#that I’m pretty sure is squiggles

[noemilivv]

HIYA HIYA!!! this is the super energetic bro that u matched with velvette, qnd I was curioussss to requesttttt smthhh (also maybe if u want to easier identify me I could be ✨️anon??)

Ok! SO! ~Imagine~ maybeee that angel has a person he is romantically interested in (reader)

And so reader is ~severely introverted~ and thus, not much is know about them. But! Charlie is leading a art group one day, for like, rehab bc art therapy is super big, and reader is really good at it, and basically drops lore that they where in college to be an art therapist‼️

And so‼️

Maybe angel, seeing this opportunity to get closer, and was like- "ayo want me to model 4 u??👀👀" and reader is like " pls wear clothes this isn't gunna be nude modeling bc I will get super embarrassed" and so basically soft fluff of reader painting angel and getting to know each other and confession

Mayybbee a oneshot?? If ur willing! Nor pressure

Also make sure to take time to urself and rest and eat water and drink food!!!

Lots of love from a silly Lil fan!! :))

hello dear!! ofc you can be ✨ anon, you’re already on my list haha, as i’ve stated in the past, im not amazing at oneshots, but here’s my take on this !

Warnings: Mentions of Nudity, Lazily written (sorryyyy), Pretty short

“Smooth Talker”

Angel Dust x Artist!Reader

After one of Charlie’s…interesting exercises, Vaggie suggests that the group should do therapy art, since y’know, it calms the soul. And Charlie couldn’t be more eager to do so!

The lobby was set up with canvases, paints, brushes, everything you could need!

Unlike most of Charlie’s previous activities, almost everyone was willing to participate, although Husk and Alastor kinda stood off to the side and watched.

Charlie was painting a cartoon version of Razzle and Dazzle, Vaggie was painting a sunset based off of the lesbian flag, Pentious was painting him in his war machine taking over Hell, and Niffty? Eh.. You don’t wanna know..

You on the other hand? Stood in front of your canvas, clueless, “Y’know, I could model for you..” Angel says into your ear.

Your head turned to face him “Sure.” You say nonchalantly before turning back to your canvas.

“Wait really?-”

“Just please keep your clothes on.”

Eventually you had moved your stuff over to the other side of the lobby so Angel could pose on the couch.

He had a soft smirk, as he layed on the couch, his arm propping up his face. Although, he began to get fidgety, messing with his fluff.

“Stop moving.” You said with a soft smile.

Angel kept messing his fluff. “Ange!”

“Gee, sorry!” He said, chuckling, moving his arm back to its original position.

“So uh, how’d you get into all this?” Angel asked as the sketching of your pencil went to a stop and you began actually painting it. “College, back when I was alive I wanted to be an art therapist.” You explained.

“Fitting.” He murmured. For the most part, it was silent, a comforting silence though, the presence of each other was oddly soothing.

“Okay.” You muttered, squiggling your signature down at the bottom of the canvas quickly, “I’m done.” You announce to him, turning the canvas around to show him.

Angel perks up immediately, amazed by your skill, he slowly gets up off the couch to get a closer look. “Damn…” He said, his voice above a whisper, “Can I… Can I keep it?” He asked, hopeful that you might say yes, “Duh.” You giggled.

“For once the smooth talker is shocked, that’s new.” You say with a smirk. “And for once the introvert is talking back, that’s new.” Angel replies, but the usual attitude in his voice isn’t there, his voice is barely above a whisper as his eyes are still entranced with the painting.

You take the painting off the stand and hand it to Angel. You look over to a nearby window notice the sun is setting, despite the red sky still being as clear as day, “It’s getting late, I’m gonna head up to my room.” You say. “Yeah… Me too.”

As you and Angel are both walking to your rooms, you don’t say much, until a voice pipes up, “Y’know, I really owe ya for the painting.” Angel says, still looking at it, “Owe me what?” You ask, as you both arrive at your door.

“A date, maybe.” Angel says, pecking your forehead, “Stop by my room at eight tomorrow, if your interested~”

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜

🥀Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact 

🥀Au: hybrid au, continuation of this from last year's FFF

🥀Trope: s2l

🥀Summary: when you took Wooyoung in as a stray hybrid, you didn't think about triggering his rut

🥀Kinks: breeding kink, creampie, using cum as a lubricant, cum play, rut, collar, pussy slaps, brat! wooyoung, nipple play

🥀Word Count: 931

🥀Betas: @mejuii

🥀Day Twenty-Two: Double Penetration 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Four: Pegging/ Feminization

“So good,” Wooyoung purred into your ear. 

You had lost count of the amount of times Wooyoung had come inside of you. He was going through his first rut with you and it had been an experience, to say the least. He was simply insatiable but you couldn't find the energy to complain, honestly. 

“Woo-Wooyoung,” You stuttered, barely able to string words together as he fucked your already-messy cunt.

“One more time, just one more time,” Wooyoung encouraged you. He had said the same thing hours ago… or was it minutes?

The tiny bell in Wooyoung’s collar jingled as he thrusted above you. His arms strained on either side of you as he kept himself aloft. He smiled lazily, his kitty fangs peeking past his lips. It was so nice to see a content Wooyoung and you had only yourself to thank. 

You whined as Wooyoung rotated his hips to grind into you further. “Oh god, Wooyoung, please, I’m so sensitive.”

“You gonna come for me again, pretty?” Wooyoung teased, “I like it when your thighs shake.”

You swallowed loudly and moaned. You hooked a finger through his collar and pulled him closer. “You’re making a mess of my cunt, you bad kitty.”

Wooyoung’s body shuddered and he came inside of you, only for it to leak out. There was no more room in your cunt for him anymore. He frowned when he pulled out and saw all his cum push out of you. “That’s not right.”

The hybrid was still sporting a rock hard cock and you groaned. When was he going to be satiated? Wooyoung began to scoop some of the cum and push it back into your throbbing cunt and you cried out. “Why?”

“Gotta keep you full of my cum,” Wooyoung said in a high and sweet voice. “Otherwise, how else will the kitties come?”

“Kitties?” You demanded in surprise. “What kitties?”

Wooyoung continued to lackadaisically fuck your cunt, watching as his cum got pushed back in and spilled right back out. “Cute ones, I bet. I was made from a litter of six. I hope you’re ready for that.”

You struggled to sit up and peer down at Wooyoung. “What?!”

Wooyoung laughed again, loud and abrasive. He really was having the time of his life. His tail made a happy squiggle line behind him. He hummed, “Mmm, don’t you want to have my kitties, pretty?”

When you didn’t answer him, too preoccupied with the way his fingers moved in and out of you, Wooyoung clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make sure I fill you up again, huh?”

All you could do was groan as Wooyoung manhandled you into another position so he could fuck you. He pulled your lower body upwards, until your chin was tucked into your chest. He angled his cock with his hand, pushing it into you and you both groaned. His cum spilled out while he split you open for the umpteenth time. 

“You didn’t come last time, did you?” Wooyoung mentioned casually. “I’m such a bad kitty.”

The noises that were coming from your cunt, lewd and wet, were driving you insane. How much was it because of your slick and how much because of Wooyoung cum? “ s’okay, Woo,” You slurred, “Use me for your rut. It’s okay, pretty kitty.”

Wooyoung whined this time. He ran his finger through his cum and began to furiously rub at your clit. “Wanna hear your cute noises though,” He pouted.

“Fuck, Wooyoung!” Your body strained at the sudden aggressive pleasure shooting through your nerves. 

“Gonna cum for me pretty? Wanna feel your pussy squeeze me again and again and again. I love this cunt.” Wooyoung swatted at your clit and you jolted, squealing at the different feeling. Wooyoung tilted his head, ears moving back and forth curiously. “Did you like that?”

“You are a bad--” Your body tensed again as Wooyoung slapped your cunt a second time. “Kitty!” punched out of your lungs aggressively. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Wooyoung teased you.

“Yes, it feels good!” You shouted.

Wooyoung, the bad kitty that he truly was, fucked you vigorously while slapping your clit and made you both come together. He filled you up once again, purring in satisfaction that he got you to come too and had fun while doing it. 

Carefully, he laid you back down onto your back but stuck two fingers in your cunt to keep you plugged up. Then he snuggled into your bosom, kitty fangs absent-mindedly scratching at the side of your breast.

“When you get full of my kitties, do you think I could try sucking your breasts full of milk?” Wooyoung wondered.

“Woo--young!” You dragged out his name. “First, that play was not approved.” You reached down and grabbed the base of his tail. “Stop mouthing at my--oh my god!” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as Wooyoung latched onto your nipple and used his rough kitty tongue to play with the sensitive flesh.

You summoned all your reserves of energy and pinned Wooyoung under you, using your legs, a knee on each side of his neck. “I’m going to get the leash. You’re going to eat up all the cum that’s inside of me and your pretty cock is going to weep that it’s not getting any release.”

Wooyoung’s eyes were blown at your burst of anger. He was absolutely a masochist. His ears were back on his head, a true sign that he was content. And yet, he still grinned and said, “Okay, Mommy.”

🥀Day Twenty-Two: Double Penetration 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Four: Pegging/ Feminization

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5K! Wow, that's so incredible, and I'm so happy for you!!! Congratulations omg

I was wondering if I could request a drabble of Mr Soap MacTavish (2022) where the reader is fixing up his wounds, and he's just staring at the reader with the biggest heart eyes and that's when he says "I love you" for the first time???

—Heart-Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞

You sigh and slip on your sterile gloves, hearing the snap of the latex as they conform to your flesh in all of their blue, tight glory. 

“I warned you they would pull,” your voice levels, exasperation making lines spring to life on your forehead and squiggle. “Do you ever listen to me?” 

“Always, Dearie.” The Scot behind you holds a rag to his head, blood dripping off the corner and slipping down his arm. On his square face, he holds a small smirk. “Now, what I didn’t expect was a madman rushin’ me as he did—didn’t mean to rip all of your stitches, but I was more worried about the knife two inches from my damn eye, if ya understand.” 

You fight down a smile, rolling your eyes before grabbing the handle of the utility cart and turning to face Johnny—raising a teasing brow in the process. 

“I’m fond of my sutures, MacTavish. I hope you know that I’m highly offended right now.” Lips twitching, the mohawked man tilts his head, leaning against the examination table still in gear and with his free hand situated at his neck; handing off his vest’s collar. 

“I’m sure there’s still at least one under here that’ll call to your expertise, Ma’am.”

“There better,” you mumble, fake glaring at your boyfriend of one year. He chuckles, reaching out a hand as you come near and drag your cart with you. 

As if it’s a chore, you sigh loudly and let him bring you into his arms. Your grip wraps around his waist and you sag into the wide frame and his natural warmth—Johnny’s hand spans your back, firm as his thumb lightly moves up and down. 

His sapphire blues soften as he stares down at you, stubble moving back in a smile. You rest your chin on his chest as he lightly presses the rag deeper into his forehead. 

“It’ll scar,” you say slowly. “Especially if it got even more damaged by the fall.” 

“Ah,” he whispers, breath hitting your head as your lashes flutter. Johnny’s chest grumbles with every word, accent deep and rich. “Think I’ll be just as handsome, then? That’s all that’s going to matter.”

You laugh at the exaggeration, lips peeling in a grin. “The most handsome, Johnny. It’s surprising that the entire world doesn’t stand still when you enter a room. Add in another face scar and people will faint when they come near.”

The Scot huffs, but a sheepish sheen splays over his cheeks, and a giddy smile grows when you call him handsome.

“Knew I wasn’t the only one that thought it.” Sharing a laugh, you pull back. The man pouts before you lightly hit his thigh with the back of your hand. 

“Hey!” Johnny grunts out. “Watch the arm, Hen, it’ll leave a mark—”

You kiss him with a grin, feeling the man start forward to meet you with no hesitation and sigh deeply, stubble scratching against your skin in the most delicious way possible. His arm grabs onto your hip and the rag at his flesh loosens—the blood drip-drip-dripping as his fingers dig into your scrubs. 

When his teeth nip your lip, you chuckle into his mouth and lean out of his hold to reach for your supplies. Johnny frowns in false disappointment but still yields to you when you carefully take away his soiled rag to stare at the damage. 

A bloody mess of open skin forms a head wound that makes your face dip with seriousness. Humming in your throat, you lightly touch the area as Johnny winces. You utter an apology and kiss his hand as it comes up to brush at your cheek, unable to be away from you.

“Hm,” the Scot doesn't notice his flinch when you numb the area, the needle digging into the thin skin. All he sees is you. 

“Bad?” He asks, letting you slant from in between his legs and grab the saline solution.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” Softly staring, you prep the area for sutures, oblivious to the pair of eyes that conform to a delicate roundness of tender affection. Like the contents of a great love poem of old, Johnny is distracted from the pain by your supple touch—breathing in your scent like a field of wildflowers as your body lay in his easy clutch. 

Humming a tune under your breath, you let Johnny’s arms encase you, not minding the left-over blood he spreads as your needle driver moves a sterilized needle through lightly tanned flesh. Tissue forceps grab and manipulate where you see fit, but your attention is solely focused on getting your Lover better. 

Johnny breathes deeply, barely feeling the pressure of the digging point. When you’re about halfway done, the man grunts out the easiest words he’s ever uttered to light.

“I love you, Little Lady.” Your eyes flash to a widened stare into his held skin, the needle poking out of his bloody mess of glistening redness. 

It was no trial to anyone to see how much you two loved each other—the entire base was aware of your relationship; the other nurses relentlessly teased you when the only help Johnny would accept was from you or your head doctor. And the Scot had said multiple times the only reason that the doctor was in his book was that, if the injury was beyond what you were allowed to work on, you’d be unable to help unless the individual was there. 

It was in the touches, the kisses filled with warmth and reverence—the way he looked at you. A blind man could notice it just by the way he talked about you on Leave if you weren’t able to join. 

“She’d like that.”

“My Hen would lose her head over this; let me get a picture.”

“Hell’s bells, wait a moment—need to buy this for my Dearie. She’ll put it to good use.”

And you, of course, leaned into him with equal worship whenever able. Reveled in his great weight at night as his head rested on your stomach, Johnny’s body between your legs and lips muttering into your flesh in a deep sleep on his chest. Arms so tight around you his biceps would gain size as if he was flexing and not just pressing you up into him.

But this was the first. 

The first confession. The first declaration of love. 

You don’t know why, but saying it made it feel so much more real. 

Your eyes slide to the side, looking into those deep blues with all of their loveliness; their hues and flecks of stars trapped like ocean waves dancing in moonlight. Wisps of stories you’d yet to uncover. Blinking, your expression evens out as the minute stretches—that look on the man’s face still staying. 

You chuckle softly. 

“Took you long enough, MacTavish.” 

A breathless kiss. A shuttered exhale. 

“...Then I’ll be sure to make you never doubt it.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 16

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Happy Wednesday. I didn't have to change this because apparently the last time I updated was also a Wednesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You look in the mirror, the steam receding to the frame. You look tired. You feel it. 

You put away the bottles you used for your bath and try some of the brown sugar moisturizer, hoping it might ease the dry spots left from the friction of your pillow. You cap it and place it in the basket with the rest.

You hang your towel on the rack and flip back the silver tab of the lock. You come out into the hall and nearly trip on your own toes. Andy stands casually against the wall, a dark blue towel folded over one arm, his phone in his other hand as he looks at you over the top.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I hope… hope I didn't take too long…"

"Nah, haven't been waiting long," he smiles and scratches his beard, a few tufts out of place as you hear the coarse graze of his fingertips, "sleep okay?"

You lie, "yes…You?"

"God knows I tried," he shrugs as he stands straight, "pretty shaken by the cops swinging by, you know?"

"Uh, sure," you tuck your lip under your teeth, "sorry–"

"You're not the one who needs to apologize," he waves you off and taps his thumb on the side button of his phone, crossing his arms, a gesture that emphasizes his size. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something before I start the day."

"Oh?" Your brows squiggle together. What have you done wrong now?

"Did you wanna come to the library? I figured if you need to put together a resume for your application I could get together a few resources. It'd be a quiet place to work." He looks almost nervous as you watch his hand squeeze his phone tighter, knuckles white, "we could get some tea down at the cafe, maybe some lunch?"

You consider him and his request. It isn't a bad idea. You don't know where to start with a resume. You only imagine a blank piece of paper, as empty as your life. You try to smile, your cheeks dimpling painfully.

"Okay," you agree. 

You don't know you have the courage to say no. It is his house and it's a thoughtful idea. Amber always said you should get out when you feel grey… Amber…

"I'll go get my tablet," you say to chase away your sadness, "thanks, Andy."

"No problem," he takes a breath, relief uncoiling the tension from him. Had he really been so anxious? "You're the one doing me a favour, so thank you."

"I am?"

"Yeah, I won't complain for the company and it'll give me something to look forward to," he moves towards the bathroom door as you sidle out of his way. His hand seems to float over your shoulder just before you elude it. Instead he presses it to the door. "I'll try to hurry."

🕊️

It feels almost surreal to be back at the library. It's a reminder of everything that's happened. All that's changed.

