#these creatures now occupy my brain

[thepainhouse]

i can't draw robots so I made a compromise by making them ponies instead

[shalotttower]

A Natural Benefit

Title: A Natural Benefit

Fandom: Death Note

Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (female)

Summary: L wants to try something new, you want to be left alone. So an offer is on the table, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement after all.

Word count: 2100+

Notes: yandere!L, kidnapped Reader, dub-con kissing, manipulation, captivity, L and Reader were together at Wammy's House

"Would you indulge me?"

Your eyes dart up from the page to his face. L looks at you like he always does ─ an intent yet oddly distant stare that used to make goosebumps appear on your arms. Nowadays you're somewhat re-accustomed to his mannerisms. He doesn't blink much, tends to stand behind your back whenever possible, likes to play with his food and enjoys invading your personal space far too much to be deemed socially acceptable.

His habits are strange but harmless.

"No," you say, just to be contrary.

L is fond of making things sound simple, and then — snap! — the trap is shut, and you find yourself doing a completely different activity than initially expected.

"I want to kiss you."

"N-" You blink and lower your book down, not bothering to mark it. "What?"

"Kissing is an act of physical intimacy between individuals," he says like it's an obvious fact and you're merely slow on the uptake. L's expression doesn't change, neutral despite this being anything but a normal conversation starter even by your standards ─ admittedly low.

"Thank you for enlightening me about the definition," you lean back against the cushions, "still no."

"Why not?" He asks after a momentary pause.

"Because I don't want to."

A simple answer to a weird request. You try to resume reading, but there're other things currently occupying your brain ─ namely the attempts to understand what prompted such inquiry.

L never asked for physical contact before; platonic or otherwise. Sure he tried to entice you into spending time with him through bargain and manipulation, and you pretended to be oblivious enough to earn an Oscar for your acting skills. However, there never was any talk of kissing involved. Any kind of touching, actually.

He hums. "Would you like me to explain my reasons?"

Sometimes you think that the sole cause of L's existence is just so he could annoy people for kicks. His questions are always peculiar, and you've learned that every single one of them is designed to lead towards some specific conclusion, preferably the one he wants. You have a feeling that if you say 'yes', L will proceed to list a hundred points about why kissing is good. And then another hundred why kissing him specifically is beneficial.

"No."

He looks at you. You look at him and raise the book higher.

"Indulging me would benefit both of us," L says, undeterred. "You're very curious by nature and I find it quite fascinating that you're able to deny your curiosity in this particular case."

Has a more obvious bait ever existed anywhere in human history? Probably not, and you'll bet your entire life savings on it too.

"I'm not curious," you lie, "now leave me alone. I want to read."

He leans forward. "You haven't focused on the book since I asked my question."

Smartass. You purse your lips and pretend that the characters are suddenly so interesting, that it's hard to look away from the intricacies of the plot unfolding inside this fictional world. At least things there make sense; no need to figure out the hidden meanings behind other people's words, because they are mostly transparent when there's a whole paragraph dedicated to the protagonist's feelings.

He reminds you of those spider-like creatures from documentaries ─ their actions seem random at first glance, yet upon further scrutiny prove to be anything but. Instead, they're meticulously crafted and executed to obtain maximum results.

L studies you for a little while longer, and eventually pads towards the kitchenette. The kettle whistles soon after as he makes himself tea; mint flavored, judging by the aroma wafting through the air.

______________________________________________________

You should have known that he won't give up ─ L is just as persistent as you are stubborn. If anything, you've set a challenge before him, and he tends to fixate on those until they are solved: a fact well-known and accepted among those who ever had a (dis)pleasure of interacting with him.

He doesn't outright ask you again, not the next day or the one after that. No. Accidentally, the only type of movies you're able to watch now are rom-coms or dramas with lots of kissing scenes sprinkled here and there between the banter bordering on cringe; sweet confessions spoken over candlelit dinners; passionate declarations whispered during sunsets... Clichés, amore, and kisses galore.

"I'm not sure this is the best movie for the evening," you say, as the screen flickers with images of two leads gazing into each other's eyes like they found the answers to every single question asked.

"The reviews are quite positive," L replies, munching on caramel popcorn.

"Reviews can be faked. And the trailer was misleading. I thought it was going to be an action movie."

"It is an action movie. The genres are listed right there," he points at the screen, and the words 'romance and action' stare back at you.

You frown and settle deeper into the couch cushions. It's uncomfortable ─ watching romantic scenes with L in the same room. His presence doesn't feel oppressive or demanding, yet you can't shake off the squirmy, twisty feeling. The kind when you enter an elevator with someone else and get slightly agitated for no reason. And so you try to slow down your breathing, but it only makes things worse. Your heart beats faster, palms start sweating and the hypothetical elevator stranger inevitably thinks that you're weird.

L isn't an elevator stranger. He's the owner of the elevator, and the entire building, and the city.

"He's going to die in the next ten minutes," you mutter.

"No, he won't."

"Yes, he will."

L hums. "Want a bet?"

Your eyes narrow.

"If he survives past the fifteen minute mark," L says slowly, "you indulge me."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I leave you alone for two days."

There's no hesitation on his side. None whatsoever, which proves suspicious immediately ─ L never offers something unless certain about the outcome beforehand, whether by logical deduction or calculated gamble. Probability factors run inside his brain instead of blood cells and grey matter, calculating risk vs return ratio quicker than any computer ever could.

You glance at the screen. It's a simple plot. There were a twist or two earlier, sure, but overall nothing extraordinary that would require hours upon hours of critical thinking to unravel.

A man, a woman. A handsome villain who wants them dead, for various reasons. They run and fight, shoot guns, dodge punches, and kiss between those because apparently there's time for romance even when a life is on the line.

It's a very simple plot; and two days are a lot to pretend that L doesn't exist. That you got rich enough to buy this kind of apartment.

"The speakers?"

"Switched off."

"The cameras?"

"Those will stay."

Of course, they will. You wouldn't expect anything less ─ privacy issues are non-existent here in more ways than one.

L isn't always a presence. Sometimes he leaves and you're alone with nothing but books and TV to pass time, but two days sound wonderful regardless. There's something in empty spaces that's enticing, even if they're temporary. L, for all his peculiarities, isn't too bad of a company. He's quiet, and often busy with his own matters. But he also has this way of looking at you that is unnerving. Like you're interesting. Or important. Or simply fascinating.

Sometimes he wants to talk, he wants to listen, he wants to ask questions and give answers until everything blurs into an amalgamation of words. It's exhausting.

Two days sound good. His hand is dry and slender. You grasp it and shake it once.

"I'll start the timer now," L says after your hands separate.

______________________________________________________

Twelve minutes.

Three more and he's dead.

You wish that he'd just kick the bucket already, so you could spend the next forty eight hours in pure, undiluted bliss.

_______________________________________________________

The male lead dies after seventeen minutes.

When the credits roll over, the apartment is silent except for the soft buzzing of electronics. You look at the screen, stubbornly, because you don't want to look at him, the owner of the elevator, and the building, and the city.

"It was close," he comments, as if trying to comfort you, which makes it even more of a sore spot.

That’s what L thrives on ─ technicalities, loopholes, small and seemingly insignificant details which are easily overlooked, yet make a great difference. You're not sure if you're annoyed, or disappointed. And what’s more important ─ at whom.

You have known for years that L tends to get his way eventually whenever there's something specific caught up in that head of his; a fixation which refuses to leave until satisfied, and sometimes even after. Snap. You can get up and head out of the living room, you know you can. Will you though is another question entirely.

L isn't a typical captor ─ he doesn't demand or force you into things. He simply presents a possibility and waits. Not aggressive or domineering, not sadistic. But oh he is a PhD of holding a grudge. Leaving now probably means waking up tomorrow and finding that every single disk has vanished without a trace, along with the bookshelves being switched for some obscure scientific texts on chemistry, physics and other things that require an advanced degree to fully understand.

Because someone decided that you don’t deserve entertainment anymore. Because someone is petty enough to deprive you of basic mental stimuli, and is stubborn enough to hold onto that decision even when reasoned with. Unsuccessfully.

It's a talent really, this particular brand of making your life miserable in many small ways, so they accumulate into something greater over time until you feel like the walls are closing in slowly but surely.

You can't back out, even though no one openly stops you from doing so. And L knows that. And he knows that you know. His lips twitch and curl upward before flattening again into neutral territory.

There's a theory that if you pull a band-aid fast enough, it won't hurt as much. The credibility behind it is questionable.

You exhale and meet L's gaze ─ his posture hasn't changed from the beginning to the end of the film, knees tucked to his chest, eyes two dark pools that stare without blinking. His fingers drum a steady rhythm, and that's probably the only sign that gives it away.

Anticipation.

"Fine," you say finally.

His mouth opens before closing back again. L doesn't move a bit.

He wants you to do it, you realize. Wants you to initiate instead of just allowing it. What an ass.

You squish his cheeks between your palms until his lips pucker outwards. L makes a soft noise of surprise but doesn't try to fight back.

Black lashes cast a shadow across his skin. There's no perfume or cologne, no distinct smell ─ he uses plain soap and shampoo which don't have a discernible aroma.

"I believe I was promised an indulgence," L says, voice muffled a bit by your hands on his face.

He looks like a fish this way. A silly, ridiculous image that would make you snort if not for the situation at hand.

Band-aids and ripping them off.

You sigh, lean forward, and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like caramel popcorn.

Mint tea.

Indulgence.

The angle is awkward, and L doesn't move an inch to accommodate the position. He stays still like a block of solid rock, not a single muscle twitches, and doesn't even attempt to reciprocate. You have half a mind to think that maybe he's mocking you, but then his fingers lightly curl on the fabric of his jeans. L's eyelids flutter half-closed when your noses bump, then open again right after. Another oddity added to the pile.

It lasts no longer than ten seconds before you pull away. L blinks. Touches his lower lip with the tip of a finger and rubs it like searching for traces left by the contact.

"You were promised an indulgence," you remind him, trying to sound calm, collected, but your ears and neck feel hot, "not a make-out session."

Technicalities and loopholes.

L has that look you can't quite pinpoint yet know far too well. You've seen it many times before. When he thinks about something but keeps it to himself for now.

"You look more lively," he remarks eventually. "Healthy complexion suits you."

You don't need to hear what he says next, because the words already ring through your head.

"I told you it would benefit us both."

[potato-frenzy]

"You can't keep food down....... because you can feel it digesting?" Ford speaks slowly, careful whilst folding wirey limbs up off the floor of the latrine. Eternally concerned at the way Bill's joints overextend in this shape, he wonders what the rationale in giving him such a dysfunctional body was. As far as he understands, this is meant to be part of his former friend's(possibly rekindled, he's not sure) rehabilitation. Perhaps navigating a less than ideal health situation is part of that? Or it could an adjustment period?

Bill remains dead weight, letting his head loll with an uncomfortable looking arch to his neck over Ford's arm. His voice sounding appropriately strangled as he speaks from such an awkward angle. "My brain apparently can't handle the awareness of such an inefficient breakdown of fuel........."

Ford sighs gruffly as he settles Bill back into the berth the formerly multidimensional being is occupying for the interim. Even in a solidly human form, there's still something uncanny, somehow slightly inhuman about Bill. The subtle glow of his sclera in the dim light of the cabin, the reactive slits to his pupils, joints that bend too far, etc. Even as he looks at him now, the curve of Bill's spine is hunched into a shape that is nearly exaggerated with his too long legs pulled to his chin. "Humans aren't generally aware of that particular process, my would be tyrant. Besides, you've nearly passed out just from standing up twice this week. If it weren't too risky, I'd convince Stan to let us drive into town to see a doctor."

Bill makes an unhappy sound that is nearly a growl, mostly a grumble, slightly a gurgle. The low light from the lantern on the wall plays across the shaggy blonde hair that this corporeal came with as it falls into those glowing eyes. Mere firefly light colored slits in the shadows while Bill squirms. "Everything fucking sucks, Sixer ........this body is brand new and it's already falling apart......I think I'm dying........."

"You're not dying, Bill. At least not yet." Ford leans against the frame of the berth, grunting softly as his joints protest. He looks down at the miserable creature before him and in his care, ill-fittingly clothed in his own apparel. "You've only been here a few weeks and while you have lost some weight, the vomiting hasn't become life threatening. The fainting could be attributed to that anyway. I've been formulating some theories though."

"Oh joy, theories. What has my great wise one deduced from my useless human form's failure to function?" Bill's feet thump the wall as he attempts fruitlessly to stretch in the tiny berth.

Ford doesn't like the odd quality that human vocal cords bring to Bill's voice, making it sound flat and featureless. Or perhaps, he was just too used to the sound of a voice beyond human capability. The rich and layered tones and pitches that were just barely outside of his mind's ability to grasp. This voice felt so small, so digestible to mortal senses.

Another sigh, pushing his glasses aside to rub his eyes tiredly, Ford begins slowly. "At first I didn't think I could ascribe normal human body processes to you. But as time has passed, Stan pointed out to me that your body is functioning like a regular human. Albeit a regular human with health issues. Apparently he's seen it before."

Ford idly begins to pet Bill's hair, the texture something between a myriad of different textures. Impossible to place it as it seems to float from certain viewpoints. It's as fascinating as it is frustrating. Ford's caught himself reaching for it more than once in the time he's been here.

Bill never makes comment on it.

"Your immune system seems confused and your vascular system over reactive. And factoring in how unnaturally flexible you are...... you've said you're overly aware of everything happening in your body-"

"It's getting easier to ignore if that makes a difference."

"It does, thank you my m- my mortal ward. Ahem, there's a number of conditions that can cause such things to occur in a body. It could be something like Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. A proper doctor would need to run tests but it's very likely. We might also just need to keep trying to help you keep food and water down until you're used to human body processes."

Ford looks down at Bill then, seeing two faintly glowing slit pupiled eyes blinking up at him in the low light should be more disconcerting than it is. Which is to say that it is oddly comforting, knowing that Bill has been peacefully listening like he did all those years ago. The now solidly human shaped creature looking up at him, curled up in HIS berth on the Stan O'War II, wearing HIS clothes. A comfortable T-shirt with a silly cartoon on it that Soos gifted him, a grey cardigan with sleeves that keep slipping over Bill's long spidery hands and hangs down to his thighs.

The pants had to be procured for him, fished out of a donation bin on the interstate. Not quite long enough to cover Bill's boney ankles but fit comfortably around equally boney hips, it didn't help that he had no ass to speak of though. A tote with clothes collected from the neighbors had made Bill a few outfits that made him fit to be seen in polite company was stashed in a storage locker on the ship. But no matter what the day held, Bill managed to change into some of Ford's clothes when the opportunity arose.

Ford tried not to look too deeply into it but there was that niggling thought some measure of the same regard he used to hold for his multidimensional muse may still be returned. He didn't let himself linger on the possibility too much, especially with Bill in such a vulnerable state.

