#this was a struggle to make everyone was hard to draw and the layers are many

[koszmarnybudyn]

The only people doing relatively well right now, I bet that hug was gooooddd, dad hugs are the best after all.

[callsigns-haze]

Memories Fade VII

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Not so long back Rhysand lost his sister. Years after Helion and Elain can raise her memories from the past to see what truly happened to Y/n. Warning: Mentions of death and drinking, mentions of violence, murder, blood, poison, CHARACTER DEATH

Part 1 here

Previous

Back under the mountain, Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she made her way through the shadowed halls, slipping past guards and courtiers with practiced stealth. She had done this before, sneaking into Amarantha’s office to gather crucial information. But tonight, there was an added layer of urgency, a desperate need to find anything related to the Autumn Court.

Reaching the door to Amarantha’s office, she glanced around to ensure no one was watching before slipping inside. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of faelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Y/N moved quickly, her hands trembling as she opened drawers and sifted through boxes of documents.

Papers rustled and boxes shifted as she searched, her anxiety growing with each passing second. Where could it be? She thought, her frustration mounting. She could hear the faint sounds of the revelry above, the distant laughter and music a stark contrast to the tension gripping her.

Just as she found a stack of documents that looked promising, the door to the office creaked open. Y/N froze, her heart stopping as Amarantha stepped inside, her eyes narrowing at the sight before her.

"What do we have here?" Amarantha's voice was a low, dangerous purr. "A little spy in my office?"

Before Y/N could react, Amarantha's guards surged forward, grabbing her roughly by the arms. She struggled, but their grip was ironclad, their expressions devoid of mercy.

"Bring her to the dungeon room. Immediately," Amarantha commanded, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

The guards didn’t hesitate. They dragged Y/N out of the office, her feet barely touching the ground as they hauled her through the labyrinthine corridors. Panic clawed at her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t show fear. She had to be strong.

The dungeon room was dark and cold, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old blood. The guards threw her to the floor, and she landed hard, the impact jarring her bones.

Amarantha followed them in, a predatory smile playing on her lips as she looked down at Y/N. "You’ve been a very naughty girl, sneaking into places you don’t belong. What were you looking for, I wonder?"

Y/N glared up at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. She knew better than to reveal anything, especially now.

Amarantha’s smile widened, her amusement evident. "No matter. I have ways of making you talk. Guards, prepare her for interrogation."

The guards moved to obey, and Y/N steeled herself for what was to come. She would endure this. She had to. For Eris, for her brother, for everyone counting on her. She would find a way to survive.

As the guards bound her hands and prepared the instruments of torture, Y/N took a deep breath, drawing on the strength and love she carried in her heart. She would not break. She would not give Amarantha the satisfaction.

She closed her eyes, whispering a silent promise to herself and to Eris. She would endure this, and she would find a way to protect those she loved, no matter the cost.

----

The grand dining hall under the mountain was a place of stark contrasts. Opulence and decadence were juxtaposed against an underlying current of menace, the echoes of power and cruelty resonating in the air. At the head of the table, Amarantha sat, her regal posture and calculating eyes taking in everything and everyone.

Rhysand sat across from her, his expression carefully schooled into one of polite interest. The dinner spread before them was lavish, a feast fit for a queen, yet he barely touched his plate. His mind was consumed with worry for his sister, Y/N.

Amarantha watched him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a predator savoring the tension. "You’re awfully quiet tonight, Rhysand. Something on your mind?"

Rhysand met her gaze, his violet eyes steady despite the turmoil within. "I was just wondering where my sister is," he said, his tone casual. "I haven’t seen her all day."

Amarantha’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her gaze. "Oh, Y/N? I needed her to do a job for me. She left for a week."

Rhysand’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. "A week? That’s quite a long time. What kind of job requires her to be away for so long?"

Amarantha took a delicate sip of her wine, savoring the taste before answering. "It’s a delicate matter, one that requires her particular set of skills. I trust her to handle it efficiently."

Rhysand nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course. Y/N is very capable."

The lie settled heavily in his mind. He knew Amarantha well enough to recognize when she was being deceitful. His sister would never leave without telling him, without making some sort of arrangement. A cold dread crept into his heart.

"Is there anything I should be concerned about?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "I can go to assist her if necessary."

Amarantha laughed softly, a sound that sent chills down his spine. "No need, Rhysand. She’s quite resourceful on her own. You should trust her more."

Rhysand nodded, though his thoughts were far from the pleasant façade he maintained. "I do trust her. It’s just that I worry. This place can be...dangerous."

Amarantha’s smile didn’t waver. "Indeed, it can be. But she’s under my protection, and you have my word she will return safely."

---

The chamber was a place of nightmares, a dark, cold cell deep beneath the mountain where screams and cries seemed to linger in the air, echoing the suffering of countless souls who had endured its horrors. Y/N had been there for five days, and the relentless torture had taken its toll on her body, but not her spirit.

She was chained to the wall, her wrists raw and bloody from the restraints. Bruises and cuts marred her skin, and each breath she took was a struggle, her ribs aching from the repeated blows. Despite the pain, she refused to give Amarantha the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Amarantha stood before her, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that," she said, her voice dripping with false admiration. "But everyone breaks eventually. Why prolong your suffering? Just tell me what I want to know."

Y/N lifted her head, meeting Amarantha’s gaze with defiance. "Go to hell," she spat, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Amarantha’s smile faltered, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She stepped closer, her nails digging into Y/N’s chin as she forced her to look up. "Such spirit," she murmured. "It will be a pleasure to break you."

With a swift motion, Amarantha struck Y/N across the face, the impact sending her head snapping to the side. Pain exploded in her cheek, but she refused to cry out. She wouldn’t give Amarantha the satisfaction.

"Do you really think you can endure this forever?" Amarantha taunted, her voice low and dangerous. "I can keep this up for as long as it takes."

Y/N’s vision blurred, but she focused on the thought of her brother, her friends, and Eris. She drew strength from their love, their unwavering belief in her. "You can torture me all you want," she said through gritted teeth. "I’ll never tell you anything."

Amarantha’s eyes darkened with anger, and she turned to the guards. "Increase the pain. Make her wish she’d never defied me."

The guards moved forward, their expressions grim as they prepared the next round of torture. Y/N braced herself, every muscle in her body tensing in anticipation of the agony to come.

Hours passed, each moment stretching into eternity as they inflicted wave after wave of pain. But through it all, Y/N held on, her mind retreating to memories of better times, of the love that awaited her beyond the darkness.

Finally, when she thought she could endure no more, the guards stepped back, and Amarantha approached once again. "Still defiant, I see," she said, a hint of grudging respect in her voice. "But this is only the beginning. I will break you, one way or another."

Y/N glared up at her, her resolve unshaken. "Do your worst," she challenged, her voice a mere whisper but filled with steel.

Amarantha laughed, a cold, chilling sound that echoed through the chamber. "Oh, I intend to," she promised, before turning on her heel and leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

As the echoes of her laughter faded, Y/N sagged against her restraints, her body trembling with exhaustion. But even in the depths of her suffering, she clung to hope. She would endure this. She had to. For her brother, for Eris, for everyone who depended on her. She would survive.

And she would make Amarantha pay.

---

Eris paced the confines of his small, dimly lit room, the oppressive atmosphere under the mountain pressing in on him from all sides. It had been days since he last felt Y/N's presence through their bond, a connection that had always been a source of solace and strength. Now, it was as if she had blocked out her part of the bond entirely, leaving him in a state of constant worry and dread.

He had scoured every corner of the mountain he had access to, searching for any sign of her, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if she had vanished into thin air, and the thought of her being in Amarantha's clutches made his blood run cold.

Eris clenched his fists, frustration and fear gnawing at him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Y/N suffering, but he was powerless to do anything about it. His father’s orders were clear—he was to remain under Amarantha’s command and not draw any unnecessary attention to himself or his court. But that didn’t stop the burning desire to find Y/N, to protect her from whatever horrors she was enduring.

He paused by the window, looking out at the bleak landscape beyond. The weight of the bond's absence was like a physical ache in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

The door creaked open, and his youngest brother, Lucien, stepped inside, his expression grim. "Still no word?" he asked quietly.

Eris shook his head, unable to hide the worry in his eyes. "It's like she's completely shut me out. I don’t know where she is or what’s happening to her."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "Amarantha is a monster. If she’s done anything to Y/N..."

Eris cut him off, his voice harsh. "Don’t. I can’t think about that. I need to find her, Lucien. I need to know she’s safe."

Lucien nodded, his own worry evident. "We’ll find a way. We have to."

Eris resumed his pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. "There has to be something we can do, some way to reach her. I can’t just sit here and do nothing."

Lucien placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, his grip firm. "We’ll figure it out, brother. Y/N is strong. She’ll hold on until we can get to her."

Eris nodded, though the uncertainty gnawed at him. He had to believe that Y/N would endure, that she would find a way to survive. But with each passing day, the fear grew stronger, threatening to consume him.

As night fell, Eris lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, reaching out through the bond one last time, hoping against hope that he might feel her presence, even for a moment.

But there was nothing. Only silence.

And in that silence, Eris made a silent vow. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, he would find Y/N. He would bring her back. And he would make Amarantha pay for every moment of suffering she had inflicted.

With that resolve burning in his heart, Eris let sleep claim him, his dreams filled with images of Y/N, her strength and her unbreakable spirit guiding him through the darkness.

---

The twelfth day of torture had blurred into an unending nightmare for Y/N. The constant pain, the endless questions, and the malicious gleam in Amarantha’s eyes had become her world. She had held out, refusing to break, but today, the cruel High Queen seemed to reach the end of her patience.

Amarantha stood before her, a poisonous glint in her eye. "You’ve been quite the challenge," she sneered, holding a knife that glimmered with a sickly green sheen. "But I’m afraid your time has run out."