Andy brings you in with him as he opens. You stand at the counter and watch him. He does everything with graceful certainty. It makes you insecure, there's nothing you know how to do so effortlessly.

When the library opens, it remains quiet. Andy gathers a few books for reference and you take them to the basement, wary of getting in his way as the first patrons arrive. You're much more comfortable in the isolated underground. 

You claim your usual spot and prop your tablet up in its case sideways. You open a book and delve into the basic formatting of a resume. You type your name at the top but the next line stumps you. Address? What do you put? Andy's? You don't even know it.

You skip that and put your email. Phone number? Yeah, not that either.

You work slowly. Your frustration mounts as you distract yourself with making neat margins and inserting lines over inputting any information. You have nothing to add. No skills, no experience, no value. 

You put your head in your hands and take a deep breath. You're overwhelmed by this simple task. How can you expect to have a job? Like Andy and Amber and everyone else. Everything that is so easy for them is almost impossible for you. You are dumb and worthless.

You stay like that for a while, staring at the table, fighting back tears. What are you going to tell Andy? That you're a loser. That all those expectations he has, you can't meet. Maybe you deserve everything you get, maybe Amber didn't deserve the blight of your existence.

"You're here," her voice draws your head up, as if you summoned her with your thoughts.

You blink, not believing she's real. Amber rushes forward and you sit back, staring wide eyed, terrified at her. She winces and stays on the other side of the table.

"What… why are you looking at me like that?" She clasps her hands together, "please, just listen, please," she pulls out the chair and sits, stretching and arm across the table, "I'm not here to argue–"

"How did you find me?"

"It's not that hard, I know you. I'm your sister."

You fold your arms, shrinking down, brow furrowing, heart sinking. Why is she doing this? She's only her to make you feel worse.

"I'm not here to argue, alright? I just want you to hear me."

"You called the police," you accuse.

"You left in the middle of the night," she hisses, "what was I supposed to do? I was scared."

"And so was I," you snap back. "I'm fine…" you look down and spread your hands over the pages, pushing the book flat, "I'm going to get a job."

She pauses and looks down at the book. She leans in and nods.

"That's great," she forces out stuntedly, "I can help if–"

"No," you shake your head.

She sits back and sighs, "what did I do?" 

"I told you. I'm not a child."

"I know you aren't, bubba."

"Bubba?! You talk to me like I am."

She seals her lips and swallows your word with another nod. She puts her hands on the table, as if steadying herself.

"Right, I'm not going to talk to you like a child. I'm just going to say what I came to say and you can choose to hear me or not." She takes a breath and sets her jaw, "that man does not want to help you. You can't see it but he doesn't want what's best for you, I do.

"I know you've made your choice but it's the wrong one. I can't change your mind, police said they won't bring you back, but I can at least try to talk some sense into you. You do what you want, be the adult you claim to be, but at the end of the day, you're my sister and you always will be.

"Bubba, if this all goes wrong, when it does, I will be waiting. My door is open. Today, tomorrow, in a week, a year, whenever you need me–"

She shudders as her eyes glisten and she puts her palm to her chest, "please just think about what you're doing."

You drop your chin. Your heart clenches. Amber always sounds right. She's always been there but you just can't go back. It feels cowardly to change your mind just because you have to do things for yourself. 

And you just don't believe her. You want to so bad but you see what she's doing. Andy showed you what to look for; she's playing the victim. She hurt you, you didn't hurt her. She couldn't handle you being out of control and now she's panicking.

"Bub…" she utters. You just stare at your lap. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll bring you whatever you want–"

"Hoovering," you whisper, tilting your head up slightly at Amber's confused hum, "it's when a narcissist tries to win back someone they lost. Through spontaneous contact and making empty promises…"

"Bubba, how– I wouldn’t do that."

"I thought you wouldn't… before."

She lingers for a moment. She stands slowly and fixes her purse on her shoulder. She looms over the table and lets out a shallow breath that sounds like a sob.

"You know I'll pick up the phone. I'll be there…" she drags her fingers across the table, "whenever you need me."

She hesitates before she turns to leave. You hear her gulping as she steps between the shelves and steps shuffle out from the staircase.

"Hey, what are you–" Andy's accusation fills the silence, "dove! Are you okay?"

"Shut up," Amber growls, "and don't touch me." You look up as she shoves away his hand on her arm, "I'm leaving…" her voice is sticky with repressed grief, "she won't listen. Are you happy you fucking monster?"

He squares his shoulders and looks at her, glares down his nose, "I'm helping her. Something you never did."

"Fuck yourself. If you hurt her, I will–"

"That won't work. You're not going to stand here and scare her," he snarls, "so go."

They lock in a staredown before Amber elbows past him, marching to the stairs and stopping to look back down at the aisle. You sink down and cover your face. You feel a pit swallowing up. This shouldn't be so hard. None of it. Writing this damn resume or living your own life. It's so hard.

🕊️

You sit in the cafe, watching the street through the window from your seat in the corner. You feel as if you're outside your own body, like you're floating over the pedestrians, watching from some secret tower. You close your eyes and see the blank document etched into your retinas. 

The clink of a dish brings your head up. You sit back, limp and barely able to support your own weight. You just feel empty.

Andy sets down a sandwich before you, beside the steaming tea you hadn't touched. He gives a sheepish smile as your eyes bore past him. He sits and places a napkin beside you plate.

Neither the sight or scent of food can stir your appetite. You can't even remember the last time you ate. Last night you pushed around the casserole noodles until he stopped paying attention.

"Looks good," he says as he reaches for his foamy coffee. "I grabbed a little surprise for dessert tonight," he says as he sets his cup down and pats his jacket pocket.

You nod and clear your throat. The simple act hurts.

"Thank you," you force out.

"Well," he hovers his hand over his plate, "dig in. It looks delicious and I'm sure you're starving."

"Uh, sure," you drone and consider the thick sandwich; a croissant stacked with turkey and swiss, a leaf of lettuce and slice of tomato peeking out.

You grab your cup instead and take a swig. You hum, "I didn't even try my tea," you distract him, "how's your coffee?"

"Good, mocha usually isn't my thing but not bad. Gotta try new things, right, dove?"

"Mhmm," you peel away the edge of the lettuce and make yourself nibble it. It tastes awful. Everything is terrible.

"Been a good day, so far, not too busy," he carries on, "how's the resume coming?"

You shrug, "not done…"

He clucks and nods, letting out a long breath. He leans forward and picks up his ham and cheddar on rye. He takes a bite as you tear away some of the croissant and pretend to chew on the end.

"So… guess we should talk," he swallows, "about your sister."

"I don't want to," you whine, "please–"

"I need to know what she said, honey. To protect you. Like last night, hm? When she sent the cops after you like some criminal."

"She was only worried," you rebuff.

"About herself. About making herself feel better by standing on your back," he puts and elbow on the table, lowering his brow in a serious way, "I tell you every day you can do anything, and what did she ever do but tell you not to even try."

You frown. Your heart is in pieces. You don't want to be here. You don't want to be anywhere.

"I'll keep working on my resume," you say, "I'll be done it soon."

He huffs and sniffs at his sandwich before taking another bite. He is silent as he swallows, his gaze weighing on you.

"We can get a box if you wanna take that back with you. No eating in the stacks but just don't let anyone see."

"Thank you, Andy," you say, "I'll be hungry later for sure."

"Mhmm," he taps his foot under the table, letting the silence hang.

You cross your arms and sit back, looking past him to the street again. You wish you had somewhere to be with a briefcase, or were running to catch a bus, you wish you had any purpose but to be a burden.

🕊️

You put the casserole in as Andy mutters to himself and flips through the channels. He says there's some ball game on. You're happy he at least had something to fill the void of your conversations.

You wait in the kitchen. You watch the timer countdown and when it dings you take out the pan. You set it on the counter and scoop out a healthy helping into a plate. You take a fork and knife and rest it on the rim, going to stand in the archway that looks into the front room.

"Do you wanna eat here or at the table?"

Andy looks over, his arm stretched over the back cushion of the grey couch.

"I'll come eat with you," he volunteers as he sits forward.

"No, it's okay. I'm going to lay down… I have a headache."

"A headache? I have advil," his forehead creases with concern.

"Already took something. I think it's going to rain…"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I… was looking forward to eating together."

"It's okay. Tomorrow," you promise, "please, enjoy and watch your game."

His mouth slants as you approach and put the plate on the coffee table. You feel uneven and wobbly. You just want to sleep until you can't wake up.

"I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow," you step back and hide a yawn behind your hand.

"I hope so," he says, "I'll check on you before I turn in. Just to make sure you're okay."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to," he insists, "you know where to find me if you need anything.'

You slowly back away. You turn and drag your feet to the door. You don't need anything but to be alone.

[rotworld]

20: Instinct

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you're the primary caretaker of a lorleian child who was raised in captivity. to help her learn how to survive in the wild, you've had to enlist the help of an adult lorleian with extremely territorial streak.

->original work. explicit; contains dub-con, mentions of child neglect/abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, breeding kink and dirty talk, tentacles, terato, mentions of hard vore/cannibalism.

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It’s a two hour drive from the Marine Life Rescue Center to the particular stretch of beach where Awimi has her rewilding lessons. The journey requires preparation: a custom child’s car seat, upholstered with soft absorbent padding that maintains moisture. A barrel of saltwater solution with an attached spritzing nozzle that dispenses in five-minute intervals. An array of increasingly complex plastic puzzle boxes, central chambers stuffed with shrimp and minnows. The van smells like a fish market but you only notice for the first ten minutes. You take a snaking coastal highway, the windows rolled down to let in the sea breeze, the scent of brine and the squawks of gulls. 

“I’m hungry,” she complains. You can hear the squeal and creak of plastic coming from the backseat, and the sounds of her suckers popping off of things.

“You’re going to eat so many fish in just a little bit,” you assure her.

“Want fish now.” 

“There’s fish in your box.” 

“Want better fish,” she insists. One of her tentacles scoots down the side of your seat, playing with your seatbelt. “Fish that move.” 

“Soon,” you promise. “I bet Ishi’s saving all the best ones for you.” 

She pouts. “He better.”

You glance at the mirror frequently to make sure she hasn’t unbuckled her seatbelt and started sliding around. So far so good. She’s hard at work on one of the puzzle boxes, her enormous eyes and squiggling pupils trained intently on a stubborn sliding mechanism that she keeps prodding and picking at. It’s no wonder she’s so hungry with how big she’s gotten. Her tentacles used to dangle off the edge of the car seat without touching the floor and her hair-like head tendrils were just short, wiggling nubs. 

Malnutrition and time spent in a cramped enclosure have impacted her growth and she’ll probably never be as large as an average adult of her subspecies, but she might get to be your size, at least. You’d worry a lot more if you weren’t certain she won’t be facing the open ocean alone.

“What are you most excited about today?” you ask her.

“The reef!” she says. Bored of the puzzle box, she passes it from her hands to her tentacles. They keep working on it even as her attention wanders to the rolling waves outside. “It’s pretty! And the water is good! And there’s lots of fish, and shells. Ishi is really good at shells. They should be easy to open but they’re not. You have to be really strong. Ishi is the strongest.” 

“He is,” you agree. “But I bet you’ll grow up to be really strong, too. You’re already stronger than me.”

“Really?” She sounds suspicious.

“Yep. You remember that sardine jar I gave you last night?” 

“Tasty,” she says.

“I’m not supposed to give you the whole jar,” you admit. “But I couldn’t get it open.” 

Awimi grins. Her teeth are like rows of spikes. 

There’s always a moment of tense, solemn silence when you pass beneath a rocky cliff with a view of the water. There’s an exit lane snaking up a steep hill to a sprawling, empty parking lot. The words “SEA SAFARI” are no longer mounted atop the decrepit ticket gates but their ghost remains in faded paint stains. You only saw the place once, and only in the midst of it being gutted and drained following a series of ruinous lawsuits. Awimi had crammed herself into the corner of a completely bare and featureless enclosure. She was clearly sick, her tentacles pale pink like raw clam when they should’ve been maroon speckled with white spots. Her chromatophors sparkled a warning when you waded in. She bit your hand when you offered her food and wrapped her tentacles all around your arm, suckers pulling harshly at your skin. 

When you didn’t do anything—didn’t move, didn’t yell, didn’t try to hit her—she blinked her large eyes, banded like colorful marbles, and her suckers loosened. She was so small and weighed so little that you could lift her up and carry her in your arms, her tentacles winding around you like the straps of a harness. The Rescue Center had brought a tank to transport her but she wouldn’t get in. You spent the entire ride back with her clinging to your chest, misting her with a spray bottle while she tried to camouflage herself with the colors of your shirt.

“No more bad place,” Awimi says quietly.

“No more,” you promise her. The property’s already been sold as part of Sea Safari’s liquidation. They’re going to build a new shopping center aimed at summer tourists. “No one is allowed to catch you and put you in a little tank anymore.” 

“What if they try?” she asks.

“Then we’ll stop them. So will Ishi. You know how strong he is.” More accurately, he’d kill them. He’d do it for a lot less. “Almost there,” you say. Awimi flicks her tentacles impatiently. You hear the snap of the puzzle box opening and then the crunch of shrimp. 

Your destination is a shingle beach. Rocky, far from anything and bearing a horrific reputation of drownings and disappearances, it’s a quiet place that’s made for the perfect meeting spot. You park at the top of a steep, dirt hill and strip down to your wetsuit. Awimi is out of the van the moment you open her door, flinging off her seatbelt and oozing out in a flurry of excited movement. She’s a bit floppy on land but she’s perfectly capable of getting where she needs to go. She’s snuck out of her enclosures at the Rescue Center more times than you can count to grab a midnight snack from the freezer down the hall, the only evidence of her brief adventure a trail of puddles on the floor.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” she says, suckers pulling at your ankle. You check your scuba gear one more time before you follow her down the bumpy slope. “Ishi’s here! Ishi!” 

That’s unusual, you think. Usually he waits at the cove. When you look down the beach where seafoam trickles over the rocks, your stomach clenches in fear and revulsion.

There, at the very edge of the water, you see an enormous creature perched on the rocks. It’s an adult lorleian, the same subspecies as Awimi. His head tendrils are fully grown into gelatinous strands, smoothed back from his face and plastered flat to his back and shoulders like wet locks of hair. The webbing between his fingers is thicker than Awimi’s and not quite as transparent, and his torso is covered in old scars—everything from shark bites and serrated squid tentacle scrapes to knife wounds. He’s much larger than either of you, his lower half a mass of squirming, enormous tentacles, each one long, thick, and wrapped around a man in a waterproof coat who flails like he’s fighting for his life.

“Wait here for just a second,” you tell her.

“Why?” Awimi says. 

“I have to ask Ishi a grown-up question. It won’t take long, I promise.” She pouts until you grab a puzzle box from the van, and then you rush down the beach. You hear awful gurgling sounds the closer you get, muffled screams and groans of pain. The man is almost entirely engulfed in the slithering grasp of unyielding tentacles. He thrashes and wails, limbs trapped, the full weight of a lorleian pinning him face-down in the shallow water rushing over the rocks. 

“Ishyr,” you say, your voice firm. 

The lorleian looks up and a shiver runs down your spine at the predatory coldness in his gaze. Like Awimi, his eyes are large with swirls and speckles of fantastic color. His pupils are long and narrow like a leering glare, constricted in the harshness of surface sunlight. “Yes?” he says, sounding bored. 

“Stop.”

“Mm. No.” He holds your gaze while his tentacles squeeze tighter. One of the man’s arms is wrenched behind his back at an unnatural angle and then yanked out of the socket. You hear him try to scream, shoulders trembling and heaving. “He brought a crab trap. To steal my crabs. Isn’t that illegal?” 

“Yes, but you can’t—”

“Then stop me.” Ishyr hunches over his prey possessively, leering at you. “Go on,” he says. “Try it. Come a little closer.” You don’t think he’d kill you in front of Awimi but you’re not certain. There’s no safe approach. His reach is long enough in every direction to catch you before you’re close enough to do anything. He watches your frown deepen with faint amusement and makes a rumbling sound, a grating purr that sets your teeth on edge. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.” Ishyr doesn’t dislocate the other arm. He wraps a tentacle all the way down, shoulder to wrist, and squeezes. You hear a series of sharp crunches as bones snap and shatter beneath ripping skin, blood darkening the man’s sleeve.

You move in sheer desperation, lunging at Ishyr. You don’t even get within arm’s reach before he has you encircled, two tentacles wrapped around your body with a threatening, bruising grip. He drags you closer until you’re ankle deep in the rising tide, seafoam tickling your ankles. 

“That wasn’t smart,” he says. “You could die. I could strangle you. Snap your neck. Hold you under until you drown. That’s always fun. I could even do this.” His claws seize the man by the hair, dragging his head out of the water so you can see his bulging, terrified eyes and the tentacle threatening to break his jaw. You can see it bulging beneath the skin of his throat as it undulates and slithers deeper but you know he’s keeping it tightly compacted. The same way you might clench your first, Awimi and Ishyr can flex their muscles and alter the thickness of their tentacles. Useful for dragging prey out of tight spaces. “I can reach all kinds of things like this,” Ishyr murmurs. “Things you really don’t want me to reach.” 

