#this is kind of disjointed but oh well

[thegoldenappleofdiscord]

you ask and you shall receive

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“Are they gone?” Will whispers. 

Nico offers him a chocolate-slathered crepe. Sugar tends to solve most of his problems, even if there are about a dozen of those problems staring up at the couple with beady eyes. “I think,” he says, “you should keep closing your eyes.” 

He’ll admit that he’d had other things in mind when Will brought up going to Paris again – silly thoughts he’d never say aloud, daydreams he plans on keeping to himself, but thoughts nonetheless: a date spent traipsing through narrow streets with only whimsy for a fitful guide, their locked hands swinging between them like knotted ribbon. He wouldn’t have minded if they’d done nothing but drag their feet around all day, drinking up sunlight in sprawling parks or stealing kisses in clandestine city corridors – anything if it meant being with his idiot boyfriend. 

This, though, is nothing close to what he’d anticipated. As Will nibbles on a crepe (he’s staining his face with chocolate, and Nico really wants to wipe it away – he does) the pigeons at their feet cock their feathered heads and peck at the ground, as though demanding Nico toss the remainder of his food at their cobblestone altar. He’s certain the only thing keeping them from coming any closer is the death aura he gives off. The few ambitious ones tread a bit too close for comfort. Audacious bastards. 

Nico is no stranger to pigeons. He’s lived years in Venice, and because the Fates think themselves funny, one of the things he remembers most about home – rather than the people living there – were the birds. The seagulls were the worst, but the pigeons remained a close second because they simply invaded everything. They congregated in numbers and snatched food. They shat on any surface flat enough to be shat on. He’d wake up and they’d be sitting on the pots where his Mamma planted her herbs, just waiting for some unsuspecting fool to open the window. 

Part of him admires their tenacity, but the other part wishes they’d move so his boyfriend can open his eyes. Will is as familiar with pigeons as him, but that’s mostly because his demigod initiation involved being violently attacked by Stymphalian birds – which happen to look like pigeons, albeit with bronze beaks and metallic feathers. Now Will can’t stand the things, which Nico thinks is fair and a little funny (Will doesn’t think it’s funny, and whenever Nico brings it up, gives him a glare akin to being pelted with marshmallows.)  

“I’m an idiot,” Will groans, holding his crepe like a damsel holds a handkerchief.  

“That you are,” Nico agrees, pressing a firm kiss to his boyfriend’s head of curls. “But I am too. I should’ve-” 

“It isn’t your fault. I just completely forgot.” He runs a frustrated hand through his windswept hair. “I didn’t think I’d be so-” 

“Scared?” 

“I was going to go with ‘irked,’ but okay,” he mumbles. After a tepid moment, he asks, “Are they still there?” 

“Watching and waiting,” Nico replies helpfully. “I think they want your crepes.” 

“If I throw it, and we run, do you think they’ll chase after us?” 

“We’re going to look like maniacs.” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” 

Nico glances at the Parisians milling about and shakes his head, even though his boyfriend can’t see him. “I’ve got a better idea. Where do you feel like going right now?” 

“I was thinking a café, since we haven’t eaten any real meals so far-” 

“I think crepes qualify as a meal. If you eat enough of them.” 

Will would have rolled his eyes, had they been open. Instead he settles for an exasperated sigh, the same sort that comes with Nico’s frequent requests for fast food and his terrible driving skills. "Not even close."

Nico searches their surroundings, choosing to ignore Will's invalidation of dessert. Cafés line the street, multi-hued awning billowing in the faint breeze. From his right, he can smell freshly baked castella; a few feet away there are coffee shops where steam rises above the clinking of spoons and cups. There’s a quaint café tucked away between two patisserie joints, quiet chatter pouring from its thrown-open windows – it’s a distance to walk, but nothing they can’t manage.  

The path is pockmarked with birds tearing apart their spoils of war. Nico stands up and digs around Will’s pack – he'd insisted on bringing one, and there’s just about anything imaginable in there – and retrieves an umbrella colored so obnoxiously yellow he’s certain it’ll shame the sun into cloudy submission.

He taps it against the ground and nudges Will up. His boyfriend’s eyes snap open, startled blue framed with a ring of golden eyelashes. Their hands find each other again, and with a shuddering breath, Will follows Nico down the street.  

The sight must be something. He’s sure the locals have seen stranger things from tourists, but a boy beating back pigeons with an umbrella must be new.  

Nico grasps the hilt like a weapon, pointing the tipped end at any bird that dare get too close. Will is still holding his unfinished crepe, making him an easy target, and they flock towards his fidgeting fingers with mischievous intent. Every time one approaches, Nico slices through the air with his umbrella, scaring them back until they gather up the breadcrumbs of courage they need to try again. 

He glares at them to get the message across: keep away. And with most animals, this works – some pedestrians even shy away - but pigeons are far from meek. They’ve toed the line of death so often that it’s become only mingling for them. It sort of reminds him of his waning ability to garner fear at camp, as everyone’s become far too familiar with him to be scared, especially since he’s taken to wandering the grounds in a black bathrobe and slippers during early morning. 

He’s quite ready to whack a few birds down (and gets close), but they arrive at the café without issue. The pigeons titter from outside, and Nico doesn’t put his umbrella away, even when the waitress arrives with their orders. 

They leave just as dusk is arriving to find one of Paris’s parks, where Nico waves his umbrella around menacingly to scare the few trekking pigeons. They eat strawberries brought from home and lean back into the grass. It’s cooler now, and away from the streets, the breeze finds them with a tentative caress to the skin. 

They’re only watching clouds, something they do at camp all the time. “Maybe the clouds in Paris are different,” Will suggests jokingly, and Nico smacks him with a limp hand. Later they stroll under tree boughs and take about a dozen poorly aimed photos with Will’s polaroid – and Nico chases off a few more birds with his weapon of choice, scaring the hell out of a few playing children each time his umbrella smacks the sidewalk.  

“You know,” Will says after a while, “you don’t have to do this.” 

“If my boyfriend gets carried off by pigeons again, I only have myself to blame.” 

Will’s lips twist petulantly. “Low blow, Nico.” 

Nico leans up – he has to stand on his tip-toes, and he’s so unfairly short – to briefly kiss the frown off Will’s face. “Sorry,” he says, not very apologetic. They’ve been out of Tartarus a whole month now, and the jokes are about as common as being smothered by a Cocoa Puff in the morning. “But I don’t mind. It’s kind of fun.” 

A single arched eyebrow. “Beating up birds is fun?” 

“I haven’t beat up any actual birds,” Nico points out.  

“You look like a rabid Mary Poppins with that thing.” 

Nico does a jaunty pose and Will snorts with laughter. “Quite so,” he chirps, his British accent terrible in every way. “I’d beat up birds for you, tesoro.” 

“How romantic to know my boyfriend would go toe-to-toe with a chicken.” 

“Farm birds can be devious,” Nico says, completely serious.  

“I’m sure you’d know.” 

“That’s enough sarcasm out of you.” Nico stuffs a strawberry in Will’s mouth to keep him from talking. Soon enough they get hungry again and find a vendor who hasn’t yet closed shop. They get themselves falafel, possibly the most delicious Nico’s ever had. The pigeons must agree, because they hound the couple – the minute Nico sees Will’s shoulders hitch up, he begins swinging the umbrella like a bayonet, scattering birds and earning himself a look of respect from the vendor. 

Eventually night falls completely and Nico shadow-travels them to a rooftop where they can see the stars. They’ve gotten themselves ice cream, because neither of them have gone without eating something within the past hour, and because the air’s simmering like oil. They’re all cooking herring in the heat, which is slightly less romantic, but it’s cold enough on the rooftop that Nico can offer Will his jacket – romantic enough. 

The silence is comfortable. It always is with Will, until the quiet is tentatively broken when he blurts out, “What?” at Will’s odd expression. It’s the same face he wore back in the café, staring over tall glasses of tea while Nico ate like he’d dropped his manners on the ground back at the Seine. 

“I’m lucky,” Will says, leaning back on his hands. Their cones melt and drip onto their fingers, sticky chocolate and cream staining their shirts.  

“To be alive? Aren’t we all?” 

“I mean to have you,” his boyfriend clarifies. Declarations of affection have become easy, like kisses on the cheek or hugs from behind, but sometimes they leave Nico a little speechless, as they do now. 

“Oh,” he replies.  

“Not everyone would chase around birds all day.” 

Nico tilts his head, a gentle smirk touching his lips. “And you find that romantic?” 

"It’s the little things. Like saving me food, or offering to take care of my patients when I’m tired. Or, you know, chasing pigeons with an umbrella instead of just leaving Paris.” 

“You’ve been wanting to go forever.” Nico tucks his legs in, thigh-high boots dangling off the rooftop’s stone rim. “We’d only just gotten there. And you looked so happy, too. I couldn’t say no. You needed that break.” 

A head came to rest on his shoulders. “You did, too, and you spent it whacking down birds.” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Will’s dry laugh makes him dizzy, so he reaches for his boyfriend’s hand, squeezes it, and together they watch the Parisian sunset. 

There isn’t a bird in sight.  

will in the tower of nero: we should go on a date to paris

will in tsats: i'm scared of demonic birds that look like pigeons

paris:

[kitten4sannie]

imprint

pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…” 

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…” 

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 

-

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…” 

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?” 

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…” 

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?” 

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?” 

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?” 

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 

-

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.” 

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 

“I do…” 

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.” 

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…” 

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?” 

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”  

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 

“Yes, please.” 

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Weird Strange Warmth, Thailand

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 1 of 12 - Oh it’s fucking great. What a fantastic start! It’s a fun cast too. I adore seeing all of the familiar faces. This is a lot more fun than Kidnap (sorry GMMTV, do better). I mean both shows are serving the same kind of concept but with completely different energy. I love that War is playing phi in this series. I think it suits him much better. In fact. I really like these rolls for this pair. I think they’re gonna knock it outta the park. I am so happy this is good. I wanted it to be good. And it’s good!

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 8 of 12 - Oh no! He read the journal. No snooping! Well I guess they needed to get some tension for these 2 from somewhere, otherwise they are too good to each other. Meanwhile, I’m not sure about the sides in this particular series. I don’t hate them. The laundry jealousy moment was pretty well done. But I'm not sold, either.

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 5 of 10 - I forgot that we were already on the ICONIC kidnapping section of the narrative. I miss Gu Hai's OBEY sweatshirt from the original. (Someday I will own that sweatshirt.) Hero should at least be wearing an OBEY T-shirt. Frankly I miss the harshness of the original too. Johnny Huang was just so massive, August doesn't have the physicality to carry this scene off. Nor does Thailand have the guts to push it into the creepy obsessive territory that made the first version so thrilling to watch.

The thing about the original kidnapping bit was we could feel Gu Hai's vibrating need to possess overriding everything else (including his sense of humor and frustration with himself). Gu Hai KNOWS kidnapping was an over reaction, he KNOWS he is being absurd, he just doesn't care. Because he doesn't just want to fuck Bai Luo Yin he wants to consume him.

We didn't get any of that from Hero. Hero, as a character, just isn't edgy enough to carry off a kidnapping, he's been softened too much in this new Thai form.

And then... An around the back of head not-kiss? Interesting choice. (Checks to see if BoomPeak are hanging out nearby.) Is that because the actor is under age? We in that head space for this whole show? (Pun intended.) Not sure how I feel about any of it.

It’s a much milder confession this time around, because it’s Thailand, but it’s still warped. So I’m still here for the weird strange warmth of this damn show. I did laugh a lot during this episode. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 2 of 12 - Oh I am very much enjoying this.

"You’re the worst kidnapper I ever ever met" is an apt accusation.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 7 of 12 - I kinda enjoyed the little side romance story (wealthy writer intellectual + poor local salt-of-the-earth boy = Love Seaing all over my damn screen). It came outta nowhere but... okay.

I honestly have no idea what’s going on with this show. But the kisses are nice. And I pretty much like all of the couples. It’s wild how disjointed it is but simultaneously how pretty. It’s like Star Hunter got hold of Mame’s budget and aesthetic. 

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - Boyfriend era to the max. Production is still ignoring the whole "dreaming the future" POINT OF THIS SHOW.

The Trainee (Sun YT) ep 11 of 12 - Jane is VERY COOL. Like tay-style cool… as it were. I like their dynamic when they're given one to play with. It’s the rest of this show I don’t enjoy. 

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 2 of 5 - It cute. Bit odd but cute. I like the language play, of course. It’s an interesting pair to watch flirt because it’s all language play so that's fun but otherwise, I'm not convinced.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 7-8 of 12 - This BL doesn’t drink from the water bottle to show off its neck. It quietly hands you the water bottle and expects you to understand that is not an act of generosity but of polite distancing. It's about the delicacy of the messaging, and the way themes are conveyed with such nuance.

This story is entirely about the two of them figuring out about each other, and then trying to be what the other person needs based on that information. It means they (and therefore we) are on this journey of discovering affection together. It's brilliant.

I must talk about the physical acting of these two for a second. That scene where they’re fighting over the book and then fall into the pool. That was one take. That’s amazing. These two are really fucking stellar not only at acting but hitting their marks. And let's be clear, that is NOT the same thing. I bet they both have stage training.

Define irony: watching two abandoned kids counsel their respective parents through abandonment issues.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 6 of 10 - It is stupid cute and utterly charming. They are total boyfriends. It’s just that one of them wants to be and one of them assumes they already are. Actually, nevermind boyfriends, they’re married.

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 12fin - It made me whimper a lot because they’re both hurting so much. But in the end it was... fine.

Summation

The compassionate story of a college kid going deaf and the one boy he can hear. I love this manga and was let down by the first adaptation (Silhouette of Your Voice), so I was expecting a lot from this BL. I expected the soundscapes in this one to be fantastic, and the were, but I didn’t expect the filming to be something special too. But it really is. The acting is great too. But the story? It was just fine. They spent far too much time on the build to a relationship, then wallowed in their separation and a problematic girl character, when they should have been showcasing Taichi's character arc and his capacity for connection. Perhaps Japan should pass this one off to Thailand, It's a soft story centering on "food as love" so they might do better with it. I am, yet again, disappointed. 8/10 but I want to give it a 7/10

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 9-10 of 12 - It’s fine. it’s cute. I enjoyed getting some backstory. More of the sides, please.

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 7 - Honestly, why don’t they just call this entire series The Cheating Diaries and have done with it? I’m only watching it because there’s basically nothing else from Korea right now. But I’m generally mad about it. Including the fact that everybody is so pretty and the acting is so good in the series, but the stories are so terrible.

It's airing but...

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Happy of the End (Japan Tues Gaga) - A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL and it's exactly as expected. I do not like it at all. And ya know what? There is plenty airing. DNF 

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever (Korea iQIYI & Viki) 6 eps - Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, HoTae & DongHee, return for a spin off backstory show.

It started out fantastic. And it was a relief to have a good Korean BL finally back on my screen, even a high angst one. But I did spend a lot of time trying trying to figure out whether they’re going to rehash or reboot from the previous series. Are we in Between Us territory or Don't Say No or (heaven forbid) To My Star 2?