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched Amarantha approach, the knife gleaming in the dim light. She strained against her chains, but there was no escape. With a swift, brutal motion, Amarantha plunged the knife into Y/N’s stomach. Agonizing pain shot through her, and she gasped, choking on her own breath.

"This knife is coated with a very special poison," Amarantha hissed, twisting the blade. "Even if you don’t bleed out, the poison will kill you slowly and painfully. Let this be a lesson to anyone who dares defy me."

Y/N’s vision blurred with tears, but she refused to give Amarantha the satisfaction of seeing her cry out. She clenched her teeth, glaring up at her tormentor with all the defiance she could muster.

Amarantha pulled the knife out and wiped the blood on Y/N’s tattered clothes. "Guard!" she called, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Fetch Eris to clean up this mess."

As the guard hurried to obey, Amarantha leaned in close, her breath hot against Y/N’s ear. "You’ve been a fun distraction, but I’m done with you now," she whispered. "Enjoy your last moments."

With that, she turned and left the room, her laughter lingering in the air like a dark shadow. Y/N’s strength waned, her body trembling as the poison began to spread. She could feel her life slipping away, but she held on, clinging to the hope that somehow, she would survive this.

Eris’s heart raced as he followed the guard through the winding, dark corridors of the mountain. The dread that had been gnawing at him for days now threatened to consume him entirely. Y/N’s presence through their bond had been faint, almost non-existent, and he feared the worst.

Lucien caught up to him, his expression a mirror of Eris’s own anxiety. "What happened? Where is she?" he demanded, his voice taut with urgency.

The guard said nothing, leading them deeper into the dungeons. When they finally reached the cell, the sight that met Eris’s eyes made his blood run cold. Y/N lay crumpled on the floor, her body bloodied and broken. Amarantha’s cruel laughter still seemed to echo in the chamber, a haunting reminder of the torture Y/N had endured.

"Y/N!" Eris cried out, rushing to her side. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he cradled her face. "Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

Lucien stood just behind him, his face pale with shock and sorrow. "Eris..." he began, but Eris ignored him, focused entirely on Y/N.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto Eris’s. "It’s too late," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m so sorry."

"No," Eris choked out, his grip tightening on her hand. "You can’t leave me. You can’t. Not you."

A weak, pained smile touched Y/N’s lips. "The Autumn Court is safe," she murmured, her eyes glazing over. "I made sure..."

Eris’s breath caught in his throat. He understood now. Amarantha had caught her trying to gather information to protect his court. Her death was a direct result of her bravery, her sacrifice.

"Don’t speak," Eris begged, tears streaming down his face. "We’ll get you help. We’ll fix this."

Y/N’s hand reached up to touch his face, her fingers cold and trembling. "I love you," she said, her voice fading with each word. "Always remember that."

And with that, her hand fell limp, her eyes closing for the final time. The life drained from her body, leaving Eris clutching her lifeless form, a guttural cry of anguish tearing from his throat.

Lucien knelt beside him, his own eyes wet with tears. "Eris, we need to go. We can’t stay here."

But Eris couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. The bond that had connected him to Y/N was shattered, leaving a hollow, aching void in its place. He had lost her, and the pain of it was unbearable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eris allowed Lucien to help him to his feet. He gathered Y/N’s body in his arms, holding her close as they made their way out of the chamber. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing: he would make Amarantha pay for what she had done. For Y/N, for the love they had shared, and for the sacrifice she had made to protect his court.

A/n: Not me crying my heart out rn.....One more chapt- Or.........

Chapter 8 soon

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

[haleswallows]

I will not ask where you came from (Deleted Scene)

A deleted scene for "I will not ask where you came from", my fic for Dead on May-n week. Inspired by @roanawayspoons in the HH server, where they linked this and said it's perfect for puppy!Jason.

CW: NSFW, anal sex, fingering, light pet play

Jason is excited to reveal his new helmet. He's spent a lot of time designing it, ready for a refreshing new look. It's just... a coincidence. The dog-like features. Siren lives rent free in his mind, ok? It wasn't on purpose. Jason is not responsible for his subconscious.

Siren raises an eyebrow, bright red lips pressed to disguise their smirk when Jason first shows them. Lounged on his couch, their dressing gown falls open slightly to reveal toned legs. "Oh, puppy," they demure. "You spoil me. You're so pretty with your new helmet." He can't help but preen under their praise. When they command him to his knees, he goes without single hesitation and kneels at their side. The finger under his chin has his eyes fluttering closed, and Jason obligingly tilts his head back.

“Is this way your way of making sure everyone knows?” The finger traces a line along the seam where flesh meets metal, the slightest scratch of a long nail. “You like being my puppy this much?”

Jason knows the rules. He's a good boy. “Yes.” The new voice modulator grinds the word into a rough growl. Siren does smirk then, grazing a finger over the molded fangs.

“This is very nice, perfect for my puppy.” They playfully tap the subtle snout. “Well, come on then, strip. Show me the helmet without all these distractions.”

Siren likes to tease but not be teased. He does make a show of stripping, muscles flexing and stretching. But it always goes quickly. They reel him in by the buckle while he shucks off the vest, then gloves. “Let me help. You have so many layers.”

While his arms are tangled in this shirt, Siren undoes the belt, then button, then zipper. Without pushing the pants down, Siren slides their hand between compression shorts and the outer armored layer.

“No cup? Oh puppy, did you prepare for me?” They press a finger against the rapidly hardening underside of his cock, balls drawing up with his gasp. “Am I going to find another treat?”

Jason struggles to find words. Even after months and months of this game, Siren's rules, Jason's still so responsive, left gasping. 

“Puppy?” Siren gently prompts, beginning to withdraw.

It takes a few gulps of air to get there. Jason chokes out “One more surprise.”

His efforts earn a reward. Siren wraps a hand around his dick through the soft fabric. They squeeze slightly on an upstroke, teasing the head. “Good boy. You're so good for me, and just me. Wanna show me?”

The praise makes Jason flush, reddening from chest and up his neck. His face feels warm in the helmet. “Yes,” he repeats.

Sadly it means Siren releases his cock, allowing him to toe out of the steel toed boots, unbuckle hostlers, and shove the pants down. Jason’s embarrassed for a second before the compression shorts join the mess of clothes on the floor. All it takes is a half lidded look from Siren, their eyes hungrily tracing from chest to toe, flicking back up to the helmet.

They swirl a finger lazily. Jason obeys, pausing just a moment when his back is turned. “Oh,” Siren breathes out. “Come here.”

He kneels again. Siren cups the cheek of the helmet in their hand and encourages him to prop his arms onto the couch cushion. Instinctually, Jason leans into it, missing the feel of their palm a little bit.

Siren finally sits up from their relaxed lounge, legs bracketing him. Jason's practically in their lap and fully hard now. Their other hand skates up his arm, drawing patterns into his bicep with a nail. He flexes his arms without thinking, Siren giggling. 

“That looks new. Were you excited to buy it? Couldn't wait to show me?” Siren pulls him to sit up straighter, pinches a nipple. With a gasp, Jason arches his back, sits as pretty as he can.

“Yes.” Jason was excited. Is excited, the press of the plug a little bigger than his usual preferred toy. It had taken a little effort to get it in, Jason had nearly come while fingering himself open, thoughts of Siren forefront.

“So cute,” they coo, pressing a kiss to the temple of the helmet. “It matches your helmet. You look so good in red, puppy. Now the question is do you want the toy, or me?” 

Jason shorts out for a moment. He trembles as Siren distracts him with wandering hands. As he opens his mouth, Siren pressed a kiss to his neck, scrapes teeth over the skin. Jason gasps, words flying from his head. Groans when Siren bites harder.

“Words, pretty boy.” A grin pressed into his neck, a hand reaching down his back, a barely there brush of a finger at the base of his tailbone.

He pants. Half crazy from the plug and the constant stimulation. Jason needs to be touched. “You.” His voice is strangled.

“Well, get up here. I'm not getting on the floor.”

Jason slowly crawls up, Siren directing him to lean over the armrest. He feels exposed, hemlet pressed into the fabric, arms curled under his chest. It puts him ass up, cock heavy and hanging between his thighs.

“Just look at you. Beautiful.” Siren admires, pressing a kiss to the small of his back. Jason squirms, pleased with himself and relishing the praise. Then nearly jumps out his skin when Siren suddenly grabs his balls. 

He can barely concentrate on what Siren says, focused entirely on the hand slowly kneading the sack. “I'm going to fuck you, your hands stay right there. No touching yourself, I want you to come on just my dick, Jason. Do you understand? Will you be good?”

“Yes.” He can be good. He can be so good. Something breaks in his brain a little bit, overwhelmed with the promise of being fucked, the promise of more than teasing touches. “Yes, I understand. Please, I'll be good, I'll be good. Please, Siren.”

Siren drapes over his back. A kiss to the nape of his neck gentle and soothing. “Please, what?” A finger presses on the plug, pushing the flare against the stretched rim. He pants.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please. Siren, I want your cock. Want to come for you, want to be a good boy.” The begging erupts from him, Jason wrapped up in the press of Siren's silken dressing gown all along his back, the way their legs frame his.

“Relax for me,” Siren commands, biting the juncture between neck and shoulder. Jason melts into the sharpness of the feeling, breaking through his general fog of need and arousal.

The plug slides out. For a moment, Jason is stretched too wide, too much. Then suddenly he's empty, bereft, clenching on nothing. “Oh, honey.”

A single finger slips easily in, hole still wet with the smear of lube from fingering himself. Jason's hands twitch. He clenches them, and shoves them under his chin. 

A second finger joins the first. Siren hums, slowly scissoring them. They're always so gentle with Jason, so careful as they open him up. “We need a little more lube, sweetheart.”

“Ah,” Jason twitches. It's a few heartbeats before his brain produces a coherent thought. “Pants pocket.” 

