#was doing some posing practice and oops | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

da-birb-writes-sometimes · 1 year ago

Note

*breaks through the window*

Hi I saw asks are open (if I’m late that’s ok feel free to ignore this). I just thought doing an escape room with heartslabyul would be fun. Headcanons or drabble you can choose whichever you’d rather do :).

In an Escape Room with Heartslabyul!

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, some blurring of platonic and romantic stuff, headcanon format

Word Count; 2 K (... I may have gotten carried away; oops)

Author's Note; Thank you for requesting, Haru! I hope you like the direction I took this in!

Do not feed my works into AI. If you want to read more of my writing please see my masterlist!

Riddle Rosehearts

He heard Cater going on about this ‘totes cool’ (his words, not Riddle’s) escape room that Sam was hosting, and it piqued his interest… more so that you seemed interested.

“If you would like… we can go together?” He offered quietly, looking up from the notes he was rewriting for class, measuring your reaction.

You leaned forward into his personal space, “Wait, really?! I didn’t think you’d want to go.” Plus wasn’t there an Unbirthday party to plan for?

Riddle swallowed the lump in his throat, but took in a breath, offering you a small smile. “Never know if you don’t try… plus you could use my help–”

You gently kicked him under the table, “Rude, but not unwarranted, Riddle. Who knows, there could be a word search involved.” You offered him a playful wink, enjoying that he was slowly turning red.

“Oh hush you,” he huffed. But he was looking forward to the escape room… and possibly being able to showboat his skills a bit if he were being honest with himself.

In the escape room

He is analyzing everything. He’s also taking everything seriously as if this were truly a live or death situation, and not just you two in one of the back rooms of Sam’s shop. “Of course, the key is on the top shelf,” he muttered, grabbing a chair.

You came over, and kept a hand on the chair; the last thing you wanted to happen is Riddle falling. As much as you liked teasing him, you didn’t want him to get hurt.

“How’s the view up there?” Yes, it was a bad attempt at a joke, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Riddle’s eyes were locked on something, and he jumped down, practically running towards the lock. He started dialling the knob, and the next thing you knew, the timer stopped, and the door opened.

He turned to you, offering his hand and a smile, “The view? It proved most helpful… but thank you, this was fun.”

When you took his hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you ignored how red his face was. Today was nice… even if he did most of the work, but you weren’t complaining since he had fun.

Overall; a good partner to have in an escape room, even if he does most of the work (trying to impress you)

. . . . .

Ace Trappola

“I bet I can beat ya at this escape room,” Ace yawned, stretching out on your sofa, looking all too comfortable.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “And what makes you think that, huh? Getting ahead of yourself, don’t cha think?”

Ace straightened himself out and gave you an impish grin. “What are you willing to bet on?” He placed his chin in his hand, thinking, but looking directly at you.

Damn him. “How about I don’t tell Professor Trein about the time you ‘borrowed’ a second year’s exam just so you didn’t have to study?” You mimicked his expression and pose, waiting for an answer.

Ace balked at that, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Alright, alright, no need to be nasty… but is that a yes or a no?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrugged, “how would you be able to get out–” You couldn’t finish your sentence since he threw a pillow at your face. “Don’t you think that’s childi–” You got hit with another pillow.

In the escape room

He was actually taking this pretty seriously since he didn’t know if you were joking about ratting him out. Wait, what did I bet? He forgot what he wanted to bet on if he won, and he mentally groaned at himself.

“Are ya finding anything of use over there?” You looked away from the bookcase, apparently not finding anything.

Ace looked over his shoulder to you, “What? Are you out of your depth, Sherlock?”

You grumbled, “You didn’t answer my question, Watson.” But you walked over to where Ace was trying to pick a lock. “You think that’s actually going to work? And where did you learn that?”

“I did, find something of use,” Ace murmured, focused on picking the lock. “And yes, it was by the safe. And I learned it from my brother. He said it would ‘impress a sweetheart’.” Ace felt his ears heating up; if his brother was here, he would be looking between you two before giving him a thumbs up.

Finally, the safe opened, and in it, was the code to get out. “You were saying?” He gave you a cocky grin, before punching in the pin and waltzing out.

“Thanks, this was fun,” you offered. But your face turned to annoyance, “UGH! I LOST THE BET!”

Overall; he’s decent at them, a bit of a brag, but his quick thinking will get you out pretty fast.

. . . . .

Deuce Spade

You actually brought the idea up to him while you were both walking to your next class together. “Say,” you bumped into his shoulder, catching his attention, “do you want to do an escape room with me?”

Without thinking, he answered. “Sure!” But he was mentally shaking himself. An escape room? He hadn’t done one of those before… plus wasn’t it like some big puzzle? “But wouldn’t Riddle be a better-”

“Nah, I just want to have fun, plus I wanna spend more time with you,” you answered with a bright grin.

Deuce blinked at your answer but offered you his own bright smile. “Okay then! I’ll give it everything I got!”

You clapped him on the shoulder, laughing a bit at his enthusiasm. “Okay, okay, okay! Excited I see! Meet me at Sam’s after your club practice, m’kay?”

“ALRIGHT!” He shouted, before remembering you were both in the hallway, and lowering his voice, lest he be scolded by Professor Crewel.

In the escape room

Deuce was flipping through the books, trying to find something while you were busy with a puzzle of some kind. Finding nothing, he walked over and started helping you put together some of the pieces.

