruit in the heat, then boiled and burst into flames). 

It is an injury no human could have–should have–survived. 

And yet, he is here, he is here. In your pristine kitchen, trying and failing to drink even a glass of water. 

You should have been grateful. 

But all you can focus on is the streak of vomit on the kitchen table, ash and tar, as if his blood had boiled from the inside. 

“I’ll get you another one,” you say softly.

“I don’t think it’s necessary, my love.” 

His voice is heavy with resignation, and something in you aches. You had never heard your husband sound so defeated. Tenderness wells in you like tears, and before you can stop yourself, you bend down and kiss his unburned cheek, leaning your weight against him, so sure in the knowledge that Kento Nanami will always, always hold you up.

(And he does. For whatever else the fire consumed, it has not taken this, his firm, dependable presence against you. No matter what,your husband will always, always hold you up. The solid bedrock that you had chosen to build your life around.) 

“I’ll get you another one,” you repeat.

He smiles and his face is a bitter ruin, you can see muscles working on the left side of his face–

(For all the skin had been burned away in the fire.) 

He turns his head so he can kiss your wrist. Lingers there. where your pulse beats rapidly underneath the paper-thin skin. 

(Five years of marriage and he still makes you feel like this: like your blood is a fizzing thing, the frothing foam of a cold soda on a hot day, water beading on frosted glass. It is a wonder you do not float away.)

(Your husband is thirsty.)

“I can’t drink it,” he says softly.

(He has come back a horror.) 

“Kento…” On your lips, his name is both plea and prayer. 

It has been two days since he had come back from Shibuya. Two days since he had been able to eat or drink anything. 

You wonder if it’s because his esophagus had been burned in the flames. And you wonder if he will ever be able to taste anything again.

And, inexplicably, you think back to your wedding day, and how he had kissed you so tenderly that your makeup did not even smear on his lips. 

(And how, later that night, he had told you that you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.) 

(Delicious, delicious, delicious.) 

“You have to eat something,” you murmur softly. 

He closes his eyes. 

(Eye. The other one had been burned in the fire. Burned and popped like overripe fruit.)  

When he opens them again, he refuses to speak. Instead, he stares at the fading kiss mark on your neck, just above your pulse point. 

(Had it really been three days since the two of you laughed about it over breakfast?) 

Despite his silence, there remains a single immutable fact: your husband is starving. 

His single remaining eye is haunted as he looks at you choke down your food–for he insists that you shouldn’t neglect your health when taking care of him. You saw the way his throat move, the Adam’s apple bobbing as if swallowing an invisible meal.

(Your husband is starving.)

You had tried, heaven knows you tried. First with all of his favorite meals: bread from his favorite bakery, so soft and freshly-baked that the scent rises through the packaging, then prepackaged meals from the convenience store, then soup, so thinned that it held only the ghost of flavor. 

And now, finally, in one last desperate bid, a glass of water.

And even that, his body rejects. 

(Your husband is starving.) 

“Kento, you have to take something,” you insist.

“I know.” 

“It’s been two days.”

“I know.” 

“Isn’t there anything you want? Anything at all?” you ask desperately. “Please, baby, whatever it is, I’ll go get it.”

He closes his eyes.

(Eye.) 

(You can hear the lie before he says it: it grates at him, so sharp that you are surprised that it does not make his throat bleed.) 

“No,” he breathes. 

(On his lips, the word is both like plea and prayer.) 

There is something he wants, but he refuses to say it. Your heart squeezes  

The word grates at him, a lie so sharp you’re surprised that it does not make his throat bleed. 

“No.”

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

(You are losing him.)

(Your husband has come back to Shibuya. And yet he will die in your house, in your arms, because he is starving.)

When he opens his eye again, he stares at you but does not speak. 

Kento stares at the fading kiss mark on your neck, where just three days ago, he had pressed his lips against your skin and promised to come back safe.

He does not speak–

(And yet somehow you know. One cannot love him the way you have and not learn how to read his silences. You know him better than you know yourself.) 

Somehow, you know.

He is not staring at the mark on your neck.

Instead, he is staring at what is underneath it: the wild, restless beat of blood underneath your skin. He is staring at your pulse. 

You are sure of this knowledge, just as sure as you are in the fact that your husband is starving and that he will die–

(in your home, in your arms)

–if he does not have something to eat or to drink. 

And that, no matter how much he needs it, he will not ask for this.

(And you are sure, too, that if it had been you who was starving, he will give it to you without hesitation. He will bleed out every last drop.) 

You stand. 

The motion startles him.

“My love–” Kento says, but you shake your head.

Walk to the sink, where shards of the broken glass still lay. You can hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he stands.

“That’s dangerous, let me do it–” 

But you barely hear him, there is a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice. It is as if the entire world is underwater. The glass is so sharp that it doesn’t even hurt as it splits your skin, clean through the meat of your palm. 

(He had told you that you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.) 

The blood that runs down your wrists is so hot that you are surprised it does not set you alight. When you turn back to Kento, he is frozen in place, his single remaining eye is focused on you. The red stream running from the split in your palm. 

You wonder if it had been the same color of your lipstick the way you were red

(He had been so gentle when he had kissed you that it did not even smear.)