They laugh. “Of course. My clever puppy, always thinking ahead.” But it means they remove their fingers to lean for the pants, rooting around in the pockets. When Jason shivers at the loss, Siren runs a hand up his flank, presses a thumb to his hole. “Patience. Don't wanna hurt you, baby boy. You're being so good, I'm going to take care of you. You know what you get when you're good?”

Jason nods into the armrest, eyes squeezed shut. Siren removes their hand. They lightly swat his ass. “Words, puppy.”

“I get rewards.” He twists his head, getting Siren into his peripheral. Their smile is sweet, eyes crinkling with it. 

The reward is Siren pushing two lube slicked fingers into his ass. Jason groans long and shamelessly. After a few moments, Siren easily adds a third finger.

They mouth lines of kisses across the broad span of his shoulders. Fingers pump slowly in and out of his hole, a maddening pace only barely enough to keep him hard. The pads of Siren's fingers just graze his prostate every few strokes. 

Jason is melting. He's burning and panting and fighting every instinct to grip his cock. If he doesn't get more, he's going to scream. Or cry. A chant starts pouring out of him. “Siren, please. I'm ready, I want you, more, please. I… it feels so good, please, please can I…?”

Siren surges forward, pressing their weight all along his back. Their dick slots behind his balls. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You asked so nicely, it’d be mean of me to make you wait more.”

They gently remove their fingers. There's the sound of the lube opening again and Jason takes the opportunity to catch his breath. He uncurls his arms, bracing hands on the armrest. 

Then groans again at the stretch of Siren's dick pushing into him. It's slow but delicious. in all the right ways. Jason sets his hips against the push, allowing Siren to rest against him. Siren breathes out a long satisfied sigh against the top of his spine when they finally fully seat inside him. A heartbeat of stillness, Siren caresses his sides in an upward sweep. They pause to grope his pecs before slotting their hands together.

“You have no clue how good you feel, puppy.” Siren presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. With a long slow withdrawal, Jason squeezes their hands. He knows what’s next. He’s been a good boy. They pull out until the ridge of their cock head pulls at the rim. The thrust is hard, driving Jason’s breath out.

Siren’s pace is cruel. Each thrust hard, but just shy of fast enough. Jason writhes under it. He hangs his head, lifts it again, clenches his hands and thighs in turn, arching his back. All the while, his cock and balls ache. Jason needs more, certain a single touch would put him over the edge but Siren keeps a hold of his hands. The sound of their fucking is obscene, and if Jason had even an of sanity to spare, he’d be a ashamed of the continual whine and gasps and mewls he’s making.

It’s obvious when Siren starts to get close. They release Jason’s hands to pull his hips closer, encouraging him to sit up. Impossibly it drives their cock deeper. Siren noses against his neck. “Beautiful and you don’t even realize, god you feel so good. You don’t know what you do to me, puppy. It’s like you were made for me. Can you come without me touching you today?” Every word brings heat to Jason’s chest, he shudders.

And they wrap a hand around the base of his neck, the barest hint of pressure against his throat. Jason comes, losing his voice as pleasure rips through him. Siren keeps up the brutal pace, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Good boy. You’re so good for me, you’re perfect. Stay just like that, puppy.” Strong arms keep him upright, the thrust not stuttering. Jason gets lost in it – the haze of endorphins and praise. Beyond all reason, Jason gets hard again. “Look at you. Filthy, you like it that much? Oh puppy, are you going to come again for me? Can you?”

Siren presses him into the couch, bending him forward until the helmet meets cushion. Jason’s hips tilt and then he’s seeing stars with each thrust. He scrabbles against the fabric, trying to gain purchase to push back. “Right there, huh. You’ve been marvelous. I’m so close, puppy.”

They pant against his shoulder. “Come. Come, Jason.” The command is paired with a hand on his cock, stroking in time with the thrusts. “You can do it, puppy. Beautiful boy.” 

It isn’t Jason’s first dry orgasm. It definitely won’t be his last. Still it shocks Jason, amazed by the way it rocks through him and makes his toes curl. He clenches and finally Siren’s hips stutter. Warmth of a different sort fills him, and Jason swears his dick twitches as if inspired to try for a third.

Time gets a little fizzy for Jason as he focuses on catching his breath, only gasping once Siren pulls out. Sensation slowly returns to his numb limbs. “Careful, honey bee. There you go,” Siren coos gently, guiding Jason to lay on his side. “There’s a wet spot there. We made a mess, huh. You stay put.”

Vaguely, he hears the padding of feet. He concentrates on wiggling his fingers and then toes. “You want this off? Oh babe, you must be boiling in there.” Jason obligingly rolls his head so Siren can access the release on the back. The rush of cool air is a relief, he barely noticed how warm he was. 

Jason hums, cracking an eye open when Siren begins combing fingers through his sweaty hair. “You poor thing, you’re drenched. Wanna get showered?” Absolutely not. The thought of getting up just then is abhorrent, so Jason shakes his head. “No words right now? That’s ok, puppy. Let me get you a little cleaned up and a towel down. Will you have some water for me?”

The washcloth is warm on his skin. When Siren finishes, they press a kiss to his hip bone. He sits up just long enough to drain most of a glass of water. Flopping onto his back, Jason sprawls across the couch.

“Scooch, how am I supposed to cuddle you if there’s no room?” Jason squints at them, but doesn't move. “It's like you think this will stop me.”

They clamber onto him, slotting themselves between his legs to fold arms over his chest. “It's like you think this wasn't my plan,” Jason comments. As Siren settles, he loops his arms around their back.

There's blissful silence for about three seconds. Siren wiggles. “Hey, you ever thought about soaking? Cock warming?”

Jason groans, and not in pleasure. No, he hasn't. But now he is… and, huh. That's new. He considers it, finds he might like that.

“You'd be so cute stuffed with my cock for hours. We could get a mirror for the bedroom, make it so you can see. Your asshole is amazing. You'd be a great cock warmer.” 

When Jason doesn't answer, Siren pauses. “We don't have to. You know my rules, no means –.”

“No, I know. I'm not saying no. Just… give me a few days?” Siren smothers a smile.

“Of course. We can make a whole thing of it. Let me spoil you. Buy us dinner, get some sweet treats, something nice for a bath after. Yeah? Sound good?” They beam at him, and Jason is hopeless.

“You've ruined me.” It makes them laugh, bright and happy. “How are you always like this? You have too much energy.”

They hum, kiss his pec. “Can't help it. Hey, you patrolling tonight?”

Maybe if he could feel his legs. “Nah, I'll do gear and weapons maintenance.”

“Good, you deserve the rest. Want me to grab something to eat when I'm done?” They idly trace a scar on his bicep. “I can even get you some of those disgusting chili dogs.”

“Disgusting, they say. As if you didn't text me last week to beg for four of them.”

They flap hands vaguely in his face, shooing away the teasing remark. “Wait! If I do a seance for Nana Franny again, do you think she’ll make me more birria?”

Jason catches their hands, smoothes a thumb over the bare nails. “Nah, she called yesterday. Her oven is acting up. I’ll go fix it and then we’ll be birria rich.” Siren gasps.

“It’s fate! Hey, wanna pick a couple colors for my nails? You have a good eye. Don’t just pick reds though, puppy.” A phone, lodged somewhere in the couch, starts ringing. Siren surges up for a kiss, digging it from between the armrest and cushion at the same time. “And now I have to start getting ready.”

When Jason bench presses by their hips, Siren makes an appreciative ‘ooh’. Mostly Jason does it to avoid their flailing limbs, and inevitable elbow to the solar plexus he always gets when Siren scrambles off his chest.

“You stay put, puppy. Rest. Drink lots of water.” They pat his chest, then trot down the hall. “Wait, have you ever thought about shibari?”

“Stop it!”

[doumadono]

GRATULACJE Z OKAZJI 3K, ZASŁUŻYŁAŚ

I'd love to request: comforting you when you’re anxious with Bakugo and f reader, blurb nor headcanons, whatever you find more accurate

An explosive shoulder to lean on - Bakugo x Reader

Synopsis: in times of anxiety, Bakugo extends his unique form of comfort to soothe your worries A/N: thank you so much, my dear friend! Your support is truly priceless. I hope you'll delight in this brief blurb I've crafted ♥

MASTERLIST

One gloomy afternoon, as rain tapped against the windows, you found yourself hunched over your desk in a class, anxiety gnawing at your insides. The weight of upcoming exams and the pressure to excel in a world of heroes was suffocating. Your fingers tapped nervously on your textbook as you tried to focus on the material before you, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom swung open with a bang, and Bakugo stormed in, his expression a mix of irritation and frustration. Katsuki had to make a swift return to the school when he realized he had left his phone behind in the classroom. He had a fierce scowl on his face, the telltale sign that something was amiss. His crimson eyes narrowed as they scanned the room, and it was then that he spotted you, sitting at your desk with tear-streaked cheeks.

Bakugo's initial instinct was to scoff, to retreat from the unexpected vulnerability he had stumbled upon. But something held him back, a small flicker of empathy buried beneath his layers of brashness. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention, and his voice, surprisingly gentle, cut through the silence. "What the hell are you doing here, crying like an idiot?"

Panic surged through you, but his gaze held a peculiar softness that contradicted his words. He looked uncomfortable, as if grappling with an unfamiliar emotion. It was a side of him you had rarely seen.

Swallowing hard, you struggled to find your voice. "I-I'm just… having a tough time, I guess."

He snorted, his arms crossed over his chest. "Tch. That's no excuse to blubber like a damn baby."

For a moment, his harshness threatened to push you further into your shell. But then, to your surprise, he pulled out a chair and sat down next to you, his movements awkward and uncharacteristically unsure.

"Look," he began, his voice gruff but with an underlying gentleness. "I ain't good at this kind of crap, but if you're gonna sit here being all mopey, you might as well tell me what's eating at you."

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But the way he had defied his own nature to sit beside you, to offer even the slightest semblance of comfort, gave you the courage to open up. "I'm just… overwhelmed, Katsuki… It feels like I can never catch up, like no matter how hard I try, I'm always falling short. I'm scared of failing, of disappointing everyone – including myself."