“Don’t,” you beg him. “Ishyr—”

He never looks away from your horrified gaze as he unclenches his muscles. The tentacle instantly expands to its full girth and you hear several things crack and pop inside the man’s body. Blood trickles from the ripped skin at the corner of his mouth. His eyes roll back in his head and you desperately hope he’s unconscious. Ishyr lets his head drop back into the slick stones gracelessly and something else crunches unpleasantly. He smirks at you. “Today’s lesson is how to open shells. Isn’t it?” A tentacle wraps around the man’s neck and twists sharply.

Your stomach churns. Ishyr lets you go and you stumble away from him, nearly losing your footing. He calls out to Awimi in Enteroctal Lorleian, a language of melodic trills and chirps that’s almost ear-piercing on the surface without water to muffle it. Awimi slowly scoots down the beach, glancing between the two of you. “Do you have to do that in front of her?” you whisper. 

“Does she look upset to you?” he asks. 

She doesn’t. Nervous, yes, the way she always does when you argue, but her eyes fall to the dead man as Ishyr snags the back of his shirt with a tentacle and starts to drag him into the water. She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted, or even confused. She looks hungry. That’s the look she gives her puzzle boxes when she can smell fresh fish inside. Her suckers lap at the blood on the rocks. It doesn’t matter that it’s human. It’s flesh, and Ishyr killed it, so it must be meant for eating.

“Can I try?” she asks shyly.

You pointedly ignore the smug look Ishyr gives you. “Yes,” he answers in Lorleian. “But you have to open it yourself. I’ll show you.” 

It’s an uncomfortably long swim to Ishyr’s cove, but only for you. Awimi blossoms once she’s in the water. She unfurls her tentacles in a big, shivering stretch and then she spins and flits around with bubbles jetting behind her. You can’t hear what she says to Ishyr or what he says back. Everything is muffled to your ears, Lorleian sounding like musical warbles and grunts. But she’s smiling, laughing with high-pitched tinkling sounds like dolphin squeals, her tentacles grabbing playfully at his, and Ishyr is so gentle with her. His tentacles make little grasping curls where they touch her skin, rubbing with featherlight gentleness the same way their subspecies strokes their soft, vulnerable eggs. 

In the waving green stalks of a kelp forest, Ishyr suddenly comes to a stop, lower body flared defensively. He passes the corpse to his hands and engulfs Awimi with his tentacles, hiding her completely from view. Another lorleian drifts by—big, thick with muscle, a gray back and shoulders with a white underbelly. You recognize the sharp-tipped fins of a shark knifing through the kelp. It circles you once, then twice, slightly closer. Your heart leaps into your throat when something loops around your ankle and pulls. 

Ishyr drags you over with a tentacle until you’re close enough to grab with his claw, long fingers wrapped all the way around your neck. You struggle when he lowers his mouth to your neck, dagger-like teeth pricking your wetsuit. He makes a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than you hear, a vibration quivering all across your body. The other lorleian circles one more time, staring at you intently, before it sneers and swims away. Ishyr waits for some sign invisible to you before he suddenly lets you go and starts swimming again, his tentacles parting to allow Awimi to swim back out. 

He keeps you close after that, you notice. He looks back to make sure you’re still following several times, gesturing impatiently with a curl of the nearest tentacle. 

The next time you surface is on the sandy beach of the cove. Ishyr and Awimi stop swimming and start snaking along the ground, pulling themselves out of the water. There’s a scattering of large rock formations and tide pools with small, colorful creatures darting around, and the mouth of a sea cave up ahead. Bones litter the shore, sun-bleached and picked clean. Some animal. Some lorleian. Some human. Ishyr drags the corpse with his tentacles, leaving a soggy, blood-speckled trail up the beach. He stops to glance back over at his shoulder. 

“Might want to wait out here,” he says. 

You don’t argue. You can smell dead fish and decay, and you have no desire to see his food stash again. He chirrups at Awimi and she makes a similar sound back, much higher in pitch. You swear he almost smiles. 

You wait in the shadow of the cave’s entrance, watching the tide roll in and wisping clouds drift by. It’s peaceful here. Nothing but the whisper of the ocean and the faraway song of seabirds. You see crabs scurry around and small fish dart back and forth. A pod of dolphins cruise by in the distance, followed by a group of sleek gray lorleians. Coves like these are common spots for lorleians to rear young, whether they’re laying eggs in shallow nooks and burrows or whelping in the sand. It’s odd that Ishyr is the only one here, using it as a place to store his extras, but maybe he wasn’t alone once. 

All those months ago when he first saw you with Awimi in your arms and tears in your eyes, maybe that’s why he showed himself—sliding slowly and carefully up the beach with a pensive expression—instead of just swimming away.

Their voices echo from further in the cave. Ishyr uses a very different tone with Awimi than he does with you, evident even when he speaks Lorleian. The sounds are longer and drawling in sharp contrast to Awimi’s quick trills. Patient, you think. He goes slow and he listens intently. You also hear some truly sickening sounds—the shredding of meat, the crack of sinew, the wet slurp of soft tissues and slippery organs sliding around. 

It’s easy to lose track of time. Eventually, the chatter stops and the wet noises of a body coming apart fade to silence. You risk peeking deeper inside, only to find Ishyr very carefully depositing Awimi in a tide pool. She’s fast asleep, her tentacles curling and uncurling in unconscious motions. They cling to Ishyr’s arm when he sets her down until he plucks them off with his own, the gentle grip of his suckers seeming to soothe her. Ishyr strokes her head-tendrils. 

“Say something when you come in,” he mutters, keeping his voice a low, quiet hiss. “I don’t like surprises, especially here.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. He glowers at you over his shoulder. “How is she?” 

“Mm. She’s doing well.” That almost sounds like pride in his voice. “Very stubborn. It’s a good thing. She doesn’t give up, even when she’s frustrated. She speaks better. Do you practice with her?” 

You wish you could. You don’t have the right organs to make the noises necessary for Lorleian, but you’ve studied to understand as much as you can. “There are recordings online,” you say. “I play them, and then we both try to figure out what they’re saying.” 

Ishyr sloughs towards you, tentacles squishing wetly against the stone floor. He flicks his hand towards the entrance of the cave and you follow, easily keeping pace beside him. His tentacles keep wandering over and sliding against your legs. You wonder if he even notices he’s doing it. Awimi’s the same way—her limbs all have minds of their own and sometimes grasp or smack things when she’s not paying attention, acting on their own impulses. 

“Do you have young of your own?” Ishyr asks. He doesn’t look directly at you but he watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye. 

“Me? No,” you say, startled by the question. 

“Mm. You could.” One of his tentacles slithers up to your thigh and you almost stumble. “Very easily, you could.” Ishyr snags you by the waist this time. You’d be more frightened if you weren’t so confused. His tentacles aren’t squeezing like they usually do. They’re loose and slippery, suckers plucking at your wetsuit and caressing your body. “Take this off,” he says.

“Wh—huh?” you ask. 

Ishyr cups your chin and makes you look him in the eye. “Take this off,” he repeats with a sharp smile. “Or I will rip it off of you.” 

“Ishyr, what—are you—wait a second!” You pull frantically at his tentacle when one of his suckers tugs threateningly at your sleeve. “What are you doing?” 

Another tentacle winds up your thigh, the tip settling directly between your legs where it starts to stroke and writhe. You completely lose your train of thought at the sensation of his suckers clinging and releasing in short bursts. It feels like a kiss, like a hot, sucking mouth trying to get at your sex through your clothes. “Is it not obvious?” he asks, claws grasping your jaw.

“It’s unexpected,” you insist. “Do you even like me? Like, in any way?” 

He regards you with narrowed eyes, searching your face for deception. “I haven’t been subtle.” 

This is news to you. “You threaten me every time I see you—”

“And yet you live,” he says wryly. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. More bones on this beach.” A tentacle drapes over your shoulder, the suckers honing in on your nipples and teasing them, pulling gently. The more you squirm, the more you’re surrounded by grasping, groping limbs. You’re surprised when he presses his lips against yours. They’re slick and salty, sharp teeth nibbling at your lower lip. “You’re here,” he murmurs, hot breath warming your mouth. “In my cove. My territory. I’ve invited you here, over and over, and I’ve let you leave alive. Either you’re kin, or someone trusted.” 

He starts tugging at your wetsuit again and you find yourself complying. This doesn’t feel real. The truth is you’ve snuck a few glances at Ishyr in the time you’ve known him and had some thoughts you’re not too proud of about his tentacles. Never in a million years did you imagine he’d be hooking his claws around the zipper of your wetsuit and tugging it down with such hunger in his eyes. 

“I’ve been contending with my instincts,” he admits. “But probably not the ones you’re thinking of. There’s a part of me that wants to bite when I see you doing stretches on the beach. You expose your neck…your belly…weak spots. Very enticing.” His tentacles squeeze those spots he likes so much while he speaks, suckling at your neck and wrapping around your stomach. Your face feels hot. Was he there when you did your warm ups before getting in the water? You don’t remember seeing him. Unless he’d stayed in the water, lurking somewhere just out of sight without saying anything…

Once your zipper’s down far enough, his tentacles are all over you. They’re helping, you think, trying to peel it off, but they’re also touching, fondling, feeling like tongues and fingers and firm hands and something else all together, all at once. Ishyr doesn’t waste any time. You’ve still got one leg in the wetsuit when you feel his suckers toying with your sex. You gasp and the tip of a tentacle fills your mouth. The taste is strange and briney, the texture slightly bumpy. 

“Shhhh,” he whispers. “Awimi is sleeping.” It’s infuriating how calm and collected he is, not even panting as he encloses you in constant pleasure. A tentacle rubs your sex while another toys with your entrance, the rest coiling sensually around your chest and hips and thighs, suckers sliding wetly over your skin like thousands of tongues. “Had you ever seen our young? Before her? I bet you hadn’t. We’re very solitary and the shore is too dangerous for the little ones. For us, when we see a happy, healthy hatchling swimming alongside a beautiful mother…a dedicated father…a lorleian, strong enough to rear young and protect it…” He shivers with a groan. “Mm. I would’ve mated you in the sand the day we met if we were the same species. Given the little one a sibling…or two…or more.”

He’s getting excited the more he talks about it, pulling the tentacle out of your mouth and replacing it with his tongue. The sensation of being covered in him, draped in licking, sucking kisses and caressing hands, pushes you rapidly towards climax. He must be able to tell because you hear him moan into your mouth and then everything gets harder, faster and more intense. The tentacle engulfing your sex feels like it’s pulsating, the suckling sensation making you buck your hips and whimper against Ishyr’s tongue. He wraps around you firmly, urging you to rut against him harder, to ride the wave of ecstasy as long and hard as you can. 

“If I could breed you, I would,” he murmurs, nipping the corner of your mouth. He trails kisses along your jaw to your ear, curling his tongue around the lobe. “You wouldn’t leave here empty. No, you wouldn’t leave at all. You’d be so, so full, it would only be a matter of time. Mm, you’re lucky I can’t. Seeing you with my eggs might ruin me. All I’d be able to think about is breeding you again, and again, and again.”  

He pulls you against his body when you come, your chest pressed to his and your hips pumping frantically in the wet, pleasurable warmth of his tentacles. You’re still catching your breath when you realize he hasn’t stopped babbling, muttering in your ear about breeding and eggs and how unbearably sexy you’d be guarding his little translucent bundles of joy. He stiffens suddenly, tentacles suddenly going rigid before his whole body relaxes and he sags against you.

“Ishyr? Ishyr!” you hiss. He’s too heavy and you both end up on the floor of the cave. He’s not bothered about it, if the way he immediately wraps around you is any indication. “Did…did you…?”

“I had to calm myself,” he mutters, his speech slightly slurred. “Can’t mate you today. We need time. You have to take Awimi back when she’s finished napping.” 

“Time?” you ask, intrigued. “How much time?” 

Ishyr rolls onto his side and brings you with him. You’d call it spooning if he wasn’t somehow on every side of you simultaneously, warm and comfortable. “Mm. The better part of a day, ideally.” 

“A day?” you echo, incredulous. “Do lorleians really mate that long?” 

Ishyr smiles. It’s wide, sharp and threatening, the same way he smiles when he casually threatens to bash your skull open against the rocks for questioning what he’s teaching Awimi. Did he think you’d realize he was kidding somehow? Was that its own strange form of flirtation? “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?” he purrs, tracing your lips with his claw. 

You meet him halfway when he leans in for another kiss. You guess you will.

[obwjam]

a small surprise part 3 (gravity falls g/t)

omgggggg i'm still doing this! i actually have so much written! i didn't think i'd get this far but i just can't stop. enjoy!

parts 1 and 2!

-------------------------

“Alright, shorty, where does this go?”

“Right there. In the – yeah, that one.”

“Are you sure? This doesn’t look right.”

“How would you possibly know what looks right?”

“Don’t question me! I can look at a picture and know what it’s supposed to be!”

“Diagram. It’s a diagram.”

“Psh. Whatever. S’just a word to make dumb nerds seem smarter than the rest of us.” 

“Pretty sure Ford is smarter than the rest of us.”

That’s how pretty much every conversation had gone today.

The first couple of days weren’t too bad, though it was mostly spent by Stan working on something alone until he remembered Jay was there. Sometimes, he would disappear into the portal room for hours, trying to get it back on by sheer willpower.

Now, it was day five – no, six – seven? – of the portal reactivation effort, and if Jay had to put a number on it, she’d say zero progress had been made. She was trying her best to honor this truce of sorts that they made, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the days went on, especially the ways he’d mock their size difference. 

“Hey, hand me those pliers, won’tcha?” he would say, a wicked smile plastered on his face. Or he’d be sitting on the floor and pretend he couldn’t reach the table when he needed something. More than once, Jay threatened to drop something on his head, but that just seemed to make him laugh even harder. 

“Oh, c’mon, I’m just teasing you, tiny,” he would say, feigning innocence, and then he’d give her a hearty poke in the back and she’d stumble forward, often half-falling and needing her hands to stop her momentum. “Don’t take it so personal!”

“Easy for you to say,” she’d mumble, rubbing whatever part of her body was now sore.

“Take it from me, kid. When life punches you, you gotta punch back. Don’t be such a pushover.”

It was almost like he was giving advice to himself as much as he was lecturing Jay. She didn’t need to be told how to survive, least of all by a giant. 

Jay tried to keep her distance, offering up nuggets of wisdom where she could, but Stan was mostly dismissive of anything she had to say. 

Until she actually figured something out.

He was mindlessly flipping through the journal one day when he suddenly stormed off, presumably to find a soda, or something a little stronger. Curious as to what got him so mad, Jay trotted over to the open journal and ambled onto the page, setting her hands on her hips as she read over the impossibly large display.

Jay’s eyes scanned the page dutifully, trying to pick up the little things she learned from Ford. He had shown her that equations that seemed like a random amalgamation of letters, numbers and squiggles actually had meaning when you knew what stood for what.

That’s when she spotted it. It was a large, red W – something Ford called the “weirdness coefficient.” She didn’t know exactly what it was used for, but she actually recognized the string of data that succeeded it. She followed it along, running across the page a few times to get it all in her head. She was so distracted that she never noticed Stanley enter the room, drink in hand. The loud cracking of the can’s tab snapped her back to reality. 

“Ew,” Stan said, eyeing her with suspicion as he sat down. “Why are you so sweaty?”

“No! Don’t sit! You’ve gotta help me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think I figured something out.”

Stan nearly spit out his drink. “You? Figuring something out? Hah, sure, and I’m a millionaire.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Jay retorted. “It’s not like you’ve done anything.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, squirt. I’m just gettin’ started.”

Jay rolled her eyes. Stan’s machismo attitude was really unmatched. “Okay, well, can you hear me out on this one?” Stan took a long sip of his soda, then nodded. “Okay, you see this here? This big W? That’s the weirdness coefficient. It’s supposed to account for the average amount of weirdness – or, anomalies – that can leak through to this dimension at any given time. So this equation here, it stipulates the maximum amount of W – weirdness – that can be allowed through P, or the portal. So, we have to make sure the leakage output doesn’t exceed this number here.” She pointed to a bold number circled in red, looking up at Stan, a little winded from all the talking. 

Stan blinked. “I have no idea what you just said.”

She groaned. “It means we have to input this number,” she tapped it again for good measure, “into that machine over there.”

Stan squinted at her tiny arm pointing outward, trying to hide his amused smile. He turned around, then turned back. “How do you know that’s the right one?”

“I just know. I saw Ford using it a million times.”

“What if you’re wrong and we blow up the place?”

“Hey, if you don’t trust me, you can just say you don’t trust me.”

“Alright. I don’t trust you.”

“Okay, you weren’t actually supposed to say it,” Jay said, crossing her arms. “Come on! How can we work together if you won’t listen to me?”

Stan tapped his chin. He seemed to actually be thinking about it. “You bring up a valid point.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now, could you put the number in?”