You looked up, and you saw him bite his lip in concentration; it was quite endearing. “You know,” you break the silence, looking back to the puzzle, “I don’t mind if we don’t get out in time, this is supposed to be for fun.”

Deuce turned his eyes to you, “But it’s an escape room. Isn’t the point of it to escape?”

You looked at him again, and placed your chin in your hand, thinking. “Sure, that may be the main point of it, but also… to bond closer with people. To spend time with those we hold dear or want to improve our relationships with… figure out how their minds work.”

Deuce felt his face warming up, and just hoped that it wasn’t showing. “And you?”

“Me?” You smiled at him, as you put the last piece of the puzzle into place; it had a letter code, the code to get out. “I just wanted an excuse to spend some time with my favourite guy.”

Your favourite guy… Deuce helped you type into the pad, and as you both walked out, he was smiling brightly.

Overall; unsure of what he’s doing, but he’ll try his best to help you.

. . . . .

Trey Clover

You were both at Sam’s shop getting some groceries when you bumped into each other. “Buying out the entire store of its flour, huh?” You jested, looking from all of the flour bags to Trey.

Trey eyed your basket, “And you have enough tuna there to feed Grim for a bit.” But he huffed out a laugh, ignoring the main purpose of his trip, since he didn’t always get a chance to spend time with you.

“Ugh, I wish,” you sighed, eyeing all of the tuna cans that would probably last less than a day, knowing your glutton of a furball. “Hmmm, hey, we should do the escape room,” you offered.

Trey raised a brow, “Right now? Seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

You elbowed him, “Eh, common! If you get out before the timer goes off, you apparently get 50% off your purchase! Common Treyyyy.”

He elbowed you back, albeit more gently. “Hm, you drive a hard bargain… are you sure you’re not just Sam in some getup?”

You blew a raspberry at him, “I’ll take that as a yes!”

In the escape room

Trey was carefully looking over the pamphlet that Sam had given him that should have contained clues; should being the key word. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him though.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and put the pamphlet into his back pocket. “Please tell me you’re having better luck than me–” But he didn’t see you anywhere. “Uh, Prefect? Y/N?”

You popped out from under the table, squinting up at him. “While you were busy reading, I was looking for clues.” And you went back under the table.

“And are you finding anything?” He asked, ducking down and crawling in after you. It was a tight squeeze but he managed to get beside you, joining you in your search.

You bumped your head against him by accident and hissed, “Nothing but dust and gross bubblegum.”

Trey sighed and crawled back out, looking at the clock; ten minutes left and still no idea on how to get out. “You really wanted that 50% off, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Crowley doesn’t exactly give me a living wage, you know.” You grumbled. “But I don’t mind… you’re more fun than Ace gives you credit for.”

Trey raised a brow, but shook his head, giving you a smile and a huff of amusement.

Overall; a good partner who keeps cool in the face of a deadline.

. . . . .

Cater Diamond

He was scrolling through his phone, bored at yet another Unbirthday party (which yet again had nothing but sweets), trying to find something that would actually be fun. That’s when he came across Sam’s Magicam account for his shop.

Huh, an escape room? He looked up from his phone, only to see one of the freshmen arguing with Riddle. Yeahhh, I’ll just go now– And he slipped away during the chaos.

And while he was walking, he saw a familiar face, and his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “Hey, hey!”

You turned around and shot Cater a peace sign. “Hey, hey, Cay-kun!” You matched his energy, finding it sort of infectious. “Surprised to see you out and about.”

Cater chuckled, “Me too, but uhhh… you don’t mind if I tag along with ya?”

You looked at him curiously, and shrugged, “Knock your socks off, I guess.” Your eyes widened though; Ace and Deuce were stuck at Heartslabyul, so you were bummed that you couldn’t go to the escape room… but now that Cater was here?

“Feel like escaping to somewhere else?”

In the escape room

Cater was filming — with your permission of course — during the entire time in the escape room. “Did you find anything?” He asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Nothing really useful,” you grumbled, “did find this coupon for spicy ramen though.” You handed it to Cater and winked theatrically at his camera.

Cater took the coupon and gave you a small smile. “Thanks! Do ya need any help?” He kneeled beside you, looking at the clue you were trying to build; yes, build. Sam really makes you work to get out in time, huh?

You poked him in the side, and Cater poked you back. “Expect nothing less, the man knows how to run a business.” You sighed, “But I guess we’re not getting out in time, sorry Cater.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said quietly. “I had fun, that’s what matters most.”

“But not getting out isn’t very Magicama–”

He shut off his camera, “This? It’s just a reminder of a fun time then… just for us.”

Overall; a fun partner to have, who is relaxed and goes with the flow. And no, he doesn’t post the video… that’s just for you and him.

...

Tag List; @azulashengrottospiano, @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @savanaclaw1996, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

561 notes · View notes

akumastrife · 2 months ago

Text

Maybe You Were Sent For Me; Maybe I Was Made For You {Steddie/Stranger Things}

Rating: Teen? (References to non-explicit sex in one of the ending scenes?) Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steddie Word Count: 4k Summary: There's a demon in Hawkins, but Steve isn't sure what that means. He's also not sure why he's committed to figuring it out. This was supposed to be about weird demon sex for Monsterfucktober 2023, but then I did what I always do by making it weirdly introspective and yearny and soft. Oops. Maybe one day I'll write a PWP sequel. {Also on AO3}

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

At least, that’s what all the adults whisper about over immaculately set tables and potlucks and sun-dappled mailboxes.

Looking at the young man darkening the open back door of the church (propped open to let in any slip of breeze, and in the process letting in the filth, his Mother hisses to his Father), Steve doesn’t see it.