"Listen, idiot," he grumbled, his words surprisingly gentle. "I get it. We're all dealing with our own crap, and sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is gonna crush us. But the only way to deal with it is to keep pushing forward, to keep fighting. So, stop crying and start kicking that anxiety's ass."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his blunt, yet oddly inspiring, pep talk. Bakugo was offering comfort in his own unique way, a blend of tough love and unwavering support. It wasn't a traditional display of kindness, but it was genuine and heartfelt in its own right.

The tears that had threatened to consume you began to recede, replaced by a newfound determination. With Bakugo by your side, even if he was more likely to explode than offer a hug, you felt a renewed sense of strength. You wiped your eyes, managing a small smile.

"Thanks, Kacchan. I needed that."

He grunted, his cheeks tinted with a faint blush that he tried to hide. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make it a habit, got it?"

With that, he stood up abruptly, as if eager to escape the vulnerable moment he had created. But as he walked away, you couldn't help but feel a warm glow of gratitude. Katsuki Bakugo, the explosive hero-in-training, had shown you a side of himself that few ever witnessed – a side that, despite his rough edges, was capable of providing comfort in its own uniquely fiery way.

[skellyjingles]

HOW DO YOU GET YOUR STYILE SO SOFT LOOKING? THE WAY YOU DRAW JAX IS SO HEKING CUTE!! LIKE HOW???

I think the softness of my style ultimately falls on 3 things:

Good, textured brushes - this is the biggest one. it's not impossible to make soft-looking art with a hard brush, but i mainly stick to textured brushes to make things easier for myself. my favorite brushes are the ones that are solid enough for clear line definition but they do something interesting with the shape/density/opacity that keeps it from being too "hard" if that makes sense. for example, my go-to brush for line art is the CSP Bit Husky ink brush (it used to be a default brush, but now you have to download it if you have a newer version). It acts like an actual brush that isn't loaded with enough ink, so you can see the brushstrokes where certain parts are less opaque (like what you can see in this Jax drawing)

i think this brush strikes a great balance between the clarity of the lines while still giving it a certain fuzziness. speaking of fuzzy, a brush that i love for softer shading/coloring is the SU Cream Pencil; it has a really nice, pillowy feel to it + it is absolutely awesome for blending. i understand that not everyone has CSP but i encourage you to experiment with other brushes regardless! i use different brushes all the time.

[this is getting long so i'll pop the rest under the cut]

Color usage - aside from when i doodle, i don't really use pure black or white because i find that they often look too harsh; just adding that little bit of color makes it look more visually interesting and easier on the eyes. similarly, i refrain from using colors at full saturation. even when i use highly-saturated colors, i limit it to 1 or maybe 2. i also sometimes use a multiply or overlay layer over the whole thing to unify the color palette more.

you've probably also noticed that i like to color in the inner lines differently from the outer lines. i think it works because less contrast on the inner lines makes it less harsh but the contrast created by the outer lines maintains the visual separation between different parts of the piece.

Lack of straightness - be bi like me the concept of softness is visually associated with curves and rounded shapes. whenever I'm drawing characters, i try to avoid using straight lines and sharp angles so i can get a more organic feel (unless the design calls for it, like Zooble)

that's how i get my style soft-looking. there's plenty of other approaches by other people, but this one's mine.

as for a cute-looking jax, he has big expressive eyes. it's pretty easy to make him look cute. add some highlights to them if you're particularly struggling.

[hauntedgoblin]

I didn't know I had a body...

I've noticed that people take general movement for granted—especially people who have been comfortably moving in their bodies for most of their lives. Life-long dancers often lose sight over time of how impressive even much of the "simple" movement is as they reach for their next trick, split, or hand-balance. When you're surrounded by an echo chamber of flexibility and curated strength it's hard to imagine that there are many people who struggle to even turn their head from the left to the right.

Movement is a layered experience, and dance takes it to new heights of complexity. I feel like I've gained so many unique insights into the experience of moving and discovering body awareness, having begun my dance journey in my 20s with chronic illness tainting my physical experience of existence and undiagnosed autism secretly crippling my autonomic nervous system.

I had always moved my body, but it had never been with presence. In my earliest memories, I had decided as a child that everyone must be aware of the pains of physical existence—everyone knew we were just souls, balls of light, stuck inside of human bodies for a short while, right? And that meant that our real selves could never REALLY be comfortable in a physical body because it has so many limitations that an incorporeal ball of light would not have.

The constant pain and overstimulation I was feeling in my body was what everyone was feeling. Right?

That's what I believed. Because when I tried to explain the things I was experiencing or struggling with inside of my body it was brushed aside by doctors, teachers, trusted adults. They all laughed it off, often acting like I was just being funny, saying weird things as all kids do. They didn't have the education or context to understand any differently, I suppose.

But there were a lot of signs that, if someone informed in autism or ADHD had noticed, might have garnered me help sooner. Instead, I was just quirky, artistic, strange, slightly disruptive, inattentive, shy, awkward, slow, quick, eccentric, lazy, too sensitive, etc.

Even as a child, I couldn't touch my toes, or soften into movement, or really relax my body ever, but I could run, and jump, and swim, and lift things I probably shouldn't have been able to lift when I forced it.

I couldn't do a single pull up in gym class but I could do 100 pushups on a bet if I was bored. And boy could I hyperfixate for hours on writing and art projects: binding my own picture books, painting and drawing, stop motion and short films on my dad's old camcorder.

So when I was misunderstood or got in trouble for not understanding something, when I was bullied, or when I couldn't make friends, when my emotional processing was confused, and when I felt like I had no one to turn to—I turned to art.

I hid in books and drawings. I escaped to worlds outside of my body and physical reality. I created spaces in my mind where I could daydream and disappear.

I didn't notice for a long time that I wasn't even communicating with my body anymore. I couldn't separate the anxiety of my terrified, lonely mind with the anxiety of my panicked and forgotten nervous system. I didn't notice when I was hungry, so I'd go too long between eating. I didn't know how to tell when I was thirsty, so I was always dehydrated. I didn't know when I needed time alone and when I needed time socializing.

And to be fair, not all of it was my responsibility to know as a child. But not even feeling those needs in any way I could communicate was suss (autism).

Also, eventually, I wouldn't doubt that a part of my subconscious maybe didn't care to register these physical needs. I didn't care to take care of my body because it didn't seem to serve me. My intellect got me to college, which is what I was told I needed to escape poverty. My physical body had done nothing but cause me problems.

I'd been in and out of doctor's offices from the time I was 6 years old, trying to address the constant shaking of my hands that they eventually labelled Essential Tremor; getting checked for thyroid tumors and pancreatic cancer because of ongoing and unknown blood sugar issues; having blood drawn by specialist after specialist for chronic pain, constant fatigue, anxiety that never seemed to cease, and depression that no one wanted to actually call depression.

When I was fourteen I remember begging god to just kill me if he existed because I was so tired of having doctors tell me nothing was wrong when every day I was in pain and mentally struggling.

Because I was lacking proper medical care or understanding of the real issues I was facing, I was also lacking any understanding from those around me. I was bullied by the adults in my life almost as much as I was bullied by children. Teachers would either treat me like I was an amazing savant, as I excelled in their classes with minimal effort, or like I carried a plague of awkwardness and stupidity, as I struggled to sit still or doodled in their classes trying to focus, not really connecting with the other children.

All this to explain: my mind was constantly trying to escape my body because it didn't feel safe. Other problems at home meant there was no space where I felt truly comfortable (except maybe the woods).

I dissociated from my body as much as I could. If I wasn't escaping into school work, I escaped into fiction: writing and reading it, daydreaming it, painting it, creating it. I lived in the physical world as seldom as I could, and when I did I was still finding ways to "shut off" the connection to my body so I didn't have to feel the constant pain that was there.

As I grew older, I knew I needed to move my body for exercise, for health. But back then my idea of "health" was that I just needed to remain skinny or I would be even more repulsive to the world.

Almost every boy I had had an early crush on blatantly told me how ugly I was or spread it to his friends so I could find out second-hand in the middle of gym class or biology or the girls locker room. Girls would constantly say "she's so pretty!" as the very first comment about a girl they wanted to be freinds with. So I had to make sure I did everything I could to make myself more conventionally attractive because apparently that was the most important thing to get ahead in life as someone presenting as a woman.

If I couldn't pull a Nic Cage Face Off situation and just wake up with a completely different face, I could at least develop orthorexia and never let myself eat without exercising ever again.

I could become obsessed with being a model at 16 and humiliate myself trying to use my insecurities to motivate a career in inviting strangers with even more prejudice to comment on my still-developing body and over-charge for photographs, and walking lessons, and representation, and "industry" events with what little resources I had to spare.

So, in high school, I began exercising more intentionally—with the intention being: how can this make me look better. As mentioned, I'd always been really active. But activity doesn't necessarily translate into body awareness.

As a child of the 2000s, I had been running around the woods with friends from my earliest memory. My mom worked at the YMCA, and we swam there as kids. I even took some of my mom's group fitness classes and sat in on her personal training sessions. Sometimes they'd let me use the workout machines for fun.

But in high school, I started taking it more seriously for the purposes of being thin because I thought if I could become a model maybe I wouldn't be bullied anymore. Maybe people would see me as pretty one day and they'd think I was worth getting to know...

I grew up with 2000s era Tumblr, thigh-gap worship, low-rise jeans on the "flat stomachs" of literal 12 year olds, and essentially the portrayal of c0ca1ne in entertainment media as if it were 0zempic.

My approach to "fitness" reflected the times. I recorded calories obsessively and exercised just as erratically to cancel them out. And I can tell you that I was just as dissociated from my body during these workouts as I was when I was having my blood drawn in the doctor's office and "turning off" my connection to my physical pain.

I hated exercising so much honestly because of this relationship to it. There was no joy in the movement. There was no "taking care of my body." I was purely punishing my body, once again, for making life hard for me. Why couldn't it just be what I wanted it to be?