Besides, Bill's current form looked barely a few years older than Wendy at present. Considering anything untoward sat uncomfortably in his stomach with such youth looking up at him.

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

Excuse me while I just dump this here and run. Legit I don't even go here but this mental image possessed me and I had to write it down. I think Bill getting put in a meat suit purgatory would be made all the better by having a chronic illness come free with the body.

[genericpuff]

Familiarity in the Unknown - The Book Written by Tiny Paws

So there's this story you may or may not be aware of. It's about a rat who, despite being a rat, expresses a deep love for creating and cooking, often through unorthodox means and yet - throughout the unorthodox - compels us to think about the virtue of art and our own place in the world.

I know, completely absurd concept, why would a rat be cooking? It's ridiculous - but absolutely beautiful in its execution and simplicity. Our main character exists within a world that is treacherous, endlessly massive, occupied by strange creatures that could hurt him - even kill him - where good food and joy is hard to come by and living for oneself is against the tenets of his society's herd-mentality - but he is able to persevere and break through the difficulties of this world through his joy for food, for cooking, for the fire and smells, for satisfying his curiosity of the unknown, for expressing himself through the creation of art and, subsequently, for the love of the community and friendship that only grows in response to his sincerity.

Who am I kidding though, you know who I'm talking about, I don't need to keep patronizing you with wordplay and flowery descriptions. I'm obviously talking about The Book Written by Tiny Paws-

The Book Written by Tiny Paws isn't really a comic that I found so much as it found me in my daily scroll through my feed of notifications, featured in a user-submitted post to the /r/webtoons subreddit, discussing their newest update. There are a lot of comics that get promo'd in these communities and for the most part, none of them really ever compel me to read them, usually due to elements outside of the creator's control - they aren't a genre I'm interested in, the art style isn't gripping me, I'm just not in the mood to pick up anything new, etc.

But every now and then, something breaks through my own mentally enclosed barrier and reaches the innermost parts of my brain. And strangely enough, this time around, it was this little guy:

I did not know his name. I did not know what species he was supposed to be. I mean, he looks like a rat at first glance, but he also has little webbed feet like a platypus. I didn't even really pay much attention to what he was saying at first - all I could look at was his sincere little face. And once I snapped out of the cuteness hypnosis and read his dialogue, I suddenly found myself already hooked even before I read a single page. I wasn't sure what to expect, just so long as I could see more of this cute little guy.

By the end of the 9 episodes it had available at the time, not only was I more in love with this tiny creature than I was when I started, but I had the realization that this was going to be one of those rare, magical occasions when a piece of work would grab me and refuse to let go.

The Book Written by Tiny Paws is, to put it simply, a story about a creature known as "Firemaker" trying to find his way back to his herd after being separated from them during a flood so devastating that it drowns the earth beneath its waters. We are shown immediately the nature of this world - barren, bleak, cruel - but Firemaker describes it with the curiosity and wonder of a child experiencing all of it for the first time.

We're also immediately introduced to another core character - a stranger named "Vagabond" who does not seem to belong to a herd.

From its first two pages alone, The Book Written by Tiny Paws exceeds in what many comics struggle to do - it not only introduces us to its main character through his personality alone, but presents us the creator's approach to storytelling and worldbuilding: familiarity in the unknown.

Throughout each episode, alongside Firemaker, Vagabond, and the others who come and go throughout the world, we learn about how this world operates, and how they have been surviving in it. We learn that the flooding is actually a regular enough occurrence that creatures like Firemaker count their ages by how many rains they've survived. We learn that there are other creatures described only by their physical traits, and are left only with our own assumptions based on their word choice and imagination as to what they're referring to. There isn't any sign of human life, but human-like intelligence is present as creatures like Firemaker and Vagabond are able to communicate, count, multiply, use tools, and, as we see above with Firemaker, make logical connections between cause and effect (even if they're initially wrong).

Many of these concepts are familiar to us, if not absolutely mundane and outdated, but through the eyes of Firemaker and Vagabond, we get to see those same concepts re-contextualized in a world that is unlike our own. In this way, The Book Written by Tiny Paws asks us to re-explore the mundane through the eyes of creatures that rely on our privileges for their survival.

And when it's not re-contextualizing, it's introducing us to new concepts entirely that make this story and its world feel wholly unique. One such unique concept is the way in which they count - a system of multiplication through simple geometry.

It should be mentioned, before I get in any further - the creator of this work, Nolinno, proclaims themselves as "more of a physicist than an artist", and while I do believe they're not giving themselves enough credit for the art (which I will get into soon), their passion for physics shows immensely, showcasing not only their love for learning, but their affinity for teaching as well. It takes someone who really knows their stuff to be able to explain it as simply as possible for the layman such as myself to understand - and even then, not everyone who is well-trained in their field of study can necessarily teach it well - and yet Nolinno has done an extraordinary job so far of explaining their story's concepts in ways that are both simple to grasp and rewarding to master. Specifically, they reward the readers' ability to retain information and engage with it through their own conclusions, largely by creating opportunities in the text for that information to become relevant.

One of the earliest examples of this is when Vagabond initially reveals his age to be what first-time readers will assume is the number '11', and from there we can assume that '11 rains' must be significant as Firemaker seems astounded by this.

But then, we immediately find out that Firemaker himself hasn't learned to count that high, prompting Vagabond to teach him how to count higher than 3, which is when we get to learn the actual details of that aforementioned counting system built on multiplication and geometry.

It's through this explanation that we learn that Vagabond isn't 11, but the text doesn't explicitly tell us - it asks us as readers to instead follow along with Vagabond's teachings and come to our own answer.

And so, I'm not going to tell you the answer here either! There's a top comment on this particular episode that's gotten it right (as confirmed by the creator like a very proud elementary school teacher, awww), but consider that more of an answer key if you want to know if you got the correct answer. And if you feel like Vagabond's explanation here is too limited or you want more examples, nothing to fear - Nolinno has given us a study guide!

What I adore about this is that as much as I'm intimidated by mathematical concepts like this, I genuinely appreciate when a creator puts in the effort to establish ground rules like this, and in such a natural, sincere way. It challenges you just enough to compel you to try, but not so much that it's completely alienating or overwhelming.

And thanks to Firemaker's characterization, we don't feel so alone in learning these concepts, either. Firemaker's own inexperience on account of being only "three times three" years old (he's 9!) he makes a perfect surrogate for the audience to learn about the world through him. This isn't an uncommon storytelling trick, but can often come at the expense of the character's own personality - after all, if a character is constantly having to be a surrogate for the audience, it can lead to them becoming more of a blank slate without any voice - but Nolinno has accomplished that balance perfectly through Firemaker's curiosity and vulnerability. Firemaker being 9 years old and still inexperienced doesn't rob him of his own skills - more so, it's clear that he's fulfilled a specific role for his pack, and now that he's been separated from them, he's now having to learn the skills that were likely reserved for other members of his pack.

This also makes him a perfect foil to Vagabond, a creature whose past is still shrouded in mystery but is clearly experienced and can act as the parental figure or "older brother" to Firemaker - but we're always left wondering why Firemaker has left his pack, and whether or not those survival tactics were taught to him through his pack or learned the hard way after leaving. It ultimately leaves us wondering what Vagabond's true motives are, and whether or not he can be trusted as a role model to Firemaker. Fortunately, nothing so far has made me or even Firemaker doubt his capabilities or motives, even earning himself a new name-

-but in a world so unpredictable, who's to say that Vagabond's own motives are entirely pure?

After all, as we soon learn, not all creatures are kind in this world.

Again, in case it needs reminding - Firemaker is nine. Though 9 years old for a rat-platypus creature may not be equivalent to 9 years old for a human, it is still very much communicated to us through the narrative that he is a child and, as such, is going to have his safety threatened in this world the same way a child often would in our own - through the cruel actions of untrustworthy adults.

But, as I mentioned already, Firemaker is never made to be the constant ball and chain of the pair. Though he may just now be learning how to count and multiply higher than 3, he's earned his name through his own particular skills that can be used to not only save himself from starvation, but save others from ambush through the use of smoke signals.

Of course, as much as I can gush about the narrative, I also wouldn't forgive myself if I neglected to mention its art style which, despite being created by one person who claims to not be much of an artist, wonderfully complements its theme and tone. I would go so far as to argue that this is one of those stories that just simply wouldn't work as effectively as it does if it had a full color art style. The contrast of black and white between the environment and its characters, as well as the simplicity of the character designs against the more detailed designs of the architecture and props, makes for a brilliant visual presentation that - like the worldbuilding - expresses itself clearly without overcomplicating anything. Through its art - just like through its writing - it asks us to try and find familiarity in the unknown.

And best of all, when things do get complicated-

-it harshly reminds us how quickly a simple and beautiful thing can turn ugly and cruel.

Even though it was initially Firemaker's cutesy little face that suckered me in, the worldbuilding that Nolinno has expertly crafted through their own knowledge and affinity for teaching others has stolen the show. And that's a quality that I find is quite rare in fantasy works nowadays, but just like the culinary arts of that other rat who's far more well-known, it came from a completely unexpected place.

Nolinno has accomplished what I find a lot of budding fantasy writers struggle with - they have successfully created a world that is full of its own unique qualities, and communicated it clearly to their audience in a way that is both engaging and rewarding. Unlike others who often put the lore before the story - usually by dumping every bit of exposition, conlang definition, map and political chart on their readers before they've had a chance to even read the first page or know the main character's name, often out of fear that all their prep work will have been "wasted" if they don't reveal all of it immediately - Nolinno simply shows us their world and its inhabitants as they are, without the need to justify itself, and invites you to join along at your own pace, with helpful little bits of knowledge communicated through the narrative to help you find your way. It's okay if you're not entirely certain of how this world works, because you're not travelling alone - so too are Firemaker and Knower finding their way.

As someone who was raised on the works of Jeff Smith (BONE) and Bill Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes), and even found their own passion for fantasy writing through both comics and video games like The Legend of Zelda, I have a lot of appreciation for stories like this that can be appreciated by all age demographics, and I've found myself almost disillusioned by the current landscape of conveyer-belt media today that often fails to live up to even a fraction of what we remember existing 20 years ago, existing only to pad a rich executive's bottom line. This has only been further exacerbated by the advent of generative AI that's now threatening the integrity and livelihood of artists both within the industry and outside of it.

Suffice to say, just like the world that Firemaker inhabits in The Book Written by Tiny Paws, our world is very bleak right now. Even still, its characters still find their moments for joy, for rest, and for play, and the comic in and of itself reminds me through its existence that there are still wonderful works being made that are capable of making me feel as curious and excited as I did when I was reading BONE cover-to-cover at the age of 12.

Those moments and those stories feel harder to come by than ever, but I'm happy to say that The Book Written by Tiny Paws is one of them, new memories that I'm happy to have made and am eager to continue to make - familiarity in the unknown.

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

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Masterlist

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I'm back yet again. Tbh, this chapter was pushed out entirely by just trying to occupy myself. Boe, my childhood cat of 16 years, just recently passed away. So, this chapter is entirely dedicated to her. I've had Boe practically my entire life, so it's def been rough. But I'm glad to finally get a chapter out for you all! This chapter is also a bit shorter than usual due to how I wanna start the next chapter. As always, DM's/Comments are always open if you have any comments, questions, or concerns. Thanks for all the support!

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Chapter 17

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You glide through the air, observing the destruction of the planet beneath you. Demolishing a planet was always your favorite part of the job when you were working under Frieza. It was always the most exciting part. Though, watching a planet burn is not as fun when your life is in imminent danger. Who knew?

This entire situation is difficult for you. This retreat is tactical, for sure. But... running away with your tail between your legs... to Earth of all planets. It's sickening. It goes against every single one of your instincts and every lesson you've ever been taught. Daily life would be much simpler without the damn Saiyan pride flowing through your veins. At points, it feels more like an anchor weighing you down. 

You spot a familiar figure in the distance, with a much larger one slung over his shoulders. You pick up speed, quickly outpacing him. "Huh?" The boy looks up, calling out your name. "You're safe!"

"Yeah, yeah. No need to throw a party." You scoff. "This planet is still a ticking time bomb." The two of you keep flying, not saying much to each other as you travel the distance. Before you speak up again. "Any idea how far this damn ship is?" Gohan shrugs, so the brat's as clueless as you are. "Great. Just great." You mumble sarcastically, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

Now you're on a wild goose chase of Kakarot's making. Some coordinates would've been nice. Not far from here isn't precisely quality directions. You'd take a simple cardinal direction at this point. And with the way this planet is crumbling, the ship might not even be functioning by now. 

"Hey!" Gohan calls out to you. "Look down there!" Your gaze trails downward. You make a subtle landing, dropping in front of the ship's doors. Wow, it's actually in one piece. It also has the same logo from that cave where you visited Raditz to inform him about the true fate of your people. Must be some sort of brand. 

"How the hell do you even open this thing?" You stare at the doors of the dome-shaped ship. Times like this, you miss the technology you've grown accustomed to under Frieza's command. Gohan moves over to you; he pushes a camouflage button, the door spinning open immediately. You enter the vessel first. It's small but larger than what you're used to. You still have nightmares about those damn pods you were crammed into. Sardines in a can have more room than you did. 

Gohan places the Namekian on the ground before turning to you. "Stay here with Piccolo. I'll go out and find Bulma."

"Do you really need to? Like, would anyone miss her?" From your brief encounters, you know two things about the Earth woman. She's incredibly irritating and she has awful taste in men.

"She's our... well, she's my friend. Of course, we can't leave her behind…" Gohan trails. Memories of when Vegeta ruthlessly killed Nappa flood his brain. He remembers the aloof expression on your face. The way your lips met in a thin line, not even showing an ounce of empathy. It still sends a shiver down his spine when he thinks about it. "So maybe you wouldn't exactly get it." He laughs nervously. "But it's the right thing to do."

"How do you know the Earth woman is even alive?" From what you've noticed, earthlings aren't the most durable creatures. And your knowledge stems from the strongest of the bunch.  So it's a reasonable question.

"Well, I have to try! I can't just leave her out there." He takes a deep breath, collecting himself before continuing. "And I'm the only one who can. Piccolo is out of it. And you're pretty banged up, Y/N. I'll be back as soon as possible. Promise." He extends his arm out to you, holding out his pinky.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a pinky promise." You look at the boy as if he has two heads. To be honest, a two-headed creature would probably be less peculiar to you. Gohan sighs. "It's just another way to make a promise... like a handshake, only with your pinkies.

"You earthlings and your bizarre customs." You shake your head in disbelief, but Gohan doesn't move an inch, still extending the digit to you. "Fine, Fine." You interlock your pinky with his briefly before pulling away. Gohan smiles brightly at you. You place your hands on your hips, sighing quite loudly. "If you're not back within thirty minutes. I'm leaving the Namekian and dragging you back by force. Understand?"