None of the above, it turns out.

This was a pure prequel about lost first love. As such, it has no real finale beyond what we got in ULS. Which, for this pair, wasn't satisfying. Putting my disappointment over this aspect aside, it is enjoyable on the strength of the characters, actors, and chemistry (if not story). Yes I said chemistry, the kissing is fantastic, sometimes KBL can do that. This one featured the "teach me to kiss trope"!!!! Plus language play. Both favorites of mine. It is all angst, ache, repression, and miles of subtext. It did fudge the ending by not skipping forward and over the events in ULS to depict what happened next (what, no year long time jump when we actually need it, Korea?) It's a worthy companion piece, but should be watched BEFORE ULS for maximum satisfaction, and even then you're going to be left feeling like HoTae & DongHee's relationship was never adequately discussed or depicted in order to achieve resolution.

The little cameo of my baby in ep 5 was much appreciated. But the motorcycle should’ve been set up a little bit more. Of course I wanted it to be about them getting together after the events in the first series. But this was all backstory from start to finish. And while it was good backstory, it wasn’t ultimately satisfying for these characters. Still it’s a good little series. 8/10 

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging. It's just taking me some time. This isn't really a bingable show, not for me anyway. It's A LOT to take all at once. No new one this week.

4 Minutes (Gaga) Ended - Spies reported in to say the ending was not-exactly-unhappy and mostly lackluster. I'm torn over whether to watch. My natural disinclination to binge, meets my dissatisfaction with wishy-washy, is going up against my love for fabulous high heat and pretty pretty men.

Mitsuya-sensei no keimakutekina ezuke finished and it’s reported to be solid. Age gap treated with respect. I'm curious, so I'll check it out. Not doing very well on binging and catching up but it's on the docket...

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming Sept 2024:

9/15 Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) 15 eps - Remake of the original. I'm scared too.

9/15 Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - Assistant to a player boss who is in love with that boss decides to quit to save himself. The boss then makes a move. (A gay What's up with Secretary Kim?)

9/17 Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 10 eps - Lawyer and a con artist meet at a bar, pair up, fall in love.

9/28 Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ?? eps - oh I don't know just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Love a teach me to kiss, teach me to fuck, whatever moment. (I Saw You In My Dreams sides)

Not gonna lie. I laughed. Addicted.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 26

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You fall asleep somewhere between the Humphrey Bogart classic and the Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan romcom. It all blends together inside your eyelids as the world glazes over behind the wall of your subconscious. The black-and-white and vibrant technicolor merge and storm around the images of reality; a courthouse, the smell of grass, and a constricting pressure around your middle. 

A rippling sensation spreads down your thigh as you slowly rouse from sleep. The worn couch cushions have you stiff as you lay on your side, one leg extended as warmth rests just above your knee. Your eyes slit as the TV continues to play, an early morning news show localised to another district. You yawn and scratch your ear as the world comes into focus. 

You don’t remember laying down. You only know one moment you were nestled into the corner and the next, you’re waking up like this. You fell another tickle on your leg and look down at the weight there. Steve’s hand lays on your thigh carelessly as his head hangs back over the back of the couch, his knees wide as his body is slack. He snores up at the ceiling, his other hand on your ankle. 

You turn slowly, careful not to disturb him as you pull your leg away from him. He wakes anyway, his head jerking up as he latches onto your calf, squeezing before he lets you go, and grumbles as he rubs his cheeks. He shakes his head. 

“Mm, oh, morning already,” he mutters as he leans forward, reaching back to touch his lower back, “umph,” he leans against the armrest, “good new, at least, my couch is a lot comfier.” 

He chortles and slides to the edge of the cushion. His jaw tenses before he stands, stretching his legs straight under him as he shifts from one foot to the other. He angles so you can only see his back as he rolls his shoulders. He tugs at the front of his pajamas then glances back at you. 

“Sweetie, you okay?” He asks. 

You nod as you hug your knees and stare down at the couch. The old floral pattern is worn out and you can feel the springs poking up. Still, the idea of getting rid of it is unsettling. 

“This was my grandma’s couch,” you murmur. 

“Aw, I know, sweetie, sorry, I didn’t mean--” he nears and sits back down, dragging his knuckle up your pant leg, toying with the fabric as he watches you, “you must’ve loved her, huh?” 

“I... yeah,” you shrug. 

“If you wanna keep it, how about we put it in your room?” 

“What?” you tilt your head, “my room?” 

“Well, yeah, you can take the guest room. Makes sense, right? Lots more room there. We’ll have to toss a few things but we’ll make it work. And you can put your art stuff in the studio, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“Mm, okay, I guess, I...” you look down at the couch then at him. “You can get rid of it.” 

“Hm?” 

“The couch,” you turn, slipping away from him. “It’s old.” 

“If it means something to you.” 

“Not really,” you stand and shuffle away from him. “I’m going to get dressed.” 

“Right, uh, yeah,” the coach groans beneath him as he stands again, “I’ll check on mom.” 

There’s stolid silence lingering between you, as if he expects a response. You just continue on to the doorway and he clears his throat.  

“Got some running around to do today, calls to make,” he says, “gotta get at em.” 

You nod and hum but offer him nothing else. You’re tired and disoriented by the disjointed night. Your head is brittle from the lack of sleep and the uncomfortably thin couch cushions. 

“Make sure you come and have breakfast with us, huh? I’ll be going into town soon to sort out the bill with hospital and ask about nursing options.” 

“Okay,” you utter and turn down the hallway. 

It’s a lot. You don’t think you could deal with it alone. It almost makes you thankful for all of it, yet it all still feels very strange. 

🏠

You offer to clean up after breakfast as Steve gets ready to leave and your mom reclines on the sectional in the front room. She looks out of it, more than you’ve ever seen her. She was quiet as you ate and looked sickened by each bite. She almost begged Steve to let her lay down. 

As Steve grabs his keys, he seems reluctant to leave. It’s as if he wants you to say something, to do something, but you can’t figure out his expectations. That will be a new worry. No longer do you have to keep your mother happy, but her husband will be just another task. 

The front door closes as you scrub and rinse. You forego the dishwasher and make sure to handwash each dish, taking your time if only to keep busy. You dry up and stack the plates away, put the glasses in neat rows, and sort out the utensils. 

You go to check on your mom. Her eyes are closed and her hand is on her chest. She looks so still you can’t even see her breathing. You cross the room and hover just on the other side of the arm rest, staring at her. Your heart patters nervously as you stare at her chest. 

“What do you want?” She growls and opens a single eyelid. 

“N-nothing, just... checking on you. You... want a coffee?” You offer, hoping to appease her with a dose of caffeine. 

“Should,” she yawns and frames her forehead with her thumb and fingers, leaning against the side of the couch, “goddamn, I’m so tired.” 

You briskly return to the kitchen. You use what grounds are left over in the fancy grinder. You’ve never used one before and it kind of scares you. You measure them out and put the water on, waiting before the machine as you bob on your feet. 

When at last you have enough for a mug, you pour the coffee and add the cream as your mother likes it. As you come out, you hear her snoring. Her arm is slung over her face as her mouth hangs open and her breath catches in her throat. You know better than to wake her so you leave the cup on the coffee table and retreat. 

You’re too restless to stay inside. This isn’t your home. No matter how Steve tries to convince you, you just can’t get used to the idea. He might be nice but it just doesn’t feel right. It’s all so fast. Too fast. 

You sit on the top step and stare out at the street. You cup your chin and watch the sky. The clouds are wispy and curl into each other as the sun blazes down. Your vision blurs as the intense lights causes your eyes to water and you stare into the endless above. 

You glance over at your mom’s house. You want to run over and hide away in your room. You can’t. You have to be there for mom at least until Steve comes back. 

As figure strolls up along the walk and your eyes flick up. You brace yourself for the disproving glare of an HOA minion but instead, find a friendly face. Peter smiles as he stops in front of your mom’s gate and puts his hand on the door. He sees you and waves. 

“Hey, what’re you doing over there?” He asks as he jiggles the gate then strides towards Steve’s house. 

“Um...” you drone and shrug, standing as he nears the edge of Steve’s lawn. You meet him at the low gate and stop across from him, “I sort of... I think I live here now.” 

“You think? Sort of?” He muses. 

“Yeah, uh, my mom... got married?” 

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he chuckles. “Everything okay?” 

You turn your lips downward and turn out your hands, “sure.” 

“Wow, I’m convinced,” he says dryly. 

“Sorry, I--” 

The toot of a car horn interrupts you and Peter turns to watch as Steve pulls into the drive. Your chest thumps wildly. You’re not doing anything wrong but you feel like you are. 

He gets out and puts a hand up. He comes around the corner of the fence and approaches Peter, “hey, kiddo, you making friends?” 

Steve’s eyes are focused on Peter even as he speaks to you. The shorter, younger man faces him and offers a hand, “hello, sir, I’m Peter. Old friend.” 

“Oh?” Steve’s eyes scale up and down Peter’s figure, “she never mentioned.” 

“Well, just moved back to the neighbourhood, you know?” Peter grins, his eyes twinkling as if something’s funny. Steve peers between the two of you.  

“Mm, that’s nice,” Steve shakes his hand and you see his knuckles pale as he shakes it firmly, “Steve.” 

“New dad, got it,” Peter chirps and the older man’s cheek ticks. 

“Mm,” he squints as his square jaw clenches, “well, Pete,” he nearly spits, “her mom’s not doing too well so she’s a bit busy. Aren’t you, kiddo?” 

He looks at you and you look at Peter. You nod and look away guiltily, “yeah.” 

“Well then, Pete,” Steve releases Peter’s hand and claps his shoulder, “think you should be on your way.” 

“Right,” Peter nods and turns to you, “sorry to hear about your mom. Hope she feels better. See ya round.” He puts up three fingers in a half-wave, “see ya, Steve.” 

He steps past Steve, brushing close as he does, and marches off with a spring in his step. The older man turns to glare after him. You don’t know why he’s so bothered, Peter’s nice enough. Well, maybe Peter isn’t the issue. 

“Sorry, mom’s sleeping so I came out here--” 

“Come on,” he interjects as he lets himself through the gate, “did you give her her meds?” 

You frown as you scurry ahead of him. You didn’t. You thought he had. Oh no. 

[taintandviolent]

bend without breaking ; Jimmy Darling x reader

summary and word count: 4.4K! requested by @sugarr-and-spicee. you get jealous of Maggie Esmeralda, and decide to give Jimmy a taste of his own medicine. Angst, smut and a little fluff ensues.

w a r n i n g s: contortionist!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, angst, jealousy themes, rough sex, alcohol mention, clunky writing, uhhhhhhhh Jimmy being real handsy and kinda' manhandling reader a bit. maggie esmeralda hate.

a/n: written partially at work, so if it's clunky or disjointed I apologize!! divder by cafekitsune!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here!

It's not like you owned him or anything. It's not even like he really even cared about you outside of the scope of the general, amiable 'member of the troupe' kind of relationship. Now, of age, he flirted with you casually, like he did all the girls, but you, as delusional as it may have been, thought you had something special – because boy, oh boy, did you care about him. You were obsessed with Jimmy Darling, in all ways possible. 

You'd grown up alongside him, from the age of sixteen when you got kicked out for a plethora of reasons, and ran away to the traveling freak show that was opportunely in town. It had taken the owner, Elsa Mars, almost all day to be convinced, but when you bent over backwards, putting your head through your legs and pleaded with her upside down, a sly smile spread across her thin, aging lips.

You thought that Jimmy might’ve fancied you – that was until Maggie came along. The liar. The fraud. The insolent little brat that she was. She’d taken a liking to Jimmy, and seemed to snatch up every second he was alone – something that you used to do. He had fallen for her fortune teller act, but you certainly hadn’t. Your aunt had been a fortune teller and had possessed a true and genuine gift. This broad did nothing but spin silly little tales about misfortune and good luck, generic things that any person could identify with. 

You’d decided to test the waters one hot summer afternoon. It was before the show, and Jimmy was preoccupied setting up the cash box. With your skirt in your hand, swishing it back and forth, you strolled up to him feeling as giddy as ever. It was rare that you didn’t feel bubbly when you were around him – he had that effect on you. Before you spoke, you took in his appearance; a sheen of glistening sweat covered his bare, tanned shoulders, his caramel-coloured locks hung in a cluster on his forehead, and his dark, brown eyes swept over the cash as he counted it, arranging the tickets neatly next to the box. 

“Hey Jimmy,” you cooed. “Need any help?”

Without looking up, he replied: “Nah, doll. I’m just about finished.” 

“Well, maybe I could help you with whatever you’re doing next…” 

“If I need ya’, I’ll find ya, sweetheart.” 

“Or you could find Maggie.” 

“She’s in her trailer.” 

Your heart quivered and sunk, cracking like a delicate porcelain vase. He already knew; he’d already found her. 

“Of course she is, and of course you’d know that.” 

He grinned crookedly, exhaled out of his nose and shut the cash box, turning the key. He looked at you then, with a pointed gaze. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean? Huh?” 

Your brows rose high on your head, feigning innocence. He, of course, with all his charm and wit, saw right through it. You didn’t care. “Oh, nothing , Jimmy. Nothing at all.” 

“Sure, dollface, sure. You wouldn’t be jealous, now would ya?” 

“Of her? I’d be more jealous of a drowned rat in a sewer than I would be of Maggie.”

With that, you stomped off, your steps crunching the tall grasses that covered the field you called home for this month. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks had flushed. Feeling like a fool, you marched right to your trailer, taking great care to slam the door as hard as you could. 

You spun around, facing the door as thought he was behind it. “How dare he think I’m jealous of her ! That horrible woman, and he thinks – oooooh! ” You clenched your fists, shaking them at the door. 

It had taken you two hours to calm down. Two hours of pacing your small bedroom, fussing with your appearance and reading a magazine you’d picked up in town last week. It also took you two hours to come up with what you thought was the revenge plan of the century. 

An hour later, you found yourself at the local diner, schmoozing with a cute young man in his early twenties. You’d batted your fluffy lashes and pouted your lips and with hardly a few words, you had him wrapped around your manicured finger. He’d bought you a milkshake, which you were nursing, taking small sips in between answers.

“You’re sure you won’t run out of this diner screaming?” 

“No - no. I promise I won’t.” 

“I’m a travelling performer… I’m only here for a few more weeks. I work at the Freak Show in the field down the road.”

“What do you do?” He asked, cautiously, looking you over your body with a suddenly very critical eye. To most, you looked normal . Sure, you were a little longer and lithe than some girls your age, but you didn’t fit the bill of a freak. That was until you bent and contorted your body into the most mystifying, inappropriate positions that they had ever seen a woman in. 

“I’m a…” you leaned in, dipping your chin to your chest, keeping your gaze sternly locked on his. “A… contortionist.” 

“A what?” 