Why did I have to fight my body so much?

Fighting became the next theme. What were the most extreme exercises I could do to really kick myself into shape? I tried high intensity interval training at home and loved it. It was so hard, and it got me completely out of my head.

I wasn't really IN my body either, but I didn't have to think so much when I was trying to keep up with squat jumps and sprints.

Then I looked into Crossfit. I started trying to find spaces where I could train with other people, because all the best models had trainers. I couldn't afford a personal trainer. My mom was working 80+ hours a week to keep our family afloat, and she had her own problems. I saw some article about how Candice Swanepoel had done boxing as part of her regular exercise routine—so I started looking into that.

I found a Muay Thai boxing gym nearby when I was 17 and the gym owner gave me a great deal because they didn't have many girls there and he was trying to diversify the classes. I think this was the first time I actually started to feel some real body awareness. You can't punch properly without breathing. You can't keep your stamina up to protect your face without tuning in.

I got to hang out with dudes that didn't judge me and thought I was cool for trying something like that when I'd never done it before. It became a safe space for movement for me.

I did that for almost three years and saw the growth and the changes it made in my body and my confidence. Feeling like I could kick someone's ass if they messed with me definitely helped. But when I got accepted to college and had a new schedule of full time classes, scholarship hours at the campus theater, and nannying to help pay for school, I had less and less time to get to boxing class.

I stayed with it on and off, but I also got sicker. College was perhaps the most dissociative four years of my life. I struggled so deeply I literally don't remember almost anything from my college experience now except for how sick I kept getting. I struggled with my hypoglycemia and chronic fatigue like never before, and my depression became more severe than it had ever been.

But because of my childhood experiences being dismissed and being told by specialists that it was all just anxiety, I kept my head down and kept it to myself. If I tried to explain, I wouldn't get help anyway—that was the pattern my brain believed.

I worked hard, and that was all I really did: work hard.

My last year of college I got an internship for technical writing at a startup. I was just about to graduate when I got the sickest I'd ever been. I kept losing weight no matter what I ate, and every day I felt more and more tired. It wasn't like the dream of weight loss I'd had when I was 16. It felt awful how many people kept saying how good I looked when it felt like my body was actively dying (spoiler: it was).

That year, at 22, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I was lucky I caught it when I did before I could end up hospitalized. The doctors said they thought after the hypoglycemia had my pancreas working overtime for years, producing too much insulin, my body had begun to attack itself and now it couldn't create enough. They didn't know why, but that was the theory.

A new level of frustration with my body emerged. I felt more disabled than I'd ever been or admitted. I would have to rely on pharmaceutical insulin for the rest of my life (a $1200/month cost at the time).

I'd asked for god to kill me at 14 but I didn't know he was going to be this slow about it.

That same year, I went through a major breakup. I graduated college. I got my first full-time writing job, and I moved out of my parents house. Adulthood hit me with everything it had, and a new chronic illness to top it all off. The grief was daily.

I realized I needed movement and community now more than ever. So I started looking for a boxing gym again.

The only one nearby had me working with a coach who was not as excited to be working with a femme presenting person as my last one. There were no group classes for me, he was obviously impatient, and his words betrayed his misogyny. I took one class with him and knew I wouldn't go back.

There was nothing else close for boxing that I could afford, so I started looking for somewhere to do yoga or pilates. I'd liked those kinds of classes in the class, and maybe I could find somewhere that would have a good community behind it.

As I was searching for a yoga studio, scanning over the results on Google, my eyes locked on one of the links for a nearby studio. It was a studio offering yoga and pole dancing classes.

I had never heard of taking pole dancing classes—I hadn't even realized people could attempt that kind of dance unless they were doing it professionally. A little voice in me screamed I had to try it.

I've already given you more details and context than you probably need for this story, all to get here. But as VP Harris said, "You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you."

I took a beginner pole class, by myself, scared out of my mind that I was going to make a fool of myself because, of all the movement I'd tried, I hadn't danced in front of anyone since I'd been made fun of on a party bus at some girl's birthday party in the 5th grade. But during that class I experienced a level of immediate kindness and support from other adult women that I'm not sure I'd ever actually experienced in that way. I had so much fun, and got such a good workout without feeling like it was even a workout.

I was instantly addicted. I wanted a pole in my house. I wanted to dance every day. I wanted to become GOOD at this new skill.

Almost three years of boxing had taught me that if you keep doing something for long enough, you will get better at it. The patience is the hardest part. But even if you start out sucking, if you keep working at something, you will improve.

So that's what I told myself as I started into this new space. And I dove right in. At 22, I was working full-time as a tech writer, I had a freelance job writing short stories for an entertainment app, and I wrote my own books on Wattpad updating my stories once or twice a week religiously for a growing audience.

Then, three or four times a week, whatever I could spare time and money for, I took pole classes.

I didn't know that I was still filling every inch of my time with something so I could dissociate, but I would learn pretty soon. When you fill all your time with hard work, even if the work feels like fun, your body finds a way to tell you what's wrong...

You'd think I would have learned that from the diabetes diagnosis. But I kept feeling like maybe this time my life was turning around. Maybe this time, I wouldn't get sick.

I kept going that way. Working 7 am - 3 pm so I could drive home before the traffic picked up, so I didn't have to spend two hours in the car. Spending my evenings writing for my own projects or my part time gigs. Then taking classes or practicing dance at home. Weekends I'd hang out with the new friends I'd made through work, but I was still so socially anxious I'd spend hours (sometimes days) afterwards processing the interactions.

I didn't have a full breakdown until the pandemic hit. That's when I was forced into stillness, and I realized I wasn't ok.

It was nearly 3 years into my dance journey, and this is when I really started to understand body awareness. This is when I realized what it meant to relax in your body—and that I didn't actually know how to do that and wasn't sure if I ever had known.

I realized I had maybe never taken a deep breath. Every breath I'd taken up to then was stuck in my chest, full of panic, just keeping me alive as best it could. Doctors had always commented that I should relax when I took a deep breath for them, yet no one had actually explained or noted with any urgency that it wasn't a good idea for that to be my breath at all times.

The realizations about my breath and lack of relaxation began helping me dance better, to understand the subtle balance of tension and softness that really makes it a dance. But it also brought with it a deeper understanding that my body had not felt safe in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

It wasn't just all amazing happy realizations and awareness: the awareness of the pain in my body also became deeper. The understanding of my body's cues, what it was lacking and how it was damaged from neglect, became more pronounced.

Really tuning into my body allowed me to see how unwell I had been and still was... how much I had ignored to keep going, keep pushing, trying to fit in, trying to succeed, trying to be everything I could be in the same ways everyone around me was doing it... but those methods just weren't working out for me the same way, and I couldn't understand why.

It was during this time, processing these new understandings of myself and realizing the depth of how much I had fully separated from my body for so long, that I broke down and admitted to needing more help. My brain felt like it couldn't cope anymore.

It was like the stillness of the pandemic, the sudden, deeper awareness of my body, and the coinciding development of my prefrontal cortex all met together to tell me that if I didn't figure it out I was going to die. And it wasn't going to be a quick painless death—it was going to be a slow agonizing march to the end.

I was diagnosed with ADHD and subsequently autism when I was 27, and it was like all the puzzle pieces started falling into place.

Of course I hadn't felt at home in my body. My autoimmune system is wired differently. Flashes of my early worldview came back to me, the orbs of light trapped in these bodies.

I never realized what it meant to have a body because I never really accepted that this body was me.

I was the thing in the body, trapped there. The body itself was on loan, temporary, and not the one I wanted. I had never let myself become deeply attached to it. Thus I had never really known it.

My body was overstimulated by the things I was experiencing that the neurotypical people around me couldn't make sense of. I couldn't describe it to them in a way they ever would have understood, especially without the right framework to explain it. And I hadn't experienced enough soft, joyful moments in my body to convince my ever-seeking, never-stopping, constantly-processing brain that my body should have meaningful significance to it.

Dance was the only thing powerful enough to start integrating a consciousness seeking freedom with a body seeking peace.

Now, I feel that the way that people see me move betrays this previous connection (or lack-there-of) with my body. No one really knows or understands how serious I am when I say it felt like I didn't know I really had a body. They think I'm exaggerating when I say I had never taken true, deep breath until I was 25 or 26.

The truth is, I never really felt things the way I was "supposed to," so at some point during childhood I just turned a lot of the sensation off entirely. I thought existing in a body WAS pain. I thought they were synonymous experiences. So I had given up trying to explore the world through my body and for a long time tried to navigate it solely with my mind.

I didn't want to be present in my body because every moment existing with undiagnosed chronic illness and unexplained sensory overwhelm was to experience pain.

And though it seems like I have made so many strides teaching dance classes to others now and moving with much more confidence and grace—pain and dissociation is still an unfortunate but massive part of my experience in a body. I have more awareness and coping skills now, but the challenges remain.

I work really hard, training and conditioning regularly to correct chronic pain patterns and injuries that exist in my body from simply not being aware enough to safely hold my own posture together. But there's still pain every day, some worse than others. And I have to be very regimented in how I regularly connect to myself to ensure I'm being safe and present while I'm dancing. If I let any of these practices go for even a moment, I'm in so much pain I basically have to revert to dissociative tendencies to manage it.

I can't dance safely if I'm dissociative. And I want to dance forever... or as long as I possibly can. So I've had to accept that I have to be diligent, and I may have to do things in ways that other people don't have to in order to accomplish the same things.

Nearly 8 years into pole dancing now, I understand my body like I never have before. But every day I'm still discovering new things about it. I'm still learning how to stay present and feel my feelings in a physical way without intellectualizing my way through them. I'm still decoding what certain physical sensations mean and why they're so significant. I'm still learning to breathe deeply.

I'm still convincing myself that I'm safe in my own body.