For the slightest moment, Stan hesitated. The inflection in her voice, and the authoritative way in which she spoke, sounded so much like Ford that it almost made him scream. Yes, yes, I know might as well have been his catchphrase. Stan tried really, really hard not to think about it, but for a nanosecond, his mind was filled with so much pain at the reminder of this little person spending so much time with Ford that she picked up on his speaking patterns that it made him want to curl up his fist and –

He stopped. Come on, Stan, you need her. You know you do. The sooner Ford is back, the sooner you’ll never have to see her again.

“Where am I putting it in, short stuff?” he finally asked. Jay tried to point him in the right direction, but even when he found the right knobs, he didn’t know how to do it correctly.

“Ugh, why don’t you just do it?” Stan sighed angrily.

Jay furrowed her brow. “This again? Are you serious?”

“Don't think this doesn't hurt my ego. But the only thing worse than having you do it is listening to you squeak about it,” Stan grumbled. “Now, c’mon, just do this so we can move on.”

Jay nervously laughed. He didn’t sound like he was joking. “Stanley, I don't know if you’ve noticed, but I can’t exactly walk over there and start pressing buttons.”

“What, I thought you wanted to be all self-sufficient? And didn’t you say you were good at climbing?”

Jay clenched her jaw. Maybe telling him little things about borrower life wasn't such a good idea. “Well, yeah, but I don’t – that would take a while, and I don’t think you want to wait. So just, listen, you just have to–”

“Nope! Not this again,” Stan declared. He took a few steps toward her and was now looming over her, hand twitching. She knew what he was about to do, but was powerless to stop it.

“Be – careful!” she yelped. She felt her arm bend uncomfortably against her body as Stan stuck his hand underneath her and lifted her into the air. She shut her eyes tight as the pressure in her head mounted. Even when they stopped moving, it didn’t feel like it.

Stan stared intently, wondering why she wasn’t moving. “Uh. You okay?”

His booming voice only made her ears ring more. It had to be 30 full seconds before she finally felt centered again. Her stomach dropped when she opened her eyes and saw just how far the ground was. Sure, she had been up higher, but the anxiety of sitting in Stan’s hand only exacerbated her unease. She never even felt 100% secure in Ford’s hand, given the way he would sometimes forget she was there. Fidds was the only one she felt remotely comfortable holding her.

“Tiny? Hello?” Stan shook his hand a bit, as if the issue was that she forgot where she was. He felt the tiniest of pressures as she pushed her palms into his, and he immediately stopped moving. Oh.

“Please – move slower,” she croaked, not even bothering to look up at him. “And don’t just pick me up without asking.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he said, sounding a bit dismissive. Truthfully, he was fully aware and then some about what he just did, but he didn’t want to admit that he probably fucked up. He walked the few steps over to where the control console was and stuck his arm out, holding her out in front like a platform.

“Okay, short stack. Just tell me where to move you.”

“The row of five switches with the red light up there.” Stan pointed to confirm, and she nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

She should have prepared for how fast he was going to move, but it still caught her off guard. She wanted to yell at him for not listening, but getting fresh with a giant while she was in their hand was not something she was interested in.

Stan chuckled in amusement at how much effort it took her to turn the knob, and it turned to a full-blown laugh at the way she couldn’t push one of the switches back up.

“Oh, is this funny to you?” she huffed, clearly exhausted.

“Oh, yes,” Stan grinned. “Extremely.”

“Just – flick it yourself, please,” she sighed, plopping down in his palm. His hand reflexively twitched at the movements, and he shot her a brief look. Man, she actually looks beat from that.

“Fine, fine. Let the big guy show you how it’s done,” Stan said with that smarmy smile. Jay watched incredulously at the way his arm seemed to stretch on forever from his body to the panel. It hung over her like a heavy barrier; something her weight wouldn’t even register against. He could swing his arm and knock her off his hand and he wouldn’t feel a thing.

It was even worse watching him flick the switch with ease. Sure, she had watched Ford and Fidds do crazy human things all the time, but something about the way Stan did it was different. It was almost… taunting.

“There. Now what?”

“Well, if I’m right, it should–”

Suddenly, she couldn’t speak. It was as if her entire body was frozen. A dull sensation reverberated through her, and then, pain. A loud popping sound zapped her ears and she fell backwards, landing hard on her butt, her head ringing, her body aching.

“Woah!” Stan shouted, flinching back. A small spark jumped out from the panel, but he narrowly avoided it. “Was that supposed to–” he started, but stopped. She wasn't moving. Again.

“Hey, tiny, you alright?” Nothing. “Kid?” Still nothing. She was definitely breathing, but seemed to be in a lot of pain. “Jay, you okay?”

She grit her teeth, trying to usher the pain out of her body. Luckily, it melted away after a few seconds, and even though her head was spinning, she was alright. It was no worse than being whipped around on Stan’s hand, anyway.

“I’m fine,” she finally said, though her voice almost sounded like it was glitching. She took another moment to recompose herself. “Guess it didn’t work.”

Stan almost forgot to respond. “I don’t even know what it was supposed to do.”

“It was supposed to – once you put in the W maximum, it should have calibrated a couple other systems. Thing must be fried after the portal was turned on.”

“Oh,” Stan said, pretending to understand. “So, how do we fix it?”

“I – don’t know,” Jay admitted. “I’ve never been inside there before. Not really sure what to do with the wires.”

Stan hummed, unsure of where to go from here. This was the most tangible progress they had made since forming this unlikely alliance, and it got them nowhere.

“Well, uh, if it makes you feel any better… good job.” Jay winced at the way he sounded like the words were being tortured out of him. “Figuring this thing out, I mean.”

“I got it,” Jay said, a small smile forming on her lips. Why did that compliment make her feel so… warm? “Thanks, Stanley.”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t be expecting any more compliments from me,” he shot back, though there was no bite to it. “Don’t want you going soft on me.”

“Psh. Never in a million years,” Jay teased.

To her surprise, Stan set her down slowly on the table before burying his head back in the journal. He was only half-reading it, though, because he couldn’t get his mind off Jay. It was so contradictory – every time she did something impressive, like spout mathematical nonsense she had no business knowing, she would be rendered immobile by a slight altitude change or a small electric shock. She was so much more fragile than he thought. It was beginning to dawn on him that he actually did have to be careful, or else he might accidentally kill her. He shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t be so reckless when it came to someone’s entire life. 

Not again.

Ever since then, he seemed to care a little bit more about her opinion, which confused Jay to no end, but she didn’t complain. Even if he was invasive and had no regard for her personal space, he seemed to have a... gentler air about him. Like he was trying more.

But it didn’t always show, especially when he got frustrated. They were rapidly approaching that territory right now.

“I think the red wire has to connect to the other end,” she said, glancing at the journal. “No, not that one, the other one! Right there – you keep missing it!”

Stan clenched his teeth. He was getting tired of being bossed around. “Well, if it’s so easy, why don’t you come do it?”

Jay felt her blood boil. “I hate when you say that.”

Stan grinned wildly. “I know.”

“Ugh.” Jay flopped on her back. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

“We? You’re not even doin’ anything.” Stan abandoned his rewiring effort and joined Jay at the table. “Maybe you’re reading this thing wrong.” He grabbed the journal and pulled it to him, taking Jay along with it. She yelped and held on tight as she was moved at a blinding speed from one side of the table to the other.

“C’mon, get off,” Stan began to shoo her away like a fly, and Jay quickly jumped off the book. “I gotta look at this thing.”

Jay stumbled when she landed, staring up at Stan with a disapproving look until she gave up trying to telegraph her annoyance. The worst part was he didn’t ignoring her maliciously; he genuinely didn’t care that she was there. She swallowed, her unease growing at the extended silence as Stan scanned the journal. She had been in close physical proximity to him for basically a week now, and it was unnerving. She had no idea what he was ever going to do, and the only thing stopping him from picking her up all the time was that she grossed him out. But that didn’t feel like a strong enough motivator to stop him from swiping her clean off the table if he got mad enough.

“Ugh, what am I missing?” Stan groaned. He tilted his head, along with the journal, trying to find some hidden message.

Jay marveled at the way he so easily swung the book around. “I don’t think you’re missing anything. There’s only so many ways to read it.”

“C’mon, short stack, you hung out with my know-it-all brother more than any female ever has. You gotta know something. What about these…” he narrowed his eyes, “weird secret codes?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried my best with those, but I don’t think I know enough to figure them out.”

“I’ll say,” Stan mumbled under his breath. Jay heard it, but chose to ignore it.

Stan took a moment to think. Maybe I should go to the library and find a book about this or somethin’. Hah, now I’m really thinking like Ford. But the last thing he wanted was to go into town. There had to be an answer in the journal somewhere. Where there’s a test, there’s always an answer sheet.

But first, he was going to do it his way.

“I’m gonna go shove the lever around again,” Stan announced, grabbing the tool box and disappearing into the portal room. Jay knew it was a futile effort, so while Stan got himself needlessly tired, she would go back to working on her secret project — the new hook that would buy her freedom. 

At best, Stan was tolerable, and being at his mercy was giving her increasing amounts of anxiety. If she couldn’t go back for the contraptions that Fidds made her, she’d just have to do it the old fashioned way. But she only went to work when Stan was asleep or in the portal room. There was no way he could know about this.

Jay had been relegated to sleeping on the table while Stan was here. He had only gone upstairs to get food and drinks, often falling asleep right on the table and getting back to work when his own snores jolted him awake.

Thankfully, there was plenty of material to work with. Not so thankfully, none of it was a rope and a paper clip. She had already fashioned two hooks out of sharp pieces of metal, so her next step was either finding something long enough to lower her to the ground or tying a bunch of short but sturdy things together. Even a parachute could work at this rate.

Her mind flashed back to times with Ford, when they would test out her physics with paper hang gliders and makeshift obstacle courses out of rulers and tape dispensers. He went through a phase of trying to see how far a fall she could take before hurting herself, but that only lasted a week before Jay made him drop the subject. His final conclusion? “Very far.”

Evidently, though, she got too into tinkering, because she didn’t even notice when Stan walked back into the room, jacket shed and face sweaty from all the work. He watched her curiously, trying to see what exactly she was doing. Maybe she just messes with metal like it’s a toy or something. She was working on sharpening her hooks and finding heavy enough things to wrap them around when Stan cleared his throat, and she nearly shot 500 feet in the air.

“What’re you doing?” Stan asked.

“Nothing!” Jay squeaked. “I mean, not nothing nothing, I’m just – it’s –”

But Stan was no longer interested in her ramblings. He reached down and carefully pinched one of the metal hooks between his fingers, ripping it right out of her hands.

“HEY!” she yelled, but to no avail. Even if she could fight him for it, it wouldn’t have mattered, because her legs turned to jelly and her arms became numb the moment his massive fingers came next to her, filling her entire body with a sense of dread. She quickly let go to avoid being pulled up into the air.

“What is this…?” Stan turned the object, observing it intently, marveling at just how damn small it was. Jay felt sick at how miniscule her only path to freedom looked between Stan’s fingers. 

“It’s nothing! Give it back!” she tried, but one glance from Stan promptly shut her up and even pushed her back a few steps. God, he’s so far away.

“Huh… you made this?” he asked, holding it out to her. She just shrugged, unwilling to answer.

Stan wouldn’t have been suspicious otherwise, but he had spent the better part of his life either around criminals or being the criminal. He knew what guilt looked like. He also knew a bad liar when he saw one. He just couldn’t figure out what she was trying to hide.

Not at first, anyway.

He tried to think: if he was that tiny, what would he need something like this for? It certainly wasn’t for fixing the portal, so what was it for? Fun? Stan didn’t know what was so fun about bent metal. Maybe she was just bored? Then there was no reason for her to act so suspicious. She would have just said so.

Then it hit him. What’s the one thing she wanted more than anything, besides getting Ford back? To be left alone. And it wasn’t like she could just walk out of the room whenever she wanted.

She had been looking for an escape since Stan found her. She was manufacturing a way out.

Stan ahh’d in realization, and the way Jay’s face went pale was all the confirmation he needed. 

“Not sure how you were planning to escape with this, and I admire the effort. Really! But you can’t hustle a hustler, kid.”

Jay didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. Her heart was pounding, her breathing labored. She had no clue what was coming next.

“Look, if you don’t wanna be here, I won’t stop you. In case you haven't noticed, I’m not running a charity here. I’m trying to get my brother back, and I can’t seem to figure out if that’s really what you want or not.” He callously tossed the metal back to her, and she scrambled out of the way as it clanged a few inches from her. “So scram, alright? Get outta here.”

Jay blinked. He was… really going to let her go like that? She didn’t believe him. Humans didn’t do that. They never did. They’d always be back.

But that part didn’t even matter, because she did want Ford back. Even with the threat of opening the portal, she wanted her best friend back more than anything. She just really, really hated working with his irritating brother, and she didn’t know how to deal with him. The only people she had ever dealt with this closely were Ford and Fidds. She wasn’t used to anything else. She couldn't handle anything else.

“I’m – I’m not trying to – to leave,” Jay stammered. God, that sounded so pathetic. “I just – need some freedom, that’s all.”

A light went off in Stan’s head. “You can’t leave, can you?”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Of course I can leave–”

“No, not this room, this house. You don’t want to leave here. There’s nowhere else for you to go.”

“I–” Jay started, but she had no words. He was right. He was right, damn it! He saw her as this helpless little thing, and he was right.

“Huh, so the squirt that thinks she’s better than me needs me to keep her safe. Right?”

“I don’t – I don’t think I’m better than you!” Jay said, but it didn’t sound convincing. And she didn’t even try and dispute the other point.

Stan’s face scrunched up. “Huh, you sure act like it. Well, squirt, you may need me, but I don’t need you. If you disappeared right now, I wouldn’t waste my energy lookin’ for you, because I’m the one who actually cares about fixing this damn thing and saving Ford!”

Jay knew fighting back would be a bad idea. It had never, ever worked before. But she couldn’t take the constant antagonizing. She just couldn’t.

“Stop acting like I don’t want him back, either!” Jay blurted. Stan looked at her in surprise, but it was too late. The floodgates were open. She was tired of hearing this. “It’s just – it’s dangerous! And there’s only so much I can do!”

“Yeah, and you do a pretty terrible job! Half the time you sit there and mock me for not knowing the “difference” between a picture and a diagram! And there isn’t even a difference!”

“There is!”

“See! You’re just like Ford, always talking down to me, acting like I’m just some – bumbling idiot who can’t possibly be on his level.”

“That’s not true!” Jay asserted. “I don’t think you’re an idiot!”

“Well you certainly fooled me!”

“You’re just – so stubborn!” Jay was nearing the edge of the table now. “You ask for my help, and yet you can’t even fathom that I would know something you don’t!”

“Maybe I’d listen to you more if you weren’t so damn tiny! I’m taking orders from someone who can’t even walk up the stairs by herself!”

Jay’s eyes widened in shock. Oh, so that was it. Of course it was. How could she think it was anything else? Her heart was racing now, her stomach churning. How could she respond? Why did she ever think she could fight a giant?

“And you act like you’re so much better because you were best friends with him,” Stan sneered, placing particular mocking emphasis on that part. “He’s MY brother! MY family! He probably only talked to you because you’re – weird and small and he felt bad! You’re just a thing, an experiment for him to get all excited about! He never cared about you!”

Jay knew responding would be a bad idea, but her lips moved faster than her brain. “Oh yeah? He didn’t even want to think about you! I didn’t even know you existed until you showed up here! Maybe if you weren’t such a lazy freeloader, he would–”

It was at that moment her life flashed before her eyes.

[nuttytani]

Making mehndi designs on them 

characters: dehya, nilou, kaveh, nahida, cyno, gn!reader

Dehya 

She’s really bad at sitting still, is the restless type and often messes up your designs by accidentally touching herself. So you have to scold her once in a while and keep an eye out 

Other than being told to sit still, she actually finds the process quite calming and relaxing 

The cold mehndi on her hands makes her shiver in a good way 

Plus, she gets to see you make all kinds of faces while doing her mehndi. And… she didn’t realise this before but you looked really pretty. The way the hot sun would cast a golden glow around you and the way your eyelashes would flutter with every blink–

Anyways

Being a pyro vision holder, her body runs warm so you bet her mehndi comes out really dark and gorgeous. 

As a thank you, she does your nails in a pretty burgundy to match the red on her hands 

Nilou 

She’s so excited that you’d be doing her mehndi for her!!! 

As a performer, she always has mehndi on her hands but it’s always just a simple big dot on the centre of her palms. 

That’s why getting some elaborate designs on her hands makes her feel so happy, plus the fact that you’re doing it makes it even better! 

You even purchased a blue tinted mehndi to make accents on her feet and her arms 

She’s in LOVE 

Her mehndi unfortunately doesn’t darken much, hydro vision holders just dont have that much body heat so the colour is almost orange-ish… except for the tinted blue designs! Which look stunning 

Kaveh 

Was shocked to hear that you wanted to put mehndi on his hands. Or feet. Wherever he preferred 

Sure, he used to play with his mother’s make up and mehndi before but ne never really got it done properly 

So this would be a first time for him 

He appreciates how you patiently handle him, there may have been times where he got a little cranky sitting still and his legs got numb but you didn’t give up

And he’s glad that you didn’t 

Because the end product was absolutely beautiful and he badgers Alhaitham by saying 

“y/n made these! They’re so talented… hey, look at me while I’m talking haitham!”