The boy gulps before nodding rapidly. And with that, he takes off. His small frame disappears from your view. Well, at least things are quiet... with the amount of irritation you've been subjected to, you forgot how much you dread silence. You slide down against what you can only assume is the navigation system. You bang your head against the cool metal. Taking in the situation before you. Everything will get worse before it gets better. You just know it. 

---

The ground beneath you shakes violently. "Fucking low-class Earth machinery." You quickly come to realize that the ship itself isn't moving… it's the planet's surface. You spring to your feet, the rocking pushing you back and forth as you make your way to the entrance. You peek your head out, a luminous beam of light coming from the direction you just came from. "Well, that can't be good…" With another violent rumble, you lose your footing, sending you tumbling. Your back slams against the ship's walls with a notable thud. 

You groan, picking yourself up off the floor. What the hell just happened? Your balance has changed; it's like gravity has significantly altered. You shift your gaze around the ship, looking for irregularities. The foundation now has an arch to it. You can still feel the ground underneath you slipping. Oh shit, the land underneath you must be concaving. 

With your remaining energy, you fly up into the air, picking up the Namekian with a scowl crossing your features. You can't believe you're fucking doing this. You don't save the weak… and you don't spare the injured. So what the hell are you doing? You could just take this damn ship, toss the Namekian out, and leave the boy and the Earth woman for dead. Or at least you could've let the Namekian plummet and slam into the wall. Sure, it could've killed him, but that's not your problem. You don't give a damn about the Dragon Balls or the lives of the pathetic deceased earthlings. All you care about now is spiting Frieza. You're losing your edge. The longer you spend with these people, the softer you get. It's vile. 

Before your subconscious can voice any more displeasure, the lights flicker, the entire ship going dim. The only light coming from the entrance. Great, just great; now you can barely see shit. What else could possibly go wrong? Once the ship has suspended, you place the Namekian back on the floor. The gravity is a bit off due to the angle you're on, but he should be fine. You find a new place to sit, one that's less sunken into the ground. You slide on the wall right beside the opening of the ship. You're getting far too soft for your liking.

After a bit more time passes, you can hear voices approaching. Two distinct voices, to be exact. You open your eyes, knowing immediately that it's them. Much to your surprise, the Earth woman somehow survived. Good thing you didn't bet money on it. Gohan enters the ship first, a big grin on his face. "Fucking finally," You stand back up, crossing your arms. 

"I told you I'd find her." The boy boasts.

"I'm so overjoyed." You reply with a deadpan look on your features.

"Gohan?" Bulma, on shaky legs, enters the ship. "Where are you-" As soon as her eyes land on you, she shrieks. "What is she doing here?"

"It's alright, Bulma. She's with us." Gohan assures her.

"But she's insane! You saw what she did to---" You clear your throat, reminding her of your presence. She looks at you, fear evident in her eyes. "Well, you know what. The more the merrier." She laughs nervously. Once Bulma calms herself down, she looks around the ship. "Hmm? It's so dark in here. I wonder if there was some sort of malfunction."

"That's weird." Gohan's brows furrow. "The lights were on when I left." The pair turn to you.

"The ship slid a bit." You shrug nonchalantly. 

"Well, why didn't you---" You cut the woman off. 

"I'm not familiar with your low-class Earth machinery. I could have just made everything worse!" Before Bulma can retort, she slips, plunging right into the control panel. You let out a brash chuckle, watching her struggle. 

She stands back up, finding her footing. She leans over the panel, fiddling with the buttons. "I'm not familiar with this machine model." She continues to mess with the controls.

After a few more seconds, the lights turn on. Maybe the Earth woman is more competent than she lets on. Cause she fixed that rather fast. "Phew. All better." She takes a few steps back before stepping on something squishy. Unbeknownst to her, she just tripped up on the Namekian. Bulma's eyes dart downward; as soon as she sees the green man, she somehow shrieks even louder than when she noticed you. You're almost offended. She jumps into the air before scurrying behind Gohan. "Is that Piccolo, or am I losing it?" Her voice shakes.

Gohan nods. "Yep, that's him, alright."

She extends her neck, taking a second glimpse at the Namekian. "What's he even doing here? Bulma observes the man carefully, taking a mental note that he still hasn't risen. There's something clearly wrong with him. The gears turn in her brain, briskly making an educated guess that Piccolo is injured. Well, it's that, along with his grueling appearance. "Look at him. He's a mess! Does he really have to tag along?" Gohan turns to her, shooting the woman a disapproving look. "I mean, this is his home planet after all…" 

That's odd. From what you've understood, the Namekian is a part of the band of buffoons. He helped kill Cado. He trained the half-breed. He was there when you invaded Earth. And showed up here to get himself killed. Sounds like he's a core member of Kakarot's idiots to you. But from the Earth woman's reaction, you have to second guess that theory. Maybe they aren't allies after all? Possibly, they just share common goals? You've been in several situations similar to that in the past.

"We can't just leave him! He saved us. I owe him. We all do! So he's coming back to Earth with us no matter what!"

"That's sweet of you…" Bulma places her hand on Gohan's shoulder. "But we don't know if he would've wanted that." You raise an eyebrow. The man is clearly breathing. So why is she talking in the past tense like you have a corpse aboard? Aren't these humans supposed to be selfless and empathetic? Or have you only met the irritating ones? If the Earth woman keeps this behavior up, you could be more on board with her. "I think he would've wanted to be buried here, on his home planet."

Gohan's brows furrow, looking at the woman with a frown. You roll your eyes. "He's not dead, you lunatic…." You say as if you weren't just making the same argument for the Earth woman only a short while ago. Maybe we should leave her. It would make the journey back more tolerable. "But, hey, if you're so insistent. You wanna bury him here… you dig the hole."

"Fine." Bulma huffs. "He can come with us."

"How generous of you." You scoff. Before you can make another snarky comment, the aircraft shifts again, sinking further inwards towards the planet's core. A few more cracks in the surface of this planet and the four of you are going to die a very excruciating death.  

"This entire place is falling apart!" The woman exclaims. "We need to take off. Now!" You can't believe you're saying this, but you're actually in agreement with the Earth woman. Talk about a plot twist. Bulma rushes back to the panel and starts fiddling with the buttons again. 

"Wait!" Gohan shouts, stopping the woman dead in her tracks. "We can't leave yet! We have to wait for my dad!"

"He'll be okay, Gohan." Bulma's eyes soften. "If anyone can find a way out of here, it's Goku… he always does." She stares off into the distance as if having some sort of dream sequence. It's mildly disturbing. 

"No, we can't!" The boy starts to tear up. "There's still time, lots of it." Considering you have a high level of expertise in the destruction of planets. You know, this rock has maybe an hour left maximum. And that's being incredibly generous.

 You groan. "I hate to agree with the Earth woman, but she's right. I've seen the destruction of more planets than you could probably imagine. Now, most of them were by my own hands, but that's irrelevant. The point is, your father wants you off this planet. And I think you should adhere to his wishes."

"Please…" Gohan looks between the two of you with big eyes. "Just a few more minutes."

"Gohan…" Bulma smiles weekly at him. "I think-" She's cut off. By the ship once again sinking further into the ground.

You rub your temples, your frustration growing rapidly. You can't believe this is even a discussion. What needs to happen is clear. Maybe to everyone but the brat. "I've had enough! This isn't the time to play selfless hero like your moronic father. Let me put this in the simplest terms I can. If we don't get the Namekian off this planet, everyone dies! There's no second chances. There's no more wishes. And that means-" You cut yourself off. Stopping yourself from saying something unnecessarily cruel. You're trying to persuade him, not make him weep.

The planet's destruction continues to form around you. This discussion is clearly going nowhere. You don't see why a child should decide all of your fates. "This is bad!" Bulma struggles to maintain balance due to the quaking beneath her. "We only have a few minutes left before planet Namek is nothing but dust!" Gohan isn't even paying attention to anything other than the direction of the battle. It's like everything both you and Bulma say goes in one ear and out the other. You're seconds away from knocking the boy out, so you can descend with no hiccups. 

Gohan's face falls before you can even set a plan in motion. You focus your energy in the direction of the battle. And you sense exactly the same thing. You sigh, feeling slight empathy for the boy. You know how that feels. You've lived through that experience. It's certainly not a positive one. "Dad's energy." He chokes up. "It's just… gone." Bulma gasps. 

"Does that mean?" Gohan nods, his sad expression quickly evolving into one of determination. 

"Start preparing the ship for launch. And take Piccolo back to Earth with you. I'm staying here." Perfect, just what you need. A loose cannon on your hands. The option of knocking him out is growing more appealing by the second. The boy moves to the door, standing right in front of it.

"Woah! Hey there! Slow down!" Panic rises in Bulma's voice. "Gohan! No! You can't just go back out there!" Gohan presses a button, causing the door to slowly open. "Gohan, don't do this."

"I'm my father's son, Bulma." Well, that's clear to you. He clearly got his lack of preservation from somewhere. Moron must be genetic. "I have to finish what he started. It's my duty."

"Gohan…" Bulma rushes over to him. "You can't. It's too dangerous." 

The boy shakes his head. "I have to try. Piccolo would understand." From your brief interactions with the Namekian, you doubt that's true. "It's what he and dad would've wanted." And now you know for a fact that it's untrue. Your hypothesis has to be correct. Moron is undoubtedly genetic.

It's time for some intervention. You know for a fact the Earth woman is no match for the half-breed. Words can only get you so far. You slowly walk over to them, your boots making a notable clink against the metal floor, the sound growing closer with each step. Right until you're standing directly in front of Gohan. The last barricade between him and the outside world. You chuckle mischievously. "Absolutely not, brat."

 "I have to do this, Y/N." He looks you dead in the eyes, not even displaying an ounce of fear.

"Why's that? So Frieza can slaughter three generations of your bloodline rather than two?" You roll your eyes. "Your father asked me to look out for you, and I intend to. No matter how aggravating it is."

"But…"

"But nothing! Were we even on the same battlefield?" You place your hands on your hips, your eyes narrowing into slits. "You genuinely think this is what your father would've wanted? He was screaming at you to leave. He basically ordered you to. A father looks out for their child… he doesn't throw them into the lion's den!"

"I can do this. I can't just let Frieza get away with this!" Gohans' attempts at persuasion are futile. You could easily out-stubborn him any day of the week.

"Think about this logically! If you go out there. Frieza will kill you. It'll be quick. You're no match for him. He'll probably be insulted that you'd even try. The battle doesn't just end… the entire fight will! If we return to Earth, you can rest up… prepare a bit. I know Frieza. And I assure you he will be gunning for Earth next. He wants that wish. And what Frieza wants, he tends to get it." 

Now, you're doing some logical thinking of your own. If the Namekian dies… there's no more wishes. You could step on his neck right now. End his pathetic life. You'd put a stop to Frieza's mission. He'd never be able to get his hands on immortality. Sure, there'd be a few unhappy faces, but it would be the wise thing to do. You can't believe this thought hasn't crossed your mind before. You quickly shake that idea out of your head. It's a fantastic plan. It's far more logical than your current one. You'll keep it in your pocket. "If you care about your planet… your people. You'll stay on this ship and go home."

You're running out of ways to convince him. If only he hadn't inherited a stubborn Saiyan nature. This is the first time you've wished he behaved more like an Earthling and less like a Saiyan. "I have to do this!"

You know what. You're done arguing with him. It's time to use something that works much better. Threats. "Oh, you wanna go out there?" You extend your hand outwards toward the outside. "Be my guest… but you'll have to go through me first."

Gohan's hands ball up into fists. "That's not fair!"

You scoff. "Please, if you think you can face Frieza, then I should be a piece of cake." You're about to take it even further. But before you can, you feel a familiar powerful level in the distance… and then another. Your head darts in that direction. What the hell? That's not possible. Are you imagining things again? As you're distracted, the brat runs past you, making a break for it. He takes off before you can even move a muscle. "God damn it!"

Huh. There are chunks of energy everywhere. Small and pathetic levels, but they exist. There's life… how the hell is there life? Wait… does that mean. You weren't imagining things. You really did sense Vegeta and Raditz. But… how? You quite vividly remember their deaths. You see it every time you close your eyes. There's a serious mind fuck going on. Your brain is scrambling.

The Earth woman shakes her head, snapping out of her dazed expression. "Why'd you let him get away?" She shouts at you. 

"I–" You're at a loss for words. You don't understand how this is happening. "There's energy levels all over this planet."

"I don't know what the hell that means!" Her brows furrow. "I don't speak fighter."

You roll your eyes. "Let me dumb it down for you. Before, there was no life left on this planet. Now, there's a lot. I'm assuming there was somehow a mass resurrection of some kind… I just don't know how."

Bulmas ears perk up. "The Dragon Balls. The Earth ones! Someone back home must've made a wish!" That makes sense… and with the Namekian alive, the set on Earth is intact. But that's so many people. The limit must not be as small as you were led to believe. Because that many lives is a massive job. But wait. What's the point?

"Well, why the hell would they do that? This planet is about to blow. Everyone here will just die again. What a waste of a wish." You know the earthlings lack brain cells, but this is a new level. Unless there's another aspect of it that you're just not regarding. Before you can say anything else the sky grows dark. "What the hell?" You poke your head outside. This planet doesn't have a night. There's something about this that's oddly familiar. A strong sense of deja vu flooding your mind. You just can't quite place it.

"Wait." The woman moves closer to you, poking her head out the other side of the door. "I know what's happening. This same thing happens back on Earth when you make a wish." That's it. The Dragon Balls. That must mean the Grand Elder is alive. All that energy you were sensing is the people of Namek, including the elderly one. That must be the plan. To make a second, even larger wish with the Namek ones. But who's even gonna make that wish?

Oh fuck. Frieza can easily take that for himself. All he'd need is one Namekian, which would now be incredibly easy to attain. He only needs a singular feeble hostage to gain his greatest desire. Damn. You turn to the Earth Woman. "I have to go."

"What happened to thinking about things logically?"

"I am. If Frieza gets his wish for immortality, then everything is over." 

"But…You can't just leave me here all--" Without a word, you take off, leaving the Earth woman in your dust. "Why does everyone always abandon me on strange planets!"

Okay, all you have to do is get there before Frieza can. Or do you go to Vegeta and Raditz first? No, wish first, reunions second. You soar, picking up the pace; you don't think you've ever flown this fast. This is the only thing that matters to you. You detest Frieza with every bone in your body. You'll ruin this for him. Just like he ruined everything for you. You'll do whatever it takes. As you formulate a strategy, a bright light surrounds your body. "What the fuck?" You slowly fade out before disappearing entirely.

[the-boy-who-drank-the-stars]

@bartylusmicrofic - prompt: duck/ date: july 14 - word count: 438 words

“Ducks are my favorite animal,” said Barty. 

It was a random sentence, something that came out of nowhere, disrupting the companionable silence that had been occupying the dormitory before. It didn’t even make sense. Sprawled on his bed, face tilted towards the ceiling, Barty asked, “What about you?”