But once, a long time ago, a little alien dreamed of nothing more than being able to dance. They wanted to be a ballerina, but they were laughed out of the YMCA dance classes (the only ballet classes their family could afford) because they couldn't even touch their toes. And that little alien had been laughed and pushed out of so many things before they could even develop a sense of themselves, they just believed the people who said they couldn't do those things.

Now at 30, I'm touching my toes almost daily, just for fun.

[jellyvibes710]

@skylabrea Leo took it upon himself to learn Morse code while Donnie learned asl in case they ever needed it in battle, Donnie also knows Morse code and with this knowledge Leo learned Morse code VERY well from being an absolute menace to Donnie, donnie doesn't know it as well as leo because he just prefers ASL and everyone in the family knows it

Leo knew he was dying, he could feel it in his body and him being the main medic of the team he knew he was getting worse, he knew more than anyone that he was dying so he decided to spend as much time as he had left just spending time with his family, he didn’t realize how fast he was dying though and by the Time he realized it was his last moments he only had enough strength to see one person so he went to his twin

Not only was Donnie the second closest to the medbay but Donnies lab just became his safe place when he struggled to sleep

Dee always had a backup chair for leo to sit next to him and listen to him rant about a project or a game he was interested in, eventually putting him to sleep. In turn Donnie would fall asleep shortly after listening to Leo's eepy chirps and churs, tuning his brain out enough to relax and get his own amount of sleep.

So it was a bit of both to wanting to see his brother and knowing that he was passing

In part 3, Leo doesn't understand how mikey knew morse code though.. only Donnie and him know it.

My friend responds that worded it way better than I ever could :]

"This hits really hard when paired with the Mikey drawing, because you can tell Leo is sorta just thinking things over and trying to come to terms with his reality and how he's going to like. Minimize the damage of his death. Knowing full well he can't, really. He can only pray that everyone will just kind of see him as this strong, funny guy that they grew to love, thinking that he'd be showing weakness if he didn't at least pretend he was fine"

"It's almost scary how much hes convincing himself that his death won't actually be that bad, as long as he fakes it til he makes it, hoping that everyone will be in there so he can give them a lil speech and then just pass in his sleep so he doesn't have to see it. Cause Leo knows. He knows every layer to it"

:]

Till next time

[darkfictionjude]

I just wanted to say that I really love your writing!! The way you capture the feeling of living in a broken home for example, or the struggle with mental health, really resonates. It's not easy to nail such complex and difficult topics, so i really admire your skill. Also, the friendgroup interactions are so fun! The way their personalities bounce off each other and their individual dynamics and how Crowny is experiencing the wonders of friendship for the first time😪🥹I've only found your story yesterday but if anything happens to this little group of Scooby Doo's, it's on😤(even though i am 90% sure it will all fall apart terribly and I will cry in a corner, but one can hope!!)

Anyways I also love how you write Crowny!! Their struggles with mental health and family problems are written in such a relatable way, and just them as a person is fascinating, I love an unreliable narrator and mysteries.

And, of course, Crowny's funny and my favourite menace. And this might be niche, but i think it's also super impressive that your teenager characters actually read like teenagers. Like Imre (my impression of him, at least); even though he is this manipulative schemer with 1000 layers of secrets, he's also still a 19 year old boy and in high-school, and that shows in the way he interacts with the team and the world, if that makes sense!

I could go on about all the other aspects of the game that have me in a chokehold, but i don't want to clog your askbox with like 5 more paragraphs of my ravings🧘‍♀️know that i am rotating your story inside my mind and crearing so many little silly drawings to deal with my excitement🙏🖍🖍🖍

On a more serious note, thank you for witing this story and sharing it!! I hope you continue having as much fun creating it as I have reading it, even though writing can be really quite rough sometimes🫶 and i also hope you're doing well and experience many of moments of joy! <3

(ps: and I'm really sorry if some of what i wrote was hard to understand, English isn't my first language and my sentences are always too long when I'm excited😪🙆‍♀️)

Yeah I’m happy my teenagers feel like teenagers cause it’s a pet peeve of mine to have them talk and act as if they’re 25

Also another nickel for apologizing for what I consider to be great English 😘

I’m happy I get messages where people love every one in my discount scooby gang, I find that it’s either they only like one or they hate everyone

Thank you 💜

[halowritesthings]

“Tout est nul, putain,” Remy said while stomping his way inside. He shook the snow off his body like a wet dog, specifically because he knew it would annoy Scott when he eventually came inside and saw the partially melted snow on the hardwood. “I hate de cold.”

He shucked off the winter cap and gloves he borrowed, but before he could bend over to unlace his boots, a southern drawl emitted from the doorway, “So Ah’ve heard.”

Looking up, he saw Rogue leaning on the frame of the entrance to the common area of the mansion, a blanket bundled in her arms. His mood suddenly perked up significantly, “Well, good ol’ North must‘ve finally caught me. Why else would such a stunnin’ ange be here t’greet moi?”

Rogue rolled her eyes as she got off the frame to stand up straight, “Quit bein’ a drama queen, Swamp Rat. Everyone has had to shovel the walkways at some point.”

Remy pouted, leaning down so he could get back to stripping off the boots, “You say dat, yet why is tonight de first time I seen Specs do his fair share, neh? Gettin’ down an’ dirty too much a hassle for Fearless?”

“Ya know that’s just because ya always hightail it out of the room before the drawing of straws can begin,” Rogue said. “Ah think he’s already maxed out his shoveling duties for the season, but he joined ya tonight anyway, specifically to make sure you would do yer job for once.”

When Remy got both boots off, he looked up at Rogue with zero guilt in his eyes. His pout might have gotten bigger, actually, “So mean to Remy.”

He was quick to slip on his moccasin slippers that he was forced to abandon just an hour prior. If he wasn’t feeling so stiff, he would honestly be willing to bend over even further to place a kiss on the tips of each of them. Plus, he already got called dramatic once in this conversation; even though it was true, he would like to keep the factual observations to a minimum tonight.

As he stood back to his full height, he was suddenly assaulted, darkness enshrouding his vision and his movement becoming restricted. He struggled for a second before remembering what he was just looking at and held himself still. He was swiftly rewarded when a pair of gentle hands messed with the covering at his face and adjusted it so he was snuggly wrapped everywhere that didn’t impede his line of sight. 

Once he was able to see again, he was met with Rogue looking at him with that same fond exasperation he loved to bring out in her. “Don’t chu’ worry,” Rogue began, finalizing the details of her current attempts to encase Remy where he stood. “Jubilee went and made us a bunch’a different kinds of hot coco, and knowing yer daily sugar intake, you’ll be reawakened in no time.”

With a lopsided smile, he grabbed one of her hands, using his blanket-covered fingers to wrap excess blanket around her knuckles before placing a kiss to the top of the hand while looking her in the eyes. She was of course wearing one of her nighttime pair of gloves that she wore when they hung out after hours, but recently he had been making sure to add extra layers between them whenever he could to ease whatever leftover anxiety plagued her mind, “Mon sauveur, what would dis scoundrel do wit’out chu?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rogue said with another roll of her eyes. “Love ya too, ya greaseball.”

woe 🫴 halo x-men fic be upon ye shout out to the 4 people who unanimously voted "yes" to the poll on my main asking about whether or not i should post this WIP snippet to tumblr lol. i have zero idea as to when i can get this completed due to a.) the dreaded blockage of writers as per usual and B.) the dreaded schoolwork which is in a constant revolving state of "maybe i won't have too much work this weekend" and "holy shit i'm falling behind so hard i'm gonna die-" this snippet is rather contained tho so it can work as a standalone pretty well. maybe i just need to embrace shorter ficlets as my main form of writing. certainly would be a nice break from the "can't make a oneshot less than 6k words" train i've been riding since day one LMAO anyway feel free to ignore my yapping; i hope you like my first foray into this fandom!

[realspacejunk]

3. What ideas come from when you were little

For the art ask game

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

23. Do you use different layer modes

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

When I was in school, I had this elaborate fantasy setting of abducted humans and aliens forming a criminal gang in space to finance their search for Earth and fight bad guys. It had planets, artificial planets that were layered and under construction, space stations, spaceports that were giant trenches in the earth or a ring in the sky, characters, resistance fighters, opportunists, terrorists, an occupied Earth, cradle planets that were secured and secret, quarantine sectors, apartment layouts, zombies, species living in nuclear vaults deep underground, dying empires with noble kings, honourable monk warriors, corrupt and benevolent megacorporations, 60.000 years old and 4 billion years old extinct ancient civilizations, big wars over the entire universe, universe-wide extinction events, old and extinguished space magic, ancient and upcoming robot societies, and all that stuff, all connected in a timeline. It inspired me to make lots of art of space and planets at the time. But almost no characters since I sucked at making humans. One Idea I had was about a spaceport that was literally a hollowed-out planetoid.

Much of the tech was inspired by Prothean and Forerunner architecture from Mass Effect 3 and Halo 4 since I really like those. I made many little drawings of this stuff during and after classes, but I put them all on paper years ago and I don't know where they are. (Lies, I found them)

I don't think about that setting that much anymore since I was unable to think of a believable reason as to why an alien corporate entity would abduct half the human race, turn them into bio-organic synths and sell them as workers to the unknowing galaxy.

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in?

There was this one painting I started after I finished the Lively Town piece. it was supposed to be a town in a jungle, but I lost interest because The perspective and composition sucked, it was mainly green and I hate painting plants since they confuse me, and I did not know what kind of characters I wanted to make the subject of the scene. It did not help that I had no lore for the thing so I just put random characters in there without knowing what they were supposed to be doing there.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy?

This might sound lame but I can't answer this because I have no idea what other artists struggle with. I struggle with most things myself and can't say what I find easier than most others. The opposite is much easier to ask. Other artists I know are usually awesome at things like anatomy and gestures, which I find to be nightmarish.