How does someone look at another and know?

Steve’s looking at him closer now, more shadow and bright light than boy. Metal winks all over him like a glittering midnight sky when he moves, and when his eyes find Steve’s, the darkness of them burns.

Steve jerks his eyes back to the pulpit, swallowing thick as his heart beats against his sternum in something one step to the right of fear.

When he looks out of the corner of his eyes, the exit is empty.

He doesn’t hear a word of the sermon after that. Maybe hadn’t heard any of it the moment he sat down.

Maybe that’s what his Mother meant, about demons and the handsome young men who house them, leading the weak-willed from holy light.

“—right trouble,” Mrs. Mitchell says. “He’s just not right.”

“His poor uncle,” Mrs. Roberts agrees. “Can’t decide if he’s a saint for taking that thing in, or wicked himself for letting it back into town.”

Steve tunes back into the conversation, bored and tired and hot in the stuffy church. Looks longingly out the window where some of the other boys are out throwing around a football, having shed their nice church jackets and unbuttoning their collars. But Mother has her arm twined with his, keeping him close and respectable.

“He was the sweetest little boy,” Mother muses, “if a little wild. Before all that… strange business, with his parents.”

Mrs. Thompson sniffs reproachfully. “If you ask me, he’s always been tainted. There’s something dark hiding in that boy.”

Steve doesn’t see how that’s Munson’s fault.

Steve had seen a statue of Satan once. When visiting his grandparents, they’d spent Sunday morning in their church. All familiar and alien at once. Like seeing your bedroom in a dream and not knowing if the layout is the same or if you’re just remembering it wrong.

He’d missed that sermon, too. Had been too fixated on carved stone outlining a fallen angel as pretty as a saved one; limbs elegantly muscled, demonic wings at odds with the strangely submissive pose of it, and hair a tumbling curtain that looked like it’d be soft if touched.

He couldn’t, obviously. Couldn’t be caught looking, either. Even if his grandmother had and told Father and—

He doesn’t remember the rest of the visit. But he remembers the statue.

Thinks about it now, weirdly enough, in the lunch room. Thinks about the curve of stone effigy as Munson perches on his chair, performing for his little band of weirdos. His dark curls tumbling around him like some sort of halo, hands up and hooked in parody of something more wicked.

Fingers snap in front of his face. “Earth to Hair,” a teammate says.

Steve can’t get caught looking. Snaps his eyes away, snaps up a rakish grin, snaps his hand into a soft stomach and laughing at the grunt and flinch it produces.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

Everyone’s whispering about it.

Steve isn’t sure he really, truly believes that. But he leaves practice late—the sun already sinking, covering the campus in shadows—and he sees the shadowy figure sprawled along the field’s bleachers, ringed in lazy smoke. Like a character in a comic book. Regal and indolent at once.

He’s stopped to watch; breathes in the chilly evening air and grips his backpack strap too hard. There’s a sharp wanting in his gut, twisting and churning, that tells him to step closer. Instinct and something more primal flashes in danger. Growing up in the church pews has told him it’s wrong. Whatever it is, whatever Munson is, it’s wrong and he can’t.

Munson knows he’s there, even as his loose-limb perch stays easy, even as lips wrap around the smudged, damp papers. There isn’t any breeze to stir the thick silence between them, but smoke floats over to him anyway. Too skunky to be nicotine, but laden with sulfur undertones that ping as familiar and foreign at once.

Munson pushes a ringed hand through his hair; pushing it back frizzy and untamed.

Steve must be as stupid and vain as everyone teases, because the fear is replaced with distress at long dark hair that’s not being cared for properly. It needs moisture and some sort of heavy product. His hands twitch to get in there. To dampen it, twist it around his fingers—

Munson curls a lock around his finger, slow enough to watch, looking back at him with the sleepy heaviness of a large predator on a nature documentary.

Steve swallows around a dry mouth and turns for the parking lot quickly.

He spends too long in the bathroom that night.

Just because someone’s weird doesn’t mean they’re satanic. (He does not say this at the dinner table, but it gets him thinking anyway.)

Yeah, Munson’s dripping in occult symbols and spends his time locked up in dark basements weaving tales of magic and evil with his freak cronies.

And yeah, symbols have power. The letterman jacket he wears is a symbol that means something. It gives him a power in school and around town. A jacket like his means he’s good and popular and right. It’s all about fitting in the jacket and the box built for him; being the boy his parents expect and the church expects and the town expects.

But what even is goodness? The stuff they talk about at church, only achieved by following their set of rules and codes? He’s not sure that’s enough, because Johnny on the team doesn’t go to church, but he’s down at the soup kitchen on Saturdays and he helps old ladies across the street, so that should still count for something. And Mimi on cheer squad sits with girls in the nurse’s office and picks up litter in the spring, even though her family doesn’t celebrate Christmas.

Steve wears the jacket and goes to church and does as he’s told, but he doesn’t always feel good, either. Sometimes he slips on the jacket and squirms at the thought that he’s a fraud. That the jacket means more than he actually is. Something he can’t measure up to.

“Stop thinking so hard, you’ll burn up your last two braincells,” Chrissy teases, poking her knuckles into his temples to get him to relax his face.

Cheer and Basketball have to share the gym today and it means neither team is doing much of any practicing. He should be helping Coach get everyone back on track, but he’s too preoccupied to care about three pointers.

He grins and rolls his eyes, batting her hand away. “Just thinking about the new defense plays.” Not fully a lie.