Oh, what a dumb bunny . He was cute, you’d give him that; his pretty, sea-blue eyes, pink lips and dirty blonde hair that had been perfectly styled. The clincher was that he had two very nice hands – strong, and veiny. The truth of the matter was that you preferred Jimmy Darling’s hands – but he didn’t need to know that. To him, this would be a threat, and if everything went according to plan, Jimmy would be red with anger, furiously jealous and looking as though he must bust a vein. 

“I’m flexible. Very flexible.” 

His eyes lit up. It was a predictable response, and one you’d seen before. Men were grotesque, they liked the idea of bending a woman into unique positions like a jointed doll, just to see her body in a fresh, new way. They liked the thought of fucking you while you were bent over backwards, folded up neatly. 

The waitress brought your food; you’d only ordered a side of fries, which you dipped into the remainder of your shake. A habit that you’d learned from Amazon Eve – it was easily the most delicious combo you’d ever tasted. As you two ate, the conversation drifted naturally. You laid on the charm heavy. Every other response contained a compliment, telling him how handsome he was, how you’d never seen a boy as cute, so on and so forth. He fell for it hook, line and sinker. And you. 

Afterwards, he paid and held the door open for you. As any gentleman should, he wasn’t earning any points with you. Only one man could… 

“Can I come see your show?” He asked, playing idly with your fingers.

You reached over and yanked one of the flyers from the nearby telephone pole, folded it in fours, and pressed your lips to the paper, leaving a crimson mark. You tucked it in the man’s shirt pocket. 

“See you tonight. Tell ‘em that I sent you. Front row seats.” 

He stammered out an agreement, looking flustered. With a wink, you were sauntering back down the sidewalk. The great big sun, orange and warm, was making its heavy, tired descent back into the horizon, and you quickened your pace. The last thing you needed was Elsa being upset at your disappearance.

As you made your way back to the field, you hummed the song that was playing in the diner and skipped. There was something to be said about the butterflies in your stomach, though you couldn’t discern whether or not they were for the fact that you were going to see that man in the audience. You suspected not. Jimmy Darling would be jealous and that was the thought that sent you. 

Later that night, as the calliope played, your hands glided up over the curves of your thighs, and over your sides, gracefully, like a burlesque performer teasing a reveal. With one movement, you brought your leg up to your head, pulling it tight. A few oooh’s and chortling chuckles from men in the audience dotted the room. With floaty, delicate movements, you slid down into the splits, never losing your bright smile in the process. More pleased reactions and some applause. You crossed the stage in backbends, working the crowd as they cheered for you. 

At the final backbend, you sunk to your stomach, laying on the floor. You were just nearly at the edge of the stage, and directly in front of you was your diner boy. His eyes were locked on you, enchanted, enrapt and obsessed like a dog staring at a fresh cut of sirloin. With a come-hither smile, you reached out and swept your hand along his jawline before tapping his chin with a single finger. You sucked in a deep breath and brought your legs forward, curving your spine around until your feet were planted on either side of your face. 

The crowd gasped in horror, and little girls shielded their eyes, expecting to hear the dull crack of your spine as it snapped in two. But Diner Boy was fascinated, and still staring at you. He was looking at your body, the unnatural curve of it, and the way that you’d brought your cunt somehow closer to his face. As the seconds passed, he looked more and more like a dog to you, hungry and slobbering. 

You smiled, scanning the crowd again. Your eyes drifted to the corner of the stage, where Jimmy stood against one of the support poles, arms crossed. At least, despite Maggie, he’d retained his habit of watching every performance you did – though this one, he didn’t look as delighted with. You could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were pointed down in an angry frown, his eyes narrowing at the little things you did to entice Diner Boy. You grinned at Jimmy, acknowledging him and tapped the toes of your shoes childishly against the stage before unfolding your body again. 

The rest of your show finished without a hitch, and Diner Boy played his part very well. He took in every moment, and at one point, when you reached your hand out to him, he interlaced his fingers with yours. A nice touch. When you looked back to where Jimmy was, he was gone. You smiled inwardly, prideful and gratified by the way your devious little plan had gone.

As soon as you went off-stage, Jimmy grabbed you by your arm, gripping your bicep hard. Almost too hard. You winced. “What was that about?” 

“What? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Casually, you yanked your arm from his grip and began to polish your nails on the fabric of your shirt. 

“Cut it out! You know what. Who was the guy in the audience? You sure were payin’ him a lot of attention.” 

His words, though loud, were a little slurred, his breath smelled of alcohol; you could tell that he'd taken a few gulps of liquid confidence before approaching you. You didn't mind; your father used to say that the truth came out with booze. You hoped that would remain true with Jimmy and he'd spill his guts to you.

“Just someone I met at the diner, Jimmy. Why are you getting so heated over him? You flirt with girls in the audience all the time.” 

“It’s part of the act, doll! You know I have to act a certain way, I can’t –” 

“Can’t what? Stand to love me?” 

Jimmy stopped abruptly, his mouth hanging slack. His chest rose and fell with hot, angry breaths.

"Just because I can bend without breaking doesn't mean my heart can, Jimmy."

“Dollface, wait.” 

“No.” 

You pushed yourself through the flaps of the tent, storming off towards your trailer. Jimmy followed close behind, calling your name.

“Doll, c’mon, hang on a minute!” 

“No, Jimmy. Maybe Maggie can hang on a minute .” 

“Hey!” He bellowed, catching your arm again. You pressed your back against your trailer’s door, again, yanking it away from him and crossing them tightly across your chest. Your heart thudded against your ribs, deeply delighted at the fact that he was chasing you, pursuing you with an overbearing jealousy. 

“What.” 

“Can we just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “...talk about this a second?” 

“Sure.” You snapped. 

Jimmy’s black coffee eyes scanned over you, searching your face for some semblance of softness. He found nothing but a tightly pressed line of lips and a cold gaze.  

“What’s your problem, huh? I can’t flirt with other guys?” you finally asked, your stern voice shattering the awkward silence. 

He shook his head, almost sheepishly. “I don’t like seein’ it. I know they don’t care about you.”

“And you do?” 

Jimmy swallowed again, forcing the lump in his throat down. For the past several years, you’d been a constant in his life, by his side, and taking all his showman flirtations in stride. You’d never once fired back at him, and he thought that it was because you could care less about what he did or who he flirted with. Against the voices in his head, Jimmy pacified the anger in his gut by leaning forward to crush his lips against your red ones, tasting the sweetness of whatever gum you’d been chewing before the show. 

He lingered there a moment before his conjoined digits made their way up your waist, gripping it softly. He waited for you to soften, to ease into his kiss, but you didn’t. You stood your ground, arms still pressed against your breasts. You intentionally filled your mind with thoughts of Maggie Esmeralda and how close he’d gotten with her. You thought of all the times that he flirted with girls in the audience, damn near kissing them with how far he’d lean off stage during his song. 

“Baby, please…” You blinked. His low, smooth voice pulled you out of your hateful thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, you murmured, “I want to hear you say it, Jimmy.” 

“Say what?” 

“You know what.” 

The muscles in his jaw fluttered as he clenched them, grinding his teeth hard. Jimmy spent his whole life being put on the spot, but it never got any easier. Especially not in front of you – the girl he’d fallen hardest for. He inhaled, puffing his chest out and mustering up all the confidence he had. 

“I don’t like seein’ you flirt with other guys… ‘cause… I wish it was me.” 

“Who’s jealous now, huh?”

“I am.” He looked at your lips, then back up to your eyes. A cricket started off somewhere in the field, and your attention flitted off towards it, only to have Jimmy’s large, warm hand bring you back. “Hey.” 

He kissed you again, his strong tongue darting out to taste you again, his plush lips closing around your bottom lip to suck it gently. This time, an undulating warmth erupted deep in your core. You couldn’t help but melt into him and your arms relinquished their position, dropping heavily to your sides. Your fingers reach forward to claw at his shirt, just above the waistline of his jeans and instead latch onto his belt loops, pulling him closer at the hips.

You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, swirling your tongue with his. Mingled with his personal taste, he tasted like warm honey and the liquor you smelled on his breath earlier. Not always admirable, it was something that you knew him to dabble in when his mother wasn’t looking. More often than not, he’d sneak some booze, saying it calmed his nerves before and after shows. You didn’t mind; in fact, you wondered what it would be like to have a drunk Jimmy, sloppy and unable to control himself around you. 

“I’ve waited a long time for this…” you broke the kiss, breathlessly whispering over his lips.

“Me too, honey. Me too.”  

Keeping your eyes on him, you blindly felt behind your back, where the handle of your trailer was digging into your soft flesh. You yanked it open, and took a fistful of Jimmy Darling’s shirt, tugging him inside. 

It was like someone had fired a gun and Jimmy was a racehorse. He charged at you, his big, conjoined fingers wrapping tightly around your hips on either side, kneading the flesh like dough. He kissed you again, hot and in a hurry, like you only had a few minutes to do whatever it was you were going to do. With your hands on his pectoral muscles, you pushed him off gently, just enough to get a look at his face. 

He, being mere centimeters from your breasts, wasn’t looking at your face. His attention was clearly elsewhere. A low, rumbling groan vibrated through his throat as he craned forward to kiss your skin. 

“Jimmy, baby, slow down…” 

Between feverish kisses to your neck and chest, he muttered: “I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

He had you where he wanted you, after so long, and he wasn’t going to let that slip through his fingers this time. Jimmy muscled you backwards, urging you towards the small hallway where your bedroom was. He was all hard-working muscle. Having done set-up for so many years  had lined his body in bulky strength, the kind of strength that you only get from hard labour. So, when he started guiding you backwards, you could do little to protest. 

“Jimmy, my god, what’s the rush?” 

“I want you bad, baby… bad.” As proof, he urged his hips against yours; the hot rigidness of his erection pressing into your hip bone. You let out a surprised mewl, and wrapped your arms around his warm neck, fingers slipping into his short-cut hair. His lips found yours again as the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. He kissed once and playfully, shoved you down. You bounced twice on the bed, looking up at him with a heavy, wanton gaze. 

“I’m all yours, Jimmy Darling. All yours.” 

Jimmy didn’t say anything, just sunk to his knees, his hands finding the stretchy hem of your sequined shorts. He pulled them down in a swift jerk, before moving right back up to your waist. Those striped tights were next. He rolled them down off your thighs and over your knees; which fell apart, exposing the already-damp satin of your underwear. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he worked.

He was in too much of a hurry to bother taking off your shirt, instead just gathering the fabric and pushing it up over your breasts, letting them bounce free. He may have been raised a gentleman, but he wasn't immune to the tantalizing sight of some tits -- especially when they belonged to a girl he'd been lusting over for months now. 

"God damn, baby. Look at those." 

You couldn't help but blush, feeling your cheeks grow hot at his compliments. You bowed your head, casting your eyes to the floor. You were so stern before -- what had happened? Silly question. You knew; he was undressing you in your trailer, all that confidence had melted away underneath his strong, fused fingers.

“Jimmy, promise you won’t flirt with Maggie anymore…” 

He scoffed. “She’s nothin’ to me, honey. Gals like her are a dime a dozen.” He pressed his lips to your kneecaps before kissing his way up your thighs.  You whimpered, your head lolling heavily back between your shoulders. You thought about revealing that she wasn’t a real fortune teller, but Jimmy’s mouth neared your cunt, and the thought disintegrated. 

“...my god…” you breathed, your lids drifting shut. Jimmy nuzzled his face and lips against your soft mound, the hard bridge of his nose teasing at your soaked slit.

“You like that, baby?” 

You nodded, again, whimpering. He pressed his fingers slowly against your soft mound, over the fabric. Feeling the puddle that had settled into your underwear made Jimmy clench his teeth, hissing loud through them. With one hand, Jimmy maneuvered your underwear down your thighs. Once they were off, he tossed them carelessly behind him – you’d find them a day later in your kitchen sink. Now exposed, you gazed at him sheepishly, for the first time since he'd started kissing you. His eyes fixated on the wetness that glistened in the low-light of the trailer.

"I had no idea..." he said, the pad of his thumb sweeping over your clit with just enough pressure to make you writhe in lustful agony, aching desperately. 

"No idea what?" You breathed.

"To be honest with you, that you liked me that much..." 

You leaned forward, taking his chin into the palm of your hand. You stroked it gently, falling deep into his eyes. "Jimmy... I've wanted you since before I could have you." 

You looked on at his face in admiration as the thoughts played out, the realization of what you meant dawning on him. He grinned his bright, lopsided grin and his large hands slid up your legs, caressing the outside of your thighs thoughtfully.

"Baaaby," he hummed before dipping his head down. You gasped, your lids drifting shut in ecstasy as you felt his breath rush over you -- you knew what was coming; one deep sweep of his tongue along the length of your cunt, between your folds to taste you, to savour your silken wetness. Burying his nose in your pussy, Jimmy alternated between using the strong tip of his tongue to flick at your sensitive spots and lapping at your clit with a flattened, thick tongue. Adventurous and hungry, he'd venture further down to get a mouthful of your sweet, heady wetness and would murmur how good you tasted into your cunt -- the vibrations of his voice made you shiver every time. 

After a few minutes of this, you felt the inner core of your legs begin to shake every time he made contact with your clit, your tummy tightening in a warning clench. You reached forward, gripping his head on either side, yanking him softly off your cunt.

To your relief, he straightened up, chin glistening with your fluids. He swallowed you down, growling in satisfaction; the intimacy of tasting your lover's ejaculate was unparalleled, and when your eyes finally opened, they met Jimmy's lust blown ones. He was ready, and so were you. 

"Fuck me," you said, nodding. 

Jimmy made quick work of undressing, pulling his briefs down over his ass cheeks before he lined his red-tipped cock up with your leaking slit, bumping into the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times before he stuck you. He didn't ease in, just bottomed out and you let out a pleasurable yowl, tossing your head back at the sensation of being so full as his thick cock violated you, slipping against your slick walls. He found a rhythm, thrusting his cock up into you as deep as he could. You clenched hard around him, pulling a groan from deep within his chest. He pulled out, looking down at your sopping wet and now reddened cunt.

"'Hoh' my god, baby... do that again." 

He gripped your hips hard, pulling you roughly onto his cock. You clenched again, swallowing him into you. The tip disappeared inside you, hot and leaking, and he held himself there, completely engrossed in the sensations. You clenched again, pulling him further in and Jimmy's head fell back, his hips bucking hard out of instinct. You both found a hurried rhythm, grinding and rolling against each other with voracious desire. 

As he thrust into you, Jimmy watched you intently, holding onto you tight, his thumbs working your hips, kneading them in small circles. He looked starved for your image, the way that his eyes climbed from your hips to your breasts to your face and back down again. You let out a particularly ecstasy-ridden moan, and Jimmy dug his fingers into your hips. 

Rocked back and forth with the strength of his thrusts, you look down, watching as his thick cock pumped in and out of you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and Jimmy's dark eyes followed them as they moved.   

"Huuuh... I'm gonna' lose it, baby... you feel so god damned good..."