You lift your palm.

“Please,” you said softly. “For me.” 

His hand is trembling when he reaches for you–

(How strange, you think, feeling strangely detached. You had never seen your husband tremble before.)

And Kento Nanami lifts your palm to his hand–

And he drinks.

Your husband has come back a horror. And yet, as he drinks, you can see the burned flesh knitting itself, new skin growing over muscle. Your husband, come back from the dead to return to you. 

Finally made new. 

[sylvies-chen]

nobody asked but everyone needs this so here are some headcanons of annabeth at disney world:

she LOVES epcot and the architectural design of that big sphere, and ends up asking all the staff about the thought behind the design

goes on the typhoon lagoon just for percy and will never admit this to anyone

actually has beef with all the character actors because a) she has no idea who they’re supposed to be dressing up as and b) she finds it very patronizing that they would assume she couldn’t possibly figure out that they’re actors in costumes just because she’s a kid

the judgemental stares goofy and pluto and mickey get from her are wild, but eventually she doesn’t mind the ones like lilo and stitch, mulan, merida (whom she very confidently introduces herself to and calls her a daughter of artemis which confuses the poor college student actor)

though her dad protests at first, he reluctantly lets her use her cap to sneak onto the rides that she isn’t yet tall enough to go on

goes on the expedition everest ride and is completely unfazed— picture the most deadpan 12 yo face you’ve ever seen in the midst of a bunch of screaming crying kids

but also fully believes she saw the yeti and tells grover and percy she saw the it over the summer

knows the mickey mouse ears offer zero tactical protection but can bashfully admit she really wants a pair

LOVES the themed food and goes crazy for the curly straw drinks and sweet treats

leaves swearing she’s not tired and could go on more rides and attractions all day because it’s nothing compared to the monsters they had to face on their que— *falls asleep almost instantly after getting in the car*

[corrodedbisexual]

The original plushie

Steddie | G | ~4.1k | AO3 link

This fanart of Eddie sleeping with a bunch of stuffed toys by @baleful-blurbs infected my brain and refused to leave until this ridiculous fluffy thing got written 😭 Please make sure to reblog those wonderful sketches to support the artist who inspired the plushie silliness♥️

Featuring: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, seriously beware of cavities, Light Angst, Plushies, Childhood Memories, POV Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Requited Love, Cuddling, Getting Together, Boys In Love

The mortifying ordeal of Eddie's crush discovering his secret plushie cuddle nest turns out to be not so mortifying after all. Steve even starts borrowing said plushies to take back home with him; some time later, Eddie finds out why.

Snippet under the cut

“Who’s this?” Steve asks, grinning as he pokes at the teddy’s ridiculous smiley face. 

“Oh. That’s… that’s Mr. Boogers.” Eddie huffs and rolls his eyes. “Please don’t ask.”

Still grinning, Steve turns to him. “Well, now you know I gotta.” 

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand across his flustered face, and figures he might as well tell the story now that he’s dug his own grave. “He was, uh… kinda defective from the start, there were some stitches loose around his nose and there was stuffing coming out of it, like… well…”

Steve giggles. “Boogers. Gotcha.” 

“Yeah. Wayne grumbled about it and wanted to ask for a different one, but I was already in love with this one and clung to him and refused to trade. Cos like, you know how plushies of the same type are supposed to be identical but they’re really not ? And one of them has that perfect face and the others just seem off?” 

Eddie blushes, thinking now would be the moment he finally gets ridiculed for being twenty years old and having strong opinions on plushie faces of all things, but Steve just smiles and nods.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I once spilled some gouache on a Mickey Mouse I owned and instead of washing him, mom just bought me a new one of the same series.” Steve sighs. “It was obvious 'cos his eyes were a little closer together and his smile wasn’t crooked to the left. I knew he wasn’t the same Mickey.” 

Again, Eddie’s heart aches for little Steve, like pretty much any time the boy reveals stories from his childhood in a tone too lighthearted for the words spoken, in Eddie’s opinion. Rich people really don’t value anything, huh. (With Steve being the obvious exception.)

“Yeah, see? You get it!” Eddie exclaims, pointing at Steve and putting more excitement into the words than he feels. Mostly, he just feels relieved and pleasantly surprised at how unexpectedly he and Steve managed to bond over their shared fondness for their childhood toys. “So anyway, Wayne relented and we took this funny guy home, my uncle patched him up, but the nickname stuck. Mr. Boogers. Boogie for short.”

Steve laughs again, but there’s nothing malicious about it as he looks back to the teddy in his lap and flicks his ear.

“Nice to meet you, Boogie,” he says with an affectionate smile that makes Eddie want to burrow his face into the mattress and giggle like an idiot. 

And maybe scream a little, because what the fuck. It should be illegal for your crush to talk cute to your goddamn childhood plushies.  

Whole fic on AO3

[hisui-dreamer]

to the happiest place on earth

Characters: Octavinelle (Azul, Jade, Floyd)

Synopsis: going on a date with them to Tokyo Disneyland!