Her laugh is high and bright. “But you’re too pretty to be thinking.”

Usually it’s an inside joke between them; both of them seen as too pretty, and pretty as in not good for anything else. No expectation for anything more.

Lately it just makes him shift somewhere inside himself, pushing his tongue into the inside of his teeth to stem it.

Is that really all he’s good for?

Is that enough?

Could that be enough for himself?

He huffs, ruffling his own hair as he speeds up to rejoin the guys in their cool down laps. Maybe everyone’s right—maybe he’s not made for thinking. He’s not even sure what he’d really been thinking about, what conclusion he was trying to puzzle out, except in circles.

Sometimes when Steve’s thinking too hard, his eyes drift over to land on Munson. Like some sort of tar trap. Or a magnet, stuck in his throat whenever he looks and tries to swallow.

Sometimes, when he does, Munson catches him at it.

Sometimes, Munson’s looking first.

It should mean nothing. It probably does mean nothing and he’s being the weird one. They’ve literally exchanged maybe a dozen words over the years. They were almost lab partners early in the semester before Rodney made a fuss and convinced everyone to swap. They’d done poorly on the assignments, but Steve was used to that, at least.

What would a demon even want to do with Hawkins, anyway? Even if Munson was one, so far all he’d done since he got back was start a band, go to school, and start the dungeons and dragons club back up. As far as he could tell, it was keeping Nancy’s little brother and his friends off the streets and out of trouble, so he wasn’t sure what the harm was in that, either.

Maybe he just didn’t get what the adults were so worried about. Maybe he didn’t get it and so that’s why he was just as at risk to fall into Munson’s demonic ways.

That was probably why Steve was looking at him so much these days.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

He dresses in all blacks and reds and dangerous flashes of metal, and moves his body in weird ways. He plays satanic games and satanic music. He and his uncle never come to church—there’s hushed chatter about him still hovering around the church, probably up to no good and refusing to come inside. Maybe can’t? He and his friends (minions, Mrs. Thompson spits,) are always around town in a little pack up to no good.

He, also, catches Steve’s eye in the hallway, grinning brightly and mocking, flashing sharp canines.

He, also, chats animatedly with Chrissy, always slipping away whenever Steve gets closer.

He, also, sells pot at Steve’s basketball games, out back behind the building when everyone’s distracted. Steve knows because he can smell it when he leaves the locker room at the end of the night, the air heavy with herbs and sulfur. A calling card or a tease of some game Steve doesn’t know they’re playing.

He, also, lounges high up in the bleachers early in the morning when Steve’s swimming laps. Steve’s not sure how long that’s been going on, or why Munson’s picked there to haunt. He’d expected Munson to be the sort of “out all night, sleep all day” type that was popular with bats and horror villains.

But sometimes Steve pulls himself out of the pool, shedding water, and finds the glow of Munson’s eyes in shadows, hair curled around a finger and between his lips. Steve shivers before grabbing a towel and tries not to see those eyes every time he blinks.

Munson’s definitely weird, but ultimately harmless, Steve’s pretty sure. Mother’s book club-church-social ladies don’t know what they’re talking about. Munson’s just some guy.

Steve intends on finally confronting him about it. See what his deal is, why he’s skulking around, what he could possibly want. Maybe ask about the demon business so they can both laugh it off. If nothing else because Chrissy likes him and Jason’s starting to get weird about it, tight and angry somewhere behind his smarmy smiles.

But there’s never a good time, or there’s too many people who’d want to watch popular Steve talk to the school freak. (He doesn’t talk to him when he’s leaving the pool or basketball practice despite them being alone and the perfect time for it. There’s something taboo about it, when he’s bare and sweating and catching his breath, and Munson’s eyes are roaming him slow and heavy. Those times are for something else, something that Steve doesn’t understand but wants to keep just for them.)

(There’s no them.)

He must kick around too long, too loudly, because he swings back to his locker long after school to get a forgotten book, and Munson’s leaving detention with one of his ruffled, punky friends. He laughs loud and sharp, flinging his head back, uncaring of where he is. He drums his hands theatrically across his friend’s shoulders and then the row of lockers, pushing him off down a hall with a farewell (a literal farewell, like he’s trying out for the Spring Shakespeare Play.)

He keeps walking.

Steve keeps walking.

Dark, liquid eyes stare into his as Musnon reaches into a vest pocket for a crumbled box of cigarettes.

Steve inhales, should stop—passes him, and keep walking.

There’s a squeak on linoleum and then Munson’s walking at his elbow, bumping a little too close. He’s warm, putting out heat like a radiator.

Steve exhales.

A lighter flicks, flickers, catches in the corner of his eye glowing red and curling into smoke.

He doesn’t look.

He pushes the exit door out the back harder than he means to, stepping out into the bright sunshine. Squints.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and pushes, spinning him back around a corner and into shadows. Brick scratches the back of the felted letterman jacket. Steve forgets to breathe.

Munson breathes for him, fingers digging sharp into his chest to keep him still and lips ghosting soft over his, open and exhaling smoke that Steve can’t help but draw in, shuddering.

His thoughts spin dizzy and his heart climbs and stutters; then he’s not thinking at all, foggy with smoke and sulfur and the curious prodding of a wet tongue.

Steve gasps, grabbing the edges of Munson’s vest with the intention to push, instead doing the opposite. Heat and want flares across his skin, coming out as a small whine and turning him as stupid as everyone says he is.