23. Do you use different layer modes?

I use layers but to separate subjects like Characters, scene elements, etc. Rarely do I use them in modes other than normal, and when I do that I quickly merge them down again. Most modes I like to apply directly using brushes. The blending modes I use the most are Color Dodge, Add, Multiply and Overlay. Sometimes at the very end of a project, I put one flat color layer on top and use it in Color mode and play with the opacity to harmonize the colors and control the colour temperature without falsifying the values.

[not-xpr-art]

the painstaking process of pointillism lol

been a lil while since I shared some progress shots of an artwork so have this of a recent pointillism piece I did of reece shearsmith!

read below for some thoughts and advice for anyone who's interested in doing pointillism! (from someone who has done less than 10 pointillist pieces in their life pfft...)

pointillism is a style I always appreciate looking at, but often put off doing much of myself just because of how long it takes lol... and I'm afraid their is no way of fixing that, it's just quite a time consuming technique lol! BUT my first piece of advice would be don't let that stop you from trying it since I think a lot of the results from pointillism can be really rewarding!

one thing I really enjoy about pointillism is that I have a tendency to do quite harsh shading sometimes, so it allows me to create more a more softer feel than usual!

I gotta say that I do still struggle a lottt with doing hair in pointillism lol it's so hard to create the appearance of individual strands with just little dots which is kinda why I chose to only do half his hair in this piece pfft I've yet to try and draw curls in this style so am intrigued whether that would be easier than straight hair... will have to get back to you on this lol!

a big piece of advice I'd give is that more than any other style, think of pointillism in terms of layers! start with the shadowy parts, which I used a slightly bigger 'pen' size for in this piece (pen is in quotation marks because I drew this on my phone lol..), and then went in with a smaller dot to blend into the light parts with little to no dots!

one thing about pointillism is that is kinda forces you to draw everything on one level, rather than zooming in to and hyper-focusing on details! in some pointillism works I've done I've actually chosen to use just one size of dot throughout the entire thing, which creates a really interesting sense of uniformity!

final thoughts about this is knowing when to stop, which is true of any art technique lol I think I could definitely have gone even further with this piece adding more and more dots until everything sorta just blends together, but a part of the appeal of pointillism is that you can see those individual dots and how they make up the larger piece, so my advice is to maybe go with less than what you think to keep all the fun texture still in place!

so there's some advice and some thoughts about this technique lol! I'm gonna be trying to experiment with this more casual style of art advice post since I've been really struggling thinking of interesting and specific topics to go into, so hopefully some of you found this informative lol!

so feel free to let me know if there's any particular style of technique I've done that you'd like me to talk about or potentially offer advice and I'll see what I can do!

as always thanks to everyone who actually reads my rambling posts <3

[kuruna]

💧🙉🌌🌈 for Xanthos! I have to say, I really love his complex character layers and dynamics with AZ. I find him to be pretty relatable especially his struggle with feeling needed and his fear of failures; I'm also the youngest out of my siblings so I feel that sense of wanting to be "useful" . I apologize if this comes off a bit too gushy, but seeing your works helped clarify my thoughts with the media itself and myself.

Aw don't worry about sounding too gushy, I love hearing people's thoughts and I'm glad he resonated with you in that way! I'm a middle child myself, so I do often think about my own sibling dynamics when writing for them 😭 🙉 HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

Xan is already his own worst critic, and has a bad habit of blaming himself for things that quite genuinely are not his fault (he also blames himself for things that ARE his fault, but that's more understandable 😭). However, it does hurt him a Lot when he's told something that confirms what he already thinks about himself. Being placed in a scenario where he feels helpless, or where he feels weak, are the worst things ever for him.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

This is gonna be long because I love these types of questions... anyways! Whenever a media has "implied characters" (characters that are mentioned but not seen or named), I really enjoy taking them and giving them a design and voice ^.^ The first thing I decided about Xan was a design feature! I thought it would be fun if he essentially had an "upside-down" version of Lysandre's hair. The idea is still there but less obvious, because this proved to be way too hard to draw in a way I liked 😭 AZ was known as a great king who transformed Kalos into a land of prosperity, but it's also established that in the past, pkmn were seen as tools and not much more, and here was a king who treated a Floette like part of his family. Despite his greatness, he was surely seen as odd for it! The fact that his best friend is a sweet little Floette also tells me that he doesn't mesh well with other humans. What does that mean for his brother? I imagined someone who lacked AZ's skill for invention, but was charismatic and well-liked. And from there I imagined someone who (unfortunately!) would be the type to chastise AZ for not being a "proper" king, who maybe didn't make an effort to understand his brother as well as he should have. At the same I really dislike the idea of "everything bad can be blamed on this one guy," so I wanted to make a character that was complex from the get-go, rather than it being a situation where AZ's brother was just an evil jerk or something. If AZ is secure enough to not care what others think of him and to act as he wishes, his brother must be the opposite. This was my initial thesis for Xanthos, and still my go-to when I work on developing him! He is his brother's opposite. As for why I eventually decided Xan became immortal too... I forgot how the idea came about 💔 but I really like the inherently complicated dynamic he'd have with AZ in such a scenario, and the questions it creates. Is it possible for them to forgive one another after everything that's happened...? I would like to think they can... after all, they have all the time in the world to make amends.

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

Ohhhh he definitely has a whole laundry list of things he would want to say... other than the obvious ("can you pleaaaassee actually talk to your brother instead of attempting a coup in your desperation to be heard"). I think the #1 thing would be "stop acting so ashamed of the people you care for most! You cannot appease everyone, and this is fine!" The #2 thing would be "stop trying to do everything on your own! ask for help when you need it!!!" (funnily enough... I think a lot of the things he would say to his younger self are things he Does end up saying to Lysandre at some point 😭)

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Ended up doing this one last because I couldn't decide which little lore tidbit I wanted to use for it 😭 During the reconstruction of Kalos... while it took a bit to discover the Straight Up Immortality, people were quick to notice that Xan aged much slower than those around him. When his sons were both adults, for example, Xan only looked a few years older than them. Eventually this confusion grew into fear, and that fear led to Xan being rejected by his very homeland, despite all he'd done for it. (On this note 💔 Xan's sons were named Xerxes and Yeltaz. The name "Xerxes" is one of Xan's middle names, and the name "Yeltaz" is one of AZ's middle names. As you can imagine, AZ and Floette never got the chance to meet either of them 😔)

[rassberrylips]

Hi not sure if this is the right location for the matchmaking but— Im interested in which character I would be pair or matchmaker with from Hayden Christensen characters

A little bit about me I am currently an art studio major, I am 4’11 I tend to lean more towards an Alternative look, I have a few piercing my 2 regular ear lobes, snake bites, and my eyebrow. I plan on getting more in future. I have the underside of my hair dyed purple and cut shorter than the front, one side of my bangs are also dyed purple. My usual style of dress is mostly mini skirts, paired with lace cami tops. Or T shirts layered underneath a long Sleeved shirts, for accessories I wear studded belts, arm warmers, leg warmers, paper boy caps, chains, necklace and chunky silver rings,

My personality, I’d describe myself as quiet, introverted around people I don’t know. I’ve been describe from my friends that I can come off as aloof around new people, and have a RBF. I have a hard time connecting with people—struggling with finding the correct words to say , making sure to keep proper eye contact and being able to get through small talk, I find it hard to bridge that connection to make new friends and acquaintances. Though when I start to feel comfortable sound somebody and consider them apart of my circle I get loud, and annoying (lol). I tend to get a big head about things I am better at than everyone else, and I always have to prove I am better than everyone else, and sometimes it can lead to hurting people close to me even when I don’t want to hurt them. I just feel this desire to prove that I am something that I am worth what I do. I am currently working on it and trying to be better person about it

I’m also a bit of a nerd, I love video games (such as resident evil, silent hill, death standing, Elden ring) I love collecting trinkets and Monster high dolls (specifically Draculaura). I also enjoy watching Star Wars and the lord of the rings series. Also art! Since my major is in studio art, I focus on traditional art such as pencil, charcoal, and pastels, but my main focus is in Painting. I love painting and enjoy using all type of mediums acrylic or oil, I find it enjoyable and something I want to continue doing for the rest of my life, it’s my passion and it feels like what I was made to bring into the world and want to spread art to everybody. I am really passionate about the things I enjoy

I thinks that’s most of what I can think of for myself, I look forward to what character I get paired up with!

you're match is ... sam monroe !!

♡ you're similar styles are what make you guys notice each other

♡ sam is definitely more of an introvert just like you !

♡ you guys met when you were both in an art class, specifically a photography class

♡ you two stood out against the other hipsters with their turtlenecks, beanies, glasses, and fancy coffee orders

♡ sam made the first movie and sat at the seat attached to yours (it was one of those two person desk things)

♡ since it was the first day of the class there was a lot of the teacher droning on about what you guys were going to go over for the duration of the class

♡ you decided to take out your sticker clad sketchbook and draw and pass the time, sam noticed that you had a bunch of his favorite band stickers !!

♡ "i like your stickers" he pointed at a sticker of your favorite band "thats my favorite band" luckily you had an extra ticket to see them that weekend

♡ "if your not doing anything this weekend i have an extra ticket" .... "if you want to come i don't know why i didn't say that" your cheeks started to heat up, of course you had to be awkward around the only other alternative person not to mention the only hot person "I WOULD LOVE TO GO ... i mean sure i'll go, im sam by the way" "y/n"

♡ you guys exchanged numbers and you're both pretty awkward so not many words were said after

♡ the day of the concert you were a mess trying to figure out your look, you eventually landed on the cutest outfit with your new belt and a killer makeup look to accompany your rbf

♡ you guys met up outside of the venue about half an hour early, sam was wearing his favorite outfit that he would never admit he spend almost all day picking out

♡ sam and you shared a blunt and talked about some common interests like video games and art obviously untill the band went on

♡ after the concert you guys shared an at first awkward kiss but soon felt natural

♡ from that point on you guys were the most iconic couple on campus, everyone knew about your "weird" outfits and unapproachable looks

♡ he also found out about your love of star wars and offered to dress as anakin skywalker and padme for halloween, lets just say the party you went to was cut short

heres a little peek into your lives ...

a/n: hope you liked this one 💋

[edisacornball]

What made you fall in love with writing Ed/Noah?