Tags: fluff, Disneyland date hehe, reader's tolerance for attractions is based on my own, self indulgent, bot proofread

Word count: 1.4k+

Notes: because obviously i kept thinking about the fish mafia when i was in tokyo disney resort

did i write too much for jade? no

Masterlist

Azul plans everything

weeks before even going he's doing so much research on every little aspect of the park

he's become an expert, because how else would he impress his angelfish?

asks you what rides you like and sets out the perfect plan for you to experience everything

basically you just need to tell him what you feel like doing next and he'll instantly suggest the best plan

fast pass? fast pass.

he's rich, he's definitely going to buy all the available passes only to improve your experience

time is far more valuable than money! the less time spent lining up for rides and azul having to come up with engaging conversations, the better

his headband of choice:

doesn't really understand why the mouse ears are so prominent in the park, but he wants to match with you and take nice couple pics hehehe

also apparently that's a sorcerer's hat?? perfect! he's a diligent student of magic and follower of the sea witch!

is reluctant to get on fast rides like space mountain and you can see how pale he looks afterwards

he doesn't complain at all tho, and he's very willing to try rides with you

he has great night vision (deep sea octopus), so he is less affected by rides like haunted mansion and pirates of the caribbean

speaking of the latter, he's incredibly grateful for the darkness of the room, because the way he blushed when you held on to him when the boat fell from a waterfall shook all three of his hearts

fascinated by stitch encounter and considers making a mascot for mostro lounge using the same tech

also definitely gets the best seats for the fireworks/parades so his angelfish won't have their vision blocked

overall great experience, the capitalist thrives in capitalism, and he gets to experience all the joy and wonder of the theme park

The sound of the waterfall only seemed to grow louder and louder, yet there was not a single one in sight. Unless...

"Angelfish," Azul whispered, trying not to disturb the other guests. "Hold on tight, I think the ride will drop off from a waterfall."

You barely had time to react to his words as you felt the pull of gravity on you. By instinct, you reached out to hold onto him for dear life, letting out a shriek of surprise as you crashed onto the water below.

Thankfully, the fall was over in seconds. Azul coughed and shakily whispered, "A-ahem, are you alright Angelfish?" he murmured, though with your ear right next to his chest, it seemed he wasn't really alright himself.

Jade doesn't really plan as much as azul, but he does come pretty prepared

briefly learns about what rides and restaurants there are and considers your taste all the while

you brought a cute but small bag that couldn't hold a lot of stuff? no worries! your boyfriend is used to hiking with minimal packing

he can help you carry all your essentials and not have it affect him at all!

his headband of choice:

ok so apparently moray eels eat flounder fish? so I believe this silly eel would find great pleasure in wearing this headband (even better if you're wearing the ariel headband to match)

he's definitely more into the thrilling rides, but he's very happy to sit along for whatever ride you'd like

he's really really good at the buzz lightyear astro blaster, but his favourite is definitely haunted mansion for the chilling atmosphere and the way you clung onto him while convincing yourself everything was fine

whispered things in your ear to calm you, but he definitely tried to spook you a few times bc of how cute you were

your man is a foodie ok, the way his eyes sparkle when he stares at some street food other guests are holding is telling

he's absolutely interested in all of the disneyland food though, so apple caramel churros from le fou's shop, popsicle sticks from food stands, baymax curry, etc.

wdym food's expensive? he's also rich from working with azul and his family background

also super attentive to you, oh you'll need to take off your headband for this ride? gently plucks it from your head and places it in his bag before you can even do it yourself

and oh dear, your hair is a bit messed up after space mountain, let me just brush your hair and smooth it out for you

gets ugly plushie keychains for azul and floyd as a joke saying "i think it quite resembles you, no?"

tall boi sees the parades really clearly and he lifts you up to eye level so you can enjoy the same view as him

and dw about the disappointment of other guests behind you because one eerie smile from your eel is enough for them to know your boyfriend is not to be messed with

overall a very food oriented visit, and plenty of moments where this teasing eel tries to make you flustered

"Oh, it seems we must take our headbands off for this ride as well," Jade mused as he observed the guests in front. In a quick, but gentle motion, he took off your headband and smoothed out your hair.

At your flustered expression, he merely chuckled as he reached up to take off his own, carefully placing both into his sturdy backpack.

"Come, my pearl," he said as he reached out a hand to you. "Should you be afraid any moment, feel free to hold onto me," he teased, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes glinted in amusement.

Floyd is very much going with the flow and sees where you/ his energy wants to take him

did no research at all because his Shrimpy can be his tour guide hehe~

also brought minimal stuff, but he definitely takes a moment to show off his new shoes that he bought recently to go on the date

given his mood swings, it's not a great idea to line up for 30 mins plus, particularly if there's minimal air-conditioning

so definitely fast pass where available, water bottles and mini electric fans

also consider downloading some 2-player mini games on your phone to kill time

his headband of choice:

he finds the "rubber duckies so cute and squishy! just like Shrimpy!" and chip and dale in sunglasses just gives off a memeish chill vibe

you can't convince me this man doesn't consume stupid memes

once he's tried one thrilling ride, he basically demands to ride all of the thrilling ones

runs off to the next one and pulling your hand to catch up because he memorized the map smh

absolute menace when it comes to teacup rides

like you are not walking straight after that intense spinning all the better because he gets to hold you and support you

he will be a menace again and push you in front during the baymax cool down parade so you'll get wet

but you can't stay mad at him for too long when he's laughing so innocently

okay maybe slap him on the shoulder a bit

absolutely gets the electric fans with the water sprays, and attacks you with sprays of water

laughs at you whenever you get scared in haunted mansion, but also "don't worry" because he likes protecting his Shrimpy

funny selfies from weird angles or everything's just a blur

also it's very convenient to have a big scary eel glare at the other guests to convince them to line up another time :)

in conclusion this menace of an eel will without a doubt have a blast stringing you along to his shenanigans, and you find yourself laughing with him all the way