"Give it to me," you coax, moaning deeply. His thrusts get faster, more feverish and uneven, and before you can say another word, his expression contorted, brows pulling together in pleasured agony. You felt the warmth of his cum as he filled you up with a few spurts, but kept pumping until it leaked out the sides, groaning deeply. Your orgasm raced towards you quickly after that, pulsing around him in a hungry grip. 

With a heavy sigh, Jimmy pulled his softening cock from your cunt and flopped heavily onto the bed onto his back. Your chest rose and fell with every laboured breath, sweat streaming from every pore. Both of you, collapsed in lust, saying nothing, just enjoying the warm scent of sex that lingered in the air. Soon, your sappy gaze drifted from the ceiling to Jimmy. His fawn coloured hair clung to his forehead in sweaty clumps, his cheeks flushed. You'd done that. Made him jealous until he fucked you silly. You smiled inwardly, and adjusted your head on the small mattress. 

"Turn the fan on, Jimmy, it's hot." 

Jimmy leaned over, flipping the small metal switch. The fan rattled to life, blades spinning and washing your sweaty skin with a soft breeze of cooler air. He leaned back, enjoying the change in temperature. 

"I meant what I said, dollface. Maggie's nothin' to me now that we're uh..." 

You pressed your lips against his softly, smiling into the kiss. "We're what?" 

"Y'know..." 

"Fucking each other like teenagers?" 

"More than that, baby. More than that."

You weren't sure what that meant yet, but you weren't about to question a bit of it. You paused, furrowing your brows. You realized that Diner Boy had probably expected to see you after the show, but you hadn't shown. You hadn't even thought about him, far too busy with Jimmy's lips to even remember he was there.

"What?" Jimmy asked, concerned.

"I wonder if he was waiting for me..."

"I hope he was, and I hope he figured out real quick that you weren't comin'."

You kissed him again, inhaling his scent. Jimmy hummed into your lips, pulling you atop of him, his face bright with adoration.

He stayed in your trailer that night, and you two fucked each other, explored each other's bodies repeatedly. When the morning sun peeked through your lacy curtains and your lids peeled apart, a yawn ripping through your mouth... you wondered if Maggie Esmeralda saw that coming.

[cuubism]

A continuation of this, wherein Hob told Dream about one of his secret 1689-era fantasies and Dream invited him to the Dreaming to make it real. Dom Dream, very nsfw.

--

Hob has been to Dream's palace in the Dreaming a few times before, but never has it felt like this.

Normally, those dreams feel particularly lucid, particularly clear. And he remembers them better than he remembers any others. Now, he still knows he's dreaming, knows where he is, but it has a gauzy feeling to it. The vaulted space, the cold marble floor, the darkness spilling in through the high stained glass windows, it has him dizzy, spinning with vertigo.

Then, Dream's hand low on his bare back. The silk slip of his robe as he wraps his arm around Hob to lead him along. It's all disjointed pieces: the vision of Dream's throne at the far end of the room, Dream's voice in his ear, come along, my Hob, you will be good, won't you? the brush of his lips, his fine fingers trailing up the back of Hob's neck, into his hair, as-- oh, they've reached the throne, gone up the stairs somehow, and Dream folds himself into the seat like he's made of silk himself, pulls Hob down by his hair so Hob kneels on the floor before him.

Dream's thighs frame his shoulders. His robe is thin enough that Hob can just about see his skin through it, can imagine how smooth it would be to the touch. God, Dream is so beautiful.

Hob looks up at him, and Dream takes his face between his hands, stroking his thumbs over Hob's cheeks, a fond and proprietary motion. "You are lovely," he says.

Hob has to bite back a whine. To hear that from Dream... and in the Dreaming, too, where everything Dream says has a ring of truth, where Hob yearns for him so deeply.

“It wounded me to see you in such a state,” Dream continues, voice low and soothing. “I trust you are feeling better now.”

Hob is much the same in this dream as he was in 1689, only he’s bathed, and his hair is clean and tied back, his trousers new and unstained, and he isn’t starving, he’s eaten recently, though he doesn’t remember what. His lord has taken such good care of him, Hob wants for nothing now.

His lord.

The thought rips an involuntary shudder from him. Yes. Dream is his lord. His lord who saved him.

“My Lord Dream,” he murmurs, and Dream’s eyes flash. Pleased. “You have treated me well. I feel much restored.”

“Good. For I have need of you.”

His hand slips back into Hob’s hair, grip firm but kind. For a moment, in the familiarity of Dream’s touch, Hob truly remembers where he is, what year he’s in. It’s like he shifts back and forth: one moment he is then, the next he is now, so they exist overlapping each other, both at once. He is in the dream of that time, he feels it, he believes it, but he never quite forgets that it is, in fact, a dream.

“I must host some unsavory visitors,” his lord says, holding Hob’s head lightly in one hand, untying his robe with the other. “Pay them no mind. Focus only on me.”

It’s not hard for Hob to focus on him. Especially when Dream lets his robe fall open just so, parting only over his thighs so that he is bared to Hob but still covered elsewhere. Properly dressed as a king entertaining petitioners must be. In a sense.

His prick lies soft against his thigh. Hob stares, and wants. Long has he wanted his stranger. His king. His would-be, could-be lover of a future lifetime.

“What would you have from me, my lord?” he asks, voice rough. “I would please you. With whatever I can give.”

“I want your mouth,” Dream says. Each word is distinct, sure, and demanding. “Warm me, soothe me, while I conduct these unfortunate affairs.”

“Please,” Hob breathes. Dream needn’t demand it. Hob wants to. More than anything. He needs to.

“Look at me, Hob,” Dream orders. When Hob tips his head back to meet his gaze, he finds that Dream’s expression is warm. Fond. He pets Hob’s hair. Thumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Hob does, and Dream lays his soft cock on Hob’s tongue.

Hob thinks, distantly, that he doesn’t usually remember tasting anything in dreams, but Dream now tastes as he does when they’re together in the waking world, whatever affectation of humanity he puts on there, sweat and musk and that cold clean taste that always lies on his skin, like nighttime air. He smells that way, too, crisp and alluring, and the very fact that Hob smells anything at all here makes the dream sharpen around him, grounds him with his knees on the marble and Dream’s diaphanous robe brushing his shoulders, the familiar weight of him on his tongue. 

“Good,” Dream praises him. “That’s all you need do. Be still. I will conduct my business.”

Hob can be still. He wants to be still for him, to be an anchor for Dream, and Dream for him. Hob can do this for him, after all his lord has done for him. He lets his eyes fall shut.

Footsteps sound behind him. Hob doesn’t hear whatever doorway Dream must have created open, or hear it close, only that there are now two people—beings—standing behind him in Dream’s throne room. The back of his neck prickles, and he shifts uncomfortably on his knees. He can’t help it, he grew up in dangerous times, he lived most of his life in dangerous times, having someone at his back always puts him a little on edge. Especially someone he knows isn’t a friend. But Dream pets him soothingly. He doesn’t speak, or look at him, just combs Hob’s hair back from his forehead. And Hob knows he has to trust Dream to keep the situation in hand. He’ll be rewarded for his trust.

“Emissaries of Hell,” Dream says, not quite so courteous as a greeting. “I trust the Lightbringer has good reason for requesting this audience.”

The two demons don’t seem to take note of Hob’s presence. Hob’s not sure if they’re used to this sort of thing or if they’re just too afraid of angering Dream to step out of line. He doesn’t seem particularly pleased to see them in the first place.

“Lucifer does not behave frivolously,” growls one of the demons. Dream huffs under his breath at that, loud enough for Hob to hear but not the demons. Some time, Hob wants to hear the story behind that. “We bring an important matter.”

“Convey it, then, that you might leave my realm quickly.”

The demons start talking, but Hob rapidly stops paying attention. At any other time, he’d likely find this all fascinating, but now he’s more focused on Dream, blissed out with the weight of Dream in his mouth. He doesn’t have to pay attention to what’s being said. That’s not his job. He’s here only to pleasure Dream.

He drifts. The stone floor digs into his knees, Dream’s fingers scratch lightly in his hair. Hob’s jaw starts to ache, but he doesn’t move from Dream’s cock. He doesn’t want to let him down, but more than that, it’s pleasant kneeling here, it’s peaceful, serving him, even when it starts to hurt.

He doesn’t know exactly how much time passes, kneeling there and warming Dream’s cock, Dream’s soothing voice rumbling above him, before a pause in the discussion has one of the demons remarking on Hob’s presence for the first time. “You have an obedient pet there, Lord of Dreams. Perhaps you ought to share. In the name of diplomacy.”

Unease shivers up Hob’s spine. He doesn’t want anyone else to touch him. Only Dream.

He almost pulls off to say so, but Dream's grip tightens in his hair in a way that’s anything but casual. “Perilously rude even to suggest it,” he says, voice the smooth crack of obsidian, and Hob can envision the way his eyes flash. “Perhaps you take poor care of your things in Hell, but I do not. Step—” it’s only then that Hob realizes they must have come closer— “back.”

If Dream’s voice is powerful in the Waking world, in the Dreaming it is something else entirely. It vibrates in the air with a power that suggests the very floor itself will throw them back if they do not obey.

In the Dreaming, Dream’s will shapes the world.

His will is the world.

Hob whimpers at the thought.

“Okay, okay,” says the demon, a trill of nerves in his voice. Hob can’t help but feel satisfied at the sound of it. “Don’t— don’t get worked up. Was just a thought is all.”

Dream doesn’t speak aloud, but his voice curls through Hob’s mind like a daydream. Worry not, dear one. I will not let anyone touch you. It settles him. Dream has this all in hand. Of course he does.

“You need not share your thoughts,” Dream says with derision. “In fact, I believe our business is concluded.”

With the quick flash of an opening door, the demons are gone, and they’re alone in the throne room again. Hob is still shivering with the power of Dream in that moment. He loves experiencing Dream in his element, on his throne.

“I grow tired of these games that Hell plays,” Dream says, half to Hob, half to himself. “Something more may have to be done.”

A hint of true irritation creeps into his tone, and Hob curls his tongue over the head of his cock, a soothing reminder that he can take what comfort he wishes. Dream’s grip in his hair softens. He gently pulls Hob back, his cock, just beginning to grow hard, slipping free, a line of spit trailing to Hob’s lips.

Dream frames his face in his hands, massaging the hinge of his jaw where it’s grown sore with his thumbs. Hob finally opens his eyes, meeting Dream’s heated, satisfied gaze. He’s been growing steadily harder as he services Dream, but that look sends arousal rushing through him. Oh, he’d do anything for that look, give anything to make his lord so proud of him. He lets out a low whine, and Dream shushes him, fingertips brushing over Hob’s wet lower lip.

“You have been very good, my pet,” Dream praises. “Very patient, and soothing to me. Tell me. Were you afraid?”

“No,” Hob whispers, throat too tight, too sore for full words. “No. I knew you would protect me. As you have before. My lord.”

Dream looks pleased. “And tell me,” he continues, “what do you dream of now?”

Hob dreams of a bed. Dream’s bed, in his palace chambers. Would his lord deign to have Hob there? To bring him into his private space, lay Hob out on his sheets, soothe his frustrations through Hob’s body, reward Hob for his service? He has brought Hob into his home, given him succor, but would he allow Hob in the space he holds most sacred?

He dreams of silk sheets, comfort so foreign to his current station in life, and Dream fucking him on them, pressing Hob’s body down, hands entwined, his teeth on the back of Hob’s neck. It wouldn’t be hard. Hob had prepared himself in his rooms beforehand; he had wanted to be ready to give his Lord Dream anything he wanted, for his lord takes such good care of him. Dream rescued him, brought him up from destitution, took him home and fed and clothed him, treated and touched him kindly, how could Hob not want to give himself to him, to let Dream have him? He had not known what his lord needed him for this evening but he had made himself wet and open and ready. Just in case. Now they ought to fulfill it. Hob wants to feel Dream inside him.

This is what you dream? Dream’s low voice sounds in his head, all around him. His teeth graze Hob’s ear, his hands are strong where he holds Hob’s down to the sheets, which slip like water under Hob’s body.

“Yes,” Hob whispers.

Very well then.

Dream pushes into him, ripping a gasp from Hob’s throat. He doesn’t linger, he moves quick and hard—Hob stoked his arousal with his mouth and now he will chase it. The power of him rolls over Hob in waves, flashes of feeling in a storm, his lips on Hob’s throat, the force of his hips pushing Hob up the bed, the slick sound of their skin meeting. Dream is all-encompassing in the Dreaming, around Hob and in him, so powerful Hob can do nothing but cave under him. Not that he wants to do differently. The hot length of him inside Hob is bliss, and oh, how he’s selfishly, weakly wanted someone to take over for him these past wretched years. Let his lord decide for him and use him. He takes better care of him than Hob does for himself.

Dream pulls him up onto his knees as his thrusts grow harder, faster. Hob bows his head to the sheets, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. It’s so good, God it’s so good. He feels hot all over and liable to snap, but he can’t, he doesn’t want to until Dream comes in him first.

“Please,” he begs, and Dream understands him, nails scratching over Hob’s back and digging into his hips as he holds him firm. He thrusts in deep, once, twice, then comes with sharp snap of his rhythm and a rumbling growl in his throat that Hob feels more than hears as warmth floods through him.

Dream pulls out then, and, quick as a snake, turns onto his back and slides between Hob’s spread legs, takes Hob’s cock in his mouth. Hob shouts and comes, mind whiting out with pleasure. Dream sucks on him until he’s dry, past the point where Hob’s squirming from overstimulation, whimpering for how Dream’s mouth is so good but too much.

Dream releases him, and Hob collapses onto his chest, Dream moving up the bed just in time to catch him. Hob mashes his face into Dream’s throat, panting for breath, and Dream makes a low, soothing purring noise that vibrates through Hob’s ribcage. He tangles his fingers into Dream’s hair, holding tight, trying to hang on to the nebulous reality of the Dreaming.

“Very good, my Hob,” Dream praises. “Are you well?”

His voice slides over and around Hob’s body like the silk of his sheets. Hob’s not entirely sure he knows where he is—is he really in the bed of his untouchable stranger, lifted from destitution by those fine hands? No, it’s only Dream—such that there is only Dream—only Dream playing with him. He thinks. Either way he feels good.

“I think we ought take this elsewhere,” Dream says, and Hob realizes belatedly that he never actually responded to him, too caught up in the music of the fantasy. It’s too confusing to open his mouth and do so now, everything is too fractured and dreamlike, he doesn’t know what’s real or not, though he’s struggling to care enough to determine it.

Dream’s sheer robe falls over his shoulders, soft as moths’ wings and heavier than it looks, drawing him under. He slides into warm water, hair floating up around his face, limbs going limp, closing his eyes. Floats, then surfaces again with the release of a held breath. Cool air tickles his skin, water streams down his cheeks, but the water he’s in remains warm, swirling in eddies around his chest, and the arms wrapped around him.