Guilt drops into his stomach like a stone, but his hands keep pulling, his tongue keeps reaching, his hips follow a press he knows like a second language. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be liking this.

“Why are you following me around?” Munson asks against his mouth, low and raspy, his teeth catching Steve’s lip to pull.

Steve shudders and makes an embarrassing sound he’ll never admit to. It doesn’t feel like Munson minds, except—

“What?” Steve manages. He pushes, puts enough space between them he can gulp fresh air and try to clear his head. “Me? I was—I’d been—you.” He laughs despite himself, more panicked than amused, letting his head thump back against the wall. It stings, but the clarity is needed. “I thought you were stalking me.” Still thinks it, to be honest, because he has a lot more reason to be at the pool and the gym than the sixth-year senior slacker.

“What reason would I have to follow around the poplar pretty boy?” Munson asks, scathing enough that Steve’s pants go pathetically tight.

He tries to shrug instead, looking anywhere other than Munson’s eyes, deep enough to fall in like coaxing. “You tell me.” Does look, because he can’t help himself. Munson’s all dark temptation and promises of satisfaction.

Maybe he is a demon. Maybe that’s why Steve feels this way.

Maybe he’s something that’s mistaken for a demon: less supernatural and more dangerous.

Munson looks at him, and doesn’t say anything.

Steve’s too busy kissing him to say anything, either.

They don’t talk about it like Steve planned. He doesn’t get around to asking about any of it. They don’t talk at school or outside it. Nothing really changes except the stolen moments shivering in Munson’s burning hands and wicked mouth under the bleachers, or the quick and self-conscious fumble in the Munson trailer.

Steve doesn’t like anyone messing with his hair, but he likes it when Munson pulls on it.

Steve doesn’t like hickeys where anyone can see and ask questions, but he likes Munson’s sharp teeth digging in under his clothes.

Steve doesn’t like the thought of anyone catching them, but he lets Munson in through his window under the dark sky of a new moon. How can he say no to all the shadowed angles and flashing eyes of Munson softened immediately in the warm lamplight of his room?

It’s way too easy to let Munson in and then stay the rest of the night. Maybe he’s actually a vampire.

“Fussy,” Munson teases, biting at Steve’s hip, laughing at Steve’s stomach jumping at the touch.

Steve frowns and tugs at his hair in retribution. For such a wicked boy, his smiles look extra sweet in the early morning sunlight. Maybe that’s one of his tricks, too.

Footsteps echo up the stairs and down the hall, and Steve swears low. He scrambles to push Munson down, pull up the lumpy comforter over him. It won’t be enough. He pushes with his legs for Munson to shift behind him as he rolls over. Battles amusement at the soft thump and swear of Munson hitting the floor. Just in time for Father to knock and open the door without waiting, helping himself to every corner of his house without care to privacy.

“What are you still doing in bed?” There’s a queer suspicion in his eyes as they roam over Steve, looking for an answer neither of them wants to ask the question to.

“I—I don’t feel well,” Steve chokes out. Twitches at the fingers pressing into the back of his knees. Fakes a cough that turns distressingly real at teeth scraping at his backside.

“Your mother will be disappointed,” Father says in his own disappointment. In Steve. Not that he’s sick, but that he’s not obedient.

Steve shrugs, helpless and tangled up in his own bad decisions.

Father sighs, hand clenching around the door handle before relaxing. “Okay. No TV. We’re going to the Glenn’s after church. Mary will be disappointed you’re not coming.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move until the door’s shut, Father’s gone, and the car’s pulled out of the driveway. Guilt and shame dig claws into him, slowly slicing down.

What is he doing?

“Stevie,” Munson sings, all rough and honey sweet at once. He grabs Steve’s ankle from the floor and tickles the bottom of his foot. Drags himself up onto the bed like some sort of alluring boogie man, smiling with teeth and glittering eyes; seeming to have too many hands as he crawls up and over Steve himself. Worms under the blankets and begins kissing down Steve’s chest.

Steve exhales, letting go of more tension than he realized he was carrying. It isn’t fair that Munson is so good with his fingers and his tongue, that he’s addicting and soothing both at once. The best kind of distraction, even though Steve can’t remember what he needs distracted from anymore.

Steve sinks his hands into thick hair, clutching rhythmically with every graze of teeth, every swirl of tongue. Thinks, blessedly, about nothing at all. Just skin and sweat and the warm, heavy weight of—

“Eddie,” he sighs, arching up into the tight heat of his mouth. Then shudders down, groaning into the flinch of a curl around Munson, through the shaking swell up and over.

Munson, who has enough nonsense going on in his brain to keep his mouth running ceaselessly, says nothing. He’s still alive, Steve can feel the damp wash of his breathing, but usually a conscious Munson is a chatty one.

When he looks down, he freezes, ice running through his veins and chasing out the murky afterglow. Munson’s open expression of awe and adoration is marred by the solid black of his eyes.

“You—” Steve starts, thighs tensing.

“You said my name,” Eddie says over him, rushed and delighted. His hands tighten, sharp nails pricking sensitive skin. His smile is bright—almost childlike—if it weren’t for the sharper points of his teeth. The tongue that was just somewhere very sensitive is forked.

He hadn’t felt that.

He’s pretty sure he’d have felt that.

“They were right.” Dread drops into his stomach.

Munson frowns. “About my cock sucking skills? Who was right? I haven’t been exactly going around tongue first.” Sticks it out in a tease.

Steve looks at his tongue again without meaning to. Still split.

“You’re a demon.”