"Ahahaha! That was sooo fun~" Floyd exclaimed as he got out of the teacup. The world continued to spin though the ride had long come to an end. You felt Floyd reach out and help you out of the ride, and you leaned into his touch for help as if you were drunk.

"Hahaha, Shrimpy's all dizzy!" he giggled. "You wanna go again?" As soon as the words registered in your mind, you turned to look in his general direction to glare at him, but maybe your direction was off or you just didn't look intimidating enough, because he just laughed even harder.

"Okayy, okayy, let's do another ride," he said as he began leading you to the exit. "Your choice this time then, where d'ya wanna go Shrimpy?"

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[lovifie]

I have something more to say about little organ stealer Johnny.

Tw: blood play, implied kidnapping, Johnny literally steals your kidney. DD:DNT, if this is not your cup of tea just ignore it 🩷 I'm not adding anyone from the taglist because I don't want to push it into somebody who's not into it

Dark | Suggestive | 657 words | Back to Masterlist

After waking up in the tub, the water around you icy cold with a few ice cubes left and a slight pinkish tone to it; you stand up, seeing the message and the name sewn into your body.

You push yourself to walk out of the room, your body barely responding to your wants by the loss of blood and the hypothermic state. Still, you manage to reach the table beside the sofa where the phone is supposed to be, but the earpiece is missing.

You need to lean onto the table when you bend forward, a stabbing pain in your abdomen making your stomach turn. It makes you focus on your hands, your shaking, cold and blue under your nailbeds hands; to try not to empty your stomach.

After a minute, you manage to stand up straight again. Well, as straight as you can be when you feel the need to stay bent forward so you don't feel the stitches pop open.

Looking around to try and find the damn phone, so you can call the police and tell them a fucking psychopath stole one of your vital organs.

Except you don't find your phone, you find the psychopath.

Standing in your kitchen, cooking, naked and with an apron.

Your apron!

The part of your brain that has seen too many action movies tells you to throw the living room chair at his head, but the other part of your brain, that has seen too many murder documentaries; tells you to slowly walk to the front door and escape while he's distracted.

And you start to believe it is going to work, until you try to turn the knob and the lock keeps the door from opening.

"Where're ye going?"

The little blood on your body left runs cold, the man's voice making you feel more frozen than when you were inside the freezing bathtub.

He can only see your back, licking his lips like a wolf at the sight of your trembling naked body. He walks up to you, making as little noise as possible only to make you jump when you suddenly feel his warm chest on your back, making him smile.

"Aren't ye a sight for sore eyes..." He whispers in your ear making you squeak like a little mouse that just stepped on a glue trap.

He presses his nose to the side of your face, inhaling your aroma and he groans at the bloody smell. "Ye haven't showered after your little bath, dove... I can smell yer blood on yer skin..."

You feel his face move to your back, his hands resting over your hips and then feel his warm wet tongue lap at your nape like a wet cloth.

You simply stay frozen, confusion and fear keeping you from moving meanwhile he keeps licking the skin of your back. From one shoulder to the other, like a dog with a bone. You feel the droplets of drool fall down your back, hearing him groan against your skin and a presence you'd rather ignore probing at your asscheek; the apron the only thing in between.

It's when he starts to get too excited, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips that you hiss at the feeling of the sutures being pulled. You worry that it may infuriate him that you interrupted his little session but then his demeanour changes.

The big hungry wolf turning into a sad puppy right before your eyes. Hugging you from behind making you tense even more if that is possible as he kisses your neck. "I'm sorry, lass... Didn't mean to hurt ye, ye just taste so good..."

He pulls back, almost whining for having to pull away from you. "C'mon, breakfast done."

So you turn around, wishing your friend had never come to visit, so you wouldn't be about to have breakfast, naked, with the man who stole your kidney the night before.

[beamtori]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝.

nonidol!ji changmin x afab!reader

2.4k words (HELP it's only this long bc there's like an actual plot low-key 😭💀), smut (minors dni), cunnilingus (face sitting/riding), cum drinking(??), kind of fingering?, kissing, swearing, descriptions of blood/stitching, mentions of violence/fighting/weaponry, changmin's a boxer? fighter dude?, a lot of arguing and banter, use of pet names (spitfire, baby), angst HAHA!

a/n: once again, this was FOR ME. :l if im being so for real tho, i should have made them fuck piv bc that would have actually scratched my itch, but i just had to go and make him injured 🙄

Ji Changmin was stupid.