Dream. Pressed up against his back as they sit in the bath. The bath… in Hob’s bathroom. He thinks. Though it’s dark, only a single candle flickering where it sits on the counter, casting rings of warm light over the water—so it’s a bit hard to tell for sure. Besides, he was just dreaming, and now he isn’t. Probably. Gradually his mind starts clarifying the world around him.

“Going to start losing track of what’s dreams and what’s real with you,” he murmurs, and Dream hums, tucking his nose in against Hob’s shoulder.

“The distinction is not so firm as you think.” His voice bounces on the surface of the bathwater like the flickering candlelight. His hand winds through Hob’s hair, tugging lightly. “Nevertheless, I will remind you.”

“Not sure you’ve got the best grasp on it, love.”

Dream nips the side of his neck, an admonishment, then lays his tongue over the spot. Then says, “How are you feeling now?”

“Good.” He leans his head back further against Dream’s shoulder with a sigh that takes all the tension from his body. What little remained after Dream was through with him. “Really good.”

“Mmm. I am pleased, then.”

Pleased. Even here, the thought of Dream being pleased with him is a pleasant one. Light and satisfying. He feels right.

“My lord,” he says, trying the words in the waking and finding he likes the taste. It’s partly a tease, but partly not, and the way Dream’s arms tighten around him suggests the not. “Did I do well?”

“You did very well,” Dream says. “My Hob. You are a great comfort to me.”

“Helped you scare away those nasty demons?”

“Pay them no mind. They are but weak, simpering drones of their master.” He combs Hob’s wet hair back from his forehead tenderly. “But convenient pawns in our game.”

Hob laughs. “You usually use your magical statecraft as a backdrop for sexual role-play?”

“Only sometimes. If it makes for a good story.”

Hob turns to kiss his jaw. Like that, he can just make out Dream’s regal profile, blurred by proximity, and the glint of his eye in its starry, Dreaming darkness. God, but he is the most beautiful thing Hob has ever seen.

“In any case,” Dream continues, leaning into the brush of his lips, “I do find the matter unpleasant. But far more pleasant with you kneeling so patiently between my legs. You were exquisite like that. You took me so well. Perhaps I really should have taken you back to the Dreaming with me, after our meeting that year.”

“I wouldn’t have complained.”

Dream noses at Hob’s ear, breath tickling. Hob reaches up to run his fingers through Dream’s hair, holding him close.

“Each time you take me so well,” Dream rumbles. “Like you were waiting for me.”

“I think I was,” Hob murmurs. The low light and the fall into waking and Dream against him are all very dreamy, he still feels kind of delirious. It feels good. “I think I was waiting for you my whole life. Could’ve had me the day we met if you only stayed a moment longer.”

Hob was his the moment he saw him. His heart was Dream’s. He’d known it then and he still knows it. Hob then was brash and fierce and grasping and wouldn’t have wholly known what that feeling was that made him want to let his stranger push him to his knees. He’d have bucked against Dream’s grip, fought that sublime touch. But in the end, Dream could have done anything he wanted to him. Hob might have choked on it at first, but when Dream kept pushing he’d have swallowed it whole.

“Could I?” says Dream.

He thinks Dream might have enjoyed showing him exactly what he thought of Hob’s attitude. He had the glint of it in his eyes even in their brief encounter.

“Could,” Hob says, caught up in the thought of it. “God, you would have been so firm with me. I’d have pretended to hate it but really I’d have loved it.”

Dream’s hand winds into his hair and tugs lightly. “Yes, I believe you would have enjoyed a firm hand then. And I’d have enjoyed showing you that.”

“Yeah, you would,” Hob teases, and gets a nip to his ear for his trouble, then Dream’s tongue soothing over it in apology.

“Don’t miss any more opportunities,” Hob tells him.

It’s more than just that. Hob would have Dream forgo hesitance and wade into him fully. Capitulate. Give over everything that he wants. Hob gets the sense there is a vast and deep well of wanting he’s only barely taken a mouthful of. How delicious to drink so deeply of it that one almost drowns.

He wants that for Dream, almost-but-not-quite-drowning.

“Mind your words, young mercenary,” Dream warns, teasing, “for it is one of the Endless to whom you speak so insolently.”

“Oh, it would have been that easy to get a name out of you? Just had to nip at your heels for it?”

Dream growls a warning into his throat, but Hob only laughs.

“Still haven’t told me one of your fantasies, you know,” he points out.

Dream’s grip tightens around him. Hob’s mind fills with scattered visions, flashes of thought and moment and feeling. Dream wants. Hob knew he did.

He remembers gazing up at a beautiful lord in a smoky tavern and feeling his heart flip. That damnable smirk on Dream’s face. God, they could have done so much then. Missed opportunities.

Dream’s lips press to his throat, a light graze of teeth over his pulse. “I may have a few ideas,” he says.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is an interesting church conversion. It's a condo, so whomever the developer was did it in 2004, and I feel that the floorplan is kind of weird. Located in St. Louis, MO, it has 2bds & 2ba, $399K + $794mo. HOA fee (too much). I'm not gonna say it's under $400K, b/c of that HOA fee.

Large entrance hall. Turn left to enter the I-don't-know-what.

I find this a weird configuration. You walk right into what was once the alter rail, I guess.

They elevated it, with stairs going up to a narrow platform w/room for 2 chairs. What else could you put up there so it doesn't look so dumb?

They put a bar cart up here so you can have a few drinks and fall off.

Then, off to the side they made a living room area with a fireplace and pink accent wall. Love that.

Above the elevated altar there are stairs to a loft above.

Up here they put a table & chairs. Another dumb area, but I love the polished organ pipes. Wish they would've left the organ even if it didn't work.

Sliding doors in the wall of this upper area open to the kitchen.

The kitchen's sort of a long L-shaped galley. They put bright blue backsplashes behind the sink and stove, only. Notice the organ pipes above the cabinets. It looks like they didn't polish the backs.

Is it me, or is this place weirdly configured? I feel like it's so disjointed.

So, here we are in the primary bedroom. It's pretty large.

A shower room. Not thrilled that the toilet is in w/the shower.

Bedroom #2 has stained glass windows and one wall that doesn't go all the way up.

Small 3 pc. bath.

Well, I love the shiny red cabinets, but I don't like how they placed the units. Everything just feels so disjointed in this condo.

Spiral stairs going up to a loft.

Oh, they have beds up here. This one is right up against the wall. I guess that this would likely be a den or home office.

Looks like there's parking in the back, but no outdoor space.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1505-Missouri-Ave-APT-2E-Saint-Louis-MO-63104/71828596_zpid/

[sugoi-writes]

This is Not a Love Story, This is an Autopsy - Part 1

A/N- PHEW! I wanted to kick out of my hiatus with something I've been itching to do... An original series! I wasn't quiet happy with some of my longer works (and trust, they will probably be rewritten, too). So, this is the start of something new! Something that'll be fresh!

I've been heavily inspired/influenced by @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes, who keep encouraging me to just... do it. So I'm doing it!

BEFORE you get too invested, this story WILL be dark. It will be GOREY, graphic at times, there will be filthy, raunchy smut... But this is gonna be a LOT of hurt, with VERY LITTLE comfort. Alastor will NOT be a kind man. The title should be taken seriously, if you wish to continue. BUT FOR NOW... PHEW... sorry, here's part one!!!

Warnings/Promises: Mystery murder woman, Alastor is intrigued, a poor demon suddenly doesn't have a face, cursing, banter, Mystery woman wants to kill Alastor, and Alastor doesn't have GREAT intentions either... Just-- Alastor being ALASTOR! (Mystery woman is referred to in 3rd person, but this may change! Not sure yet)

Please enjoy! ❤️ Header image created by bat-boness on Tumblr! ❤️

Alastor's evening stroll simulated any other: pleasantries exchanged with himself, and his dainty, dated tunes filling the air. This served as a chipper contrast to his surroundings of hurried footsteps, startled shrieks, and the general cacophony on this side of The Pentagram. Oh, tonight was certainly a good night! ...But it was about to get so much better.

The sound of wet squelching, akin to a crushed watermelon, caught his attention. His deer-like ears twisted in it's direction, his smile expanding. What a curious sound! One he was aptly familiar with! It could only be one thing...

Gurgling, disjointed cries and the sputtering of fluids sounded like a grotesque melody. Alastor could hear steady, heavy breathing keeping the tempo. An act of passion... well, in the killing sense, surely. Ever the curious sort, Alastor sent his shadow to investigate. Its wide eyes take in the sight of the alleyway expectantly, eager to witness the fuss first.

A large figure loomed over a hapless victim, the arms flinching and trembling subconsciously as the attacker worked diligently. The sounds from before had morphed into a gut wrenching cutting noise: the unmistakable sound of a sharp knife carving through flesh... but where?

The shadow blinked, inching closer to the scene to get a better look. However, the attacker flinched, turning towards the apparation with a speed that would snap the neck of a human. It was spotted.

In the blink of an eye, a knife came off of a thigh garter belt, hurdling full force towards the Shadow. The knife struck between the entity’s eyes, a heated hiss thrown back to the stranger. Alastor's obedient pet slinked back to its master, unable to give a more helpful report. Alastor hummed in amusement, taking two wide strides to his right. Now, he was stationed at the mouth of the alley, his teeth gleaming under the dim streetlight.

"Do forgive me, dear, I am not known to eavesdrop," a lie, Alastor thought," But I couldn't help but overhear a scuffle~ What did that poor beau do to deserve such fury?"

Alastor wanted to be nearer, to see what you had done to the now-corpse of the demon... but alas, he couldn't just yet. Even with the back facing him, the Radio Demon got a better glimpse at the disheveled stranger.

A large, wide shoulder span dipped in and flowed back out in a delightful curve: a tasteful hourglass shape. Brunette and blonde hair cascaded just past the shoulders, spattered with blood… that was even more tasteful. Judging from the spray's pattern, this blood came from somewhere else… or someone else, in this case. The broad shoulders led to muscular, intense looking arms. The limbs were so red that it seemed they were dipped in a vat of coagulated blood. He could scarcely see the little nicks and scars that littered the taunt skin.

When Alastor continued to walk forward, a sharp turn of the head greeted him. Startling, grey eyes with bloodshot whites glared back at him. The figure didn't answer him, staring him down with a look that could frighten a dictator. Blonde and brunette fringe framed the face, a soft contrast to the rest of the body. Full, flushed cheeks from exertion, complimented by wide eyes and a set of thick, heavy lashes. And, dozens of shallow, silver-white scars littering the pale, plump face. Alastor's eyebrows rose with interest, the silence only motivating him to get closer.

The figure growled, snarling like a caged animal as it turned fully towards him... a woman, he assumed. This woman had blood sprayed across her entire upper body, indicating that this was indeed a passionate act of murder.

Alastor ceased his advances, both hands coming up in mock-surrender.

"Oh come now, dear, I mean no harm... 'just curious~ Won't you humor a demon for a spell? You might just hear your little story on my broadcast tonight~" he nearly sang, eyes squinting and watching carefully. He could tell that this beast of a woman was on high alert, and would likely try and jump him if he so much as thought the wrong word. Though he was confident in his abilities to defend himself, he was no bodybuilder: a fisty cuff that got too heated could mean his second death.

The woman’s gaze remained unphased as she came to her feet. Then, it morphed into a look of recognition.

While the mystery woman realized who was speaking to her, Alastor discovered what she had been carving off of the victim: his face. Alastor watched with an irrational sense of delight as the heavily scarred woman faced him properly. He couldn't help but shift his eyes to the scalped face of the victim, feeling his hands ball up into eager fists behind his back.

The cadaver’s face was grasped in the brunette’s calloused, large hands, blood sliding through her knuckles like a babbling creak in the woods. Had he been a sane man, he would have found the image unsightly. But between his fall from grace and his afterlife of trouble… he found the sight utterly delicious.

Alastor swallowed something in his throat... nerves? Excitement? A mutual interest between strangers? What an evening to find a like-minded individual…

"...You're the Radio Demon..." the murderer said simply. Her voice was a hard, uneven gravel, as if she hardly spoke at all. Alastor's smile widened, giddy at the budding interaction.

"Ahh, my reputation precedes me~ But you can call me Alastor, sweetheart. And what may I call you, hmm?" The tone of his sing-song charm did not match the cannibalistic mania of his too-wide smile. His voice was the cheese, nestled inside an obvious mousetrap.

Alastor stepped even closer, extending a hand out to the rabid-looking woman. Her steely eyes looked to his hand, before back to his face. Her expression remained unchanged.

"...I don't do handshakes," she replied bluntly, her gaze burrowing holes into Alastor's complexion. She seemed to watch him just as intently, acutely aware of his dark aura. Her words sought to disguise her own intrigue.

"Ahh, apologies, dear-- Deeeaaaar...?"

Alastor raised a brow while he drew out the last word, eye twitching with annoyance. He cocked his head slightly as he leaned in, trying to goad her into a response. He expected a name sometime tonight. A name... just a name. If he had her name, he could work with that. Just let him get under that barrier, even if it's just a crack--

"I don't have one," the woman spat back, either uninterested or able to see through Alastor’s antics (of which, the Radio Demon wasn't sure).

A record scratch leaked through his frequency at the abrupt response. The curtness throttled his already thinking patience... Alastor's wide smile stammered for a moment, a tense chuckle bleeding through his clenched jaw. His fuzzy and sound-dampened amusement was practically oozing irritation...

Likewise, the tension that hung between the pair was far too thick.

This needed to be carved through with a knife, Alastor thought. He could still do this.

"Nonsense dear! Why, EVERYONE has a name!!! Surely there is something that people use to call you? To refer to you???" Alastor was a bit surprised by his own persistence. Why did her lack of name manage to throttle him?

...right. He found her fascinating, that's all. And fascinating people in Hell were often easy to exploit... easy to force into a deal. And by extension, she would be useful and entertaining.

"...people usually don't get the chance to talk to me," the brunette replied. Her stoney, hardened face slowly shifted into a sly smile. She chortled wickedly, licking her cracked lips,"...but they usually beg for their lives right about now."

Her sudden lunge surprises Alastor momentarily, before his pitch tendrils snap into action. The mad woman is caught and suspended mid-launch, a heavy tentacle struggling to keep her knife-wielding arm in check. Alastor clicks his tongue mockingly at her aggression. Back to square one, it seemed. What a simple creature!

"Ohh dear, is that a way to talk to someone? If you plan to stab me, at least offer to take me on a stroll first. Perhaps to a coffee shop?" The deranged woman's mouth was tightly pulled into a horrifying snarl, teeth bared and glistening with spit. Had she contracted rabies? Or was she still riding the feral high of a fresh kill? Neither option seemed to startle or surprise Alastor all that much.

He paid her no mind as he walked around her in a slow, teasing circle: like a predator circling helpless prey. But the woman grunted and struggled just the same, hair falling into her face as she tried to break free. The noises she made had shivers of pride running up Alastor's spine. This interest almost seemed... more than that. More than morbid curiosity… He shook the thought away from his mind, his cheeks burning from how harshly he forced himself to smile.