Munson’s mouth slackens into an O as his eyes clear back into the warm brown Steve’s used to, wide and scared. Everything about him shrinks back in such a smooth transition that Steve’s brain can’t keep up with it. Knows he watched it happen, but couldn’t conjure up the image even if he wanted to. Knows only then, and now.

Muns—Eddie’s hands tighten, and then loosens in a panic when Steve flinches tight. Pets his hip bones like he’s a startled horse.

The thought is insulting enough to knock Steve out of his horror enough to glare. “What were you doing at the church that day?”

Eddie’s expression shutters guilty enough that neither of them has to clarify which day he means.

“I… I dunno. I’d just come back to town, was relearning it and then… well…” He licks his lips, glancing away. It’s all Steve can do to watch his mouth. Bruised and soft and so inviting. Demon echoes in his thoughts—all he knows about them (not enough) and what pop culture has taught him (probably fanciful exaggerations.) But they’re supposed to be harbingers of sin and temptation and leading the pure astray into damnation. Evil.

“Drawn by a higher power?” Steve asks dryly. He’s slowly relaxing. Some of the fear ebbs away. Eddie’s not evil, of that he’s certain. “Feeling repentant?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Pinches Steve’s ribs. Steve flinches, swears, and swats at Eddie’s shoulders, but all that earns him is a sharp bite to the swell of his hip. “Drawn by something,” he grumbles.

Steve’s not sure he’s ever been considered pure, so they’re probably safe there. But Eddie’s soft brown eyes, open expressions, plush mouth, wicked fingers, tantalizing everything—

He flushes for no particular reason, distracts them both from it by ruffling his hands through Eddie’s sex-wild hair. Everything about Eddie seems made specifically to catch Steve’s attention, and maybe that’s what they’ve been talking about all this time.

“Do you want my soul?” Steve finally asks, huffy in his exasperation and impatience. The sooner they figure this out, the better.

Eddie’s face screws up in disbelief and disgust. “I don’t even know how to do that. What would I do with a soul, anyway? Eat it? Put it on a shelf? Trade it for Demonic Goods and Services?”

Steve flails the approximation of a shrug. “Well, I don’t know! It’s your whole,” gestures again, “deal. Couldn’t you use it to gain access to Hell or something?”

Eddie thinks about that for a long second. “Why would I wanna go there? It sounds terrible.”

Steve laughs. He doesn’t mean to, and it’s a little too sharp and too desperate. It clearly startles both of them. But once it starts, he can’t stop. Through watery eyes he catches Eddie grinning at him like they’re just two dumb teenagers, and also maybe like Steve’s the proof of a holy relic.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

The congregation worry that he’s building a cult; leading all their impressionable youth into dark basements for sorcery and music that makes windows shake. He plays with fire and smoke, and peddles spirits and drugs to drag the town down to his level. Corrupting as many souls as he can so when he returns to Hell where he belongs, he has an army of the depraved at his back.

Mostly, though, he cuts class and loiters around the school and the church and too-nice neighborhoods he has no business being in. He smuggles his preppy boyfriend out of his suffocating house and into his trailer where they can neck on the old couch. More frequently now, Hell’s Best Uncle (they made him a mug and everything,) tells lame jokes they laugh and groan at easily. Better when Wayne pats Steve’s shoulder and asks about school and sports, and tells Steve he’s proud of him. Even when he hasn’t done anything.

The worst thing Eddie tempts him into doing is a little underage drinking, smoke a little weed, and indulge in premarital homosexual activity.

Steve’s pretty sure he’d be doing all of that anyway, so he can’t blame Eddie for those sins. But he can blame Eddie for the hickeys, the easy grins, the quiet of a home that doesn’t rattle his brain into anxious static. If those are considered unforgivable sins, Steve’s not sure he really cares what the pastor is peddling anymore.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #demon au #demon!Eddie #my writing #monsterfucktober

24 notes · View notes

shapelytimber · 5 months ago

Note

Hiii! Obsessed with ur art style and ur character design skills

Do you have any tips or tricks for depicting different body types and also specifically drawing wrinkles bc it never turns out for me (sad) and I need to draw hot older women

Omg thank you sm ! <3 And if you want some tips, I can give you a lot jfifkd I went to art school for way to long and I'm not one for gatekeeping

For different body types, just practice figure drawing (and learn simplified anatomy) ! Here are some great resources to do it online (because finding real life models when your not in school is hard)

Figure drawing :

Timed figure poses (nude) on ytb / line of action / sketch daily

You can also look at the books "Morpho", tho it's not free

Artistic anatomy :

You can look at books from Paul Richier (tho he was a doctor not an artist so a lot of it is way too detailed, but you can find some very useful drawings) -> general stuff (p53 for a full man, the rest is more specific but you can find some zoom on specific muscles in movement) (also oops sorry all in french), specifically woman's anatomy p65 (tho it's practically the same thing but this ones more wordy so less fun to look at)

Anatomy for sculptors (great 3d models)

And now old people ! Wrinkles can happen in a lot of different circumstances : when showing emotion, depending on the angles of the face, on fatigue, on weight, if your skull is more or less visible...ect...

But if you want to learn how to draw specifically wrinkles that appear with age, there is multiple things to know :

(Very long talk about lines on faces below, I'm sparing you all not interested to have to scrolls through all that fjdkdk)

-wrinkles show in the areas of the face where there is repeated movement that create a fold that, with time, makes a permanent mark.