"You are so—"

"Stupid? Yeah, you've said that five times already."

"—annoying," you finished with a snide, little smile, relishing in the way his pretty eyes rolled. You gave the thread between your fingers a forceful tug through your gritted teeth to snap the end off; a part of you loved the way he flinched.

You and he were currently holed up in the dimly lit space of your bedroom where he was getting blood all over your sheets, and stupidity all over your floor. (Did you say you thought he was stupid yet? No? Well, he was stupid.) The idiot had gone and gotten his stitches ripped out again, which was the exact opposite of what you told him to do.

You stood looming over him between his legs to take a look at his busted shoulder. The last time, he had gone out and gotten it sliced open. That would teach him to bring a gun next time—you shouldn't even talk about his fists. That would make you pop a blood vessel. His damn knuckles were split open like a row of splattered blueberries—blue and purple and ugh.

"When I come home for the day, the last thing I ever plan to do is more work," you muttered to him as you threaded your needle and began stitching up his gash again.

He winced slightly, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. "So you're saying you've never planned to do me?"

You met his eyes for a split second. His eyebrows flicked upward in suggestion; you made a particularly generous piercing into his skin.

"Shit," he hissed, sucking in a breath. "I said I was sorry."

"For what."

"For doing my job—"

Your eyes narrowed into a glare. "Your job? Your fucking job isn't to get the shit beat out of you every other night, Changmin."

"Oh, so you care now?" He fired back.

Your mouth snapped shut and you continued to work quietly. It wasn't like you didn't care about the nitwit, but you weren't about to admit it point-blank. His ears would never hear that you cared that much, but here you were, letting him into your apartment at god knew what time it was to patch him up again. You didn't know why he always came to you. You quit the boxing ring infirmary months ago, and yet, he always ended up at your doorstep.

When he realized you weren't going to say anything, his uninjured arm took your jaw between his fingers. He looked you in the eyes—you saw the dim lighting of the bedside lamp light a fire in his gaze. Or had that always been there? "You care about me."

You tore your head away. "Oh, fuck you."

His grin was wolfish. "Is that an invitation?"

"One day—" you huffed, knotting the thread and tossing the bloodied needle and tweezers onto the nightstand, "—I'm gonna rip you a new one, Ji Changmin. Or maybe you don't need one 'cause you're already a huge asshole."

He gazed at you, and you weren't sure what it was, but he looked enamored. "Fuck—can you just sit on my face already?"

Everything halted for you. "What?"

"Come on, spitfire; you heard me." His head cocked to the side in challenge. "Sit on my face. My arm might be useless, but my tongue sure isn't—"

"I'll be back," you interrupted sharply before your face got any hotter. You could feel his eyes on you as you scurried into the bathroom next door like a little field mouse.

His audacity was going to drive you to insanity one day.

You found the extra package of gauze and bandages in your medicine cabinet, the ones you had forgotten to grab when he'd come stumbling into your bedroom. You weren't sure why you hadn't forced him onto the kitchen counter like usual, but that was a worry for another time.

He was still there waiting for you. Your gloved hands were bloody and there was a pile of tissues on the ground that you would have to clean up later. You returned to your space between his legs and felt his heavy gaze on you as you pressed gauze to his shoulder and began to wrap his arm back up.

"Yn, I'm sorry."

You pressed your lips together, finishing off the wrap with a small pat on the side of his arm. "You're good to go," you said, "now leave so I can clean up."

You were snapping off your gloves when you heard him get up and approach you. "Yn."

"Don't wanna hear it." You kind of did want to hear it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that you needed to stand your ground and ensure he wasn't about to come running back to you every single time he fucked up.

Hands on your shoulders. The world spun for a quick second. He pressed you up against the bathroom door with the gloves dangling from your fingers and your dignity just two seconds away from dropping. You could see the gleam of sweat on his brow, how deep his dimples dipped into his cheeks; you could smell his musk and the blood, the latter having been slightly muffled now that the wound was closed up, but there was still the matter of all the other blood-stained surfaces.

"If this is another thing to get me in bed with you, then you can forget about it," you said. It happened twice before; you really couldn't do it a third time.

"Can you just listen to me for once?"

"Ah, so just like all the times you listened to me?"

Changmin fixed you with a look. "Has it ever fucking occurred to you that I keep getting hurt so I have an excuse to come see you again?"

Your breath hitched. No, that had certainly not occurred to you. But why would he deliberately get hurt all the time just to see you? Could he not just… see you? Then again, you probably would have still been skeptical of his motives—

"No matter how hard I get hit, Yn; no matter how hard you pinch me with your fucking needle—"

"Why?" You asked. Though the word was soft, it was enough to cut through.

He blinked, his good arm bracing against the door behind you. "Isn't it obvious? I like your stupid face."

Your heart slammed against your ribcage. You could hear it thundering in your ears, the battering of a drum. "You're insane," you swallowed.

"Insane about you." He let out something akin to a laugh, head ducking, but you could see the imprint of dimples in his cheeks. "Isn't that crazy? I'm doing all of this shit because I didn't have the balls to just tell you from the get go."