Alastor stepped within striking distance, another tentacle wrapping around the knife-wielding hand as he looked at her troubled face.

"G-Go-- nnnhhhfucker-- Go fuck yourself, freak," the woman hissed, spitting towards the Radio Demon. He simply tilted his head, the spittle missing his pristine cheek. Annoying and gauche... he would have to break her of that garish habit.

"I'm afraid carnal desires haven't interested me for quite some time. Well... past the one you dabbled with moments ago. I must say I'm mighty interested in your handywork~"

Alastor's taloned hand squished the cheeks of the captured woman, turning her face this way and that. Alastor was smirking with an air of superiority as he took in every imperfection and scar that maimed her round face... To him, she was breathtaking, each scar revealing an incident or story he would be familiar with. He felt interested in dissecting her, and figuring out just what or who caused the nicks and cuts.

Thankfully, his brush with murder and other crimes made breaking down her injuries a breeze. Most of them could be summarized as self defense marks left by a weaker victim. This woman was STRONG... There was no question about that. And she wasn't afraid of getting dirty to get her desires fulfilled. He could find that quality to be quite charming... quite useful.

"If you truly do not have a name... might I suggest one?"

The question puzzles the brunette, eyes blinking in rapid succession. It took her a few moments to process the offer.

"You... want to name me?" She retorted, her squished face distorting her bewilderment," Like some goddamn PET?"

"I’m simply offering you one, dear. No need to make a fuss. Perhaps you could find it helpful, should you ever need to be referred to more... directly. With familiarity. You needn't take it, if it displeases you."

Alastor sighed dramatically as the woman thrashed in anger, shaking his head in tandem. It was quite easy to backtrack with this one, wasn’t it?

The woman stared back at the Radio Demon, intense grey embracing hellish red in a heated standoff. One could kill the other in a heartbeat, their acts only halted by straining tentacles. They were in a tense ceasefire, if only for their own sakes.

The woman sighed, relenting after what felt like an eternity," If it causes you to let go of me... you may give me a name, Radio Demon."

"Alastor," the male corrected, pinching her cheeks with harsher intent. The woman winced, but nodded curtly," A-Alastor..."

The venom that oozed from her harsh tone made molten heat fill Alastor’s chest. She could be obedient… how interesting.

The deer demon sneered, face reflecting his earlier delight as his eyes briefly flickered. The name rolled off her tongue so easily... Oh, he liked seeing her like this. Another charming quality he could get used to… and take use of.

"Carver."

The woman blinked, scoffing," Really?"

"Yes. Carver. You could always go by 'The Carver', if you wished, but I rather think the name suits you... a little on the nose, maybe, but simple. Just like you." Alastor's thumb rubs over the woman's cheek, a claw dangerously close to gouging her eye out. The demoness’ face softens, the touch causing conflicting feelings to flit across it.

Fright, anger, surprise, and… yearning. Had Alastor not been observant and experienced with reading people, he might have missed a few of these. Hell, the micro expressions lasted for seconds, if that… But thankfully, his eyes were as sharp as the blade hovering above his head.

Alastor’s hand pauses on her flushed cheek, stashing the useful information in the recesses of his dark mind.

"...fine... That name is fine, Alastor."

Carver fell to the dank and rancid ground with a heavy thud, Alastor clasping his hands together resolutely. Tentacles were dismissed as he eyed her eagerly.

“Splendid, dear! Carver it is! Now, about our earlier topic–”

Carver dusted off her knees as she stood, eyeing the deer-esque demon cautiously. She allowed him to continue, despite her better judgment to gut him then and there.

“What do you say to a bit of coffee, over lunch?”

Carver blinks for a moment, then another, arms folding in front of her chest,” You're joking, right?”

Alastor practically giggles, a dark tendril reforming to hold up the skinned face of her victim,” I'm more of an emcee than a comedian, dear… though I can never pass on a good punchline! Haha!”

When Alastor extends the face to the woman, he squints mischievously,” But no, I'm being quite genuine… Tomorrow, Cannibal Town. There's a quaint little shop by Rosie’s Emporium, the Brimstone Brew… I trust that you've heard of it?”

Curtly, Carver nods, taking her trophy from the Radio Demon indignantly,” Vaguely. I just started working a new job closeby, actually,” she admits. The moment she does, she mentally curses herself. Alastor’s eyes widen, a hand childishly coming to cover his lips. Or more accurately, like a elitist, royal woman with her hand fan, trying to stife her reaction to juicy gossip.

“Pray tell, what do you do~?”

Carver scoffs, casting her gaze anywhere other than the man’s demented smile,” …just some butcher shop. The manager apparently got… well, butchered. So there was a vacancy that the Assistant Manager filled. Soooo… I– I was pulled in to become the new assistant there.”

Alastor seemed on the verge of jumping out of his own skin, leaning forward intently.

“You? Working in one of my favorite stops? Oh, how convenient, dear! Then hows about I ‘meat’ you there! Haha!”

The joke did not go unnoticed, a gruff ‘really?’ following after. He would need to work on her enthusiasm, too.

“See, we could go for a little stroll, and you can tell me more about this new venture of yours! Why, if it's entertaining enough, I'm sure your story would captivate an audience! My audience!”

Carver didn't get the chance to protest as the dapper demon took a few steps back, tipping his imaginary hat her way.

“Let's shoot for 11 o’clock, ‘sharp as your knife! I look forward to getting to know you better… Carver.”

And within a second, the crimson and ebony demon vanished into the shadows. Carver was left confused and stupefied by the entire interaction. She didn't even get a chance to tell Alastor that she actually had work that morning… not that the Radio Demon would stand for it. But, maybe she could brush him off easier this way… She was sure her new manager would intervene or prevent the entire situation from escalating...

The woman dug around in her satchel, until she found a gallon freezer bag. She unceremoniously threw the bloody, skinned face of her victim into her pack, rolling her eyes. Maybe ‘Carver’ was an alright name after all…

What a fucking day… and what a fucking man, to have the nerve to be so… so…

Carver blinked a few times, words escaping her. He was an asshole, but also seemed to have manners… He was infamous, but didn't seem to match the dark reputation… He was bitchy, but also… surprisingly gentle with her?

Carver touched her cheek, where a taloned finger once lingered. A swift flush ghosted across her face as she kicked the corpse on the ground, huffing defiantly. The sooner she could shake this guy off her back, the better. She didn't do ‘friends’. She didn't even have acquaintances. And yet, all in one night, she was given a nickname and asked to go on a coffee date, seemingly just to… talk?

Never would she have imagined such an odd scenario before now. But, she did have an interesting opportunity. Take him out on a date before you stab him, she loosely recalled. And she was more than eager to take him up on that offer to get him off her back.

Carver chuckled, clicking her tongue as she started the trek to her apartment. Maybe she could call in sick tomorrow! Why not?

She could humor this man, if only to hear what his screams would sound like. She hoped that his terror sounded as desperate and sweet as the ones from his broadcast… An artist often immolated their work, and she had a feeling that his anguish would taste just as divine...

This is not a love story. This is an autopsy.

[artist-issues]

Watching Arcane. I’m starting episode four. Anyone who’s watched Arcane, can you please tell me whether it gets less melodramatic-manic-warrior-woman-wish-fulfillment, and whether the writing gets better? Because with the whole “check out how unhinged we can make these girls look, it’s every punk-rock Hot Topic 16 year-old fanfiction author’s dream” and the over-dramatic “the father figure’s dead no—wait not yet—NOW the father figure’s dead—wait, not yet—okay, for real, NOW he’s dead” dramaction pacing of the episode’s climaxes, I’m about ready to give up.

But hey, maybe it gets better. Does it get better?

I’ll show you how the writing’s bad, so you know it’s not just a “oh you don’t like girlboss violent rage scenes, well, this is a video game, you just have a taste issue” thing.

That one sequence where Vi is telling Powder about how their friends have done embarassing things, so she feels better about failing—it vibes like a sweet, emotionally fulfilling, character-building scene thanks to the music and the tone, but if you think about it for two seconds there’s nothing about it that should be character-building or emotionally fulfilling. Because Vi’s little “advice” moment makes no sense.

So her bunny rabbit got stuck in the wires. So what. She didn’t throw it too high, like a moron, and get it stuck up there—which would’ve been a parallel to Powder’s screw-ups—some bully threw it up there. Out of her own control. And then she waited for it to fall back down. That has nothing to do with the emotional need Powder has. There’s no lesson there. There’s no callback to what they were just talking about. No encouragement. The story about her friend slipping while vandalizing? The story about the other friend getting stuck running from enforcers? Those things could’ve gone somewhere. But “bullies threw my bunny into the wires?” No through-line.

And what was the piece of advice going to be? “We all have awkward phases? We all mess up in the heat of the moment? You just need more time to grow?” No. It’s “we all have bad days.”

Blahhh. Thanks for saying nothing.

Your sister’s never had a “good day” on the job. Telling her “we all have bad days” is totally not going to make anyone with a brain feel better when that is the context. But Powder just accepts the little speech like it perfectly cheered her up.

And then??

Vi goes, “but we learn!” But we learn? What? How, in your little anecdotes about your friends screwing up and you getting bullied, did anyone learn? You didn’t tell a story that ended with people learning. Where was “but when was the last time you noticed Klagger getting his feet stuck? You mess up enough times, you learn.” That bit of connecting dialogue would actually turn this disjointed, empty dialogue exchange into a believable conversation, with a point.

And then she goes, “and we stick together!” Again, that has nothing to do with the little stories she just told, or any kind of bandaid to Powder’s particular insecurity. “Sticking together” has nothing to do with Klagger’s foot getting stuck or her bunny getting stolen. And also, it was never something Powder indicated she needed to hear.

Because you know why? Until she has her little sobbing freakout tantrum when Vi leaves her behind to go rescue Vander, were never shown that Powder’s worried about being abandoned. We’re shown she’s worried about not being “good enough.” That’s the focus. Not “my sister who’s clearly always stuck with me might someday abandon me if I’m not good enough at fighting and stealing.” So. See how Vi capping off her already-disjointed speech with “and we stick together” made no sense, actually, for this character moment?

Guess why they did that? Because they needed a little added guilt and drama to play on later, when Vi appears for two seconds to abandon her sister. They just wanted to set up the already-overdone “sisters-divided” scene they were planning, later, for maximum drama. “How will we get people to believe that Powder would stop considering Vi her sister? Well, make it seem like THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL for Vi to walk away! How do we do that? Ehh, let’s just throw a line in here where Vi basically promises they’ll stick together.”

Doesn’t matter that that line doesn’t fit, wouldn’t need to be said, in the rooftop conversation. Doesn’t matter that there’s been no indication before the battle and the death of Vander that Vi would ever really abandon her sister. Just throw the line on in there. Because you can’t remember where you were going with this whole pep talk scene, anyway, you just know you needed it to end on a vaguely big-sister-advice moment. 🙄

Whole show feels like that. Stringing moments together that actually only feel impactful when they’re separated from the larger context. Like, this would make a great clip-show, on YouTube, so far. But as one cohesive whole? Nothing makes sense. Feels slipshod.

But hey. Maybe the writing gets better? Maybe it starts to be more story, less worldbuilding-fanfiction-writers’-wish-fulfillment?

…I mean honestly if I had to describe it, it feels like Coolness Chess.

That’s when you have a bunch of cool interplay ideas, like a list of “emotional character moments,” and you just have to figure out how to maneuver everything so that you can string those moments together.

Like, I can see that they needed that stupid enforcer-classist, Marcus, to witness something traumatic because of his own actions—but I’m guessing having him “see the error of his ways” by working with Silco is just so that he can check two boxes: one, somebody needed to be there to dramatically knock Vi out juuust as she was about to go make amends with her sister, at the contrived moment when her sister appears to be at death’s door with Silco standing over her, after their devastating fight—and box-to-check number two, somebody needed to give Vi a new outlet/“cause” to fight for in the future, so that the contrived-to-be-estranged sisters can dramatically be pitted against each other and fight. So Marcus needs to reform and dedicate his life to, I’m guessing, stopping Silco, so that those two dramatic moments can be strung together.

See what I mean? Coolness Chess. A story that’s not really a story, it’s an emotional-amusement park ride. That’s what this feels like, so far. But again, I only just started Episode 4 and noticed the time-skip after the naively-broken little girl gets together with the twisted villain, all fanfiction-author’s-dream, again. Haven’t seen much past that. So I could be wrong, and this post might age poorly. What do those of you who’ve seen it all think?

[nipuni]

I have another DW report! It took a while because we've been hosting friends and family visiting from abroad for a few months now and had a lot of work on top of that so we haven't had much quiet time alone to sit and watch but we made it to the end of S10!!

I'll share our thoughts under the cut because it's a lot!

We adored 12! His run was amazing, one of the best! A lot of episodes became all time favourites for us and Peter Capaldi is now our second favourite Doctor after David. His acting is impeccable and he is a delight to watch. He is so funny and inspiring and everything The Doctor should be, absolutely loved him!!

We enjoyed Clara, her characterization had some inconsistencies with her having several different arcs that felt disjointed at times but she is so memorable and made herself into such an integral part of The Doctor's life. Watching her change and their relationship become more codependent and unhinged as time went on was super interesting. Nardole grew on us. And BILL? Bill!! Oh my god dear Bill managed to outsuffer even Martha and that is saying a lot, I'm still traumatized I was not expecting the finale to go that way for her what the fuck and what a finale that was, devastating, we loved it!! but GOD sweet Bill her fate was brutal, I would have loved to see her go on more adventures and grow 😭

Now, the highlight of these seasons for me was Missy!! I'm obsessed, she's my favourite version of The Master so far and my favourite character after The Doctor, I LOVE HER 🙏 She needs more seasons! (I'm aware of the audios I'll get my ears on those as soon as I can) She's hilarious and clever, mean but soft and so so gorgeous AHHHHH She somehow manages to be terrifying and endearing at the same time and you can feel and share The Doctor's hope for her. Her death broke my heart, what do you mean The Doctor will never find out she stood with him in the end!! The romance, the tragedy!! I didn't dare hope they would take their story there and they went above and beyond. Every second she was on screen I was holding my breath and kicking my feet for real. To the people that said I would love their relationship when I started watching DW you were so right and know me too well 😳

Some of our favourite episodes from 12's run were Listen, Mummy on the Orient express, Heaven Sent and The doctor falls. Though there are a lot of good ones really, all the ones with Missy in them, Deep Breath, Flatline, Oxygen, the heist one, Thin Ice, The pilot, the one with the ghosts underwater, the ones with the pyramid monks, the parts with River, the one with the boxes and Zygons, the last special, all really enjoyable!!

We are also five episodes into S11 and I have to admit that despite our best efforts so far we are not enjoying Chibnall's writing at all 😫 but it's still early so we stay hopeful, maybe it's just a rough start and it will pick up after all the exposition. We will keep going so that we are all caught up by the time the new season starts airing!!