He wants to return you the favour by making mehndi designs on your hands too but he’s never held a mehndi cone before so it’s quite sloppy 

Still, you proudly show your hands off. “Look! Kaveh made this!! Pretty isn’t it?”

Nahida 

Actually, she’s the one who suggested you do her mehndi. All she wanted was a simple dot on her palms but you said no!

Nahida deserves much more intricate designs. Not that simple patterns are bad but you have never seen her indulge in her pleasures so this is the perfect time 

The-dream-mehndi-customer^™ 

You feel like you’re applying mehndi on a doll 

It’s so easy and probably the best person you’ve put mehndi on!!!!

Turns out extra gorgeous because she sat super still and the design was SAFE 

You got so excited that you even did her feet. Now Nahida has stunning red hands and feet.

Everyone compliments her 

Particularly her aranara friends 

Cyno 

He’s just bored while doing his duty when you come up to him like surprise surprise!!! 

You ask him if you can decorate his hands with mehndi designs

He immediately says no because he’s on duty 

Lo and behold, Nahida walks out of her office and she says 

“It’ll be fun! Get some break, work is done for the day anyways”

So now he guesses he’s stuck with you on the steps of his home with you hunched over his hands making pretty squiggles with mehndi 

You mess up his designs tho because Cyno could NOT shut up not stop making his stupid jokes which made you laugh at the stupidity of them 

Voila, one big mistake. You accidentally smudged THE ENTIRE DESIGN OFF HIS HAND AHHHHHH

Now you are upset and crying over your hard work being wiped away 

Meanwhile Cyno calms you down and tells you to just do his feet instead 

some mehdni references for yall

(a/n: if anyone is interested in me making a taglist, please let me know!)

[formulapookie]

Beznaia 4???? pretty plsss

(Voglio vedere la reaction di bez alle paranoie di pecco pls)

Bez always knew him and pecco shared a bond or something similar.

They were always extremely close, closer than the others, somehow always there when the other needed them, and with time Bez began understanding when Pecco was in need for a hug, for some space, for a a shoulder to cry on or simply needed Bez to be there, close to him, just a reassurance he could always rely on him.

Now they’re far from being messy teens covered in the mud from the side of the track at the Ranch, far from their first shared secrets, far from drunken make out sessions they never spoke about, but they’re closer than ever, Bez can feel their bond strengthened during the last year, he can almost feel what Pecco thinks.

The problem is one day he really begins to understand what Pecco thinks, almost like he can read his mind, it happens randomly, while they’re having lunch together in Pecco's motorhome, Bez trying to lighten the mood after pecco crashed, the other seemingly lost in his head.

It feels like a sharp pain, for a second, in his head, then Bez starts seeing, feeling, hearing even all of Pecco’s current thoughts.

He almost chokes on his food, it’s all so confused, loud in Pecco’s brain, far different from what Bez thought his friend’s mind to be.

When Pecco notices Bez coughing all his thoughts turn to just one word. “Marco” in big bold letters, yellow like highlighters, as if he just took over his brain completely.

“Marco you ok? You want me to grab some water?”

Pecco’s voice sound flebile, like he’s forcing out every word.

His thoughts are confused, half of them is just Bez’s name, the other half are calling his egoistic, thinking of himself while Bez has a need.

“Yeah yeah I’m alright, just choked on the Piadina don’t worry” “You sure? I can go-“ “Pecco, I’m ok, really”

You’re bothering him stop talking shut up

The thought comes through in a shaky font, almost trembling, and it has Bez's heart crack a little. Why would Pecco think he's bothering him? Pecco could never bother Bez, at most it could be the other way around.

Slowly but resolutely Pecco's thoughts go back to being an intricate mass of black squiggles and red words marked in a spray-can like font.

Bez cannot figure out all of them, but the ones he sees are horrible.

Idiot you crashed again, how can you think you can win a championship acting like this? Don't cry over your own mistake you're pathetic, you're looking miserable and weak in front of Marco. If you win this championship it'll be thanks to luck and your friends who will try anything to crash Martin out, not thanks to your talent, you obviously have none.

"Pecco?" "Mh?"

His name appears like a lightning in the older's mind, a flash, seemingly waking him up by the river of black matter drowning him

"You are a great rider, don't let this get to your head, I'm sure you'll gain back the points, I want you to know you are not weak, no one thinks you are, and that you can still win this, because you deserve it, and I will never let your head or anyone else let you think the opposite"

Why is he so nice? Why does he still support me? He should give up on me. He looks so pretty with the sunlight on his face. He worries too much about me I'm bothering him.

Bez blushes a bit when he reads Pecco thinks he's pretty, but ultimately puts it on the side and walks over to Pecco, who's still deep in his thoughts and doesn't realize until Bez hugs him, tight, not saying a word but surrounding him like he always does when he hugs people.

He doesn't let go, Pecco's brain is screaming stay stay stay and he won't do anything else. The letters and words turn softer, kinder even, Bez's name written all over his friend's brain, shutting down many of the self eating thoughts running around.

"Bez I -" "You don't want me to let go so I'm gonna stay here until you're ok and I'm sure I can let go" "But your debrief and the media, youohave to go" "Screw them, I'm staying with you, it's clear you need a hug, or twenty maybe, and before you say it no you're not being bothersome or a weight or anything else your head is saying, you're just in need of a hug and to know you deserve your title"

PEcco stiffens a bit, it's almost like Bez can read his mind, see the contort words forming in his brain, see how relaxed his head gets once he's close.

I want to kiss him

Bez blushes again, they're alone, Pecco clossed the door to his motorhome once he got in, he may - he may kiss him. It's not like he's never dreamt of doing it before.

"Pecco"

He turns his head towards the younger and immediately blushes, his brain going crazy with thr word pretty running around like it's been possessed.

"Please stop me if I read this wrong"

Before Pecco can ask what he means by "this" Bez is kissing him, chapped and bitten lips pressing lightly against his equally tortured ones, and it’s perfect.

That’s what Pecco’s mind says, in tiny pretty green letters, it’s an alternation of Marco and perfect taking over his brain, making Bez smile softly as he slowly tries to climb on the other’s lap.

Once he manages to he breaks away from the kiss, moving both his hands to cup Pecco’s stupidly cute face, smiling again as he tucks a curl behind his ear.

“How- you know I want why”

“You’re pretty easy to read Pecchino, and you know we always understood each other better than anyone no?”

Pecco flushes red again, looking away, he wants him to kiss him again, and Bez, as if he could read his mind once again, does it, a bit more daring now, fingers in his hair, pushing his tongue past his teeth, while Pecco’s hands go to hold on his hips.

Bez doesn’t know why or how he got this capacity of reading Pecco’s mind, but he’s really fucking glad he did, because the bad thoughts now are really far from where they were before, and because he can clearly picture what Pecco wants to do with him, and to say he likes the idea is an understatement.

Put that guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt

[jarofstyles]

Dadrry and missus making Christmas cookies with their kid please please please

Hm. I think we can do that 🫶🎄

Check out our Patreon!

-

“That’s a very beautiful…” Harry looked over to Y/N for help as he tried to distinguish what it was that his son had made on the cookie.

“Snowman.” Y/N mouthed to him to save him. She wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t been babble singing the Frosty song. It did clash with the Christmas music playlist they had playing in the back but she didn’t mind. He seemed to take after Harry in the singing a song in his head, more particularly one place of the son, over and over again.

“A snowman! Wow. The blue top hat… red snow… what beautifully artistic choices.” He kissed the top of his curls before bringing a wet cloth to his face. It was covered in smears of icing, his little apron even worse. Sitting in the booster seat, his tongue was out in concentration as he used the piping bag the best he could.

“He is cool.” The boy chirped, making a messy squiggle on the top hat. “He is one of the snowman’s that come to life and he makes bikes. He rides it in the towns.” The matter of fact tone of his child made Harry chuckle, taking his seat next to him as Y/N slid over the paper plate with a few blank cookies she had cut out.

“Mm. I can see that. He’s very cool, bug.” Harry took two of the clean piping bags and held up the colors to his son. “Should we do white or blue for the snowflakes? What looks more cool?” He always liked having him involved in decisions. Making sure he knew his opinion and thoughts were valid with them.

He stopped his own piping back and scrunched his little nose, looking between the colors. It took a moment before his eyes fell to the pink bag nearly in line after Y/N had wiped them clean from his sticky fingers. “I think… pink. Pink cause… cause mommy says pink is cool for everyone n’it isn’t only for girls and we can use pink cause it’s pretty.” He nodded very seriously.

“Mommy is very correct. Colors aren’t for anyone in particular. Anyone can enjoy them.” He shot his wife a sink, nudging her foot under the table for a job well done. “So we want to do pink snowflakes? We can. I doubt they’ll look as good as your mom’s but… we can try.”

Y/N was good at cookie and cake decorating, always able to make it look pleasing to the eye. Harry? He wasn’t so gifted. It was the basics for him otherwise it turned into a mash of color.

“Pink snow! Pink snow! Pink snow!” Their child giggled as he grabbed one of the other cookies that was covered with mostly pink icing and handed it to Harry, not minding icing getting on his hands at all. “See? We did pink angel. Mommy helped.” He could tell from the little smile face and easily controlled halo and wings that he had done the base and Y/N added the details.

“Oh, wow! Look at that.” He raised his brow and looked at Y/N who smiled to herself as she finished her cookie.

“You and mommy are so talented. A pink angel. Who would have thought. I’m very impressed, bug. You’ll have to show me your creative process.”

“He is a mastermind.” Y/N hummed. “Very creative. Christmas cookies are always delicious but he helped with everything while you were working. He put the cookie cutters in and helped roll the dough with his own rolling pin.” She was doing the obvious parent brag that the baby couldn’t quite pick up on yet.

“I am a natural.” He said proudly, beaming with his little dimples and eyes he got from Harry. “Mommy said so. She said I cut the cookies out so good that the chef on the tv would be so jealous.”

“I bet he would be, little love.” Harry chuckled. “I sure am. You’ll have to teach me. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I will help.” He chirped in that childlike what that made it all seem so simple. “But you gotta practice, practice, practice. Member? You said it when- when I was learning the ABC song. You gotta.”

“Of course. I always remember. We will make some more tomorrow. If we have anything else in the oven now I think your Mumma will be too tired to have hot cocoa. And we don’t want that, do we?”

[alfredosauce50]

One more night

[Boxer! Denmark x reader] 12

Word count: 4, 500 Rating: PG The reader is referred to as she/her.

One More Night - 12 Finale Part I

The town’s event center wasn’t so big that it could hold a convention, but every few years, it would host a boxing tournament that called on amateurs and fresh professionals from all over the country.

“What do you think you’re gonna do after you graduate?” Gilbert asked, opening the glass door.

“I’m pretty sure we talked about this before,” Mathias answered, though he wasn’t deterred in the least.

“Oh, yeah, I remember.” The albino pondered before saying this all in one breath. “You’re gonna get a green card, and I’m gonna head back to Germany because I clearly haven’t thought this through.”

“I mean, I still gotta figure out how to do that.” The boxer tried to lighten the blow.

As they walked down the hall, they went past posters of previous champions.

They were all photos of the killer blows that decided the match, moments before, during, and after, or them holding up the belt in a blaze of sweat and glory. They radiated the same magnetic energy as he did, but that was only something the people around him could notice and gravitate towards.

“What’s there to figure out? Just get (F/N) to marry you and you’re basically all set,” Gilbert said casually, getting a weird look from Mathias. “I’m only saying that because I have that much faith in you two.”

“Yeah, well, she’s only twenty-one,” The man frowned, his expression eventually morphing to a thoughtful one. “Even then, I’d want our marriage to be a lot more special than one of convenience.”

“But you’re set on moving to the US, aren’t you?”

“For boxing, yeah.”

“But not for her? Because I know for a fact you’d still come here if you didn’t have boxing going for you.”

“True.”

He made it to the sign-up table just outside the arena he’d be fighting in, which had a pop-up banner next to it. After greeting one of the event organizers, the boxer bent over to squiggle down his name and signature.

“Just talk to her about it. She’s not gonna be on your case for asking about something that important.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Think about it this way. You guys have been talking about living together, but not about your papers?”

“I think I get your point, Gil.”

“Had to be sure, because you don’t have a track record for being the best listener.”

“Okay, fine,” The blonde relented, albeit a little heatedly. He couldn’t deny such a defining trait of his character, but it was still a sore subject nonetheless. “I’m just worried about pushing her again.”

“That’s what talking is for,” Gilbert assured, unable to keep his smirk at bay as he sewed this in almost seamlessly. “Or maybe you’re just that used to getting your way that a conversation is beyond you.”

Mathias rolled his eyes and walked off.

“Yeesh. I was just kidding.”

“It’s fine.” They made it out of the event center in a comfortable silence, and the boxer only broke it when he noticed his friend going in the same direction as him. “Hey, isn’t your apartment that way?”

“Yeah, but Amy wanted me to make some Fanta cake for her.”

“Hm,” Mathias paused. “What’s the occasion?”

When he got back to your apartment, it was completely dark. Maybe that should’ve clued him in on what was going on, but it didn’t occur to him until after he turned on the lights, revealing you, Amy, and Allen.

“Surprise!”

You held up an apple cake, having been hiding in the dining room with them all along. The dessert had two little Danish flags sticking out of the top, and while it clicked, his eyes went wider by the second.

“Wow,” He frowned at first, overcome with emotion. There were even a few balloons with ‘good luck!’ and ‘you got this!’ hovering over the table attached to a baby blue weigh. “You guys did all this for me?”

“You thought we were gonna let all of this blow over without doing anything for you?” You questioned, and judging from the small expectant smile he wore, he must have. “What kind of friends would we be?”

“Thank you.” He hugged you and peppered your face with kisses. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mat.” You kissed him back.

“Just one last hurrah before you’re off to the races.” Amy added, handing him a card. Much like the one she made for her brother, it had cutouts of his face all over the front in a warm mess of glitter and stickers.

“How did you even get all these photos?” He gawked, opening it with sheer awe. “I love it!”

Just when he thought his smile couldn’t get any wider, he started reading all the nice messages inside. A lot of thought had been put into this celebration, and he was still surprised that it was all done for him.

“Hey, I was wondering what you were passing around in class!” He blurted, glancing up at the albino.

“And you didn’t suspect a thing.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“And I said I was coming over to make Fanta cake,” Gilbert whispered to Amy, much to her glee.

Everyone gathered around the table to cut and eat the traditional Danish dessert. While you all dug into your slices, each of you had a chance to talk about Mathias, be it a funny story or a dumb one.

“Well, that night he came over, but he didn’t bring any clothes with him,” You explained, stifling a laughing fit as you stared at Allen’s unsuspecting expression. “So I let him borrow your underwear.”

“You what?” His eyes flew open, aghast.

“I’m sorry, Al. It was a bit of an emergency.”

He shook his head anyway, turning away in a mix of disappointment and betrayal.

“I feel violated.”

After a few hours of endless talking and laughing, it was just Mathias left on the table. While he stared at the leftover apple cake and Danish flags that lay flat on the plate, he could only think of one thing. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” He lifted his gaze to you.

“Sure.” You were in the kitchen washing up plates while everyone else lazed around the living room in a food coma. Without looking at him, you sensed him join your side. “What is it?”

“You know how I’m graduating next year?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you help me with my application for a green card? We can get into the details later.”

“Of course, Mat.” You took his shoulder. The way you smiled at him was so reassuring, it made him feel silly that he even worried in the first place. “I’ll be your sponsor. We’ll get that sorted together.”

“Hey.” He nudged you with his head. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It was far from a proposal, but coming to the States for good — just as you expected him to — left him jumping on the inside. Gilbert had been right all along, though he should’ve just trusted you from the start.

Meanwhile, said albino was playing with Bob’s toy cars on the ground, and the toddler in question was rummaging through his book bag. The twins, on the other hand, were relaxing on the couch.

“Check out this drawing I did.” Allen held up his sketchbook to Amy, showing off his doodle. It wasn’t any less violent than the one he showed you, but at least his artistic ability didn’t exceed a twelve-year-old’s.

“Maybe you should sell that at Barnes and Unstable.” She murmured.

“Real funny, Ames.”

“I don’t think Facebook Marketplace would do it this time round.” She scampered away while shielding herself from a pillow flung at her. “And I’ve seen some weird shit listed there.”

“Screw you,” He bent down to his nephew on the floor. Scooping him up with both arms, he got him to drop Gilbert’s pencil case in a clatter. “I’m gonna hang out with Bob.”

“Whatever. I was about to feed him, anyway.”

“And you’re coming with me to Copenhagen to meet my parents,” Mathias added with a wink.

“I think it’s high time I did.” You agreed.

“What, you don’t wanna meet them?”