“What?” From the desk wedged in the very corner, Regulus glanced up, frowning. He was used to Barty’s quirky thoughts, to his confusing rambles and brain-splitting nonsense. But he’d woken up with cramps this morning, and had spent the rest of the day in an irritated, skittish mood. Now even the slightest word irked him. 

“I like ducks,” said Barty. He sat up, pulling his legs to his chest and hooking his arms beneath his thighs, as if he were rocking back and forth. It was his favorite position. “What about you?”

“I dunno,” Regulus muttered. He turned back to his Potions essay- three inches left, yet he had poured more effort and knowledge into it than he had with anything else in his Hogwarts career. He blew out an exasperated sigh. One day, he thought, Professor Slughorn will get the karma he deserved. 

“Everyone has a favorite animal,” Barty insisted. 

“Cats, then,” said Regulus distractedly, still squinting at his essay. There was a distinct lack of progress that was simply unacceptable; the realization made him scowl deeper.

“Interesting,” mused Barty. “Cats.”

***

“Expecto Patronum!”

There was a chorus of gasps and oohs as the room exploded with light, silvery whisps ballooning out of wands into grand, soaring creatures. Regulus could see a deer, a horse, a dog, a turtle, a cat-

A cat?

Regulus watched astonishedly as the cat pranced in the air, whizzing by students until it came to a swishing stop on Barty’s shoulder. Barty- who looked smug and ridiculously proud of himself. Even from across the room, Regulus could see the smirk on his lips, the challenge in his eyes. Go on, he mouthed. 

Later, Regulus wouldn’t be sure what possessed him- after all, he was always smart enough not to engage in whatever foolishness Barty had going on. Yet he found himself raising his wand, murmuring the incantation, never breaking his gaze with the brunette, who looked far too cocky for his comfort. 

From his wand came a stream of silver streaks, weaving and knotting together in the air to form what looked like a blob…

With webbed feet. 

And a bill. 

A duck floated in front of him, suspended midair- and for a moment, Regulus felt time itself stop as he caught the huge grin growing on Barty’s face. 

Shit, was all he could think.

@themortalityofundyingstars @vivusmortuusexcrucior @aesthetic-writer18

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling of Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Five

Chapter Five: A Biting Truth

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors – DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: You and Walter talk about some things, you listen to a voicemail, and then talk a little more.

Warnings: anxiety, fluffy moments, mentioned smut, a lot of shirtlessness in this chapter, spicy late-night texting (not sexting technically)

A/N: Thank you all for being hella patient with me as I worked on my mental health. It has only been a month but I feel tons better already. I hope you enjoy this one. A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. 

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist 

The tension in your muscles wakes you up. You had quite a night but you weren’t exactly upset about it. Stretching out your arms, you reach over to find the space next to you is empty and cold.

The last time you checked, there was a sleeping werewolf in bed with you. Now, there is just a wrinkled set of bedding that only serves to get your brain working double-time.

Did he leave? Were you too much for him? Did he change his mind about needing to care for you?

You pull the covers off you and sit up only to feel light-headed. Your senses dull and return to you tenfold, the smell of coffee invading your nostrils and giving you hope. 

You tiptoe out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up. Splashing water on your face, brushing your teeth, and doing something quick with your hair has you feeling a bit better about the sight that first greeted you in the mirror. You tiptoe back into your bedroom and pull on some sleep shorts, an old t-shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

This totally looks like I just ‘woke up like this’, you think to yourself.

Making your way downstairs, you are greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a shirtless Walter holding a fresh mug of coffee in one hand. He hands you the mug and kisses your forehead.

“Bacon and eggs are almost ready. I hope you don’t mind me raiding your fridge. I was starved and I figured you would be too. And there is more coffee where that came from,” he says, smiling down at your surprised face.

You suddenly smell the bacon and your stomach grumbles, as if on cue. Walter laughs and ushers you to sit down at your dining table. He soon brings out two plates of scrambled eggs with cheese alongside bacon. Setting your plate in front of you, he takes your mug and refreshes your coffee and you enjoy the view of his ample ass as he walks away.

Once seated again, Walter opens up to you. “I’d like you to know a couple of things about me. Maybe should have told you these before we… you know. But, better late than never, right?”

You nod silently while picking up a slice of bacon and taking a bite to keep your mouth occupied.

“Right, well. I have a daughter and an ex-wife. They’re with my old pack. Faye, that’s my daughter. I miss her so much. We talk on the phone every week but I know her first shift is coming soon. I can feel it. Angie, her mother, and my ex-wife takes great care of her. I know that. But I wish I could do more. I had to leave the pack, though, because I disagreed with the Alpha. Well, less of a disagreement and more of a fight where I almost killed him. I didn’t want to kill him so instead I left. My best friend Jace, another pack member, is keeping an eye on Faye and Ang,” he peeks up at your eyes for a moment before continuing, “I just didn’t want to keep that from you. You deserve to know what you’re getting involved with.” He sits back and looks into your eyes for some kind of acceptance.

You reach over the table, putting your hand in Walter’s before speaking up. “Thank you for telling me, Wolfie. I appreciate you bringing me in on what you’re dealing with. It can’t be easy missing your daughter like that,” you reassure him, knowing that it’s your turn to open up, “I told you a bit about my ex-fiance, James Syverson, but you should probably know that I was the one who broke off our engagement.”

Walter nods for you to continue.

“Our relationship was always pretty fast. We got together while he was home for a bit from active duty. And then, we were making plans to get married. I wasn’t upset about that because I thought he was ‘my Sy’, ya know? But then, everything came crashing down right before he was deployed again. He wanted to get me pregnant so badly. I wasn’t ready to be all alone with this little life inside of me that wouldn’t know their father until he came home.” 

Bad manners be damned, you pick up another slice of bacon and chew while you speak, “We just couldn’t see eye to eye on that and in the end, I gave him back his ring and told him that I didn’t want to be an Army wife and have our kids be without a father for the most part. I broke up with him just before he deployed and I still feel awful about it. But, I mean, he did expect me to fall in line and I’m just not a soldier. I had my own plans for how things were supposed to go and it was much slower than what he had in mind. That being said, it’s kind of funny that I met a werewolf less than a year later and after one night, he may have gotten me pregnant. Not exactly in my plans, but for some reason, I’m not afraid to see what happens. And that is new for me so all I ask for is a little patience.”

You sit back in your chair, looking down at your plate, half-eaten and surely cold by now. You feel overwhelmed after talking about Sy, you still feel like shit for not giving him what he wanted. For so long, you thought he was your everything. You wanted to make him happy, but you chose your own happiness in the end. And that had been the hardest decision that you had ever made.

You are still in your head when you register Walter kneeling at the side of your chair and turning you face him before he speaks to you. “Tell me what you need.”

You look down at him and smile, his bright eyes are focused on you and his hands are soothing at your waist. You reach your hands to his face, cradling his bearded jaw before leaning forward and kissing him sweetly. You lean your forehead against his and sigh.

“I just need you, Wolfie.”

“You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere, Pup.” He pulls you from your chair and into his lap so you wrap your arms and legs around him. Holding you tight to his chest, he shifts to sit cross-legged. You enjoy caressing his back while he sighs and kisses your neck. You can’t stop the mewl that escapes your lips at his tender touch.

You pull back and look into each other’s eyes, smiling and wondering if the other is thinking the same thing. 

Walter looks at his watch, looking back up to you with hopeful eyes. “I have about an hour before I need to get home and changed for work. How long do you have?”

“I don’t have to be in til 1. We’ve got time,” you offer, tangling a hand in his unruly curls.

Walter stands, holding onto you like a koala bear as he walks to and up the stairs. Getting to your bedroom, he sits down and lays back so you straddle his hips. As you lean up, taking off your shirt, his hands settle on your hips. You can feel how aroused you are for him as he guides your hips to glide over his clothed, yet hardening length.

And that is when your phone decides to ring.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” “Are you serious?” You both speak at the same time and can’t help but laugh.

You reach over to your nightstand for your phone, picking it up to see Olivia’s smiling face greeting you. You answer it and sit back in Walter’s lap.

“Hey, Liv. What’s up?” You put a finger to your lips and Walter nods so you slowly grind your hips into his. Watching his brows furrow as you give him just enough friction to enjoy himself.

“Hey, girl. I was just checking up on you. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking it day by day, you know?” You place a hand on Walter’s abs and glide your fingers through his chest hair. Apparently, he is ticklish and he chuckles despite trying to be quiet.

“Girl...is that your mystery man? Tell him I said hey.”

“Olivia says hey, Walter,” you announce, to which he replies: “Hi, Liv.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. You enjoy yourself, girl. Lord knows you needed it. If he has any cute friends, keep me posted. Talk to you later. Bye, Walter!” 

“Bye,” You hang up, tossing your phone back on the nightstand before leaning forward to kiss the grin off of Walter’s face, “Now, where were we?”

He grips your hips and turns you both so he is on top. “I think we were right about here,” he coos, sitting back on his heels and pulling your shorts off, your socks following after. Keeping his jeans on, he slides them just slightly down his thighs.

He takes his time with you, listening to your body telling him what you need. He licks and nips at your neck. Grabbing at your legs, he pushes them back so he can go deeper. He holds on tight to his own orgasm until you have had two of your own. The only sounds in the room are his groans, your moans, and your shared breathing.

Once finished, you lay in bed cuddling until Walter checks his watch again and grumbles to himself. You watch as he gets out of bed and pulls his jeans back up. Grabbing a robe, you follow him down to your living room as he gathers the rest of his clothing.

He puts on his coat and turns to you, unsurprised that you are still watching him. He makes you promise to call him tonight after work. Leaning down, he pecks your lips and retreats a bit before you pull him back in for a steamier kiss. He smiles into it and you smile back.

You see him out and giggle again as you see that he actually did park on your lawn last night. He grimaces and ducks his head but you just scratch behind his ear and he is all smiles again. You watch until he is out of eyesight and then close the door so you can get ready for work.

Work is grueling for the first few hours. Well, one might say grueling, another might say it makes time go by faster. All you know is that you could use a break. Even though you quit smoking, you did miss the built-in ‘breaks’ that habit came with.

Once you sit in your car, you feel the stress of the last four hours ease off your shoulders. Though it lurks outside your car window, ready to jump back in place when you exit.

You scroll through your phone, replying to various emails and checking in with Liv. A notification pops up as a reminder to check your voicemail. Right, Sy had called and left you a message a day ago but you hadn’t opened it yet.

You navigate to the Phone icon, then to voicemail to see Sy’s unread alert. Pressing on the voicemail, you raise the phone to your ear and the message starts.

“Hey, Bug, it’s Sy...but of course, you knew that already. Caller ID, amirite? Anyway, uh, just wanted...wanted to say it was good seeing you today. Yer looking...good. Healthy. Jesus, I swear you’d think I was leaving a damn voicemail for the Queen or something. You remember you used to call me smooth, right? Not anymore, damnit. I just wanted to check in with you, ‘cause I went and got into a scuffle with a wolf out there in the woods. I’m fine, don’t you worry none. He got a couple nips in. But I got him right in the gut. The big bastard should be feeling that for the next few days at least. Hopefully, soon, we can put this wolf business behind us all. That’s all I had to say, I’m getting tired and you’re probably already in bed as it is. This damn message is getting too long, I think. Talk soon, bye now.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and pressed the button to repeat the voicemail. Yeah, you heard that correctly. Turns out Sy is the one who shot Walter.

And just to make this even a bit more complicated, Walter may have gone and given Sy a bite. A bite that may or may not turn him into a werewolf.

You sit in the driver’s seat and debate just driving home for the day, but you pull up your big girl panties and force yourself to finish your shift. You clocked out and changed before anyone knew what hit them, all but running back to your car to make it home. 

Your thoughts run from Sy to Walter and back again so many times, who do you call first? Your ex, who may be struggling through turning right now, OR your boyfriend who doesn’t yet know anything is wrong. Right.

Turning on your car, you let the heat warm up the vehicle while you turn back to your phone. Hitting Sy’s contact, your phone starts to dial him. Three rings and you were just about on the verge of driving out to his house when he picked up.

“Hmph...’lo?” Sy’s sleepy voice sounds downright melodious.

“Oh, my God. Sy, are you ok? I am so sorry I didn’t get your message until now and I had to make sure you were o–“

Sy cuts you off in his confusion. “Bug, it’s...after midnight. You just leaving work?”

“Yeeeeeah, shit. I am so sorry. I just had to make sure you were ok. Getting into fights with wolves and all that, ya know?” The heat permeating your face was enough to make you wish the Earth swallowed you up.

“Wouldn’t say I got into a fight with him. More like, he whooped my ass and I had to shoot him,” he snorts, clearing his throat before speaking again, “Go ‘head and drive home. We can talk while you drive. So you know I’m safe, and I know you’re safe.”

“Yeah, got it,” you pushed the Bluetooth button to take over the call so you could drive and talk at the same time.

The short drive from work to home was just long enough for Sy to reassure you that he was feeling just fine. You made him send you a picture of his bite after you got off the phone. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he would send a fully shirtless pic of him in bed, barely zooming in on the wound on his hip. He looks really good.

The wound looks really good, you shut down whatever your brain decided to get stuck on and ask him for another closer pic. 

At least this time, you can only see half of his six-pack and much less of his happy trail. Thank God for small favors. You can see bruising around the bite, but it looks like it barely broke the skin. What does this mean for a werewolf bite? Who knows. But at least, he—the bite looks good.

You text him to keep you posted if he starts to feel feverish or anything, you can remember from movies and television that werewolves tend to feel feverish when they are changing. Is that accurate? Again, who knows?

But, you know who would know?

You respond with a wink face when Sy thanks you for checking up on him. He responds with his signature kissing heart wink face and you refuse to put any more thought into that shirtless man tonight. You shake your head and exit the messaging app to make a call.

One ring and he picks up, “Hey, Pup. You make it home ok? Just thought you were gonna call a bit ago.”

“Hi, Wolfie. Yeah, I made it home ok, baby. I just had quite a night and had to check in on a friend. I…had to check in on James. Seems you two have met. Uh, there’s no easy way to say this, baby–”

“Slow down, just start from the beginning.” Walter’s calm voice cuts you off and you just blurt everything out.

“You may have turned my ex into a werewolf. You bit him, and he shot you. So, can we freak out now or did you have a better time in mind?” You close your eyes, not sure what you were expecting him to say.

“Now is good, I think.”

Ok, I guess you could have predicted that.

To be continued...

A/N: Very sorry that this took about a month to get out, but my mental health was declining and I had to work on a few things.

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[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter One

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (In future chapters)

WC: 4070

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warning: 18+ Blog; brief description of drug use, rehabilitation/mentions of rehab stay, getting treatment for drug addiction, absent parents, anxiety, sister giving ultimatum, apologetic Dieter, determined to turn life around, cursing, if I’ve missed anything feel free to let me know.