I hope you are all doing well! I am once again apologizing for not replying to asks in ages!! I've been mostly away from social media for months outside of posting every now and then so they keep piling up and it's become intimidating 😫 but I'll get to them soon!!

I also wanted to thank you for all the kind comments and tags on my art and photos, they really keep me going so I'm very grateful!! 😭💖

[ohemgeeejay]

I watched Lisa Frankenstein today with some of my friends and OH MY GOURD.

When I saw a promotional poster in my local theatre two weeks ago, I was intrigued. When I saw the trailer during the pre-show for Night Swim that same day, I was persuaded. But when I saw Diablo Cody and Zelda Williams on a poster while leaving the theatre, I knew I had to watch it.

And it did not disappoint.

That movie was so good! It was so much fun. The dialogue was fantastic, the humour was well timed and well written, the set design was beautiful, and the general aesthetics of the film were downright gorgeous. I also loved the character dynamics, especially between Lisa and Taff.

I was truly shocked to find that it’s kind of a flop. The critic reviews are so low, which doesn’t surprise me, although it does disappoint me. Especially seeing people call these characters one dimensional and stereotypical. I completely disagree; and I think the way that Taff loved, supported, and stuck up for Lisa right from the beginning was proof of that. She was more than her peppy, popular cheerleader archetype, she was a person and a character of her own.

The lack of love for this movie is crazy! I genuinely enjoyed that movie so much, and I feel an oncoming fixation.

My friend described it as slasher meets romcom and that feels like a decently accurate representation of the vibes. It’s lighter on the horror and heavier on the humour, but it’s absolutely charming.

It’s a great watch, one of the best times I’ve had seeing something in theatres in a while.

And I mean, the poster art is just the cherry on top! It’s gorgeous, and it captures the vibes of the movie perfectly. Huge props to whoever made these posters, I love them and would love to have one for my room.

I’ve seen many call the film “uneven,” or “disjointed,” criticizing its pacing. I understand why some people may dislike it, as it’s an uncommon path of plot progression, but I found it to be very enjoyable. I think that the unusual pacing of the film only made it stand out more.

All around, I really loved this movie. If you liked Heathers, Jennifer’s Body, Beetlejuice, or any other campy cult classics, I highly recommend it. I can definitely see Lisa Frankenstein becoming a cult classic itself in a few years.

I apologize if this post is a bit all over the place, I have a lot of thoughts about this film. And a lot of love for it too. I just had to talk about it, because I cannot get this movie out of my head! I think it’s quickly becoming a favourite, and I know I’m going to have to watch it again.

[jesncin]

Ahh absolutely fell in love with the martian twins thanks to y’all!

Had a (genuinely curious) question about Ma’al’s design though - why did you (both?) decide to have Ma’al be smaller than J’onn as adults? Does it bother y’all when/if people think Ma’al is a younger sibling of J’onn’s, instead of their twin? Was it to avoid people thinking Ma’al was J’onn in a different outfit/with a different hairstyle?

Also super curious how y’all being identical twins yourselves affected Ma’al and J’onn’s designs….

Sorry if this ask is disjointed it’s like 4am & I binged all the Sons of Mars/JL AU content instead of sleeping

Oh my gosh what an absolutely kind thing to say!! :') thank you!

We designed Ma'al that way for a couple of reasons!

It's a homage to how the two are depicted in the comics! While by definition of their birth (or how their birth was described in the comics) they are monozygotic twins, and by earth standards identical twins, since they're from a planet of shapeshifters they can still pick whatever form they want regardless of the circumstances of their birth. In the comics, Ma'al is always thinner and a bit smaller in stature compared to J'onn. We just exaggerated it~

For story reasons in our AU, Ma'al wasn't well cared for growing up, being treated as a science experiment for most of his life. So not only does he not look as "strong" as J'onn, but his form also reflects his desire to live out the life he didn't get to have- or how he perceives where he is at in life. I compare it to the concept of Queer Time: where queer people don't progress into adulthood in the same way non-queer people do because they missed out on various supposed life milestones. Ma'al is living his messy young adult life. while J'onn had a life partner and wanted to have kids.

It doesn't bother me when people think Ma'al is J'onn's much younger brother instead of his twin! I get a lot of people mistaking Ma'al for M'gann too (because he dresses so non-conformingly). I think it's funny, haha. Plus some twins just be like that~

Being identical twins ourselves didn't affect J'onn and Ma'al's designs (we look straightforwardly identical and even play it up with our outfits), but it does affect how they're written! I have a lot of feelings about how multi-birth people are depicted in media, and I find non-multi-birth writers tend to fall into some really tiresome tropes. Ma'al as a character is so straightforwardly an evil twin trope it's painful (right down to tricking people by disguising himself as J'onn in the comics, boo).

There's an opportunity to create an incredible story and dynamic if Ma'al is written with like a fraction of nuance and people's biases on identical twins weren't holding them back. Most twin stories are about twins maturing and splitting up to be "individuals" but Sons of Mars is about twins reuniting and sticking together. The martians living together in a foreign planet pulls from our experience studying abroad and living together :)

[absolutebl]

There was a surprising amount of sex in Be Mine Superstar! I really wasn’t expecting it…. Similarly, Love Syndrome had a LOT less sex than I was promised by the trailer…

Are there any BLs that had either many more or many less NC scenes than you were expecting before you started watching them?

BLs that exceeded (or underperformed) sexy expectations

Interesting question. So far, not that many Thai BLs. But I think that's just because I pay attention to the pairs and the actors in Thai stuff, and you sort of get a feel for what they will (and won't) take on. So in your examples: I know JaFirst did high heat so I expected the producers to lean into that advantage as part of BMSS because, frankly, it didn't have much else going for it.

I haven't watched Love Syndrome III yet but knowing Frank I wouldn't expect it to go super high heat in terms of actual physical contact.

I guess the ones that have surprised me are mostly out of Thailand are pulps that I knew nothing about going in. Let me see...

Thai BL that ended up being way hornier/better than I expected

Secret Crush On You - such a weird show but BillySeng brought IT, whatever IT is, they got it.

Love in Translation - yeah, what happened in that sauce isle boys? Very saucy. Whatever pun, more please.

2 Moons 3 - about on par with ForthBeam from 2 Moons 2 but nothing else in the previous 2 series would lead one to expect the horny we got in this show on the main.

Second Chance - yeah it was a throw away pulp and this studio is hit or miss on chemistry but it had one of the best kisses of its year.

Big Dragon - I don't know what I expected form the trailers, but it wasn't as good as it turned out to be. Don't get me wrong, the rest of the show is naff, but the chemistry/heat levels are scorching.

Ghost Host, Ghost House - generally the horror stuff doesn't do chemistry well, but these two have some of the best chemistry EVER put into a pulp. I really hope we see more of them.

KinnPorsche - It's no secret I'm not as wild about this show as most, but I did think the VegasPete stuff was unexpectedly killer in all ways.

Oh My Sunshine Night - yeah it was exactly what one expects from OhmFluke but THE SIDES!!!! I mean... WHAT? I'm not mad, just pleasantly surprised.

TharnType - Okay but remember at the time what we'd had from Mame was LBC (relatively low heat) and other Thai stuff I was familiar with at the time was Make It Right, Love Sick, SOTUS, and UWMA. TT was way higher heat that I'd seen from Thailand before. And then...

Why R U? - ZeeSaint's "away trip to the beach" full on sex scenes plus repping for verse was just crazy at the time. Especially since Saint played Pete in LBC before this and Zee was new to BL. Add that to the very odd and disjointed (and miss-matched) SaifahZon counter story and WRU? was this insane all over the place viewing experience, including the heat levels. There was this "what will they do next?" kind of tension over the production. Not the story (because who was following that?) but the PRODUCTION. At the time, it was welcome, but truly bonkers. What a way to drive narrative tension... pure high heat chaos.

Thai BLs where chemistry failed meet my (relatively low) expectations

My Ride - honestly, if they had just gotten the kiss right this might even have earned a 10/10 from me

Unforgotten Night - ugh

Bite Me - double ugh

Friend Forever - I know I'm the only person who watched this but why could we not have gotten ONE kiss from the leads?

Nitman - studies have since shown us it is entirely not Noh's fault... see Oh My Sunshine Night

Wedding Plan - the leads were fine, but Mame usually fails me in every way except chemistry, so "fine" is not up to her usual standards. Those standards being predominantly "they hawt together" and nothing else. There wasn't even a side dish couple to pick up the slack noodle... so to speak.

Korean BL

For most of 2022 I was consistently getting surprised by Korean BL's chemsitry when it was good but now I've settled into half expecting it yet still being delighted when it happens and is well done.

I do think Semantic Error was a bit of a seed change for them.

The problem is, now we know they can do it, we are starting to get pissed when it's bad or entirely absent.

Taiwanese BL

Taiwan is the opposite of Korea.

I expect good chemistry and almost always always get it. I struggle to think of a time when they've disappointed me (in this arena). Maybe a few? But I tend to cut Taiwan more slack than other countries because they have so few BLs and they are generally so consistent. If they falter at all, at least the side couple will pick up the slack.

Japanese BL

I have no expectations of Japan. Life as a BL fan is a lot easier that way.

(source)

[erimeows]

Too Good To Say

Raindrops smack against the glass of the window as Rook Blonko lies in bed, amber eyes trained on none other than Ben Tennyson. The other plumber sits on the edge of the bed watching the new live action adaptation of Sumo Slammers. Normally, Ben would be ranting about how different it is than the original cartoon, but today is not a normal day. In fact, it doesn’t seem as if Ben is paying attention to the show at all, just blankly staring at the television but not really consuming the media in front of him. 

Meanwhile, Rook just watches Ben, a soft smile gracing his lips. They got into a terrible skirmish with Khyber earlier that morning and lost him, but not before the accomplished hunter managed to stab one of his many blades through Rook’s shoulder. Thankfully, he’s bandaged up and recovering well, but he would be stupid not to realize how upset Ben is that they’ve let Khyber escape yet again. Rook is frustrated that Khyber got away, though more than anything, he’s glad that Ben made it out unscathed- that they’re both okay.

Rook sighs. The movement of Ben’s shoulder blades against the back of his jacket, the steady rise and fall of his back as he breathes, the way he slightly ruffles his own hair to calm himself down, it’s all reassuring in a way that Rook never thought it would be when the two of them first became partners. 

Rook thought he was in love when he met Rayona, because she loved him. She was kinder than his parents, and she was stronger than his friends. The attention she gave him, the admiration he felt for her, it all mixed into a disjointed infatuation that he had foolishly assumed was love. The validation she provided was exciting. The love she had for him was the only love he knew.

But Ben, Ben is different. Ben is interesting and self-centered and altruistic; a cacophony of contradicting qualities that make Rook’s heart flutter with excitement whenever they’re together. The feelings he has for Ben are more than the intense infatuation he’d become accustomed to on Revonnah, because Ben isn’t perfect and doesn’t present himself as such. He’s strong in many ways and weak in others. He’s kind and caring, but inconsiderate and selfish. He’s authentically himself. He doesn’t care about how others perceive him. He’s beautiful, yet so incredibly frustrating, too. He’s nothing like the cool, collected, muscular, bold hero he’s presented as in all of the rip-off television shows, badly drawn posters, and dramatized stories. And Rook still loves him despite all of it, because the good qualities outweigh the bad ones, even when Ben is at his worst. 

Suddenly, Ben snaps out of his trance and breaks his eyes from Sumo Slammers. He scoots to sit next to Rook on the bed, staring down at him with his jade eyes. Rook averts his gaze, heart thumping against his chest.

“How’re you holding up, buddy?” Ben asks and places a hand on Rook’s arm. Rook can never tell if the touches are romantic or not, but he always accepts them without question. He craves them, even; desperately wants the heat of them to burn the fur off of his skin and leave a scar in its wake- for it to stay there forever, in one way or another. Ben’s fingers brush through his fur. Rook isn’t prone to leaving it uncovered, mostly wearing a full suit of armor with gloves and boots to keep himself safe. Following his injury, however, Ben insisted he shower and change into clean clothes after having his stab wound tended to, so now he’s in a tank-top and sweatpants that are a little too short for his long body. His worn clothes sit abandoned in a pile by Ben’s bedroom door. “Rook?”

“Oh,” Rook starts. Ben’s hand lingers a little too long, trailing up his arm before Ben finally pulls it away, careful to avoid touching anywhere near Rook’s wrapped injury. “I am fine, thank you for asking.”

“I’m going after Khyber.”

Rook tilts his head to the side, baffled. He knows Ben is serious based on the tone of his voice. Still… Khyber is dangerous and Ben has been cornered by the huntsman multiple times now. Ben going by himself wouldn’t just be risky, it’d be stupid. 

“You… I am sorry? I must have misheard you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’m going after him tonight. Grandpa managed to get a tracker on his car and-”

“Ben, you can not go by yourself,” Rook interjects, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, I can. I have to- or we’re not going to be able to catch him! I won’t let him get away again.”

“Catching Khyber is not worth you getting seriously injured, or worse, killed.”

“Well, no matter what you think, you’re not in any condition to stop me,” Ben argues as he stands from the bed.

Rook gulps and reaches forward to grab Ben’s hand. It’s cool to the touch and calloused from all the fighting they do. Ben turns to look back at him with wide eyes. Rook drops his hand and stares down into his own lap.

“You are going to go even if I ask you not to?”

“Well, yeah,” Ben answers as if it’s obvious, as if Rook’s concern for him doesn’t matter at all.

“You…” Rook starts with anger bubbling up in his chest.

It’s an odd feeling, one that he hadn’t felt much before meeting Ben. There’s just something about the brunette that’s so incredibly frustrating. Maybe it’s his blatant disregard for others, or maybe it’s the way he so recklessly throws himself in danger’s way without any consideration for his own safety. 

“What? Got something to say?”

Rook hesitates, unsure of how to answer at first. Ben just stands there glaring at him with his arms crossed. 

“Yes, actually,” Rook responds after a few seconds. He stands up from the bed and goes to pick up his pile of old clothing and shattered armor. “Your self-absorbed nature is going to get you killed. When will you stop to consider the consequences your actions have on others?”

“Consequences? Nothing I do affects you, and neither will this!”

“And how did you come to that conclusion, exactly?” Rook demands while pulling his boots onto his feet and tucking his clothes underneath one arm. 

“It’s obvious! You don’t care about me in all of this- you’ve never cared,” Ben spits. His words couldn’t be farther from the truth. Then again, Rook would argue that Ben is even more emotionally oblivious than himself, which is quite the accomplishment. That would be the only explanation for how he hasn’t figured out Rook’s feelings by now when even Kevin, Gwen, and Argit have made jokes about the situation in front of both of them. “What you care about is following the rules and- and controlling me!”

“Controlling you? Are you serious?” Rook scoffs, standing in front of Ben’s bedroom door. Both of his parents are gone on a vacation with Ma Vreedle of all people, so Rook can’t even try to get them to convince Ben to stay. “I do not think there is anyone in this universe let alone on this planet who is capable of controlling the likes of you, Ben.”