“No, it’s just what if I’m not what they’re expecting?”

Amy walked into the kitchen, pulling out a rack she left Bob’s things to air dry on. Allen bounced him while she made a new bottle for him. Being right behind you, they couldn’t help overhearing you two.

“What do you mean?” Mathias frowned.

“Well, I am just a high school graduate.”

“So are we.” The twins added.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do in the future.”

Allen and Amy exchanged concerned looks. It wasn’t so much the indirect jab that provoked that reaction, but something else entirely. You could put them on a pedestal for doing even less, and yet, here you were.

“So what? You’re only twenty-one!”

“And you’re twenty-two!”

“Listen, you’ve been doing everything you can, and you’re great at it. Moving out is a pretty big deal.”

“I know, Mat. And I’m not trying to argue with you, I just wanna be able to impress them somehow.”

“I guess this is a universal thing after all,” Allen spaced out, eyes going unfocused. He would’ve sworn he was the only one who could ever say these things out loud, but apparently not. “Not feeling good enough.”

“Tell me about it.” Amy poured some hot water into a bottle, then measured out a scoop of formula.

“In that case, I think I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Have you, now?”

“You will! They’re the last people in the world to be uptight about stuff like that,” Mathias assured you. “And besides, I’ve always had help from them, but you guys have been on your own for a while now.”

“I guess you’re right,” You lit up, letting him pull you in for a sideways hug. “Thanks for saying that.”

“Yeah, just meet his parents—you’re a peach! They’ll be all over you,” Amy swayed you encouragingly, getting your smile to widen more than it already had. “And if not, Mathias wasn’t meant for you anyway.”

“Hey!”

“And besides, I think they’ll be a lot more impressed that you can handle him above all else.”

“Has anybody told you that you can be really mean?”

Of all the things she said, that rang the truest. Mathias sometimes did too much for his own good, but old habits died hard. He didn’t owe anybody anything, and yet, he wanted his boxing to set everything straight.

Scared of my own image Scared of my own immaturity Scared of my own ceiling Scared I’ll die of uncertainty

“I have a feeling this is gonna be a regular thing,” Allen watched you trot down the stairs to the apartment’s patio, only ever stopping to look back at him. “If you two ever fight, just know you can always crash here.”

“Of course,” You beamed. “And I’ll take the couch this time.”

“I’m sure I could make some room for you,” He put jokingly. You both stared at each other, eyes creasing in the most tender smiles a person could muster, and in a silence that spoke more than not. “C’mere.”

He beckoned you over with an upward tilt of the head, and sure enough, you went to him.

“We all gotta grow up eventually.” He wrapped his arms around you, pinning your head with his chin. Then, he closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the hug. “But you keep me young, you know that?”

“You’re only twenty-two, Allen.”

“Ain’t that a tragedy?”

You pulled away to peer up at him strangely, and there it was. That toothy grin that could smile through anything. It was a look you loved and hated on him all the same, because it just suited him so damn well.

“You’re an idiot for thinking I won’t miss you, because I will, and more than you know.” You teared up.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pulling you into a protective hug. You squeezed him so hard that it was almost uncomfortable, but he never would’ve made a fuss about it. “You’re so emotional, sometimes.”

“You’re one to talk.” You grumbled.

“I know,” He cracked another smile.

As much as it pained him to accept where his life was heading, to a whole lot of nothing, it was for the best. He could start over with a clean slate, and without you always there to hold his head above water.

“But just let me have my moment.”

Fear might be the death of me Fear leads to anxiety Don’t know what’s inside of me

“So what was it that you figured out?” Amy walked out to the patio now that you and Mathias were gone. She wasn’t the type to be sentimental like her brother, who practically lived in the past.

“We can never love ourselves the way other people love us,” He explained in a faint murmur, glancing up at her. “They just see something in us that we don’t. So we’re never really whole without each other.”

“As bright as you are,” She shook her head, taken aback. “You just don’t like to think sometimes.”

“Love you too.”

“But when you do, the world makes a little more sense.”

“Is that your way of saying you love me?” Allen grinned, getting Amy to roll her eyes. But he saw the smile curling at her lips, which goaded him on more than anything. “Alright, alright, bring it in.”

Don’t forget abou-bou-bou-bou-bout me Don’t forget abou-bou-bou-bou-bout me Even when I doubt you I’m no good without you

You and Mathias arrived at the local bus stop and sat on the bench. As nice as that party was, it gave you a lot to think about. And that was what you did, falling uncharacteristically silent in the process.

“Are you okay?” He turned his head to you.

“Yes,” You answered. “It’s just really happening.”

As excited as you were to embrace everything headed your way, leaving your old life would be just as difficult. Not seeing Amy, Allen, and Bob every day would be the hardest change of them all.

“Hey, I get it.” He softened his gaze. “Change is scary.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.” You replied.

“Want me to say it again?” He grinned back, much to your amusement. You didn’t say anything more, letting him fill the silence. And he didn’t let you down. “I’m afraid of change, but what I’m afraid of even more is not changing at all.”

For someone who acted so much on emotion, it never ceased to amaze you how eloquent Mathias could be. He braved the truth like no other, fiercely unafraid of the light because he burned even brighter than that.

“Maybe I needed someone to remind me of that,” You leaned into him. “So, thank you.”

“This will be great, I promise,” Mathias made a cute face as he caught you with his arm, so anybody could tell he’d been dying to say this for a while, now. “You’ll get to see me every day.”

“Don’t know if I’ll be prepared for that, actually.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

You two ended up chasing each other back to his apartment. For someone so heavy, he was surprisingly fast. Trying to catch up to him was the hardest workout you’ve ever done.

Not that he even had the patience to wait for you, because he’d run right back to take your hand. 

When he got outside his door, he pinned you up against it and kissed you like he was hungry. He didn’t even bother taking you inside first because putting his mouth on yours was infinitely more important. So for the next ten minutes, he tongued you down in the hallway without a care in the world.

Now that you would always be within arm’s reach, you were right to worry about handling his insatiable appetite. He was deliberate in proving that point, hell, he even got off to it. He would make up for all the time lost, every last minute that escaped him when he could’ve spent it with you.

“Let’s keep this, this, and get rid of that.” Mathias tossed a black T-shirt onto his bed.

After you walked into his bedroom and saw all his things strewn over his desk and chair, he thought cleaning up would be the next best thing. Knowing him, you just went along with it.

“Why? This is nice.” You frowned, picking it up to inspect the back and front.

“It’s a bit tight so I don’t like the way it feels.” He continued to rummage through his closet.

“Hm,” You gave it a quick fold before putting it aside. “Allen might like this.”

Mathias closed a drawer and came up behind you.

“Maybe this’ll get him to stop moping about his underwear.”

“You think so?” He hummed.

“Yeah, but I didn’t come here to clean your room with you,” You told him, getting him to flash a sheepish expression. “This is the part where I give you a pep talk, but I think you have all the pep you need.”

“Yeah?” He lit up.

“But good luck. And whatever happens in the ring, I’m not going anywhere.” You squeezed his hands. It was your way of telling him that he’d already won, now that you would be staying with him indefinitely.

As a result, the winnings weren’t that important in retrospect to what he originally wanted them for.

But now that the opportunity presented itself, taking them still seemed like the only way to do right by you. To do right by all of you. So he didn’t plan on stopping until he floated straight to the top, second to none.

After six months of painstaking preparation came the first day of the tournament. You and Amy took a day off work for it, Gilbert skipped his classes, and Allen brought Bob along in a baby carrier.

Funnily enough, the neighborhood seemed to get the memo because half the stores were closed.

“Boxing is a pretty big deal around here, huh?” The albino mused.

“Ever wonder why Mat chose his university?” You asked, drawing attention to the vibrant atmosphere on the streets. Business may have halted, but that meant more people were out and about during the day, chattering together as they headed to the local event center. “This place is a real boxing town.”

“Mat really does have it all figured out, doesn’t he?” Gilbert murmured, recalling the conversation he had just yesterday. When he first met the Dane, he thought he was a bit all over the place, and he still was, really, but for the things he cared about, he always went that extra mile. “Sounds like Mat.”

“For what he’s interested in, anyway. Everything else, not so much.”

“Hm.”

“Maybe we should try and convert him to baseball,” Amy commented, earning a grin from her brother, who could absolutely get behind that suggestion. “Think he could go pro with that?”

“Yeah, if he even bothers showing up to baseball Fridays.” You mumbled.

“Guess it’s not very popular in Europe.” She added.

“Nope.” Gilbert popped.

After getting some snacks and drinks at the canteen, the four of you made your way to the arena. When you all ambled to your seats, it was already packed. The persistent chatter of the crowd filled your ears in a dull roar, and if that wasn’t already loud enough, it was sure to amplify when the actual fight came around.

“There’s sixteen boxers, and that gets halved every day,” You eyed the tournament brackets, which was mostly empty for now. “Losers get booted, and the winner advances to the next round.”

“Okay, so he just has to win four times in a row,” Gilbert commented after doing the math in his head, which prompted Allen to start counting on his fingers. “Shouldn’t be too hard for Mat, right?”

“Right.” You repeated, not completely bought by the chances. Either way, you were too nervous to keep talking now that Mathias appeared from a side door in his white boxing robe. “Look! Here he comes.”

There was a slow eruption of cheering as the two contestants made their way to the ring. One, a local amateur, and the other, a young student from Denmark well on his way to making ripples in the boxing industry. The four of you straightened up and peered around to get a better view. After shedding that outer layer to reveal his rippling body underneath, you all had the same, collective reaction. Shock and awe, down to a T.

“Damn.” Allen mouthed.

You’ve seen his body go through numerous changes throughout the year, but none quite compared to what he looked like now. After cutting down some fat, his muscles were practically bulging out of his skin. And as he bounced on the spot, so did his pecs. It wasn’t as tasteless as it sounded, noticing the fruits of his labor all these months, though his impressive physique wasn’t what brought you all here today.

“Good luck to whoever’s fighting him,” Amy remarked.

It was what he could do with it.

The starting bell rang three times, indicating the start of the match. The two boxers came together in the center of the ring and began circling each other. Then, they threw a couple of practice swings at each other.

It was like watching a pair of wild dogs, raising their hackles in a warning growl before landing a bite. Because in the next few seconds, one of them would. But they were more like a wolf than anything.

Mathias was the first to snap, jabbing at their face for two loud ‘bams’ before bringing his arm around for a mean left hook. His opponent dropped to their feet and evaded that last attack, then sprung up again.

Just like that, their stalemate ended in a brutal tussle. 

They swung at Mathias, decking him across the jaw. Spit flew from his mouth, and in his brief lapse of attention, they punched his face three times. Blood came out of his nose, making for a grotesque sight.

And the crowd ate it up in an excited roar.

“Come on, Mat!” You shouted.

While his opponent kept whaling on him, the Dane packed his fists in front of his face. He hid behind them until they burnt out, and when he removed them, he gave a bloody grin as if to go, you don’t have me yet.

Drawing his arm back, he smashed his glove right between his opponent’s eyes. The punch happened so fast, it couldn’t be evaded, and it was packed with so much power, it flung their head back like a speed bag.

He didn’t stop there, pounding them in solid jabs like a jackhammer. When they tried to get back at him in a clumsy swing, he bobbed down to the side to dodge. Then, he got up to do it all over again.

Mathias was a speed demon, and combined with his impeccable anticipation, he predicted many of the punches thrown at him. It was in his eyes, sharp and fixed on his opponent like he’d entered a trance.

And nothing could break him out of it. His hyperfocus was like a spell, letting him do all that most people couldn’t. There were only two things that could activate it: you and boxing. But together?

He was an unstoppable force.

And with his ox-like stamina, he wasn’t giving up anytime soon. Not even while he kept up his lightning-fast speed, nor his explosive punches that could rattle the brain in the skull that came in the way of his fists.

When he was done, he’d pull them back to his face and go back to bouncing on his feet. It was the nastiest of surprises, his style at its prime. The peek-a-boo style, and he would mow down other contestants with it.

After the match, everyone gathered at the local diner to celebrate. Your group sat at a round booth, but even that couldn’t deter Mathias’s friends from flocking around him to congratulate him on the landslide win.

They were like his disciples, but then again, he’d always had that effect on people.

“Give it up for the boxing Jesus.” Amy held up her milkshake.

“Yeah!” Gilbert seconded with a milkstache.

“Thanks, guys.” Mathias laughed, peering around the table and at all the faces beaming at him.

Nothing could beat a feeling like this, being seen by all his loved ones. It was the closest he could get to being invincible because when everyone believed in him, he had the drive to do anything. 

“But this is only the first round. It’ll only get tougher from here on out.”

“Like that has ever stopped you,” You said, charmed by his humility. His cheeks went red, and even more so with what you said next. “But we really missed seeing you in the ring, Mat. And you killed it out there.”

“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” He grinned, eyes twinkling. “So thanks for watching me.”

“I’ll always watch you whether you win or not.”

Now that it came to this, it wasn’t just your attention he always craved.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how many times he failed, you would still be there for him. Some untouchable version of him existed in your mind, and if he ever doubted himself, you wouldn’t.

That was something Allen understood all too well, but he had to let you go.

Don’t forget abou-bou-bou-bou-bout me Don’t forget abou-bou-bou-bou-bout me Even when I doubt you

I’m no good without you

“Hey,” Allen said, stopping the Dane out on the street.

Even if he had to force these words out and say it when there was no one around to hear it, he fought himself to, because he wouldn’t be able to live it down if he held out on him. So he waited for everyone to leave the diner — you included — before he let it slip.

“You’re the best of all of us.”

Mathias was caught off guard at first, but the more he listened, the clearer everything became.

“And I just wanted to remind you that we’re all counting on you.”

They were the last two people to end up as friends, but life dealt them an unexpected hand. Even if it took so much as hell freezing over Allen to realize this, there were infinitely bigger things than personal grudges.

“So take her to the moon for me.” Allen grinned.

You, Amy, and Bob were the infinitely bigger things. His world and everything that could ever matter to him. Even if he couldn’t do what you all needed him to do now, he would come back one day.

But at least for the next few days, it was up to Mathias.

Next chapter: Coming soon

Tag-list: @sunnysssol @chaeesposts @archive-of-bones @chickenpecks @my2phetaliaheadcanons @sport-lova14 @narratatornyanko

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

“Has Rhys responded?”

Azriel groaned, eyes still closed. Sprawled in that same chair she so often caught him napping in, Gwyn had waited impatiently for him to wake. She’d begun to suspect he was faking it, given the lateness of the hour. “Go away, Gwyn.”

“Has he?” she demanded, hovering over him. Azriel’s scent slammed into her, rich and warm and a little salty from sleep. He swung his powerful, long legs from the arm of the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “No.”

Gwyn sighed with frustration, shoving the book under his nose. “Look at this.”

“I can’t read, remember?” he grumbled, pushing it gently out of his line of sight so he could stand. Azriel’s wings flared outward, nearly knocking Gwyn to her feet in her scramble to avoid touching them. 

“Would you like me to read it to you?” she offered with mock sweetness. Azriel’s eyes narrowed even as he stretched his muscular arms up over his head.

“How about silence until I’ve had something to eat?” he suggested unhelpfully. 

“How about you eat, and I talk?” Gwyn shot back. If he slithered out, she knew she wouldn’t see him again until nightfall. It had been a week and a half in this miserable palace, and Azriel was gone more often than he wasn’t. In fact, the only times she really saw him were at meals and when Kai was trying to lure her up into his bedroom. The only explanation was Azriel had one of his shadows trailing her for the prince, and alerted him whenever he was nearby so Azriel could watch him, gather information, and return it back to Rhysand. 

Azriel exhaled. “Depends on where breakfast is.”

“Oh, well, darling, I had it brought up for you,” Gwyn told him, earning a look so cold it ought to have scared her. Still, she gestured to the tray of food sitting on a silver platter in the middle of their shared table just beside the open window. Gwyn had learned Azriel wouldn’t eat if it meant socializing with Kai, and convinced some of the silent servants to bring meals for him. Azriel thought it was merely servants doing their job, and Gwyn was content to continue to let him think so.

She didn’t think he’d appreciate her poor attempts at taking care of him. 

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled, dragging himself to the table. He’d changed from his fighting leathers into a rumpled pair of loose pants and an equally wrinkled shirt and his typically neat hair looked as though he’d spent the night raking his fingers through it.

She hated how attractive she found him right then. Azriel ruined it not a moment later by plopping in the chair and announcing he had no silverware with which to eat. And maybe she didn’t need to remind him that he’d spent years of his life living in a war camp, so his hands ought to be both familiar and useful to him.

“Thinking about how I use my hands, are you?” he asked without thinking. At least, Gwyn assumed that was the case given his eyes snapped to her face, wide with shock.

“This is why I don’t like you,” she reminded him, dropping into the chair he’d just vacated. Azriel merely arched one of his thick, well-groomed brows before turning to his potatoes and eggs. 

“Well?” Azriel asked, looking back up at her. “Are you going to tell me what was so important you needed to wake me”

“Did it ever occur to you that I simply missed your presence?”

Azriel merely stared, lips pressed in a firm line. Sighing, Gwyn stood back up, pulled out the chair beside him, and plunked the book in front of him.

“I’m figuring it out. See this little…squiggle? I’m pretty sure that’s an e.”

“What makes you think so?” he asked, intrigued. Gwyn had never seen Azriel so interested in anything she’d said before, which encouraged her to continue. 

“How often it shows up—a lot of times in these three letter chunks. I think it’s proto-fae, which is why I haven’t heard of it. It predated Gwydion, Az. Predates him.”

“Okay,” he said, chewing slowly. “And why is that important?”

Gwyn bit back her exasperation thinking Nesta and Emerie would have understood. A pang of longing rushed through her, silencing her for so long Azriel murmured, “Am I that dumb?”

“No,” she mumbled in response. “Sorry, I…”

Clearing her throat, Gwyn pulled the piece of paper from the center of the book. She’d spent all night testing this theory and if she was right, she wouldn’t need Merrill when she returned. She could have her own study, translating what little works there were for wider academic consultation. Assuming, of course, Helion’s scholars hadn’t cracked the code centuries ago and she was merely wasting her time. 

“See here? All these three letter words, always with that same symbol? That’s the, which means I have t and h, too. It’s not a lot, but—”

“It’s brilliant,” he murmured, once again without thinking. Azriel pulled the sheet of paper up, eyes scanning the page she’d carefully copied with enough space line by line to begin working out her code. “If you can figure this out, I could send notes that no one could read—”

“Except me,” she said softly. Azriel’s eyes found her, wide again as he realized what he’d just suggested. Coded notes from his work that only she could read, that would go to her to be deciphered so Gwyn and Azriel would always be working together.

He cleared his throat. “Rhys will want to learn.”

But they both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant. Gwyn nodded, playing along because the alternative was admitting there was some future in which she and Azriel remained in close contact. And once this mission was done, Gwyn had no intention of speaking with him like she did now.

Nor did she plan to continue training with him, which they’d done faithfully four days a week since she arrived. She suspected Azriel would have liked to do more, but Kai often questioned what they were doing on those days, and there were only so many stories of touring the city she could offer before it wasn’t believable. 

“You could, though,” Azriel said, his voice so low Gwyn almost thought she hallucinated it. “I’m sure Rhys—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” she agreed, closing the book shut with too much force. He watched, fork hanging between his plate and his lips. “I don’t want to work for the High Lord. I liked what I do.”

“It wouldn’t be…full time…” he amended, eyes wild. Azriel looked almost nervous. “It could be–”

“I said no.”

“Yes, you’re always saying no with no explanation,” he shot back with that lethal, soft voice. “How anyone has ever managed to be your friend is a mystery.” His fork clattered to the table as he pushed away, wings tucked tight. Gwyn was learning when he looked like that, it was because he was braced for a fight. She was, too. Fighting with Azriel felt good, if only because he was willing to fight her at all. There was no pity when he looked at her, and maybe part of her enjoyed seeing that. 

“I don’t want you as a friend,” she lied, though the words were aimed to wound him. Azriel whipped around, his expression burning with cold anger. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, stalking forward. “Because I think—”

“Just because you were there that day doesn’t mean I owe you for it!” she burst out, finally saying the words she’d wanted to since she’d encountered him on that rooftop. Azriel froze, eyes wide again. 

“Is that what you think?” he finally asked, his heart pounding so loudly she could hear it echoing around them. 

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he replied, running his fingers roughly through his hair. “Cauldron damn me, Gwyn, no, I don’t think that.”

She was a glutton for punishment, pushing this conversation. Gwyn didn’t really want to have it, but Azriel was the only one who knew. Catrin was gone, her friends too far away, and even if they’d been there they wouldn’t really understand. She couldn’t bring herself to even tell them what had happened. But Azriel had seen it. He knew. 

“How many did you leave alive?”

“None of them,” he replied, swallowing hard. 

Gwyn blinked. “Not…not even to get information—”

“Rhys was pissed,” he whispered, his expression guttered for a brief moment before flickering into careful neutrality. “I slaughtered them all.”

The way he said it made Gwyn think he enjoyed the memory of killing them. There was a savage kind of satisfaction in his eyes, the kind he couldn’t hide from her—maybe from anyone. This was who he was, deep, deep down. A male who’d earned his title not just as the shadowsinger, but the torture master. 

“Did they suffer?” she asked, cocking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not nearly enough,” he all but growled in return. Azriel continued toward her again, eyes ablaze. “And if you think that's what I see when I look at you, you’re wrong.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you see, then?”

Those words, though, broke whatever spell had fallen over them. He halted, shaking his head back and forth. He wasn’t going to tell her. Maybe he didn’t know himself. Gwyn wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what Azriel saw when he looked at her. Too much, if she had to guess. More than she’d ever wanted anyone to see, let alone him.

So Gwyn swallowed, conceding with, “If you want me to teach you my cipher so you can write in code, I’ll teach you once I’ve figured it out. I can transcribe them for Rhys.”

Azriel inclined his head, turning back for his bedroom. His wings were relaxed, though, and his heartbeat steady again. That was all she was going to get out of him—it was clear he felt he’d said too much.

Maybe he had.

But maybe Azriel hadn’t said enough.

AZRIEL:

“You’re back.” 

Azriel hadn’t been able to shake the argument from that morning, even after Gwyn had vanished to the library. He hadn’t dared to follow her, though one of his shadows had been hiding in her hair when she departed, which was good enough. He knew everything Kai had said to her, and every smile, laugh, and small touch Gwyn had returned. Which he didn’t care about.

And other lies he was telling himself.

Gwyn looked up from her bedroom, the door open wide. His shadows were already scurrying around her, playing in her hair and whispering all his fucking secrets once again. How long before she began working on a cipher for that?

Azriel gave her another week.

“Fine,” she replied, not looking up from the page she was writing on. He almost told her he was going to bed, but just in case he wanted to talk to her later, he’d leave things open ended. His shadows were occupied, he was on edge…Azriel needed a drink, of which he hadn’t been able to find strong enough to his liking.

The next best thing was stroking himself into madness. At least then he’d sleep. Closing his bedroom door, Azriel took his time peeling off his clothes and bathing himself so if he passed out afterwards, he wouldn’t need to worry about the sweat of the day mucking up his sheets, too. By the time he was done, Azriel was rigid.

The worst part of his erection and his desire was the lies he was trying to tell himself. He couldn’t pretend Gwyn wasn’t under his skin. Blame it on their close proximity and the fact that she was the only person truly talking to him in this terrible place he was growing to truly hate. Or maybe blame it on her beautiful face and those teal eyes that regarded him with such cool disdain. 

He didn’t want to investigate it too closely. He just wanted to come. Azriel settled his body on the bed, wings draped behind him before his thighs fell apart. His cock jutted toward the ceiling, thick and already leaking precome. Gripping his shaft, Azriel gave himself permission to think about that fight.

He just wanted to think about her eyes, blazing and bright, staring him down like she might fight him. He’d wanted her to. Hoped she would, that he’d get to pin her to the floor and demand she tell him why she’d stopped training. Maybe he’d pry it out of her, along with all her other secrets like he’d done so many times before.

And maybe she might like it.

Maybe she’d return the favor, even. He could see her putting a knife to his throat as she ordered him to his knees. Azriel groaned at the thought, pleasure skating up his spine. If he didn’t slow himself down, he’d be back to fisting his cock in twenty minutes, unsatisfied with himself.

Azriel slowed his hand, dragging his thumb over the tip through his pooling arousal to lubricate his touch. There was a rough edge to how he fucked himself, blurring the line between pleasure and pain until—

“Az!” Gwyn burst into the room, his shadows dancing around her as they whispered for her to stop. He didn’t move, frozen in place as they stared at each other. She had her book in her hand, paper fluttering to the floor at her feet. Azriel didn’t know what to say, or if he even should. His door was closed, and what he did within those four walls was his business, not hers. 

Gwyn’s eyes moved from his face down his body, burning a trail until they reached his hand, still gripping his too excited, too erect cock. 

He braced himself, stomach tightening with anticipation for whatever words might fall out of her lips. In a best case scenario, she’d merely flee, refuse to look him in the eyes for a few days, and pretend this never happened.

And worst? Well, she told Rhys she couldn’t work with him and he was replaced with Cassian. 

Or Vanserra. 

“Close the door,” he finally said, unable to take that blank look on her face. Let him be the asshole, then. Gwyn nodded her head, but rather than leave, she closed her book softly, tossed it just outside his room where it fell with a loud thud, and then closed his bedroom door.

With her inside.

“Gwyn—”

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, gripping the silver handle like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Maybe him, too. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever been so excited in his life. She wanted to watch him? 

He held her gaze, which bounced between his face and his hand, now slowly working him so she could see the mechanics of it. In a perfect world, her first time would have been of her choosing. And in that other place, when she’d come in on him touching himself, she’d have understood exactly how the male body worked. He almost felt like one of her little research projects.

Gwyn liked information. Of course she’d want to see this, too. And maybe she’d catalog it away for another male—Azriel couldn’t swallow his growl of anger at that hypothetical male, touching this female who was standing in front of him, looking at his cock. 

He needed to touch her, too. Whether that was allowed remained to be seen. But for now, maybe she’d touch him.

“Come here,” he whispered, hating how guttural he sounded.

Gwyn tripped forward, all her usual grace replaced with nerves. But she came to him, walking to the bed in that dress. God that dress. He wanted to rip it down the middle, wanted to see what was hiding just beneath.

He didn’t dare touch her. Not yet. Not until she was begging him to, panting his name, whispering in his ear please, Azriel, please, I need you, please—as if such pretty words would ever leave her lips. 

He could imagine, though.

Cauldron, but Azriel could picture it so clearly. 

Reaching for her delicate wrist, Azriel took his own hand off his cock just long enough to mold her own fingers around him. 

“Fuck,” he puffed, arching just a little at the feel of her soft, cool skin gripping him. Her fingers didn’t fit, didn’t meet around the middle of him which pleased the beast writhing in his chest.

Gwyn looked up at him, hair spilling around her face, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. It wasn’t fear he was seeing.

No, it was arousal. He could smell it filling the air, though she didn’t move until his own hand came over hers, gently guiding her over him. “Is this what males like?” she whispered. 

“Probably,” he replied, fisting her tighter, until her touch was only cruel. “But this is what I like.”

Gwyn was far too competitive for her own good. She squeezed, too, earning another soft curse to explode from his lips. 

“Show me,” she demanded, her shyness ebbing away. 

There you are. He thought it unbidden, holding her gaze for a beat before he settled himself in the middle of the bed so she could sit beside him. Gwyn did, knee touching the side of his chest. 

“Tell me something,” she began, still stroking him hard enough to make him see stars. Azriel couldn’t pull his own hand away, enjoying the sight of his touch engulfing her own.

“What do you want to know?” he managed, speech all but eluding him. 

Gwyn leaned forward, the ends of her soft hair tickling his chest. She reached for his wings, just like that day they’d been flying, and skimmed her fingers along the edge. Azriel groaned, hips bucking unbidden. “That’s what I wanted to know.”

“Again,” he gasped. No one had ever dared to touch his wings like she was, nor would he ever have allowed them. Why he was letting her, Azriel wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, so long as she did it again. He wanted to teach her exactly where to touch, which spots would end him before he ever truly began, to prolong or heighten his pleasure. How to get him off on nothing but touching his wings alone.

But for now, he just needed her to touch him. Azriel was building like a wild, writhing animal, utterly helpless despite the fact that he was still holding her hand—much like she’d been holding the door not but a few minutes before. Gwyn stroked his cock and his wing in tandem, bringing him so close to the edge he might have thought she was teasing him.

He didn’t know who he was anymore. Didn’t recognize the male that whimpered with pleasure, groaning and panting with desperation. In fact, Azriel couldn’t remember the last time a female had merely fisted his cock without moving on to more pleasurable activities. He thought he might die if she released him, even if she was promising him her mouth. 

“Gwyn,” he tried, darkness blurring the edge of his vision. “Gwyn, I—”

Skimming her fingers over his wing one last time, pumping him hard and fast, Azriel came too loudly, embarrassingly loud, even, for someone who prided himself on stealth. He’d tried to warn her, but the moment his come splattered against her hand, Gwyn shot off the bed again, staring down at it with surprise. He could see realization dawning over her features, shattered the spell around them. Like she’d just only realized what they’d been doing and knew without a doubt they shouldn’t have. 

She didn’t say a word. She only pulled open the door and closed it behind her, stopping only for her piece of paper on the floor. Azriel wasn’t going to let her escape him that quickly. Scrambling to his feet, still rolling from the force of his orgasm, Azriel washed his hands and threw on a pair of his loose, gray sleep pants. There was no point bothering with a shirt, no point trying to hide his erection tenting his pants.

“Gwyn!” he called, flinging open the door. She returned, shaking water droplets from her hand, her expression betraying absolutely nothing.

“Yes?” Was that how it was going to be, then? She’d touched his wings and wanted to act like it was nothing to her at all? Azriel didn’t think so. He stalked forward while she stepped back, until he had her pushed up against a wall.

“Don’t,” she warned him, jutting her chin in the air.

“I owe you,” he growled, jerking his head back to his bedroom. But Gwyn was shaking her head no, eyes flashing with defiance. 

“Not tonight, Azriel.”

Fuck. 

She was going to be the death of him.

“Yes, tonight.”

She sighed, her breath sweet against his face. “This isn’t a game, you know.”

“Isn’t it, though?” he replied, well aware of how dangerous he sounded. Any other female would be stammering, would have done what he told them to. Gwyn merely rolled her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I’m not stupid, shadowsinger. You owe me, and then I’ll owe you in an endless loop. I’m here to work, not play with your body.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied casually, draping his wings over them until they were hidden from the world. “I think you came to do both, if we’re being honest.”

“Well, I didn’t. So you owe me nothing. It was…it was a moment of weakness and nothing more.”

“So I’m your weakness?”

He was in danger of losing his balls if that look on her face was any indication. Azriel couldn’t help himself. He liked their back and forth and even more how she looked at him without an ounce of fear.

“In your dreams.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, catching that flicker of surprise. “I don’t see why this can’t be work and play.”

She hesitated. “What would owing me even mean?”

Azriel cocked his head, pretending to consider. Pretending the mere thought of getting her back wasn’t exciting him all over again. “Do you want to draw up terms?”

“No sex,” she said quickly. Azriel wasn’t surprised to hear that. While Gwyn waited for him to protest, he merely arched a brow, urging her to go on.

“That…that’s all.”

“Fine,” he agreed. He wasn’t going to force himself on her, after all. “My terms?”

“Name them.”

“This stays in Montessere. It doesn’t come back to Prythian.”

“I would hate to get in the way of your many lovers,” she retorted without true malice. Azriel shrugged it off the way he shrugged off so many other things she said. 

“You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like. No pretending for my sake. I’m grown—I can handle it.”

Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It was subtle, but he caught her relief. “You think I’d try and spare your feelings?”

Azriel chuckled. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Trust in that, if nothing else, shadowsinger.”

He offered her a half smile. “Go get in my bed—”

“I told you. Not tonight.” Gwyn pressed her fingertips to his chest, pushing him back far enough she could duck beneath his arm. “Get used to doing things my way.”

“I relish the opportunity to make you eat your words.”

Gwyn only smiled before turning, waving over her shoulder before slamming the door shut. He heard the lock turn, an absurd gesture he assumed only punctuated her point. She wanted to call the shots? 

Well.

That was fine by him.

[ehlnofay]

Efri thinks she’s found the library.

“Woah,” she says, letting the door swing shut behind her. (Loudly. The doors here are so heavy.) Her voice echoes off the stone walls. She feels like she’s stepped into some story, like an exaggerated version of what a mage’s college would be.

It’s not that she’s never heard of a library before or anything. She understands them, conceptually. But the most books she’s ever seen at once was the small set of shelves in Rorik’s manor, and even that blew her away the first time – all the pretty bindings and close-written words. This is –

The College library is something else. It’s a lot bigger than a set of shelves.

Winding, narrow hallways bend and squiggle around like a set of earthworms trying to squish together to make a solid shape with no gaps, and every single wall is lined with books. Each shelf is like a rainbow of covers and colours. Half the spines are thick as at least two fingers put together and written over with words she can’t read. Efri has to bring Sissel here. She’d lose her mind.

“Woah,” she says again, and steps further in to look at the books on the shelves. All the bindings in blacks and blues and browns. One has the title written down the spine in gold lettering that shines. She brings up a hand to touch it.

“What are you doing?” someone demands. Efri stops. She looks.

It’s a grumpy-looking orc man in a bright yellow tunic, glaring at her much fiercer than seems necessary for the crime of looking at books in a library. He looks like he might be old – his hair’s white enough that his beard’s the same colour as his sharp sticking-out teeth, and he’s wrinkly.  Efri wrinkles her nose and tells him, “I’m looking at the books.”

“Wash your hands first,” he barks, turning his much-too-angry glare on Efri’s hovering arms. “You look like the sort of person to have grubby fingers.”

It’s true, but Efri is offended anyway. She wipes her palms hard against her orange wool skirt. (The skirt is grey at the hem from playing in dirty snow. It does not make her any cleaner.)

“Who’re you?” she asks the rude man. “I haven’t met you yet.”

He does not stop scowling. Maybe he’s perpetually angry. Maybe he just has an unfortunate face. But he says, “I’m the Arcaeneum archivist. Urag gro-Shub.”

The Arcaeneum, that’s what the library’s called. Very fancy name. (Sissel will love it. And has Kazari been here yet? They might like it too. She’s pretty sure they can read, though probably not these fiddly little paper books.) “What’s an archivist?”

“I maintain the library.” The archivist Urag gro-Shub might be grumpy and not very nice but at least he didn’t do the thing where he sighed all annoyed at Efri’s question. “I choose when and to whom the books are lent, and I ensure they are not damaged. Hundreds of years have gone into assembling this collection, and it’s going to stay pristine.”

“Is that book hundreds of years old?” Efri asks, pointing to the showy tome with the writing in gold.

Urag barely glances at it, dark eyes flashing in the vague direction of her pointing finger and flashing back again. “No. That’s historical fiction written in 185. That copy was made within these last ten years.”

“You didn’t even look at it,” Efri says.

“Bejewelled Tragedy. Four hundred pages. Horrendously inaccurate. Frankly, it wasn’t worth acquiring in the first place. Feel free to look for yourself.”

Efri will take his word for it.

“This section is for the books that are up for purchase,” he tells her, gesturing. “The worthwhile ones – and the old ones, if those are what you’re looking for – are further in.”

Efri squints down the passages again, their bright lights and cosy winding walls. She can’t tell where this section ends and the next one starts. She feels like if she went any further into the library she’d get lost. She says, “Thanks. I’m Efri, by the way.”

“I know. You’re that kid who showed up.”

“One of,” Efri corrects.

Urag keeps talking, rolling right past like he didn’t hear her. “Don’t know why in the name of all that’s been called holy they let you in. You’d think this would be a step too far, even –” he huffs and snaps his jaw shut, tusks digging into his moustache. He says, “At any rate. You’re here now, and you’re subject to the same rules as everyone else. You treat these books as careful as if they were your own firstborn children, understand? And if there’s something you want to find – or especially take out of the Arcaeneum – you come talk to me.”

Efri nods obediently. What time would it be right now? The lecture Sissel went to was almost two hours, and it’s definitely only been about one. She asks, “Are there any books with pictures?”

She’s not sure if it’s just the shape of his mouth or if he’s sneering. Urag says, “That depends. Are you going to respect the books enough to try to read the words too?”

“That depends,” Efri retorts, nettled. (She gets that he’s protective of the collection, but there’s no need to be rude about it.) “Are your books going to teach me how to read?”

Urag stares.

“You can’t read,” he replies, sounding vaguely offended, as though she, at six years of age, had refused to attend the village school for the express purpose of spiting him four years later.

Efri pulls a book out of the shelf without looking at it, ignoring the way he huffs. There’s nothing embossed on the spine or the cover, but there’s a title scribbled on the first page. “That’s a B,” she says, pointing to the first letter of the first word, and then stops, squinting. Switches her focus to a different word. “That one says off.”

“Of,” Urag corrects over her shoulder.

Efri shrugs. She snaps the book shut and slips it back into its place on the shelf. “I can read a bit,” she says. “I know my letters and that. The books here are just big.”

And given that she’d failed to correctly identify of, even small stories might be a bit beyond her skill level.

Urag is quiet. Efri looks back at him, mostly expecting him to still be looking affronted, as though she’d stolen food out of his mouth and thrown it at a wall – instead he looks oddly, blankly thoughtful.

“We don’t have anything suitable for early readers,” he says, tapping his fingers against his leg. “That might be an oversight.”

Efri really doesn’t think it is. “It’s a big fancy library, right? I think it’s normal to just collect the big fancy books.” All the ones that are hundreds of years old, or about magic or important things, or both.

Urag’s knuckles rap against a buckle on his belt. He says, “No! First misconception. A worthwhile collection archives all the work on its focus possible. The Arcaeneum is a collection of knowledge in every form. Therefore, we have as many books as we can access, on all sorts of topics. Half of them aren’t even good!”

“You sell the bad ones,” Efri says, trying to follow.

“Some of them. If they’re wholly without merit. Mostly I sell duplicates. Or works no-one has ever used. There’s things to be learned from everything – if not now, later. I’ll think on it.”

He looks back at Efri, looking a bit like he might have forgot she was there. “Regardless. Do you need anything, or can I get back to work?”

He’s still all rude and prickly. Efri bristles a bit. “I wasn’t keeping you,” she says, flicking her eyes again over the strange and wandering walls.

Urag sighs again like he’s got any right to be annoyed with her, but then he asks, “Would you like a tour of the Arcaeneum?”

“Do you want to give it?”

“You’ve already distracted me,” he says. Adds less irritably, “And I enjoy a chance to show off the collection. Long as you don’t interrupt me.”

“I’m going to interrupt you,” Efri informs him. She doesn’t like to be told what to do.

She lets him show her the library.

[darkdumbass]

Hi there! This is random, but I really really love the way you do line art! I love how simple, clean, and direct it feels. It has great energy and feels really appealing! I’m trying to improve my own line art right now… I feel like it takes me a long time to choose the “right” lines and end up with clean finish. What to you think has helped you get up to this point with your line art the most? Do you have any suggestions of ways to study and practice? Any favorite artists you look up to for their lines?

I love your work ❤️ thank you

Hello! Thank you for the kind words. I enjoy doing linework a lot, so this is nice to hear :)

These days my line art is more of a "clean drawing" rather than what one usually imagines under traditional line art, which would be opaque lines with varying weight. Right now I like to use a brush that doesn't vary size with pen pressure but varies opacity only. It gives the lines a very soft feeling that I've grown to love.

I browsed through your art, and I was a bit blown away actually, because I think you have a fantastic energy and expression in your drawings, which is something I aspire to have myself. You are very knowledgable about line weight and shapes, so I won't bore you with explaining any of that, haha.

I think good line art comes down to confidence. Obviously, an artist needs a confident hand to avoid shaky lines, to lead them exactly the way they want to, to give them an energy. This sort of mechanical skill is acquired through experience.

But! I've always felt there is a sort of a mental side to this as well, which is best observed during traditional inking. You have to commit to your lines, you have to trust them. You have to sit back and give control to your hand, because with the experience it has, it also has a mind of its own. This sounds pretty out there, but it's about letting go and not overthinking it. I realized this when I looked up to Jim Lee's work as an older teen. There's a lot of videos on YT where you can see his process, which looks utterly effortless. Take this one for example. It's quick, so it's a bit rough, but it does look like his hand is just doing whatever!

I fostered that approach in my art while doing daily drawing from life - straight to inks without sketching. The drawings look wonky a lot of the time, but it gave me confidence where it mattered later. To this day, when I do clean lines in digital too, I adopt this mindset of letting go, which gives the lines more leeway, which also means that if the line doesn't go exactly where it should according to the sketch, I can still trust it. (Although contrary to this, I still put a lot of controlled effort into faces, and this approach comes more easily while drawing bodies and clothes.)

As for suggestions for practice, as I've already mentioned, drawing from life straight to inks (I recommend this over going straight to inks from imagination as that's extremely difficult, at least for me). Have a fast hand, and do long lines even if they come out wobbly. Try to let your hand roleplay Jim Lee here and there - let it do that flick that crosses a line it shouldn't have, let it make a turn with an accidental squiggle, let it pool a bit of ink at the end of the line. Fake it till you make it. At first, I suggest trying this on subjects that aren't your expertise (eg. in my case, draw a bottle instead of a person), so you don't subconsciously compare this to your best work, but make sure you're still having fun :)

Of course, it helps to like doing line art too. I don't know what your relationship to it is, but if it suffers, I suggest busting out the traditional inks with dipping pens, wodden skewers and brushes. It connects me with the process like nothing else.

As for my favorites, I can recommend one of my favorite manga artists - Satoru Noda. Superbly confident and energetic linework. Check out his series Golden Kamuy or Dogsred :)

I hope this will give you a small idea of how I approach my line art. It might be a mess… If you have any more questions as a result of this, or related to anything else, don't hesitate to ask!

[nbmudkip]

does it have to be comissions?

- EmpError

- blessing

- infinitely gray

- sekai-chan and kafu-chan's errand

- spinal fluid explosion girl

- children record

- the entire concept of sbibo

- kimiagure mercy

- haikei doppelganger

oh my god the LIST. ok here goes

1. emperror

i did ex, for any songs with no difficulty mentioned i’ll probably default to mas unless the mas is 33+ in which case i’ll just pick whichever i feel like atm. this ex chart is rly solid imo i have fun with it. its my fave ex chart of the three tho dftm is close. the faster bits in this one keep me on my toes and i almost fucked a solid few of them up hence the greats. 6/10 fond memories

2. blessing

why did you do this. why did you make me play this. you know how i feel about this song and this chart already. i messed up because i was thinking too hard about how angry i was at you for making me play this fucking song. hitting you with sticks. 0/10 it sucked

3. infinitely grey

wow another stinker. listen i have a bit of positive bias towards this one since it was one of my first lv30 aps but yeah it’s not great. so repetitive and of such an annoying note pattern too. she gets a 3/10 for nostalgia for the good ol days and nothing else

4. sekai-chan and kafu-chan’s errand

u rly had to pick one of my weakest lv32s…..the chart is a blast tho i wont lie. am i good at it? no. but holy shit is it fun. tappytappytappy brain good. i love the fast flicks in every chorus altho the end of the final chorus is the bane of my existence. 7.5/10 delicious adrenaline rush

5. spinal fluid explosion girl

another of my much weaker 32s. please disregard the greats i shifted to resting my ipad on a blanket bc sitting cross legged was hurting my legs rly bad and i think its fucking up my mental offset. anyway the chart is a blast altho it can be a liiiiiittle irritating at certain parts. still the flicks are so fun esp the ones in the middle with the squiggle holds, and while the runs can be a bit annoying they’re also very rewarding to get right. 7/10 fun but a touch enraging

6. children record

i have been fc-1 on this song for literally two and a half years and that did not change tonight. SAD! fortunately the chart fucks hard and its hard to gamer rage when i’m having that much fun. 8.5/10 wheeee weeeee whweeeeeee ahahhaahah weee

7. the entire concept of sbibo

??? not a chart that is a whole little dude. um if she was a chart i have to assume itd be pretty banger and high energy. not sure what you wanted me to do here so i added some outfits instead. sbib/10

8. kimagure mercy

???? New mas ap hello????!? ERM. well im very pleased. anyway this chart FUCKS. this chart literally fucks so hard its not even funny. its insane. its so fun. makes you feel like GOD when you play it well which i am experiencing right now as we speak. im very happy rn if you cant tell ive been stuck on ap-1 on this chart for months. anyway chart good brain slush overall 9/10 i love you weird flick patterns

9. haikei doppelganger

THIS CHARTTTTTTT. GUHHHHHHHH u already know how much i love this chart it is SO!!!! FUN!!!!!!!! they space out the mid-speed runs and the superfast runs and the rhythmic pauses with each other so well and it’s just a breath of fresh air to play. one of the best charts in the game objectively and one of my favorites as well. fcing this for the first time can cheer one up from anything nd believe me i have firsthand experience with that. 10/10 this chart FUCKS!!!!!!!!!!

and thus concludes your 8 mile long ask meme response hope you enjoyed

[moon-goggles]

Generation Loss: The Founders Cut Thoughts

I adore genloss and was there to watch the premiere of the founders cut but one thing I do have a problem with is some of the pacing, and I’ve thought about it a fuck ton believe me but I gotta say some things; I think the cut isn’t perfect but IT IS interesting, it adds a lot to the project as a whole actually despite the cuts and it’s great to introduce to others who are intimidated by the vods who aren’t actively interested in the people playing as these characters BUT, it loses a lot of context for why and how it’s so horrifying as a concept unlike the og material.

I appreciated the pacing of the first episode but it lost some key contexts like GL!Charlie’s grandma and GL!Ranboo generally fucking up his place and other details that really built more onto how they were being controlled which thematically connect to the horrors you experience in episode two.

Episode two was already, quite long in the og vod and frankly not my favourite (hot take I know),,, but it was missing the horror of Charlie? Like what makes that surgery so jarring is how it was presented and it left me sitting there a little disappointed as it’s my favorite part. The episode felt very filler and it once again, takes over a majority of the three episodes due to its content and nothing wrong with that but the pacing felt slow and drawn out after the Candy Room. The pacing and editing could’ve been done differently for the rest of that episode in my op. Especially after the fast pacing and clean editing in the first episode. I don’t think it necessarily should’ve gone fast like the cabin in the woods, because the theming of that episode was about puzzles and such, but I don’t feel the time they used was necessary for the story or idea of everything being a game for the show YKNOW?

Episode three of course, my favorite beloved, not much had to be changed or cut as the pacing was already mostly planned well and efficiently from it being pre-recorded toward the end for cinematic feels, I don’t really have any complaints toward it except for the fact that it’s prior episodes lost the impact or context needed to bring you to the conclusion as an ultimate horror realization. GL!Ranboo saying thank you was such an added moment and HETCH actually being colder and directive toward them was good chilling touches but once again I feel that thank you isn’t as holy shit without some of the context you get from the og material cuz it was cut.

The ending was DEFINITELY worth the wait it left me intrigued and excited because it connected and set off the premise of smth beyond generation 1 and I’m pretty excited for what’s to come—

But overall the whole project, I knew it would be cut and edited as seen fit as states “THE FOUNDERS CUT” and that there was possibility for tidbits of lore that added on. I got exactly what was expected and was told we were going to get I just feel it leaves a bit lacking for the reasons stated earlier. This honestly could be somewhat of an intention because it is the FOUNDER’s cut, and what the FOUNDER wants shown despite the screen card for episode three about it not being something you’re supposed to see.

The whole premise of generation loss’ title losing some of its media and context for the cut and the way its perceived as a whole is honestly really smart and cool if you know the og material and I’m still stuck on if that was intentional by any means or not besides the obvious decisions for the audience to see where GL!Ranboo repeats himself over and over, the surgery’s horror being skewed, and HETCH acting as somebody being worth trusted as he did in the og, and etc. Because clearly, it was intentional but I’m not sure it was presented in the best way possible.

The additions tho once again I quite appreciated, getting to see that the food in episode one was horrific for a split second and GL!Ranboo’s past for those split seconds as well, very nice. Also the Showfall Media Mascot, Squiggles, having his very own animation was neat too tho his chat box almost never going up because of the cuts made it feel strange when it did show up in my op. And of course the new voiceover additions and tape at the end added so much tonal wise and made me rethink and evaluate what I assume as the consumer of this world’s lore, which I quite enjoy and appreciate!

[arsonisticscholar]

Hii! I think I can kind of explain the hurricane family, but a lot of this is just from my experience, so idk.

The Hurricane Family is a Tumblr family! What does this mean? You decide for yourself!! Most of us have one common interest, which is LU (or just LoZ as a whole)! So this means that we make a lot of inside jokes about Link. I’m pretty sure the top favorite Links among HF members are Wind, Leg, Sky, and Wars? I do remember there being a bunch of Team Time-rs in here too lol. Anyways, most of the time people in the HF just. Do stuff on Tumblr ig. For example, Wars Angsting™️ (which you shouldn’t worry about), the scheming blog (you shouldn’t worry about this either), and the massive amount of Wind fans who take every opportunity to squish The Boy (this is very important)!! Most people here have big-time hydration issues though, so that’s a really good way get them back if you want revenge for any reason at all! Initiating spontaneous loving hours is also a really great option!! Sometimes we do fun stuff like having a HF feast (and maybe poisoning everyone with Parmexpiredmilkup shhhhhhh)!!! There is a fictional house called the Hurricane House where most family members live in the daydreams of myself and maybe others. You can really just make up your role and interact with people and you’re good to go! There is a Discord too!! Squiggle and Social are the “parents”, but they’re easily overthrowable, and unfortunately too responsible to spend all their money on a giant wheel of Parmesan. There are many people in the HF, and new members are constantly getting schlorped every day! Also, make sure to watch out for anti-Parm propagandists, and the Australians!! (You can tell who by them talking about fairy bread.) There’s also Baby Ornament Fanart, so many things related to Parmup, singing showcases, so many talented authors and artists who downplay their work for no reason at all, people who seem to be allergic to the idea of sleep, people who sleep too much, I’m just naming things at this point but I hope this was helpful to you!!! I’m sorry for writing too much if this was too much too. SOMEBODY PLS TELL ME IF I FORGOT SOMETHING

from a HF member who’s too shy to reblog the post because you. You are too cool for me.

Tysm!! This sounds sarcastic but I seriously appreciate the long winded explanation I really needed that lol

Also I’m torn between being touched and incredulous because omg someone thinks I’m cool~~ and …I’m literally the lamest person ever lol