A/N: Firstly, big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me drone on about this! And for also being a champ and beta’ing for me too!!

This chapter has some heavy elements to it, and I hope it comes across as a serious tone considering the topic of drug usage. I wanted Dieter to be deliberate in his attempt to better himself. There might be some reference to this characters contents in the future, but this will be the only one containing any actual drugs. There’s a lot of information packed into this chapter to help get the story going. I’ve been so blown away by the responses to this series and I really hope I do it justice! Any questions/comments/or you just want to chat more about this chapter, my ask box is always open!! xx

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Next

A few sharp knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Hello?? Is someone in there?”

No response. 

The slightest twist of the knob. Unlocked. Unoccupied. 

Only the opening of the door reveals quite the opposite. Occupied. 

“Oh! I’m so so sor— Oh my god! Are you fucking serious right now?! You’re getting high at a 6 year old’s birthday party!” 

No response. Just a deadpan look of nothingness from the body propped up next to the toilet. 

“I fucking knew it. I knew you would fucking let her down!! God!!! You’re such a fucking deadbeat, washed up douchebag— so fucking ridiculous.”

“W-whyy a-rrre y-youuu yellllling? Shhhhh!” His speech laden with a hint of sarcasm. 

“You’re a fucking joke! I can’t believe you would do this to your sister!”

“What are you yelling about in here?? Wren is getting ready to open her presents and wants everyone to watch her. Dieter why are you on the flo— are you fucking high?” 

“Ag-ainnn shhhhhhh!” His pointer finger emphatically raised to his lips, the noise too much for his dazed mind. 

“You promised me Dieter! You fucking promised me no drugs! I should have known better, I should have fucking known you’d do this— you don’t care about how much this hurts me to see you like this, constantly letting me down. I’m done Dieter, I’m so fucking done trying to help you if you’re not going to help yourself. Fuck! Get the fuck out! Go! Now!! I don’t want you near us, I won’t put Wren through this. Get help or stay away!”

The door slams, Dieter left alone to ruminate  over what was said in the small tiled space. 

Even in his stupefied state, the words thrown at him were enough to make an immediate impact. The cognitive part of his brain working over time to push through and make a levelheaded thought. 

“Deadbeat”

“Washed up”

“Get help or Stay away”

Reaching for his phone, he dials his lifeline who drops everything for him, probably due to her reoccurring paycheck, his assistant whom he’s thankful doesn’t hate him enough to ignore his call out of the blue. 

“Heeeey! I n-neeeed y-you to c-ommme g-get meee…”

He knew this was it, he had to get his shit together or suffer the consequences. 

*

He feels different if he’s being honest with himself. 

Lighter. 

Healthier. 

Alive. 

365 days clean. He made a commitment to a year long stay at a drug rehabilitation center, followed by a 3 month residency in a sober living facility conveniently tucked away in the Hollywood hills. 

Yet, he feels more lost than he was before he started treatment. 

He can’t remember what living a normal, healthy life is like— a life not high out of his mind 24/7.

This wasn’t his first time trying to get clean, he’d become a regular of sorts at a few different rehab centers scattered through out the greater Los Angeles area. 

Each stay with the same goal and each one a failed attempt at getting control over his life without the drugs. 

It was never “hope this is the time it really clicks for him”, it was always a question of “how long will he go this time before he’s kicked out and checking into the next one”— might have even been a headline a time or two. 

Many centers refusing to even consider treating him based on his past reputation alone. 

His agent’s patience was wearing thin trying to book roles for Dieter, doing his best to convince directors he wasn’t a liability and he could get the job done with zero risk in hiring him— it was far from the truth. 

Each day on set became a game of Russian Roulette, no one really knowing which side of Dieter they would be dealing with while shooting. That in itself was a metaphorical high he chased with each role he booked, seeing how long before some one caught on to his slurred words, blood shot eyes and sluggish demeanor. 

On numerous occasions Dieter thought he was skillful in his ability to mask his inebriated ego. He was combative with the crew and fellow actors— his temperament calm and mellow one moment, then seething and dripping with rage the next. 

He was getting sloppy. The teetering domino of his life had slowly began to tip and once it did finally fall, his entire life crumbling around him. 

*

The traffic is heavier than expected. Dieter wonders if it’s due to others similarly seeking to leave the city in hopes for a break from the dim aura that Los Angeles is. He can feel the weight of the city’s reputation lift from his shoulders with each passing mile as he maneuvers through the stretch of freeway congestion. 

A few honking horns bring his attention back to the conversation he’s currently semi engaged in. 

“This is a big step Dieter. I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.” 

He instantly cringes at the thought of getting back out to sell himself for roles. Facing those who were- and are- tired of his shit. 

The downfall of his career began when he was late for dress rehearsal for a role he some how managed to get— this role having potential to get him in the running for award nominations, propelling his career to new heights. But when he was no where to be found at call time, his assistant went on the search for him and it’s where she found him passed out in his trailer. He was too far gone to even pull himself together, prompting the director to fire him on the spot. 

The rate of speed at which news travels in Hollywood is the equivalent to a fast moving wildfire— once that first bit of gossip hits the ground, it’s spreading through the industry with a sudden surge of ferocity and growing far beyond what is predictable. 

His agent's attempt at damage control was a wasted effort. Directors dumping Dieter’s preproduction roles, actors refusing to work with him and threatening to quit if Dieter stayed on— his list of films beginning to dwindle in a matter of days and by the end of the week, Dieter Bravo was jobless. 

“The next few months will go by quickly, and before you know it you’ll be back out here booking jobs and proving everyone wrong.” 

Vanessa, Dieter’s assistant and full time babysitter, always seemed to have a way to make him feel at ease. And at this point, the only person he knew who believed he could actually turn his life around. 

“I really fucking hope so.” He sighs, this was his attempt at thinking positive. 

“Have you talked to her yet?” Her voice cracking through the car speakers as he continues his drive north on the 101. 

“Briefly. Told her I’d probably be getting in around 6 or so— BEEP!— Watch out asshole!” Throwing a middle finger at said asshole driver who nearly missed clipping his car. 

“She’s proud of you too, ya know. Might not seem like it right now, but she is.”

“Hmm. I’ll just agree to disagree with you on that point. Having a drug addict—“

“Former drug addicted, Dieter.” 

“Right— well, having a deadbeat for an older brother doesn’t really leave a lot to be proud of.”

“You’d be surprised. Hey, I got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch with you soon! Call me if you need anything! Again, Dieter, I'm really proud of you!” 

“Thanks Nessa! I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ending abruptly, leaving him to sit alone in his thoughts for the next hour and a half—something he hasn’t really taken the chance to experience since, well, a long while. 

The Santa Monica Mountains provide a scenic view as he leaves behind the place he saw as his home for the last 20 years. 

His current destination plugged into his stupidly expensive sports car. 

Home. Where he grew up. 

*

He can’t even remember the last time he visited. Not due to the years as an actor taking him to all areas of the world. The last time he had been home was just over a year ago and he was high out of his mind, barely remembering the trip as a whole. 

His sister had asked if he’d be able to make it to his niece’s birthday. She was turning 6 and had been begging for her uncle to be there to celebrate with— he was easily her most favorite person. The specifics of the getting to his sister’s home and the actual party are pretty blurry for Dieter. 

Dieter spent most of the last year trying to produce a coherent flashback of the day that would ultimately be his last time using, the reason for his commitment to getting his life together. 

He never expected the lowest point in his life would be being caught in the bathroom of his sister’s home doing a few quick lines on the toilet seat, as his niece was blowing out 6 candles a few feet outside the tiny bathroom surrounded by friends and family. 

The moments following are a mixture of hazy clips, fragmented bits of information,

he’s tried to piece together to the best of his ability. 

The rush of someone bursting through the bathroom door, the echoes of laughter and music piercing his ears as he’s hunched on the floor against the wall, little specks of a white powdery residue dusting his mustache. 

There’s screaming as he does his best to focus his blurry attention on the distorted enraged figure in front of him, yelling something about being washed up— his eye lids heavy and fighting against them to keep them opened. 

If he had to recall the exact moment he knew he fucked up, it was seeing the hurt and disappointment on his sister's face— her face wet with tears as she poured out her disappointment and pain over the fact that he was strung-out at her daughter’s birthday party. The weight of his consequences bleeding through him as he vividly recalls his sister telling him to leave and not come back unless he was sober. 

The next day he checked himself in, determined to get his life together for good. 

*

He shakes away the subtle tinge of guilt that starts to bubble up in his chest. 

Remembering the ‘54321 Method’ he was taught in treatment to help ground himself when his thoughts start to become overwhelming…

5 things you see: the sun slowly making its way to the horizon, cars moving swiftly by his own, Live Oak trees rooted among the mountains, the slightest twinkling of the first few stars, his reflection in the rear view mirror— lighter, healthier, alive.

4 things things to touch: the leather of the steering wheel, his jeans fabric soft and comfortable, the cool metal of his rings adorning his fingers, the weight of his sobriety chip in his pocket a constant reminder of how far he’s come.

3 things you hear: the familiar beat of a popular song streaming through the car speakers, rhythmic tapping of his thumbs in tune with the song, his off-key voice as he sings along to the words he knows.

2 things you smell: his olfactory nerve triggered at the distinct scent of his woody amber cologne, that new car smell that still lingers throughout the car’s interior. 

1 thing you taste: a minty tingle on his tongue as he chews his last piece of gum. 

His nerves settle, his eyes focused on the road ahead, deciding he’ll right his wrongs when he gets to his stop— his sister’s house. 

*

The trip took longer than he’d originally planned. Weekend traffic to blame for the 2 hour delay in his arrival. 

‘Welcome to Ojai’— the stone sign greets him, dim uplighting barely making it readable as he turns on to the familiar street. 

The town is all but empty at this time of the night, street lights plus the few restaurants and bars that are open give off enough ambient light to drape the streets in a subtle glow. 

He’s instantly taken back to his childhood, so many memories tucked away throughout the picturesque landscape. 

Growing up with famous parents wasn’t all that glamorous in Dieter’s eyes. 

Dieter’s parents, Dean and Mary Bravo, were both well known in the tv and movie world. 

Dean had been known for his roles in James Bond-esque action films through his career, notably his best work among other smaller productions he worked on. Mary was the queen of daytime television with her numerous roles in soap opera’s biggest shows, a socialite getting invited to glamorous events and elite celebrity parties. 

Together they were Hollywood’s “It” couple, jet-setting to all parts of the world when schedules allowed for it. 

Dieter and his younger sister, while born into this movie star family, were raised far from it. Dean and Mary deciding to buy a home in the mountains outside of the headlines and prying eyes, a place where their kids could live a some what normal life. 

Normal was anything but normal. Dean and Mary didn’t let children hold back their lives and desires of more fame. Leaving them with nannies so they could keep up with the demands of working and living their best lives. 

Ojai, a small village-like town nestled in the valley of the Topanga Mountains, became a literal playground for Dieter growing up. 

Little reminders of his childhood still remain as he ventures further into town. He finds himself slowing the car a bit as he takes it all in, rolling the window down to let the evening air hit his face— it’s crisp as it trickles across his skin. 

The private school he attended all through his schooling years sits on top of a hill that over looks the valley. The school’s reputation was highly regarded and offered a plethora of academic courses and electives. Dieter found the  art and theater programs to be where he excelled most, painting and acting fueled his passion for the arts, propelling him into pursuing one as a full time career. 

He spots Bart’s Books as he drives on, an outdoor bookstore, that had become a daily hangout as a kid. The red wooden shelves still filled with adventures and history to get lost in. He discovered his love for storytelling sitting on the covered patio, nose deep in fictional worlds he dreamed of visiting. 

Across the way, a ‘no vacancy’ neon sign flickers on. Capri Hotel, a newly renovated hotel that still looks like it could have come straight from the 1960s with its mid-century design and modern style. He recalls the summer when him and his buddies regularly jumped the fence to swim in the pool, the cool water under the stars was refreshing during the California heat waves. They managed to only get caught once but worked out a barter with the then owners, they clean the pool and in turn can use the pool at their leisure. The hotel seems to be under new ownership now, but it seems to be doing well. 

On every corner there’s an art gallery. Some still looking as if no time had passed, others adorn new names and a fresh coat of paint. Several galleries offered summer painting classes, where Dieter found he had more creative freedom than in school to explore all mediums and really honing in on his style. He’s always imagined he’d have his own showing of his paintings, friends and family gathering to see his work— a dream he never lived out. 

His car parked and engine killed, he still hasn’t found the courage to get out. He can see a few lights on from the front windows of his sister’s quaint Spanish style home. Trying to not let the vague memories of his last visit deter him from going inside. He sends Vanessa a text, letting her know he’d made it safely and that he’d text her if he needed anything. 

Bags in tow, he makes his way to the front door. Nerves and emotions swirling around, reminding himself to breathe, letting go of the fear and expectations he’d had for this reunion. 

He opts for knocking, assuming Wren would be sleeping at this hour. 

The clicking of locks being turned, twisting of the door knob, the black wooden door swings open to the space that’s haunted him for the last year. 

“Hey, Diem. Sorry I’m so—“ He starts to explain his lateness before he’s cut off. 

“Dieter! Oh my god! I thought something happened to you! What the fuck?!” Her body launches at him, arms wrapping around him securely. He accepts the impromptu hug, dropping his bags to return the gesture. 

“No, no I’m good. Traffic was a nightmare and by the time I thought to call, service was fucked. Sorry for making you worry.” 

“You’re here and you’re safe— that’s all that matters.” 

This greeting is going far better than he had expected, but he hasn’t made over the threshold, still plenty of time for Diem to drop the hammer on him. 

“Come in! Let’s get you all settled in.” She ushers him in, closing the door and adjusting the locks again. 

He takes the space in, noting not much has changed from what he can tell in the diffused lighting, but he feels warm and welcoming even for him. 

“I got the spare room all cleaned and ready for you. New sheets on the bed and a few extra pillows just in case.” She seems skittish moving about the living room, picking up the few toys laying around the room and placing them back in their designated baskets. “If you want to sit, make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Eat?” 

She seems just as nervous as he is and that makes him feel less anxious for some reason. 

“I grabbed some food on the way, I’m good.” Setting his bags down, he makes his way to the couch and sits down, deciding to rip the bandage off so to speak. 

Diem taking his lead, sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under her and hands resting on her lap. A lull hangs over them for a few moments, neither really know what to say or do. He notices her fingers fidgeting and decides to break the silence. 

“I know we haven’t talked much since the last time I was here,” He sees the brief wince on her face at the mention of it, as if she’d been actively trying to avoid talking about it. “But I want to tell you how sorry I am for—“

“Dieter, you don’t have to.” 