I know you sent in this question forever ago and I've just been going through too many things to deal with my inbox lately, but I was babbling about this ship the other day to my husband because he was talking about how he had never really given it any thought until I apparently "made it adorable in Other Side," so I figured I might as well write those thoughts down, since this ship is on my mind after working on that drawing of the two of them dancing.

So I'll start by saying: I didn't really go into Other Side as a Noah/Ed shipper. I mostly just knew that going to the BH world would make 03 Ed have to deal with letting a lot more people in, which is something he struggles with more than BH Ed, so I figured I could play with that push and pull by adding in Noah as another layer to show that he struggles with letting people in. And then, as I wrote it, it just... struck me how these two fit together so well.

03 Ed has so freaking much trauma. I would honestly go as far as to say that he's more traumatized than BH Ed. The guy's died a couple times, after all. The 03 series as a whole is a lot darker and really dives into some traumatic shit for poor 03 Ed. But it's the sort of trauma where it gets nearly impossible to talk about. How do you even talk to someone about how you saw your brother become the living embodiment of a philosopher's stone? Or how about how you had to kill a being that maybe just wore the face of your mother, or maybe actually was your mother, who really knows because you didn't let her live long enough to find out? How can anyone even relate to the idea of "I died a couple times in a row and ended up stuck in another world where everyone looks like people I once loved, but they don't even speak the same language as me?" There just comes this particular point with trauma where it starts getting so hard for other people to even relate.

But Noah can be one of the few people ever who actually gets the trauma Ed's been through. Because she's able to experience it right alongside him via his memories. Even Al can't get that close, even though he's one of the very few people who will actually get a lot of what Ed's experienced. She can even understand the things that are too hard for him to explain, and he can know that she actually believes him, because why wouldn't she?

And meanwhile, on Noah's end, she's had to face this terrible double whammy of being Roma and also cursed with this supernatural power that a lot of Roma people would have seen as some sort of marking from the devil. And even if people can accept the power conceptually, most people aren't comfortable with the idea of not having any secrets with someone. People hate mind-readers. Poor Noah has had to go through a whole lifetime of everyone around her hating her for things she can't control, whether that's her powers or the color of her skin.

And then along comes Ed, the guy who's seen so freaking much shit that he can't even think of rejecting someone for such a petty reason as that they can read his mind. I think he probably wouldn't even expect anyone to stick around after seeing into his memories, so he doesn't see any point to keeping secrets when it's inevitable that someone would eventually end up getting scared and leave him. So he doesn't flinch away from Noah, because he doesn't even see it as possible that she could ever be scarier than him. And then she surprises him by not leaving. She sees all the darkness and suffering in his past and she also doesn't flinch. Because she's seen into the hearts of people who are so much worse, who have caused so much pain without any regard. She doesn't see Ed as the monster he sees himself as, because she's actually seen what the minds of monsters actually look like, and she knows he's not one of them.

They just... AGH, THEM. ❤️😍🥹 I have a lot of feelings. But there's something about each of their traumas that comes together so freaking perfectly so that they can each support one another so beautifully, and I freaking love it. It constantly reminds me of this one set of lines from Roger and Mimi in Rent:

"I've been trying, I'm not lying. No one's perfect, I've got baggage!"

"Life's too short babe, time is flying, I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine."

(Do I use Roger and Mimi regularly as inspiration for Ed and Noah? ...Maybe.)

[wanderlustqueen-writes]

Hey Alice 🌹❤️

How are you?

If you still take prompts from the Drabble Challenge, I'd like to request 82 "I just ironed these pants".

Thanks & kiss 😘

Send me a number and I'll write you a drabble Number 82: I just ironed these pants! Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hange Zoë Warnings: NSFW. Mention of alcohol intake (small amounts). Foreplay. Wandering Hands. Clothed handjob. Additional tags: She/Her pronouns for Hange Zoë on this one Wordcount: 621 Minors, do not interact!

Hange wasn’t sure what started it.

It may have been the prospect of the next expedition, which tended to give the soldiers a renewed sense of urgency, along with that bit of liquid courage pumping through their veins as they prepared for the soon-to-come struggle. Maybe it was that glance they exchanged from across the bar, that lasted a second longer than it should have. Or that seemingly trivial touch of hands, just an accident really, but one that sent a jolt of electricity over every inch of her skin. 

She could still feel it now, as he pinned her against the door, legs parted by his thigh, thoughts blurred by the fresh smell of his hair. A delicious tingle ignited from where his tongue latched onto her neck, the sparks spreading throughout her whole body, making something inside of her melt.

They had barely made it to his bedroom, poorly sneaking around while bumping against the headquarters corridors, swallowing each other’s tongues like a couple of horny teenagers. It was reckless behaviour! Someone might have seen them. Maybe even…

“Levi,” Hange panted against his ear, smiling as she felt his hands gripping tighter to her hip and waist, sure to leave them sore the next day “do you think Miche will be able to smell it in us tomorrow?”

“Shut up, Kuso Megane!” He moved his lips from her now raw neck to say the words, his voice raspy and needy, only to capture her mouth a second later, in a desperate messy kiss.

He really wanted this.

The stubs of his undercut prickled her fingertips as she ran her nails across his scalp, all the way to the longer part of his hair. His breath hitched when she grabbed two handfuls of black locks, roughly pulling his head back before diving right back to his parted lips. 

Her fingers wandered down from his hair, nails scraping the skin of his sweaty neck, eager hands groping his chest, trying to memorize the feeling of him, the way his stiff nipples dug at her palms through his shirt. Oh, and the noises that got out of him, low and sharp groans that were enough to make arousal set damp and heavy in her core.

Levi’s whole body stiffened when her hands traced the bulge in his pants, and a soft moan left his lips as she gripped it tighter. Hange’s fingers quickly worked his fly, getting one layer of clothing out of the way. She clutched both sides of the fabric, gathering it roughly to pull it down, except Levi held her wrists.

“Easy! I just ironed these pants!”

The all-too-typical response made her giggle. Her smile brushed against the shell of his ear as she whispered, “iron it again tomorrow. I’ll pick up the coal for you”. She didn’t give him time to respond before moving her partially restrained hand up and down his hard-on, the steady pressure drawing out a throaty grunt from him. 

“No, I mean…aahh” Levi’s voice faltered when her thumb circled the tip, and Hange protested once he moved her wrists away from his crotch. “I mean,” he paused, catching his breath, “if we show up tomorrow in wrinkled clothes, forget Miche, everyone is gonna know.”

He had a point.

“Plus,” Levi added, more composed now, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Hange watched in awe while he slowly brought one of her hands towards his face, thumb fondling her palm. His steel blue eyes pierced into hers as he started to plant chaste kisses on each of her fingers, intention and desire made clear at every touch of his lips “so, if you don’t mind, tonight I’m taking my time with you.”

_________________________________________ @youre-ackermine Hii Val! I'm feeling great, and I hope you're well too! Thanks so much for sending this prompt, I had a lot of fun writing it 💕

[pumpkin-spike18]

✨Weekly Progress 48-49✨

As expected, being on time 3 weeks in a row is too much for me.

Weekly Progress #48

Updated twitter links to bsky links in various places

Lined new animation frames for winter jam

Updated eye frames

Lined bounce frames

Tested full chara animation

Buggy BL design ideas

Weekly Progress #49

Uploaded psd files for fan project BGs

SWAK brainstorm + base outline

December planning

BG testing for Winter Jam

Initial shading animation for Winter Jam

Sketched Buggy BL designs

Starlight Meets the City Lights

If you've been following my bsky, you probably already saw my variety of struggles. But since you're here, I guess you'd want to hear more backstory?!

Well the backstory is that I went to Times Square and spun around looking like a silly tourist to get a panoramic shot for the BG bc I didn't want to draw the whole thing myself! I probably looked a little crazy being the only one who took a picture at eye level while everyone was looking up at the lights.

Since I was in the neighborhood, I also dropped by Kinokuniya for some window shopping, but then I saw this:

and I couldn't resist buying a few volumes of manga........

A-Anyways, back to VN dev!

After getting these shots, I tried it with what I had so far. These were the initial test frames for the full movement I had drawn.

I put the BG through a few filters, and did some light paint over to make things look... a bit more fitting to the character art. There's no replacing hard work. Without a doubt, this would definitely look best with a hand drawn BG, but I am running low on time.

Unfortunately exporting as a gif compressed the image a lot. Here's actually an example of how large the full image is.

Ultimately, these gifs are just tests. Each frame will be saved separately and chained together with code.

The full effect will be done by keeping the BG separate, having it spin in the opposite direction of where Star is facing to give the illusion of movement.

The initial frame where Star appears to be moving, but is actually still is also created with shadow movement along side the BG. These are also manually drawn frame by frame.

There's still a lot of work to do and I'm forever afraid of the ding! that sounds whenever I run out of layers, but that's a story for next week.

Jincan Underground

Or, Buggy BL finally has a title! Wait, I only have one post about it?

A number of things have changed about the concept, but the core of it being based on Kodoku remains. However, since I'll be using more than just insects as character themes, I decided to reference Jincan (the Chinese version of Kodoku).

The main character, Roach, is an underground fighter still grieving the death of his employer, Catarina. By chance, he runs into Catarina's younger brother on the run from a beggar. By saving him, however, Roach lost his name and sealed himself into a death match with 20 other participants...

Eat or be eaten, become the Jincan and have your greatest wish granted.

...Or something like that.

SWAK Jam

No rest for the weary. It appears I'll be participating in SWAK Jam with a short BL story I'll be writing for. I've been busy working on the outline this week and I'm over halfway there so I'll hopefully be able to discuss it in more detail next week! <: