human.
early access + nsfw on patreon
more backstory that i wrote up for patreon heh:
Simon and Tommy had a complicated relationship as brothers.
At a young age, Simon basically wrote himself off as a lost cause, and did the best he could to make sure at least Tommy had a chance to be a functioning human being. After all, Tommy was the gentler brother, the dreamer, the one who looked like their mother (who'd walked out on them years ago to escape their father). But Tommy got bitter, got sick of the one always being protected, being babied. He lost respect for Simon, for the way he wouldn't fight back, and in a twisted way, grew closer to his father as a way to learn how to be powerful, strong. It backfired, and Tommy got wrapped up in some bad business.
Simon's kid brother died while he was deployed. He got the news in the letter, and it broke him in a big way. In the story timeline, it was years and years ago but it still hurts like hell whenever Simon thinks about him.
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[ID: A digital comic in two images of Samama Khalid and Celia Ripley from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. Sam is a fat South Asian man with short, curly black hair, and a mustache and small goatee, and he is wearing a turtleneck, a cardigan, black nail polish and small black earrings. Celia is a slim Korean woman with short black hair, and she is wearing a button down shirt, a vest, rectangular glasses, an x-shaped earring, an industrial piercing, and snakebite studs. Sam is colored in solid red, and Celia is colored in solid green.
The first image is three drawings of Sam. The first is of him looking up pleadingly with his hands clasped and his eyes large and sparkly with sparkles around his head saying "Ahem, please?" The second is him holding up two tickets and smiling, saying "Ta-da! These incredibly exclusive, hardly-discounted, barely obstructed theatre tickets?" The last is him holding up the tickets to himself to read them and saying "I don't really know much about it, I just thought-" His eyes are drawn as dots in the last one.
The second image is of Celia smiling down at him with half-lidded eyes and an amused and slightly scheming smile. She is blushing lightly with a thought bubble next to her with partially blocked out text reading "I need to (blank) him and (blank blank) him until he (blank)". The censored parts also contain pink hearts on the black censor bars. end ID]
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thinkin bout that one bit. i love him <3 celia you need to kiss his silly little face or i will
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how did floyd meet his ex band mates?? what did he think of them?
It was actually completely on accident. Les was getting firewood for their campfire when he heard a barely audible distressed sound nearby and found Floyd wrapped up in a spider's cocoon. Poor guy was fighting for his last breath when Les rescued him.
Les invited him back to the camp to check over his injuries, which then became a meal and overnight stay (they live in a bug RV), and then a longer stay to mend, and then Floyd was invited to join their band and just stayed for good (mostly because Les was worried what could happen to the kid if he was left alone again (Floyd was pretty malnourished when they found him, after about a year since he left the troll tree, and pretty touch starved too.))
As for what Floyd thought. It was pitch dark in the woods when Les pulled him out of that cocoon so he couldn't get a good look at the guy. The only thing he could tell was that he was insanely huge. But he thought that he must have been just a really big rock troll in a fluffy sweater. When they finally got to the fire he had quite a shock. He was disturbed and intimidated by everyone for sure, since in this AU he'd only met rock trolls so far and hadn't even heard of other types. Add the fact that he had been sure he was going to die not long ago, I'm positive he was in shock for most of that night.
floyd is like a wet shivering kitten left out in the rain, who wouldn't want to take him in??
too bad none of them know how to take care of kittens...
bonus:
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sage sage sage, sorry for blowin up your ask box, but your writing is just😫😫 (i just looked through your rules and i didnt see anything against pegging and ik youve written like ass play before, so im hopin you're alright with it)
anyways. art is such a cute patootie and the only thing my mind will allow me to imagine rn is either slowly fucking art or helping him ride your strap gently and, right as he's about to cum, and while he does, he just says he loves you over and over, thast all he can say, all he can think about, all he knows is just how much he loves you
god he's adorable
art’s sure he’s never felt as good as he does when he’s sat in your lap, your hands on his sides and your strap deep inside him. it’s perfect—in every single way.
you hold him so tenderly and let him move the way he wants. you never try to tell him what to say, or how loud to be, or how to take it. you just hold him close and let him do his thing.
his head is lolled forward onto your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your back so that his hands can cling to you, and he’s breathing faster and heavier with each roll of his hips over the pink silicone pushed right up against the most sensitive place in his body. everything is drowned out except for the feeling of your skin against his, the bumping of his prostate, and your whispered words in his ear.
“you’re so handsome, babe… fuck, you’re taking it so fucking well…”
he just holds onto you tighter and moans into your neck, shifting on his knees slightly so that he can gain leverage and start to fuck himself faster on you. “ohhh..! hah—! m-mnnghh….”
your touch shifts; one hand over his thigh and the other reaching up to tug and stroke lightly over the back of his bouncing blonde curls. he keens, all whiny and urgent, like he wants you to pull harder on his locks. like he wants you to really manhandle him.
but you know he doesn’t. not this time, at least. it’ll only make him cry, even if he doesn’t realize it.
“that’s it, art, there you go,” you whisper to him lowly and breathlessly, helping to steady him upright in your lap as he rides you feverishly now, chasing a high that’s creeping up on him hard and fast, “good job.. fuck yourself on my cock…”
your words only drive him further towards the edge, his body clenching around the toy as he shudders and digs his fingers into your upper back.
“oh my g-god-d—please—“ he gasps, his chest pressed against yours as he leans in close and whimpers, “i’m gonna come—“
and you move your hand immediately from his thigh to his aching cock, tugging on it slickly as it slips through your fist, and he buckles forward in the next instant just as he’s crying out.
“oh, i’m coming! i’m coming, baby, i’m cominnggh—i lo-i love you so—muh-much— i’m—!”
you moan with him, unable to hold back your own noises as you hear his orgasm rip through him and cause him to whine and shudder helplessly.
“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he whimpers, his eyes pricking from oversensitivity as your hand continues to stroke him, the strap resting inside as the waves of heady pleasure flood his nervous system. the waves go on and on endlessly, his sweaty frame jolting in your arms.
you stroke his hair and slow your touch, kissing the side of his head. “i love you too… god, you came so much..”
his sticky release coats your fingers like glue. you squeeze the base of him.
he nuzzles into your neck and greedily sucks air into his burning lungs, chest heaving with little moans for exhales, and he nods.
pulls back from you after he comes down, and you two share a messy kiss. lots of tongue and spit and tired noises of residual pleasure. he pulls back and suddenly tears are welling in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, and he’s begging you for comfort with just his crumpled expression.
you frown and reach up with your clean hand from his hair, wiping at the wetness tenderly with your middle finger and thumb, and he leans into your gesture of care with a shaky sigh. he closes his eyes.
“i love you more than anything,” you speak to him softly and earnestly, barely audible.
he nods.
he sniffles wetly as his eyes flutter open to look into yours. tears cling to his lashes.
“more than anything,” he repeats.
he leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet and needy and with no doubt in his mind that you meant what you said.
he loves you.
god, he really loves you.
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