Changmin dropped his hand to your face, the rough pads of his fingers finding your chin again. His eyes met yours and you could see the softness of the corners, the tenderness of his irises as he looked at you. Perhaps the fire you always saw sparked in them were there for a reason different from what you assumed.

"You're not gonna say anything?" He murmured with a swallow. "Not gonna give me a piece of that spitfire mind this time?" Had he read the signs wrong?

"Why would you go and get yourself beat up just to see me?" That was all you were able to get out of your mouth.

He licked his lips. "'Cause I—I don't know. I'm stupid. Wanted an excuse for you to touch me."

"Glad we can agree on something," you said. "But I like your stupid face, too."

And it was the lack of space that coaxed you into pressing your lips against his. Or maybe it was the coat of saliva over them that made them look so appetizing. Or maybe, more simply, this was long overdue. Twice you had fallen into bed with the boxer, and yet, you couldn't count the number of times you'd shared a kiss with him, shared the same air as him.

You were careful about his injured shoulder, the corresponding arm draping around your waist while the other still clutched your chin, but now cupped your cheek.

A moan slipped out of you as he swiped his tongue over your lip and into your mouth. Your back pressed flush against the door, your body shoved between it and Changmin.

"Wanna taste you," he husked between kisses, taking every breath from your lungs like a souvenir for him to keep. "I have to taste you—been craving you for weeks."

His words curled something sweet in your belly, but you had to protest. "Your shoulder—"

"Fuck my shoulder."

You shoved him off for a second, the both of you heaving for oxygen with pupils dark and dilated. "What do you mean 'fuck my shoulder?' I just fixed the stitches, Changmin."

He exhaled and carded a hand through his hair, taking one of your hands pressed to his chest into his. "Then sit on my face. I don't have to be on top this time."

"You're impossible."

"Not impossible," he shook his head, a smile working its way onto his face.

You sighed as he kissed you again.

That was how you ended up backing him up against the edge of your bed and pushing him down to take a seat. He grabbed your waist with his hands as you stood between his legs, lips molded into yours. You placed your palm on his chest to coax him backwards.

You climbed over him, letting yourself straddle his waist.

His fingers slid down the front of your body to cup you through the fabric of your shorts. "You wet for me?" He muttered.

"Bone fucking dry," you quipped.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband and you felt him smirk. "Liar."

He found the wet spot in your panties, dragging his fingers in lazy circles like he was collecting your arousal as proof. You made a soft noise against his mouth and subtly grinded yourself into his digits.

"Okay, get your cute butt up here," he said and abruptly removed his fingers from you, giving your ass an affectionate pat.

You sat down on the bed beside him to kick your shorts and panties off. "You're so demanding," you grumbled, but straddled him again and slowly inched yourself up.

He grabbed your hips and hauled you over his face for you, a squeak falling out of your mouth. "You were going too slow," he said to you with his voice slightly muffled.

"And I haven't done this before." You let out a shuddering breath, bracing your palms on the bed above his head. His breath on your wet lower lips made you grasp at his hair.

"Baby's a little shy?" He cooed, massaging your hip with his hand. "Oh, fuck me. Sit, Yn."

"I'm literally—oh."

The flat of his tongue pressed against your pussy and licked a generous stripe up your opening.

You swore and grinded yourself down onto his mouth. "Are you—" you gasped, his lips suckling your clit, "—can you even breathe?"

"Why would I wanna breathe? I'm doing just fine," Changmin replied in a heavy daze. You heard him inhale deeply and moan. The sound itself was enough to make your thighs shake around his head.

He prodded your opening with his tongue, fingers digging into the globes of your ass like he was holding a bowl and drinking from it. Tongue fucking you open, his nose bumped against your clit with the movement. That telltale tension slowly built and curled in your belly, a warm coil of something molten.

You weren't sure how he was even curling his tongue so far up into you, but you grappled his strands of hair like reigns and rode him. The pleasure mounting in you was sweet and you were growing desperate—you writhed on top of him, his name engraving itself in your mouth.

"Changmin," you gasped in your frantic chase for release.

His reply was a strong hand anchoring you to his mouth, encouraging you to use him for your own pleasure.

When that high came, you cried out, body staggering forward. His hands still chained you to him as he slurped your slick up. The sound was obscene, and seemed to echo in the walls of your bedroom. Your thighs convulsed from the extra stimulation.

You huffed, brain muddled. "Fucking hell," you said through labored breaths, gently lowering yourself onto the bed next to him when he loosened his grip.

The sight of his face was nearly enough to make you come again. His skin glistened with your come, eyes glazed over and dark as he looked at you with his head lolled to the side. His lips were pink and plump, and his tongue darted out to swipe over them as if he were catching any residual fluid.

"You doing okay over there, Min?" You asked, leaning over to brush his bangs from his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm—" he let out a laugh and his mouth curled into a smile, "—I'm fantastic."

You laughed, hanging your head.

"I've always wanted to do that," he admitted.

"Yeah?"

"Even better than I thought, to be honest."

Your skin heated at his words, and his warm chuckle following sent a jolt down to your core. He reached over with his good arm to thumb your chin up. "I meant what I said, by the way."

"That you're stupid?"

He rolled his eyes, and shook your head with his hand. "No—that I'm crazy about you."