“No, actually I do. And I’m going to. Not only because it’s part of my steps in recovery, but because you deserve it— Wren deserves it.”

“She doesn’t know— about the drugs or you going to rehab.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it. 

“I won’t mention it to her then.”

“I just told her you were busy and that you’d be coming to spend time with us 'cause you missed her.”

“Why did you agree? After all the shit I’ve done and put you through, why are you letting me stay here?”

That gets her attention, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she looks at him with nothing but love and forgiveness. “Because you’re my brother and I want you here, despite all the shit you put me through.” 

He shifts closer to where she’s sitting, wiping the few tears that had decided to fall. He doesn’t think he deserves her kindness, but is grateful he has this opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to do. 

“I’m sorry for the pain and hurt that I caused you. Not only at Wren’s party, but all the other times I’d said I was clean and wasn’t. For putting you both second to my addiction. I’m sorry for not being here when you needed me most. I promise I’m going to do my best to earn your trust and prove to you that I am committed to my sobriety.”

Leaning back, his hand digs into his pocket pulling out his proof, grabbing Diem’s hand and turns it over placing the chip in her palm. She looks at it then back at him, the most genuine smile graces her face before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. 

“I love you Dieter! Thank you for not only doing this for us, but for yourself as well. I’m really proud of you.” 

“I love you too Diem.”

Releasing Dieter from the hug, she adjusts herself back to her previous position, now more relaxed with her elbow resting on the back of the couch propping her head up as she looks at Dieter, really taking in how healthy he looks since she’d last seen him. 

“Thank you for also letting me stay here. I needed to get out of the city for a bit, clear my head and shit. Should only be a few months or less, until I can get a few things lined up— have a few potential projects I requested scripts for.”

The thought of returning to his old ways terrified him, he had all the tools and support to continue working on himself outside of treatment, but he didn’t want to chance it. He instantly knew exactly where he wanted to spend the next few months re-acclimating back into this new way of living, away from temptation. Knowing their last conversation was anything but great, he'd decided an e-mail felt less grievous and hoped she’d find it in her heart to accept him back in her home again. 

“Of course. Stay as long as you need to.”

“And I can help how ever you need me to, figured it would keep me busy doing stuff, help out with Wren.”

“Oh my gosh, please! It’s peak tourist season the next few weeks at the Hotel and I’ve got a handful of events we’re hosting too. School runs would be a big help for me.”

“Hotel?” He’s sure he heard her right but doesn’t remember any mention of a hotel that he can recall. 

“Funny story actually-- I bought the Capri last year. Did some renovations and it’s been great really. Keeps me busy most of the time, but I love it.”

Diem was never one for the spotlight, especially with movie star family members, actively avoiding anything to do with Hollywood and its ostentatious air. She always had a knack for making drab things look enticing, so Dieter isn’t surprised one bit by the mention of her being the new owner of the Capri Hotel. 

“And now that I’m the owner, you can swim for free— pool cleaning is encouraged too.” He laughs at that. 

“Congrats on owning a hotel I guess. I’ll definitely be taking advantage of swimming privileges then.”

“Alright. I’m going to head to bed, got an early morning dropping Wren off before I meet with the planner for our next event.”

“I can take her tomorrow.”

“You sure? You don’t want to settle in a bit first?”

“Nah, it’ll be nice spending some time with her.”

“Okay. Prepare yourself for a wild time then.”

She kisses the top of his head before heading in the direction of her room. Stopping before turning down the hall, she looks back at Dieter who hasn’t moved from the couch, one of his hands rubbing at the opposite shoulder and leaning his head to the side to stretch it out a bit— the longer car rides really doing a number on him. 

“Dieter—“ 

His head turns towards the direction of his name being called. 

"Hmm?"

“I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Next

[hotheadedheroprimary]

I had the craziest angst dream last night

It was based on an RP my bestie and I had been working on but, man, my brain knows how to toy with my feelings. Words cannot express how I felt after having this dream, my heart was racing. (Will do this in the form of x reader coz damn)

That day was a tragedy, a devastation to yourself and everyone who knew you. No one could have foreseen such a thing and, yet, a heavy blame was taken upon the two men who had cared for you most. You were all fresh into beginning your careers as heroes, barely a year out of graduation, and it didn't last long for you. Somehow, a group of especially dangerous villains had managed to get the jump on you. They beat you to a pulp and took you into capture, falling out of the radar and becoming completely invisible to anyone who may have had a chance to save you.

You were held in captivity for almost two years. Two years. They tormented and verbally degraded you to no end. To say it was torture was an understatement. You may as well have been crucified and left to hang amongst the vultures awaiting the sweet, bitter end to life. Unfortunately, these monsters were not merciful creatures. At first, they attempted to coax information out of you, seeing if they could unlock all of the inner workings of the pro heroes and utilise this for their nefarious deeds. When it became clear that you weren't so easily broken, they decided that you would make a decent venting dolly. You sought to escape once.

"That was a big mistake... hero."

Due to your weakened state, they quite easily recaptured you and they were not happy. They could have just killed you. Part of you wishes they did. No. Instead, they opted for a more fitting punishment: they took away your quirk. More ridicule and abuse is all that followed, is all you had to keep your wavering sanity occupied.

You felt close to your end.

An eventual rescue tore you away from your imprisonment but at what cost? You couldn't even discern the reality from a nightmare at that point. Your saviours, some heroes on the other side of the country, made sure that you were immediately admitted to a hospital. The physical wounds were in need of major attention but the mental scars ran so much deeper.

It probably would have been easy enough to call all of your friends, to ask for help from a familiar face, but a chain would heavy your hand any time you'd reach for the phone. You couldn't even bring yourself to call your two favourite boys.

With months of gruelling therapy out of the way, you now have a home - a new home - that you can call yours and a typical civilian job to keep the money coming in. You may be somewhat established back into society but you are merely a shell of what once was, a sauntering after image of the person you used to be. It had taken countless sessions just to counter your agoraphobia but a slithery vine is quick to entangle your spine any time you choose to leave your home. The darned thing clenches and digs its thorns in, threatening to jolt your head into a spasm but you always fight the urge.

That day wasn't much different. To begin with, at least.

After your usual mental prepping and throwing your cap on, you take the leap of faith from your doorstep and trudge along for your weekly grocery run. All in all, it seemed it was going to be fairly standard; weave in and out of people, make no eye contact, get the goods, and go home. It wasn't like it was late on your way back either but, with the winter season, that night was soon rolling in. You notice another set of footsteps trailing behind you, which certainly isn't helping. It could just be that pesky paranoia settling in but this person has been hot on your tail for a few minutes now. Still having some streets to go, you curse your blunder in not choosing a location more in-city. In an attempt to get home faster without displaying your fear, you ever so slightly pick up the pace. The individual appears to do the same and you are ready to run. The muscles in your calves tighten in anticipation of a quick escape.

That's when it happened: a chance encounter that reduced you to tears.

"Hey!" an all-too-familiar voice beckons from behind you.

Anxiety prickles your skin for different reasons than before. There's no way it's him. Surely not.

Oh, but it is.

The great hero Dynamight had been making his rounds in the city, keeping an astute eye out for anything amiss but also for you. It may seem outlandish for him to still be looking for you after almost three years but this is Bakugo. He's not one to give up. That's probably why he's grown more calloused in this time. He hasn’t been able to heal. To move on. The night still haunts him though he never lets that show. His cold heart had grown even heavier and colder since that day. He barely says a word - more so than usual. The man eats at himself over the whole situation. What could he have done differently? Is there actually anything he could have actually done? If he can’t even save a comrade, a person he cares so deeply about, is he even worthy of the title of hero? Perhaps that is another driving force to keep searching for you. It may seem crazy but at least he hasn't lost his hope. Not like they did. How could they all just assume you dead like that? How could they give up on a friend? A fellow pro hero? Not him. Not ever and nor Kirishima. That redhead, as much of an idiot as he may be, is the only one who stuck by Bakugo's headstrong tenacity over the years. He shakes the thoughts from his head for about the umpteenth time just that day alone.

It seemed as though it would be another afternoon of quiet. One might say that's a nice change of pace but some individuals like to be kept busy. Bakugo stopped for one of his annoying fans when he caught a flash from the corner of his eye. It almost looked like... no. It couldn't be. Wait... is it? His gaze has never once failed him before. The calls of the young boy were lost to him, his feet moved without his consent. He'd recognise that stupid hat anywhere. It wasn't even a matter of questioning the legitimacy before he was practically tailgating the unsuspecting individual. It didn't take long until it was just the two of them walking along the darkening street. His heart hasn’t beat this hard since that terrible day. He shakes his head, almost grows angry. What if it is you? What will he do? A deep breath. Just keep focusing on the task at hand - one that seems to be slipping from him the longer this cat-and-mouse chase drags out. His tracks aren't exactly subtle given how the freshly falling snow crunches and groans beneath his weight. The speed picks up and he knows he has to say something before his "prey" runs off. He has opened and closed his mouth several times to speak up to her but he backs out every time. Goddamnit Bakugo just say something. He growls to himself and closes his eyes. His fists clench beneath his gauntlets. He can’t believe he is about to do this. He must be crazy.

Finally, somehow managing to find his own voice, he calls out. "Hey!"

He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to call out that name in case his assumption was wrong. The figure stops and slowly turns around to face him. Bakugo stares a moment longer before slowly walking over to get a closer look. His heart punches against his ribcage when he's no more than a meter in front of that familiar face. There have been some changes, of course, but he would recognise those eyes anywhere - your eyes. He looks back and forth between them before letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head. He closes his eyes and rests a hand on her shoulder, an action that is hesitant but proves the reality of your existence at this moment. All he can do is keep his eyes closed as everything tries to catch up to him. Eventually, he takes in a deep sigh and slowly looks up at you. His expression holds a mixture of sad and relived and some exhaustion like he just got done with a war.

"How long, (Y/n)?"

At first, you haven't a clue what he's talking about until it hits you like a steel pipe to the cheek. You had gotten so caught up in the situation, Katsuki Bakugo slowly trailing towards you with an unease you had never witnessed in him before. Not like this. A million and one thoughts spurry around your head but, at the same time, you are also completely blank. Crimson eyes pierce right into your soul, attempting to coerce your tongue for the words but still nothing. You can't help the nausea in your stomach when it dawns on you just how mad he may get. You already envision the blade of his teeth slicing through you.

"They... I was discharged from a hospital in Hachinohe almost... almost four months ago."

It all comes down on him like a sack of bricks. Understandably, he is pissed - unequivocally burning in damnation of the truth that you are alive and have been roaming the streets for so many months and against his knowledge no less. It doesn't matter if he had been in the middle of a battle; he would have been there for you in a heartbeat. Growing more painful, he rubs at the migraine pounding against his temples. He wipes his forehead as if making up for the fact that there are no tears to dry. He doesn't know how to cry right now. The pressure and strain amidst his palms shake his nerves to no end.

"And you didn't call?!" he screams over his crackling throat. "I would have come for you! We would have come for you!"

How could you call? You were so sure that everyone was better off without you, that you weren't needed in their lives. By the time you had been freed, everyone had become more well-established heroes in society. They don't need you. They moved on. That's how you thought of it, at least. Your attempted explanation of this only angers him further but he breathes past the frustration when he realises how worked up you're getting. What happened to you for you to think such awful things?

"I'm not sure where you got this narrative of not being needed," he sighs and looks away. "Do you have any idea what it has been like without you, dumbass?"

The old nickname slips off his tongue so naturally. He'd always call everyone an idiot, stupid, nerd ironically enough, but dumbass? That was reserved for you and for you only, so for it to be said - to be heard - after two years breaks you.

It had been quite a sight, watching you crumble down to the snow-covered floor. He had knelt down, waiting for you to calm down enough to form coherent sentences again. As cohesive as you could against the waves of rainfall spilling from your face, anyway. When things had eventually calmed, he took you back to your apartment and gave you the chance to speak. You managed to tell him little about what you had been through. Each sentence dwindled beneath the weighing sickness that bubbled in your throat any time you tried to get into detail. One thing really stood out to Bakugo, however. He envisioned the mass murder of those bastards for having done this to you, for rendering you quirkless and making you believe such self-deprecating lies.

That was two days ago. Bakugo insisted on you staying around his just to keep an eye on you. You know better than to refuse his help and it's for his own piece of mind as well as yours. He even took the liberty of calling off work for the rest of the week just to make sure you're okay. He never does that, which is probably why a certain redhead is standing at his door, wide-eyed, gawking at you. Once he had caught wind of Bakugo's absence at the agency, he raced over to make sure everything was okay. He could have never anticipated seeing you. The two of you stare at one another, unable to say anything. You take a stand and open your mouth to say something, anything, but the wind is pushed from your lungs when Kirishima gulps you up into his arms. He cries. God, this man cries and sobs with no yield as he just holds you. Restraints don't appear to exist anymore and you spill again, clutching onto him with unceremonious content. He doesn't ask any questions and just weeps into your shoulder, fearing the worst if he were to let go.

Everyone else had assumed you were dead. Why wouldn't they? After two, almost three, years, why would you believe a person to still be alive? Not them. They kept looking, searching, and scouring every last mineral in this damn country to try and find you. Now they have you back in their lives? They swear by All-Might that you will be waited on, pampered, loved, and cared for until they see the remnants of your old self again. It will take time but they waited this long for you, right?

No time in the world is more worth it.

It's probably worth mentioning that I could very clearly hear the chorus to Childish Gambino's song 'Heartbeat' when Kirishima went in for the hug and now it's stuck in my head.

I should also probably work more on WSA but I think I need to do a few one-shots just to get me back in the groove. I hope you enjoyed and sorry if it feels a bit rushed in some areas :')

Did I proof read it? Unfortunately not.

[neochan]

MISCHIEF (M)

PARING | loki!jeno x reader ft. thor!haechan

SYNOPSIS | the god of mischief wants you

WC | 1k

WARNINGS | kidnapping, implied sexual references, slight cnc / dubcon

A.N | okay i've been super into marvel lately, so here is a little drabble inspired by that. please pay attention to the pairings! btw this will be continued in full over on my marvel blog, though it will be with actual loki and thor

“i didn’t expect to be seeing you on your knees so soon darling.”

the god slouches leisurely against his high-back throne. dark green and golden metal that went beyond that of earth complemented his fair complexion, the jagged spikes at the top reminiscent of the hungry gleam in his eye. one of his legs is dragged towards his chest, a toned arm slung across the knee. it was uncommon to see a god in such a state. unbothered, unproper, inappropriate for someone of his status.

you suppose he could do what he wished. that much was evident in the situation at hand, literally. fingers uncomfortably dig into the skin of your upper arms, half pulling, half dragging, you along the cool marble floor until you were situated on your scraped knees before the god. the binding holding your wrists together behind your back pinches the skin, but you don’t cry out. in fact, you give them nothing.

his guards don’t let go until he flicks a hand in their direction, dismissing them from their duty. he looks unbothered when he does it, as if you hadn’t been the very thing he scoured the multiverse for. years on end, tracking, searching, yearning for you. the very thing needed to satiate that hunger in his eyes; the reprieve for an insatiable creature. it was only by your incompetence that he captured you. falling for his mind tricks – something so simple yet so incredibly careless. you’d beat yourself up every single second you spent in the tiny cell you were in – tucked away in the corner of his ship where no one could hear you yelling obscenities at yourself, the guards, the god.

without thinking, you spit in his direction. you hated him. despised him. the guards go to grab you again but jeno simply waves them off, “no need gentlemen. seem’s like our visitor here needs to learn manners. please occupy yourselves with something else so i can teach her.”

the two men bow low to the ground before retreating to tend to other matters on the ship. not like there was much to do, you were drifting through deep space. some place no one would find you. not even haechan.