“Whatever,” Ben huffs and heads for the door, only for Rook to block his way.

“You can not do this. I will stop you if I have to.”

“Why? Why are you acting like you care about me all of a sudden?” Ben rants, getting closer and closer until his face is mere inches from Rook’s chest. “Worst case scenario, I go do this, and I get hurt, or even die. We’re partners- friends, maybe- but it’s nothing more than that! You’ll get over it, get another partner that’s probably a lot easier to deal with, and you’ll be fine. So, why does it matter what I do? Why do you care?”

“I will not ‘be fine’ if you die, I-” Rook raises his voice, and then stops. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks and he’s suddenly incredibly grateful that they’re covered by fur so he doesn’t have an obvious blush like Ben often does- like Ben does right now. “I...”

“You what?”

“Unlike you, I do not think I am too good to say to you how I feel,” Rook closes his eyes. He’s too scared to see what Ben’s face will look like after hearing what he’s about to say. “I will be shattered if something happens to you, because I love you, and just so there is no confusion… What I mean by that, is that I am in love with you.”

“You-” Ben stumbles over his words, an awkwardly choked noise coming from the back of his throat.

“But you are clearly not reciprocating my feelings, and that is fine,” Rook continues as he reaches behind him and opens the bedroom door.

“But-”

“I never could have expected you to love me. You’re you, after all; Ben Tennyson, the hero who has saved the universe a thousand times, and I am just your partner who you refuse to respect and refuse to listen to- who you never even desired in the first place. I would be a fool to expect more than what you are willing to give, I am aware of that. I have never assumed you would fall in love with me at any point,” Rook says, glancing at Ben over his shoulder. The brunette’s cheeks are bright pink and his pupils are blown wide as he stares at Rook. Rook can’t quite discern the face Ben is making; maybe it’s confused, maybe it’s angry. He himself is too frustrated to figure it out. “But I did make the mistake of assuming you would, at the very least, respect me and value my opinion.”

“Rook, would you just-“

“No, I see how it is now,” Rook interjects, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone, if that is really what you want… Just call me when you need to be rescued like you always do.”

Rook turns to leave, only for Ben to reach out and clasp a hand around his wrist. Rook freezes at the touch- it’s cool yet firm and he wants to stand there and let Ben hold his wrist forever, but he’s so angry that he just can’t. So, he snatches his wrist from Ben’s grasp and stomps out of the Tennyson household. 

As the steps of Rook’s steel-toed boots thump onto the carpeted floor, he can’t help how disappointed he is that Ben doesn’t chase after him.

~

By the time Rook arrives at the plumbers’ headquarters in his truck, his fur is wet with tears and his amber eyes are puffy from crying. He scans his badge to get inside and heads to where he knows Ben’s grandfather, Magister Max Tennyson, will be manning the monitors. 

“Magister Tennyson, sir,” Rook greets with a salute, to which Max turns around from where he’s sitting in front of the many screens.

“Rook, what’s going on?” Max greets, a big grin on his face. He seems excited to see Rook again following their confrontation with Khyber- at least until he sees Rook’s expression. The Magister stands from his chair and crosses his arms as disappointment washes over him. “Oh, no, what’d he do this time?”

“I assume you are referring to Ben?” Rook questions with an awkward laugh.

“When am I not these days?” Max sighs, shaking his head and adjusting the collar of his floral shirt.

“He is going to go after Khyber by himself. He told me that he refuses to let me come with him since I am still recovering from my earlier injury, and he insisted on going alone. I believe he will be angry if he finds out that I have gone behind his back to inform you of this, but I am quite concerned about his well being.”

“That idiot. I put that tracker on Khyber’s getaway car so we could find him together at a later date, not so Ben could go on a wild goose chase all by himself,” Max groans and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “Hold on, I’ll track him using his badge so I can send him some back up.”

Max turns back to the computers and types in Ben’s plumber identification number so he can pinpoint the location of his badge. Rook wouldn’t usually be so bold, but his concern for Ben overtakes him as he curiously peeks at the computer and then at Max’s face. Max appears to be baffled, his lips pulled tight and the rest of his face scrunched.

“What is it?”

“The badge… The coordinates are still at his parents’ house. Did he say when he was going to leave?”

“No. Him and I got into an argument over this while still at his house and I left, but he declared he was going to leave to go after Khyber then and there, which is what started the argument in the first place. I assumed he left shortly after I did, but if his plumber badge is still there…”

“I’m going to go and check if he’s actually still there or if he’s just trying to pull one over on us by leaving his badge at home,” Max explains, then stands up and places a reassuring hand on Rook’s shoulder. “You should head home and rest up. I’ll let you know what I find, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Max walks past him and to the exit of the monitoring room, only to turn and look back at Rook to speak to him one last time before leaving.

“Hey, now, don’t worry yourself to death. You’ve already got a lot on your plate as, and you know how Ben is. He’ll be fine- he always is.”

“Right… I will head home, then,” Rook nods. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

With that, Max leaves. Rook immediately notices that the rest of the plumbers in the room are staring at him with curiosity in their prying eyes. He wonders if he’s really that obvious… If it’s so easy for them to tell that his concern for Ben goes beyond one plumber caring for his partner’s safety. If they can all tell that he’s in love. 

Embarrassed, he storms out of the base before anyone can ask him about it and gets into his truck so he can drive back home. 

Weirdly enough, as he drives down the streets of Bellwood, he can’t help but notice that his heart hurts far more than the healing wound on his shoulder.

~

That night, Rook finds himself unable to sleep as he sits in the windowsill of his living room, staring out the window. The apartment he started renting a month or so back is small and a little crowded, but most of the time, he doesn’t mind it as it’s significantly larger than the dorm rooms that they had on the plumbers’ base. 

A knock rings through the room. At first, Rook assumes it must be one of his neighbors’ doors, but then there’s a second knock, and then a third. The knocks quickly form a rhythm that Rook recognizes as Ben’s, so he rushes to let his partner inside. When he opens the door, he’s faced with Ben, who is slightly hunched over. He has a black eye, bloody nose, and a busted lip.

“Ben!” Rook exclaims, amber eyes widening in horror. All of the anger, the frustration, and every other terrible thing Ben had him feeling earlier morphs into pure worry and fear. “What happened to you?”

“Rook-“

“You are badly hurt,” Rook scolds and grabs Ben’s hand without thinking. He intertwines their fingers and while he would normally never do something so bold, he can’t stop to think about the implications of hand-holding with a human amidst his many conflicting emotions. He practically drags Ben inside, shuts the front door behind them, and pushes Ben down onto his living room couch. “You should have called me before it got to this point. I do not know if you are aware, but I was waiting by my cell phone and had my badge on hand the entire time you were gone so you could contact me!”

“You were mad at me! You really expected me to call you in the middle of the night to come save my ass after the argument we got into this morning?” 

“I am still upset, but that does not mean I want you to be hurt,” Rook kneels in front of the couch where Ben is sitting, holds both of his hands in his own, and glances up at him.  “Why did you not go to your mother and father? They were supposed to return from their vacation this evening, correct? Or why not your grandfather at the plumbers’ headquarters? He went off to look for you.”

“They don’t understand,” Ben looks away and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re the only one. You always have been… You’re just easier to talk to. No one else gets me like you do.” 

And Rook pauses, because for the first time since leaving his home planet to become a plumber, he’s being chosen first. He swallows tightly and allows his mind to race. Part of him entertains the idea that Ben may actually reciprocate his feelings, but at the same time… it seems like such a reach that he doesn’t dare to ask. If Ben doesn’t feel the same way, he’d rather they just forget about it and pretend as if nothing happened between them in the first place.

“Hm… So, how did everything unfold?”

“I lost him… We beat the shit out of each other but I had the upper hand. He realized that he wasn’t going to win and made an escape, and I was too messed up to catch him,” Ben explains while running a hand through his hair to push the fluffy brown locks away from his bruised, bloody face. “I barely even made it here to you.”

“I see.”

Rook lets go of Ben’s hands and goes to retrieve a damp washcloth, an ice pack, some bandaids, and a bottle of the water. When he returns, he opens the bottle of water and pushes it into one of Ben’s hands, then sits down next to the other plumber and starts to gently wipe the blood off of his face with the washcloth.

“Not going to lecture me about how I was wrong?” Ben indignantly demands. “No ‘I told you so’?”

“No. You already know you were in the wrong when you went after him. You do not need to be informed of that fact.”

“That somehow made me feel even worse.”

The two plumbers fall silent as Ben chugs the bottle of water he was given by Rook. The crinkle of the plastic bottle echoes through the small room. Rook thoroughly cleans and bandages Ben’s injuries, and though they look gruesome, they prove to be quite minor compared to so many of the other ones Ben has acquired with the work they do. Once he’s finished, he tries to push the ice pack into Ben’s spare hand, only for Ben to put it to the side and reach forward. He holds both of Rook’s hands in his own and stares into his amber eyes.

“What is this?” Rook questions, moving to sit next to Ben on the couch.

“I’m sorry. I do respect you, and I should listen to you more. I do value your opinion, I just…”

“You are stubborn. I understand,” Rook says with a small smile. “It is something I love about you, most of the time. I admire your tenacity. In situations like this, however…”

“I know, and about that… Y’know, it’s pretty messed up to confess your love like that and then leave without letting me respond.”

At that, a lump forms in Rook’s throat. He’s barely able to swallow it in time to reply to Ben, who is staring at him expectantly with an undeniable blush on his face. 

“I see. Would you… Like to respond now?”

“Yeah, I think I should,” Ben answers and leans forward to rest his forehead against Rook’s. Rook freezes in place, his heart skipping a beat. He and Ben have been in closer quarters before due to their profession, but it’s never been so… Intentional. So intimate. Ben shuts his jade green eyes and allows a small smile to take over his face. Rook just stares at him and waits for what’s next. Much to his surprise, Ben gives him a kiss. Though brief, it’s sweet, and enough to lift the weight that’s been on Rook’s shoulders since their argument earlier that day as Ben pulls back. “I love you, too, Rook. I’m glad you told me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Ben laughs.

“It is a lot to process,” Rook answers, barely able to get the words out. “Would you stay here with me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Ben nods, his smile as radiant as the moonlight that shines upon them through Rook’s living room window. “I think I would.”

[stolaz-the-artist]

May you make a murder drones au of nexo knights Please 😢

MURDER DRONES SPOILER WARNING

I mean yeah, that's kind of obvious.

This Is gonna be a loooong post. Longest ask I've worked on.

I didn't need to make so many drawings but I had so much fun I just kind of had to.

im gonna do everyone a favor and kind of digitalize my writing under each page, just in case its hard to read.

Serial Designator C

"I don't know because you won't tell me!"

"Oh please don't run! if I miss it will just prolong your suffering"

"Oh i do wanna be dapper *sigh* but alas"

Clay: Are you . . . new drones?

Macy: Uh, sure?

Clay: Hm. . . Well I have been saying we need more bots

Serial Designator W

"C-100110010! HOW DARE YOU LOCK YOUR MOTHER UP!? You let me out this instant!"

"Wait . . . Prom queen?"

Lance: He's literally so ungrateful. Like you're so cool.

"How did you even manage to knock yourself offline?"

*Rebooting. . .*

"If the other one survived after all this time it's truly a miracle"

Serial Designator F (Fletch)

Post limb change

Him and Izzy are very close friends (She think its cool when its revealed he's a Disassembly drone)

Was "adopted" by two worker drones (That W killed in an attempt to get him back)

He's a bit taller due to his torso, but because his legs cant fully support him, he's constantly hunching

"Im so tired of this shit"

Gets called names like • Loose-limb Fletch

•Drop-A-Limbs

•Disjoint-Drone

•Snap-off Fletch

Fletch: WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?

Wanda: Literally barely anything. Just put the right limbs on

Wanda: Like what kind of idiot tried to connect Worker drone limbs to a Disassembly drone torso?

Macy Doorman

"Huh, knew illegal downloading all those Ned Knightly movies would come in handy"

"EAT PLASMA BITCH!"

Macy: One more buzzword and I'll do it

Jestro: . . . Equity Partnersh-

"Oh bite me"

Clay: Now im pretty new to this "Rebelling" stuff. But uh, do I have to fight my mom? Its just that-

Macy: YES!

Clay: sighhh Fine, lets do this

Aaron

"The hell happened to you?"

Aaron: So do you think they like video games?

Lance: Doubt it

Aaron: Then why are we here?

Lance: Blackmail

Aaron: Oh fair

One of Macy's best friends (And the friend she's had the longest)

"Super invited to my shindig next week"

Aaron, whispering: I mean, he's fun sized?

*sizzle*

Aaron, whispering: Ok so not fun

Macy: whispering: OH REALLY!?

Lance

Axl: Where's Macy

Lance: She went out

Axl: Out? Have she lost her mind?

Lance: Think so. Oh and Aaron went with her

Axl: Excuse me?

Lance: Yeah . .

Phone focus cuz tiny space

Wanda: This is so shit

Lance: I know right

Fashionista. Yes he knows there are non flip phones, he has one, but it just doesn't meet the same level of sass as a clip phone

Lance: Do you understand what will happen if you go out there? Let me spell it out; D-E-A-T-H! Are you out of your-

Aaron: I'll come lol

Lance: Yeah, no. You two gp enjoy dying. The hell you think this is, a shitty horror movie?

Axl

"Im gone for 5 min to get some actual edible snacks and everyone is dead!?"

Accidentally gave her the gun idea

Really fixated on food, spends a lot of time recreating food

His bigger legs make him a bit less flexible, but he packs a mean kick (home made)

Axl: There we go!

Lance: Aren't you worried someones actually gonna drink it thinking its actually edible- or drinkable I guess

Lance: But idk, people are pretty stupid here

Axl: Hm, no you're right

Decoration don't drink u'll die lol

Serial Designator J

"its tricked you! and if I promised you anything . . . It tricked me too . . ."

"Ha-ha! I-am so good-at-hiding!"

Is AD's most "trusted" worker (And with ,pst trusted I mean most easily manipulated)

Clay: What will the company do to us once we're done? How do we know the company wont get rid of us?

Jestro: Awh, im so sorry. You know the consequences of questioning the company

*virus*

Clay: Hm, fair enough

Monstrux

Merlok

Absolute Destruction

"The flesh demands invitation"

"Dropped this-silly"

Pre-skinning Merlok

Robot view

Monstrux: You look g-great, toots! hm . .

Monstrux: Have you considered a hat-tho

~*~

There's a few extra sketches I did for fun lying around, and if ya'll want that (plus the story line of what's happening) just tell me I would include it here but this is painfully long enough

(Oh and all relationships are kinda neutral here. They don't entirely line up with the show. Ship whoever I don't care)

Anyways, this took weeks to make (cuz of studying and the fact I got sick in the middle of it) but im rather happy with what I have came up with!

Always feel free to make asks like this! I enjoy them a lot! might take a while for them to come out cuz of school but I'll do my best!

(Also I'm aware some are a bit out of character, it was for comedic purposes)