-when drawing, you should more or less mark them depending on their deepness. For the deeper ones draw with a black line, less deep a colored one and very subtle just using shading (at least that's how I do it in my style). Also ! They are certain lines that are normal to see on faces of every age, but tend to make them appear wayyy older in stylized drawing (especially with lines). For example, I have pretty defined lines going from my nose to the corner of my mouth because I have defined cheekbones. But if I where to draw them as marked as they look irl, I would appear way *way* older than I am. So unless you want to go for realism, go a bit lighter on the ones going from nose to mouth or the crow's feet (unless laughing) for someone under the age of ~50

- Not everyone get the same wrinkles, faces can tell a story ! For example if you choose to accentuate more the ones at the edge of the eyes and corner of the lips, that could mean your character spent a lot of his life smiling and laughing. In contrary, if you accentuate the ones between the eyebrows and around the nose, that means he sneered and scowled often.

And tips specially for senior citizens (after like 60)

- The quality of skin in older people is different ! The skin is thinner and drooping down (interesting detail, that you prob won't use in 2d art but, around 80yo the skin becomes once again a bit more taut and smooth (this is very subtle) before once again degrading further ! Source : my old sculpture teacher- he used to teach in med school, but I can't find a source online so take this with a grain of salt).

So learning the zones of the face where fat accumulates, then making them shift downwards can be a way to show age. They are some people who have very peculiar faces or don't have much fat there (ex Peter Cushing), but in *most* people it's the case, even if it's subtle.

- You can also make the skull more visible : sunken eyes, hollow cheeks... Even if your character isn't particularly thin, it will make them appear older. But obviously the more fat there is, the more subtle it is.

But really the best tips of all : look at old people :) in pictures or irl

Oops this is very long fjfknfk

#look at my french ass struggling to explain shit in english jfkfof hope it's not too long or incomprehensible #couldn't share what was specifically made by my professors but I did my best sharing shit that was free and usefull #hope that helps jfjfjf #can you tell I'm currently applying to try becoming a prof (maybe)#got a bit carried away I fucking love artistic anatomy and figure drawing and charadesign gjfjkfkf #art tips #art ressources #ask answered

35 notes · View notes

popodoki · 7 months ago

Text

Hey, teacher! Part 8 (Catwin motorcycle au)

Thomas to the rescue x

"My God… is that your friend, Edwin?" Esther sneers, horrified.

"Oh yes," he acts casual. Like this isn't completely bizarre. "It appears he was able to make it after all." Edwin politely excuses himself, pointedly doesn't walk away at full speed like a man escaping a death sentence.

By the time he reaches Thomas on the street, at least 7 children have gathered around the shiny novelty of his bike, some of them are actually touching it. One child is gripping the handle bars and making 'vroom' noises. Thomas stands by, looking amused, answering their overlapping questions as best he can. When he notices Edwin, he smiles broadly, winking mischievously.

Edwin comes to a stop, lifts one eyebrow at him.

"I've come to rescue you, ghostie." Thomas announces, like its an obvious answer to a question Edwin didn’t pose. "This is real shit, isn't it? There isn't even any music. What kinda picnic is this?" Some of the children giggle at the curse word. "Also, babe, you’ve been here less than an hour and already you look fuckin' miserable." Edwin visibly deflates. He had been under the impression that he'd done a faily good job of hiding it. "Don't curse in front of the children." Is all he can think of. Right after, the realization that Thomas just called him babe comes barrelling through, and that is now all he can think of.

"Well, come on then." Thomas throws his leg over, sits back on the motorcycle, pats the seat behind him.

Edwin stares.

Thomas stares back.

Edwin’s mouth opens but it takes a second try to form the "What."

"Come on, we're going home. There’s wine in the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure I saw a real nice vintage record player in the living room."

"Thomas, I." Edwin shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. "I can't just leave. And definitely not on that."

"Course you can leave. Come on, say goodbye to- oops, here she comes." Thomas, vagrant that he is, can't even bother to hide the absolute glee spreading over his face.

Heart in his throat, Edwin whirls around, sees Esther breezing towards them, a look of murder in her eyes. He braces himself, then deflates like a punctured balloon animal, with a slight wheeze he can’t quite smother behind a hand, when Thomas beats him to the punch, loudly. "Good afternoon! I remember you, tittering about yesterday, yeah? Never quite got your name, mine’s Thomas, Thomas King.”

"Charmed." Esther clips out, curt, glancing at Thomas’ outstretched hand with disdain.

"Pleasure's all mine, ma'am." Thomas quips, smoothly pulling his hand back, turning the motion into a tip of a hat that's not there, leans forward. "Say, you had a good look at her yesterday, I got her all cleaned up just earlier,” Thomas pats the bike’s seat, smiles wide, on the edge of too much so, "can I interest you in a ride around the block?" He pats the seat again, tilting his head just a bit to the side, towards her, making sure that Esther catches the challenge, the confidence in the invitation.

Esther almost reels, recoiling with disgust. "That's a very emphatic NO from me, Mr. King. Edwin, dear boy, do come back when you're,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing in the vague direction of where Thomas is practically preening, perched on his shining bike, arms crossed, “done, with all this." Her message is clear. Get rid of him. She stalks away, every muscle in her body so tense, Edwin is surprised she can walk at all. When he turns back to Thomas, he sees him offer a cheeky fingerwave at her retreating back.

When Edwin gives in to the urge to swat his arm, Thomas laughs and laughs, giggles like a child that's just pulled off a particularly dirty prank, looks just as faux-ashamed only when he fully refocuses on Edwin, and his wide-eyed stare at him. "You do realize, I'll pay for that later?" Edwin whispers from behind his clenched teeth.