There went your heart again. The organ in your chest never failed to skip every other beat when it came to him. He just had a way of making you trip in the best way possible.

You squeezed your thighs together, his eyes darting at the movement. "Wish you would have just told me sooner."

"I should've," he agreed. "But let me make it up to you now."

You crawled over him and lowered your lips over his; you could still taste yourself on his tongue. "Not with this injured shoulder, you're not."

He groaned in protest, reaching around your body to pinch your side. "Damn."

"But," you drawled while sliding your hand down the length of his body and cupping his cock through his jeans.

His hand grabbed at your thigh as he moaned into your mouth.

"That doesn't mean I can't do anything for you."

a/n: imagine the image in the banner is how he looks post-this-fic

tbz m.list

[ratedfleur]

eekkk yk how belle's a composer + producer right? just thinking about fucking belle in her studio. she knows the recording is on but didn't pay any mind to it, not when she has a pretty woman with her. when you're done fucking, belle listens to the moans & sounds you both make. she loves it so much she adds it as background vocals to the next track kiss of life is about to release.

— 🍸

the process of recording yours and her moans were sitting you both down at her swivel chair, belle had you sitting in her lap as she touched you, pulling the mic down and angled towards your lips as moans slipped from your lips.

“come on pretty, let me hear em.” belle purrs in your ear, making you moan and throw your head back when she touches further down your cunt, fingers slipping in between your folds.

smiling when you do moan, her other hand holds onto her mouse and records snippets of your moans, stitching them together when she stopped recording every now and then.

belle must be crazy but she instantly fell in love with how your moans fit her drafts for the group’s upcoming song, subtly hiding your moans in between layers of vocals.

[cuddlyhell]

Sparklecare: Rediagnosis - Cuddles

decided i wanted to finally get around to making some stuff for Rediagnosis, so i made a reference sheet with some lore for Cuddles! it's only fitting we start out talking about my favorite character :P

i'll put a image description below this cut i don't think the image description would fit in the limit, so the description below will be describing the image and text clearly while the image description itself will be a transcript.

i'm also going to be adding onto to this post later with a deeper explanation of his character, the changes i made to him and why i made them.

[Description]

Cuddles is a 4 feet tall naked mole rat/bunny hybrid anthery. He is, assumedly, around 40 years old. He is a bisexual transgender man who goes by he/him pronouns. He is the owner & head doctor of Sparklecare Hospital.

Cuddles is a fully pink-skinned and furred anthery, with white spots across certain parts of his body, signifying actual fur which appears glittery. (These areas include his ears, tail, the tops of his feet, as well as tiny amounts on his collar/neck and cheeks.) He has a chubby torso, contrasted by his skinny legs and arms. His hands are wrinkled, with yellow, small yet sharp claws protruding from four fingers on each hand. His feet are quite long, a little wrinkled, and are obviously stitched onto him below the knees. Despite having no paw pads on his hands, he has hot pink ones on his feet; three for each toe and one other, the metacarpal pad (the biggest, centermost one), which is shaped like a heart. His tail is outrageously large, essentially being the same size of him, even reaching over his head a tad. It's fur is incredibly curly, fluffy, and a little untamed, akin to cotton candy.

His face is only a little bit chubby, his snout is quite stubby and is wrinkled at the bridge of his nose. Three whiskers protrude from either one of his cheeks in any given time. (I suppose like Mickey Mouse ears?) The line of his lips is, seemingly, naturally wrinkled or mishappen near the corners; resulting in a slightly crooked smile. His lips are also formed like a cat's. His many teeth are yellow, much like his claws, as well as being incredibly long and sharp. He has shorter, yet still sharp, buckteeth. His eyes are large and off-putting, due to his sclera being pure black, his relatively small irises are hot-pink with small, heart-shaped, black pupils. His ears, much like his feet, are obviously stitched onto his head where there were most likely no ears before to begin with. They are long, bunny-esque ears which hang down just below his head, lay flat and limp against either side of his head and are, of course, heart-shaped with hot-pink inner ears, which are also heart-shaped.

Cuddles wears an undershirt with pure blue accents on the collar and hem, the entire shirt is also covered in a rainbow polka-dot pattern. He wears his staff badge on the left side of his chest on his undershirt, attached to a custom-made badge reel of a hot-pink heart, split down the middle in one single crack, which appears to be stitched back together. (This is a purposefully stylistic design, it's not actually broken.) Over his undershirt is a large, wrinkled doctor's coat with popped-out collars. Resting on the bridge of his snout is a pair of solid, pure red reading glasses. He also wears a red, short skirt. (The skirt was a random element I threw in on a whim as I wanted him to wear actual clothing on his lower body, I may replace the skirt with something else later.)

Other notes about Cuddles are as follows: He actually does need glasses to read, this is due to his naturally poor eyesight by being born a mole rat. He dislikes wearing them all the time but is overall fine with them. Despite being yellow, his teeth and nails are simply naturally colored like that. He actually pretty good at hygiene, he just.. tend to get really messy with his work.. and he tends to be so busy with said work, that he forgets to wash off, from time to time. He has top surgery scars shaped like two halves of a heart.

[satuwn]

i have decided to randomly infodump about my lab rats as a way to motivate myself to: 1) revamp existing characters old refs and 2) DRAW THE GD REFERENCES OF THE REST OF THE BITCHES (this will probably take me ages still. alas), more rambly details abt the story and characters under the cut

the main characters: Dr. Kitty Whisker and her twin sibling Happy(tbd), Dr. Brainworms, Gummi (comic relief character mostly), Prof. Fuzzybottom(tbd) and Prof. Snakebite (previously known as prof. pinky, i need to redesign him more heavily)

the side characters (these guys may have side stories of their own but theyre mostly just an excuse for me to design more weird lab rats): Prof. Smartypants - ref to be finished, ferret with a brain of a human, she is my 'authors blatant self insert' into my own story lol; Fishsticks (drawn, a dissected mouse/frog stitched together), (the rest of these dont have names yet) a rat/chick hybrid with funy lil chicken legs, a rat/gator/shark hybrid she is punk and goth and she Bites, a mouse/cat dna mix with a surprisingly tragic backstory that im still working out, more tba

each lab rat represents usually an amalgamation of different experiments as the lab they are in is 'cheap' with their test subjects and likes to Repurpose old, usually failed experiments and do other stuff to them! honestly even if theyre a success they still end up getting experimented on more lol but they are still unimportant enough and the lab big enough where they can hide themselves away and have their own space w/o being actively searched for. ofc the world of the setting is based on our own reality but way more Hyperreal, i dont aim to represent logical feats of science bc a lot of these guys would defs be revolutionary (and impossible) irl lol. i will briefly run down what each main character is a result of but ideally id like to go into more detail when i actually. make the story more visual in whatever format i decide to do (probably experimental and non linear snippets, i dont think im smart enough for a full comic)

Dr. Kitty and Happy are twins! they were the result of an experiment where the scientists were testing if one species of rodent could gestate a different species of rodent just thru a little genetic modification. and that was Happy! he is actually a bunny born from a rat mother and with all rat siblings (one of them being Kitty) hes a bit smaller in stature than a usual bunny being more rat sized but other than that just a bnuuy! further experiments on them was how well skin grafting would work between different yet similar species. it worked for Kitty (hence the bunny ear) but not so much for Happy... both of them had separate experiments done on them also, altho Kitty was more rebellious of the two earning her the shock collar. Happy also had experiments on his fur to make it color changing like a chameleon, as well as some experiments to his eye (tbd)

Dr. Brainworms is actually a sapient amoeba/bacteria type thing, attached to a host body(that happens to be a hairless rat), this host body is her most compatible one as she Can overtake and control other bodies but they start to decay pretty quickly. her history is something she herself is trying to find out as her host body is its own mystery.. is she just an amoeba that gainted sentience? is her mind really her own? was this body maybe always hers? who knows!

Gummi is a jelly belly gummy rat candy brought to life, pretty self explanatory... but shes got a few mysteries of her own! like, why was she even created, for what purpose, i mean who could even do such advanced science anyway to bring an inorganic candy to life, and Why does she keep talking abt a scientist with green gloves when there arent any scientists like that around?

Prof. Fuzzybottom is a rabbit! she used to be just used for breeding new test subjects which left her pretty traumatized not being able to keep any of her children, she became infertile from the stress so she was repurposed for other experiments, like trying to turn her fur to naturally be an unnatural color, and to be more synthetic like faux fur (aka a living plush) she was also blind so they replaced her eyes with a plushy sleeping mask that actually has LEDs inside that are hooked up to her brain to see if they could restore vision thru cybernetics. in her original iteration she was even supposed to be half rat half bunny buut i felt it too much, might still reuse the idea tho! tbh i just wanted a bunny with cute rat hands :3

Prof. Snakebite is not even a lab rat originally, he was simply a pinky rat used to feed the lab snakes, but due to freak circumstances he was actually still alive and after being bitten by a venomous snake, the stress hormones in his little body make him develop rapidly especially in brain power. as he was still very tiny and fragile, he wasnt the best subject to experiment on, but he was fitted with a brain chip originally just to read and analyze his brain development as he was much more advanced in mind than in body (of an almost newborn). after escaping he would upgrade his brain chip to help him utilize more brain power but also lessen the burden on his tiny body that could not handle the strain. he and prof. fuzzybottom are always hanging around each other, fuzzy very often babying him or just helping him out by carrying him and helping him reach places or handle objects, while he begrudgingly tolerates her as she is useful to his needs. also cant admit he appreciates her actually awww

the rest of the side characters are pretty self explanatory, theyre mostly just various animal hybrids and crossbreeds and splices! smh only the main characters get cool powers and shit -_- aside from Prof. Smartypants, after having a ferrets body fitted with a human mind(who doesnt remember the human part almost at all. its just the advanced intellect from it) tries to figure out the weird body dysmorphia with Science Potions aka chemisty. but thats mostly just to give another one of my sonas shapeshifting ablities (go figure) so yah if u read this so far Waow o_o Thank U and also Pls Send me asks abt this. if u want <3 can be questions or just ur thoughts ig!! id love feedback pleas please plea