“haechan will come looking for me.” you seethe, gritting your teeth when jeno hops up off the stool and tauntingly saunters towards you.

his footsteps echo through the room. the noise makes your stomach churn, and you fear him for a second. he was a god. someone so powerful he could rip your existence from time and space. he should be feared. you knew he could sense it too, a smug smirk lifting the corner of his upper lip.

“my brother isn’t even aware of your disappearance.” the annoyance on his tongue at their familial tie is evident.

that couldn’t be. he knew you were gone. he was probably assembling the avengers as you spoke, he was probably already on his way, maybe even close-

“oh my darling y/n, he’s not on his way. and he’s definitely not close.”

mind reading. you sneer, “fuck off.”

“what filthy words for a pretty girl like you. do i need to wash your mouth out with soap like a child?” his eyebrows raise, features mimicking faux concern.

spit works itself up in your mouth, but right before you’re about to project it in his direction, his hand reaches out and squeezes your jaw, “you are a child. didn’t your mommy and daddy teach you not to spit on people. gods, i expected more from you.” his calloused fingers squeeze harder, “swallow.”

you have no choice but to comply.

“now, why don’t i teach you how to properly use that mouth of yours, hm?”

the heat that was threatening to pool between your legs betrays your brain, which was screaming at you to say no. to break free of the binds and get the fuck out of there.

“darling, i can feel it. you want – need it as much as i do.” he lets go of your jaw and takes a step back, “it’s distracting…overwhelming.” his eyes close and he breathes deep, “your body… it’s tense. waiting for...”he smirks, and you feel the familiar probe of his mind searching your own, “my fingers?” his eyes snap open, “gods, you have a thing for my hands? oh darling it’s too late to deny it now.”

you hated how intrusive he was. how he could take any of the thoughts from your brain and devour them. a personal diary for the picking.

“stop reading my mind! i d-don’t have a thing for your hands. LET ME GO!” your scream rings out through the foyer. this was humiliating. defeating. you just wanted to go home.

“my sweet, i can make this your home. your empire.” he kneels down in front of you, a hand reaching out to caress the same jaw he had nearly crushed earlier, “i didn’t almost crush your jaw. i was stopping you from ruining my suit.”

doe eyes peak up at him with anger, “get your hands off of me.”

“would you rather them be here?” light as a feather, his fingers trail down the side of your throat, favoring the front of the tattered shirt you were in. they slip underneath the hem and slide over the expanse of your stomach.

the gasp that leaves your lips is a betrayal of your own mind.

“i know you want this darling. give in to me.” the god of mischief, chaos, and trickery stares at you through his heavy lashes. you knew he could manipulate someone’s mind, make them bend to his will with one look, but as you nod your head slowly, the words refusing to come out, you realize that there was no manipulation.

he was right all along.

[sad-girl-shit11]

The Creation

A Frankenstein based short story.

Tw: death, killing a pig, gore, blood, intense talk of suturing, etc..

Some believe Frankenstien to be the monster. The creature stitched together with thread, only alive because of electrostatic discharges. Some believe they know the truth. That Frankenstein was the scientist who played with the very idea of life and death like a new child does a gifted toy. Carelessly, and without a thought of what future consequences may occur.

Frankenstein was the monster. He was a cruel and unforgiving force. He was a monster who lacked humanity and craved power. Frankenstein was a man without a heart, a creature without a soul. He toyed with the villagers of his town. Taking their very lives into his monstrous hands and throwing them up and down as if they were nothing but a toy.

Up

Down

Up

Down

The thunder outside shakes the entirety of the room, from the cup on the counter behind to the table in front of me. It is the perfect weather for this ceremonious event.

White flashes of lightning burst just outside the balcony of this tower, illuminating the room I've occupied. The light washes over the operating table I have dragged up the spiral staircase just behind me. The light also illuminates the deep crimson lake drizzling down the table, making its way from the body sized puddle it originated from.

As I stand in awe of the horrific scene before me the door to the balcony flies inwards, allowing the invisible force that is wind to invade the circular room. Although an irritating presence, I make no move to shut the opened doors. I have far bigger things to focus my mind on. Things that have to do with the detached limbs, resting on the rectangular steel bed in the middle of my tower.

The limbs are pale, however they still resemble the pinkish color they originally were. The color they were when the heart the limbs belonged to was still beating, when the brain they used to take commands from was still alive. Now, here on this cold grey table they lie. Waiting, yearning to be a part of something bigger once more.

I turn around from my place in front of the operating table to the cabinets above my counter to my left. I walk over to my counter and pull out a drawer, my hand gripping the heart shaped drawer pull. From inside of the drawer I pull out a physician's bag, equipped with all one may need when faced with something as great as this. Taking the brown leather bag, I turn back towards my masterpiece, or rather my work of progress.

Settling into the stool at the front of the operating table, I stare into my art work. The skin pulled tightly over the bones, the sunken eyes, and the crystal white bones that poke out from each body part.

To some, what I do next may be unholy, the devil’s work. However, I consider it science. I see myself not as a devil's puppet, but rather a Van Gough to my own starry night. A Mozart to my own tune. A Gustave Eiffel to my own Eiffel tower. Those who may oppose to my art must never have felt the urge that artists get. The feeling that you must create, no matter the opinion of the people. Nor the danger it may put you in, physically or mentally.

Taking a breath of excitement and horror, I begin to unravel the cloth containing my tools. Each limb, eat part of my canvas not attached, to the whole must be sewn together. Despite my excitement, I remain professional. I am calm and my hands are sturdy as I pinch the skin of the neck with my forceps and carefully push my curved needle into the tissue with my needle driver. I use a horizontal suture, making sure my stitches are perfectly spaced. The dozens of horizontal lines of the upper and lower neck fit together in perfect unity.

My work does not end there, with the winds still howling about my tower, and the lighting ever-so-often illuminating my workspace, I diligently continue my work. I stitch the limbs together using the same amount of care for every one. From the upper and lower thigh to the pinky to the hand,each limb is sutured with the same amount of care and perfection.

It took hours of careful stitching, but it is finally done. The limbs that previously fell to no use, torn from their resting body, now reside back together. It’s beautiful. It’s art.

I cart it over to my bay window, lightning growing even more restless, however I will not be using it for my creature. Insead, before I step outside to the vastness that is the night, I cart the canvas to another steel operating table. On it is a pig, sedated but still breathing. In it the first stroke to my canvas. The beating heart.

I prep the pig and gather all the tools I may need, my canvas beside me, cutting into it blood gushes out. I suck up the blood and continue on.

Cutting

Carving

Splicing

Continuing until I have it, the beating heart, extracted from the poor animal. My bloodied hands carry it to my artwork and gently place it into its chest cavity. Careful and with precision, like the Lord when carefully carving into Adam and extracting his rib. I place it in and quickly attach the nerves of the brain stem placed in the corpse moments before my first suture. I push the pig away from me, it is no use now that I have obtained its organ, and reach for my defibrillator. I have minutes to restart this heart and therefore the brain.

As shocks leave my canvas convulsing, my thoughts trail back to my claim.

Frankenstein was the monster. He was the monster who played with life and death, terrorizing his town. He was the monster who on a dark stormy night did the unthinkable.

The monster had created a man.

Frankenstien had gathered limbs for his own canvas. He had sutured him with simple interrupted sutures, and shocked him to life with lightning. He made his creature, his son, knowing the kind of monster he could be. He was the monster. The monster was Frankenstien.

A gasp of breath breaks my train of thought. Dropping the paddles of the defibrillator I too gasp. I gasp in awe and shock. In terror and amazement. My masterpiece sits up and turns to face me. It stares at me, and I at it.

I stand there staring at my masterpiece and it stares at its artist. It’s Frankentien.

“Welcome back home, beloved.”

[regular-dog]

Ectoberhaunt day 18 - unravel

I like to think that there's just a bunch of weird and fucked up creatures hanging out in the zone. Yknow how it is

The concept of a weird spirally serpent ghost thing has occupied my brain for a while now so when i saw this prompt i figured i may as well finally try to realise it

Earlier sketch version under the readmore

[chessb0r3d]

I post jack shit of the things I like. Yippee!!

Multifandom art accont

-> @chessboredom

Hamsteak accont

-> @disguisedcheezed

World of Edd accont

-> @cheezeweezer

Stimbored accont

-> @chessboreds

Dirk Strider.

♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤ ♡ ♤

Fun Facts about me and more jack shit! Bluh!

I made those BTW/TBH creature comic posts. :3

> 1 2 3 4 <

Spam liking/reblogging is okay and is highly encouraged! Go crazy!

I have no DNI. Don't send me discourse/drama and such. U_U

If you followed me for my non-homestuck, here's a thing:

I LOVE dirkjohn. I am So Normal about them <-(warning) I will go into a weekly dirkjohn spam reblog hunt into the depths of this hell site, whether it either contains them both or individually #john #dirk. I also tag them in cat posts with #cat john and #cat dirk. I've been reblogging dirkjohn posts over a year. Current number of #dirkjohn tagged posts is 3155.

( Shout out to those who still followed me. I love seeing you guys in my notifs. )

I have other hyperfixations, but DirkJohn occupies almost all of my thoughts so I don't really care about them right now. /copypasta

More of which that is listed here in my listography.

《 Welceom to my really shitty tagging system navigation for myself 》

Tip! Click on the hashtags if your on pc/browser, or the words if your on mobile.

#chrambles - Me talking about what ever.

#mine - Tag for all of my art from across my blogs posted/reblogged here.

#chess ocs - My hell spawns that I love and hate dearly.

#asks stuff - Tag for answered asks.

I tag warnings such as #blood , #gore , #self harm , #decapitation , #noncon and etc. just as they are. <- applies in all across my fandom blogs

I only tag bugs when I like the post.

#so cool - My inspo tag. It's because of this 13 second yt video that did irreversible effects to my brain.

#this is nice. - Like it said, it has nice things. The posts where it hits so close to home, and other positive things I'd like to remind myself that the world a wonderful place to be in. :)

#mecore - Posts that are LITERALLY me.

#more for the collection - Genres of posts that I find funny and so common and I like seeing them every where.

#cat :3 , #doggy :3 , #honse , #borb - Creatures I like. :3

《My Other Homosuck Related tags》

#so sadstuck , #dirkapitation , #hs meta , #hs gifs , #hs sprite edits ,

#striders , #lalondes , #strilondes , #egberts , #harleyberts , #crockerberts , #harlenglish ,

Other favorite ships that I'll just put here because yes

#nuzi , #tomtord , #krusie , #davejake , #batterie , #2bhank , #sasunaru , #sonadow , #kawoshin , #charlastor

[hikaruchen]

WIP Wednesday!

As before, thank you @lord-aldhelm for tagging me! Sending kisses x

Just started writing an one-shot fic for my blorbos, hope I manage to finish this one lol. Here’s one part of it:

It became more frequently that he found himself sitting beside the firewoods with extinguished embers atop, lost into the abyss of his own irksome thoughts in the middle of the night. Darkness spread wide across the land, it was only then that he noticed how quiet the nature could be when none of the living things were disturbing its peace, and how loudly his mind could function during those lonesome nights. Thoughts jumping all around yet could not be woven into a conclusion, as grasping something meaningful out of them was already hard enough. Even brains of men like Alfred couldn’t last a long day’s hard working, it seemed. He would sit there for hours, exhausted, staring beyond the horizon like a strayer in the dark, waiting the lights would come to find him. And Uhtred always found him under the guide of moonlight. At first none of them spoke anything. No one asked about the reason why the other was awake, nor did they question what made them sit next to each other insomnolent while all creatures on earth should be asleep. Silence occupied them and these lands, the only thing he could hear was Uhtred’s breath. Calm and steady, like the rhymes in those poems he adored to recite when alone in his library. And it felt distasteful to admit, of course, but in between the breathes lay…safety. Safety that he hadn’t felt for long, so long, that it even allowed drowsiness to gnaw his conscious bit by bit and eventually led him to drift into sleep. O, how much you rely on this pagan, Alfred. Not only in the waking hours but the sleepless nights?

I basically just described my insomnia lol, except good for alf for having an Uhtred.

& Sleep normally, people! Don’t stay up til 5 and find yourself losing sleep right after it. That is the worst.

-

✨Pics ✨

Again working on commissions :)

And some smutty smutty things going on for our favorite medieval gays that made me have to change the content label for this post. (Edit: I changed my mind. I will post normally for now but if it got banned, then you know the label will be changing into the adult only one lol) I will not elaborate.

⚠️NSFW below

(No, that’s not german national flag in the background. It looks weird and that will be changed I promise lmao)

[ghoultrifle]

Hello! Can I request 108 from the smut prompt thing? Any pairing!

108: “come to my room there’s this thing i wanna try”

Dew/Phantom virginity kink with a bit of praise thrown in for good measure (2.2k words)

Hello anon, thank you for the request! I transmasced your Dew for you (clit, cunt, tiny dick, cock used), hope that’s ok! Also an homage to the sexual awakening that was the sex workers in GTA V. (and while I refer to Phantom as young, he is of course a ghoul of age)

“Hey sweetie, want a ride?” Phantom overheard from the TV’s speakers. Dew was playing a video game about stealing cars, he thinks. “Fuck yeah I do!” The fire ghoul responded in anticipation as he pressed the controller and an uncanny woman with a robotic walk climbed into the car on screen. There was some shuffling as the woman climbed atop the character Dew was controlling and they started to moan. The camera cut to a view of the car rocking while the screen continued to emit the most egregious sounds. Phantom was otherwise occupied trying his best to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar, “He ate how many oranges on Friday?!” But he never found out what else the creature ate as he began to focus on the lewd sounds now blaring in the room. The quintessence ghoul shifted in his seat. Looking down he could see, and feel, his trousers beginning to tent. Phantom was very new to his topside vessel and wasn’t exactly in tune with all the appendages. Unlike the others, he was the only male spawned in his summoning so there was no one else to experiment and learn with. 

Sure his dick had kicked up in the morning, and sometimes it was wet but it never happened during the day and it never felt like this. The idea of sexual organs being one and the same with organs excreting waste was not one that existed in the pit; sex didn’t involve specific parts and it sure as hell didn’t involve the piss organ. Phantom couldn’t decide if what he was feeling was pain or pleasure, surely his brain got fried during his summoning because his body must be telling him something’s wrong yet he wants the feeling to continue.

The nervous ghoul’s voice betrayed him as he half-moaned half-hissed when his hand brushed over the sensitive, clothed cock. The sex scene long gone, Dew looked over from the tank he was driving into traffic to see a whimpering, dishevelled Phantom looking horrified at his very noticeable erection. The older ghoul knew the other had been struggling to adjust topside but thought someone must’ve shown him the ropes of his new vessel by now, clearly he was mistaken and what a beautiful mistake it was.

Dew was the one shifting in his seat now, feeling a damp spot starting to form; he so desperately wanted to show Phantom the time of his life, show him just how much fun human bodies are, work him all the way up and watch him blissfully come down. “Hey Ant, you OK?” he asked with just a tinge of an ulterior motive. The quintessence ghoul whimpered in reply, covering his eyes in embarrassment and pointing at the bulge, he sulks, “‘m I dying, Dewy? It feels so weird.” Dew shudders at the nickname, no longer able to debate the ethics of what he’s about to do.

“Come to my room, there’s this thing I wanna try.” Dew offered, grinning at the new summon. Phantom was confused, Dew closely guarded his room as a temple for lovers and nothing else. In Phantom’s first days topside, he had accidentally entered the fire ghoul’s room (Swiss was not the best at teaching him how to read) and was met with a ferocious roar to get out! So why Dew would invite him to his room was a mystery, perhaps Aether left a healing remedy there?

Phantom nervously followed Dew to his room, wincing with each step providing the friction he felt so guilty about enjoying. The fire ghoul’s room was a sight to behold, dark walls illuminated by candles the ghoul no doubt lit with his magick, and a large bed that carried a sense of grandiose with its ebony headboard; red sheets contrasting with the dark wood. Dew asked the quivering ghoul to lock the door behind him, now Phantom was really worried, scrunching his eyes in concern: Was he possessed? Was Dew about to perform an exorcism? What was so bad that he had to be locked in a room?

Upon opening his eyes he was met with a stark naked fire ghoul stepping into a harness of some sort. I hope we’re not about to go rock climbing, Phantom thought to himself, still scared of heights after his summoning went awry. His eyes went wide when he saw Dew attach what looked like a dick to the harness, it looked so realistic; perhaps they were meant to be detachable and that’s why Phantom’s is feeling so odd. The young ghoul’s cock was still kicking in his trousers, forming a barely noticeable wet spot at the front. Whatever Dew was about to show him, he hoped and prayed to Satan below that it would fix his problem.

“What are you waiting for, baby bat? Clothes off and come over, need to show you a good time.” Phantom only tilted his head in response, prompting Dew to explain. “Has this really never happened before, bug?” He shakes his head, tears forming as the worry builds, “You’ve never hooked up with anyone topside, or even tugged yourself off?” Phantom gives another look of bewilderment and Dew can only respond with a look of hunger tinged with sympathy, tonight is going to be mind-blowing for the young ghoul.

Dew walks over and waves vaguely at Phantom’s boner then back at his strap, bobbing from the movement, “This is what happens when human vessels are horny and they want to make love. It’s completely normal and I’m going to take care of it for you, if you don’t mind?” he asks lovingly, gently cupping Phantom through his trousers as his own strap knocks into the taller ghoul’s thighs. Phantom nods as he moans into the touch, a sense of relief at the friction and Dew finally telling him everything’s alright. He also feels a hint of apprehension; what if he’s not good enough, what if he doesn’t know what to do, what if this is some big joke by Dew to rile him up and leave him high and dry?

The fire ghoul can sense his worry and reaches up to kiss Phantom, neck craning up as he tenderly strokes him through his trousers, determined to make his first orgasm his best. Phantom nearly doubles over at the stimulation, Dew catching him and guiding him towards the bed, “Undress and lay down for me, honey, on your back. Want to see your beautiful face.” The fire ghoul whispers as he positions himself at the bottom of the bed, popping open a bottle of lube and warming it with his ever-fiery palms, the last thing he needs is to scare the newbie away.

As Dew slicked up a finger and slowly teased Phantom’s exposed ring, the younger ghoul mewled, impatient and once again confused that his other waste organ was being used for sex. Confusion quickly melted into pure desire as Dew let a finger slip in, curling it and exploring the walls of the writhing ghoul. It wasn’t long before Phantom was a whimpering mess as Dew had two, then three fingers inside him, scissoring and occasionally brushing just past his prostate. The quintessence ghoul keened under the touch whining for more as he pushed back into the fire ghouls hot fingers. Dew could feel his own slick running down his legs as he took in the sight before him, writhing like a wild beast to be tamed, for Dew to own. He not-so-gracefully ground his dick against the mattress, anything to get some friction on his rock-hard clit.

“Such a good boy for me, Ant, taking my fingers so well, aren’t you hmm?” Dew whispered into his ears. Phantom cried out as Dew realised he’d found exactly what makes the new bug tick and boy was he happy to indulge. He pulled out, the young ghoul whining at the cold air now hitting his hole. “Gonna put my cock in you now darling, be a good girl for me and take it, yeah?” Phantom nodded like a puppy as Dew lined his sizeable cock up with the winking hole and pushed in inch-by-inch. When he bottomed out he reached forward to pull Phantom into a tantalisingly hot kiss, moving down to mark the young ghoul as his.

Dew begins to thrust into Phantom at a steady pace, his own cunt dripping now as the toy rocked against his tiny dick. The quintessence ghoul looked down at Dew, moaning as the cock hit his prostate over and over again, sweat running down the fire ghoul’s face, silky blond hair sticking to it, looking thoroughly fucked out. Phantom is unsure what to do with his hands, previously lying by his side, he’s too pent up to keep still now.

Dew thinks Phantom is just being a good boy for him, waiting for permission to touch himself, until he remembers, he’s never touched himself, he doesn’t know how to do it. The thought has him thrusting even faster as Phantom cants his hips up so Dew hits the spot that makes him feel so fuzzy inside.

The fire ghoul grins as he sputters out between moans, “Ah fuck, Phant you know you can touch ahh your dick, right?” Phantom begins to poke himself exploratively almost as one would knead focaccia, and yeah it feels alright but, “What’s all the fuss about, Dewy? Doesn’t feel as good as you do.”

“Oh baby bat you really are clueless, aren’t you?” Dew grunts staving off his orgasm in the pursuit of Phantom’s own, “Here, like this. Put your hand over mine OK?” Dew asks so sweetly one could forget he was balls deep in the younger ghoul, as he clasps a fist around Phantom’s weeping cock, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him whine a litany of ghoulish expletives. Phantom’s eyes glaze over as Dew guides his hand over his own, fist moving up and down in time with the fire ghoul’s thrusts. 

Now Phantom gets it, this is what the piss organ was really made for, the piss bit was just an accessory (it was, in fact, not just an accessory, as he later found out in a very wet session with Rain). He could feel something building, the pleasure increasing and he kinda did need to pee, why are humans so weird? he thought. Looking down he could see his cock continually leaking a slick, whitish fluid as both of their hands worked him up and down, “Fuck Dew, stop, needa aahhh, needa pee.” Phantom hurriedly said, worried for his bladder. “It’s alright baby, you’re not gonna piss yourself, just keep going and I promise what’s coming is so much better.” Dew hinted lovingly as he continued to jackhammer into Phantom, close himself.

It doesn’t take much, Dew’s surprised the new ghoul has lasted this long with the pressure of two hands stroking his cock and a dick in his pretty little ass. “You’re nearly there my brave boy, you can take it from here, just keep going.” The fire ghoul encourages as he cautiously removes his own hand from Phantom’s dick, instead placing the quintessence ghoul’s nipple between his finger and thumb deftly rolling it beneath them.

Phantom feels it, he’s going to piss himself. He decides to trust Dew, why would he lie to him after being so tender all evening? So as the older ghoul pinches his nipple, he continues to stroke himself, gasping at the feeling of his own cock beneath his calloused fingers. Almost in an instant it hits him, divine pleasure. Phantom scrunches his eyes shut as he writhes and shouts, cum spurting from his spent cock onto his stomach as he works himself through it, Dew still thrusting albeit at a slowed pace. The fire ghoul eventually slows to a stop, as does Phantom’s hand, overstimulation quickly setting in as the younger ghoul whines.

“You did such a good job for your first time, such an amazing fuck,” Dew giggled as he pulled out, “stay there, I’ll be right back” he promised as he walked over to the bathroom undoing the harness as he walked, quickly reappearing with a wet rag in his hand.

“Mmm that was so good, thanks Dewy.” Phantom called out. “See, bug, you didn’t piss yourself, huh?” Dew chuckles as he brings a washcloth to Phantom’s midriff, “Although if you’re into that I’m sure Rain would indulge.” He smirks. The new ghoul’s interest is piqued, but that’s a thought for another time.

Once Dew had delicately cleaned every inch of his and Phantom’s body, he joined the quintessence ghoul in bed, curling himself around Phantom's back. Suddenly a realisation hit the inexperienced ghoul, “Dewy, you didn’t spurt out the white stuff, did you not get the good feeling like I did?” He asked worriedly, how could he have been so selfish? “Oh bug, my anatomy isn't quite the same as yours, but no I didn’t have an orgasm. That doesn’t matter though, I got to see you have your very first and that means so much more to me than you could ever imagine.” Phantom can feel the older ghoul smiling into his shoulder, “You can always pay me back another day, hmm? Let’s call it a date!” He continues, genuinely enamoured by the younger ghoul’s self awareness, “But I’m sleepy now and I’m sure you must be too.” Phantom can only manage a hum of approval and a nod before he’s dozing off with Dew’s arms wrapped around him, his personal hot water bottle.

Just felt like putting winking hole in there to piss people off :) /lh

Speaking of piss, phantom is definitely into it and will find that out another time but for the minute let’s just revel in the bliss of him getting the piss/pleasure wires crossed during his first time and how that shapes his entire sexual identity for the rest of his life.

Also the tenses are almost certainly all over the place but just roll with it ok?

(requests are open if you want more or if you have any other ideas!)

[narwhalandchill]

its been like. nearly a year (How.) already but i cannot lie theres Still a part in the back of my brain occupied with and being thoroughly entertained by the way that childes confirmed 4.0 complete self-awareness over waking up the narwhal at 14 recontextualizes some key liyue things leading to some very funny self indulgent scenarios in my head

like yes chili is old news its basic please excuse me for predictable popular ship crimes (do NOT however associate me w the crimes of fanon against their actual range. theyre peak to Me) but i just keep replaying the imagery of zhongli and childe back on their homoerotic Professional Working Relationship bullshit where their flirting passed the jkjk unless treshold of even remotely plausible deniability like 8 exorbitantly priced business dinners ago and theyre just like. doing that whole song and dance now neither committing to a move except zhonglis presently feeling moderately conflicted (but nonetheless fairly unfazed at) by the prospects of actually developing some sort of a thing for the harbinger hes supposed to puppet master into executing the major story climax of his 67-step retirement plan bc he turned out to be quite the strangely charming ginger specimen (to His weird fucking 6000 year old tastes at least. they deserve each other) with some fascinating life ambitions he cant help but be enraptured by.

but because hes still 100% Locked In on his entire plan zhonglis also just . simultaneously dual wielding his coy-ass "i like you and am taking it slow to Savor this developing relationship (Also bc of the Geo Archon Shaped Elephant In The Room) except am old as shit so my languid sense of time inadvertedly Automatically turns my behavior into an equivalent of the dark souls boss of playing hard2get" act (cue "waddup im ajax 24 and im in fucking agony with this hot funeral consultant". Yes they live like this) AND also meticulously theorycrafting like 12 moves in advance for his 6d chess play of leaving the most subtly crafted trail of breadcrumbs behind for the tsaritsas 11th to follow into the intended & completely "Coincidental" idea of unleashing the one particular sealed sea deity that zhongli Specifically wants momentarily released for his sweet 6k retirement party and graduation test for the nation hes helicopter parented for 3.7k years .

like. this is zhongli we r talking about the guy Absolutely has it planned out down to a fucking art like he has an entire branching path dialogue tree planned and memorized like its a visual novel for every possible way he can conveniently namedrop osial in a non-suspect way and also that he just happens to be sealed right over there across the harbor (what a coincidence!) and also to slip in the intel about the latent power of the sigil of permission etc etc. like zhonglis just out there doing all this massive galaxy brain computational work simultaneously while infodumping on an academic level about whichever subject childes latest random comment of amicable small talk happened to remind him of because in his helicopter parent in remission mind its Absolutely Critical that the idea about releasing osial occurs Completely organically in childes mind it Has to he Cannot risk revealing anything . (hes in remission not in recovery guys.) so like here we are. he requested notes from the tsaritsa Personally on the character of her 11th just to ensure every move was painstakingly crafted to draw him Specifically to the intended conclusion without risking revealing his true identity .

except. the thing . neither he. nor the tsaritsa . would have been informed of . is that this simply isnt childes first fucking rodeo waking up an eldritch city sized sea creature . and he is very well aware of this fact . he woke that beautiful wonderful beloved huge fucking narwhal up by himself had his brain chemistry Immediately and Irrevocably rewired as a direct consequence do you fucking think hes somehow stopped thinking about that singular moment for even a second since then???

yeah . thought so.

so what actually ends up happening in reality is theyll be on another definitely-serious-business-not-just-a-date and zhonglis going to get down to like dialogue selection part 10 of the 86 step conversation tree at Most where hes only beginning to like Vaguely allude to the key pieces of information involved but it turns out Because Hes That Guy (TM) And Has Been There Done That Before childes basic pattern recognition and sense of irony simply proceed to kick in Way ahead of time and hes Immediately perking up like Hey wouldnt it be really fucking funny if i wake up an eldritch sea beast Again . like just in case. as a last ditch effort .

and zhonglis just sitting there seeing the gears turn in his head as they enjoy their cringe fucking picnic (bc they just stare at each other intently like that nowadays its a thing. being in a room with them by this point is essentially a human rights violation) and is just completely fucking flabbergasted and lost on how in the hell childes speedran his way to that conclusion at what amounts to barely a 13% completion rate in his whole overkill fucking plan (just 1 of 3 contingencies btw) and its like yes he has his intended outcome but also precisely 0 idea on how the fuck said outcome was reached the way it was this fast . like hes still winning its His plan thats well underway and ahead of schedule but How

(pov: ur selling the concept of waking up destructive sea creatures to the guy who woke up a celestial body eating cosmic whale at 14)

anyway its truly beautiful i absolutely detest these two and have prime liyue AQ hijinks nostalgia now thank you for the lore drop that allowed this to become canon in my head hoyo