"Ghostie. What's she gonna do? Come on, now's your chance. Hop on." He scoots forward, making room.

"I told you, I can't. I, I just-"

"Edwin." Thomas looks him right in the eye, expression serious. "Don't worry. It's just a picnic. It'll go on without you. Who cares about what Esther says anyway? Who cares about the people who would care about what an absolute witch like Esther says?"

The sound of his name coming out of Thomas's mouth is what calms him. Yet at the same time, his heart rate triples, he feels a surge of adrenaline. "I won't fall off?" He eyes the thin strip of seat behind the other man. It doesn't look at all secure. "Not if you hold on." Thomas starts the engine with a wink, and the nearby hovering cloud of children all exclaim in wonder at the noise, laughing, covering their ears. Some of their parents look decidedly displeased. Edwin takes a deep breath, wipes his sweaty palms on his overcoat, forces himself to throw a leg over the motorcycle, tucking up close to Thomas, an arm around his torso. "Sorry." he apologizes over the din of the engine, though he's not sure for what exactly. For touching him?

"S'alright, babe. Hold on, we're going to be making a quick exit. The wicked witch is decidedly not happy." Thomas pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, the motorcycle jerks forward, scaring Edwin half to death. He reflexively clings harder, pretending he didn't make a high-pitched yelp out of fear. He doesn't dare look back, to see people's reactions as the motorcycle roars away. He doesn't even want to entertain the thought of how Esther Finch is going to handle him running off without saying goodbye.

They've gone through two corners, when Edwin realizes he's still clinging to Thomas, perhaps a little too hard. He tries to loosen his grip, he really does, but every time the motorcycle makes the slightest motion underneath his legs, he's worried that their equilibrium will be shattered and he'll go spiraling to the pavement. Also, it's an easy excuse to hold him without any guilt. This was Thomas's idea, after all. Edwin is blameless for clinging. He presses the side of his face against the leather-clad back in front of him. The smell of leather is divine, and he can feel Thomas's ribcage expanding with each breath. It's nice. It's very nice. Edwin almost wishes he lived further away.

Thomas pulls to a stop, neatly, in the middle of the driveway. He cuts the engine, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "See? World didn't end." Edwin releases his squid-like grip on that leather jacket, rather unsteadily dismounts the bike, trying to calm his quaking knees. "Actually, there were a few turns back there that almost proved you wrong." A bucket is placed against the garage door, probably used by Thomas when he cleaned his bike. Thomas laughs good naturedly when Edwin gives it a calculating stare, just for effect. Edwin can’t help but smile, a touch wry, marvelling just a bit inside, how easy he now falls into this, this kind of banter, teasing, with someone he didn’t even know 3 days ago.

He looks at the bike once more, and it occurs to him, again, that he has just ditched Esther at the church picnic, in front of essentially the entire town. Not only that, but he did it clinging to the back of a man on a motorcycle. Edwin needs a good, big glass of wine, and he needs it now. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Alright, let's have a drink, before I spend any more time thinking about what I've just done."

Thomas slaps him on the shoulder with a smile, letting his hand drift to the small of Edwin’s back, and leads them both inside the house.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #catwin #cat king #edwin payne #dbda fanfic #motorcycle au

34 notes · View notes

omens-for-ophelia · 5 months ago

Note

I love your art! Would love to know about your process if that’s something you’re interested in talking about!

hello! i am so sorry it took so long to respond to this 🩷

(...i suppose this means the first step in my art process is to faff about and procrastinate and dither for ages 🤭 oops)

i am so flattered that you are interested! 🥺🩷

i wish i had a truly substantial answer for you - unfortunately i don't know if i would consider myself as having a standard "process", per se. i tend to play around with something new each time, as i am still very much getting back into my art and still learning.

i will put my current "process" under the cut for those who may be curious? 🩷

so i guess my first step is to gather inspiration & references! i have a bunch of boards on pinterest for poses clothing inspo, things that are just 'vibes'... there are a few life drawing sites i like, as well as (of course) the Good Omens Reference Library discord, which is a genuinely brilliant community-built resource (praise be to @orayart & @patibuart 🩷) once i have my references and a few ideas of how i want to work them together, i start with the sketch - i usually work on a square canvas in procreate with a neutral toned bg (white hurts my eyyyyes) and normally i'll throw a paper texture over it (there are a lot of great resources like that on gumroad to download both for free and in paid packs)

i am clearly attached to sketching aziraphale in blue and crowley in red to begin with hehe (background is usually in green), using the procreate HB pencil or the cube brush, as it lets me visually see which lines are which - my sketching is very very messy in the early stages! and i don't usually like to do proper linework - instead i just duplicate the layer, lowering the opacity on one and then refine the sketch down in stages... then colouring the sketch to a more neutral dark grey or brown

i am aware this isn't necessarily good practice, since it can make some of my work seem stiff and flat - but even when i try and leave the lines messy i just can't seem to leave well enough alone

at this point, the 'process' really just becomes a game of 'what am i in the mood to do, what suits the piece, am i painting this or am i done, etc'

for the most part, i will use a solid cube brush to lay down the flat colours, then use ink wash brushes, spatter brushes or watercolour brushes to add texture and shading or colour - experimenting along the way for the most part! then some different layer modes to play with lighting etc if needed!

i have NO idea if any of this is interesting... i am hardly an artist with a refined style or process as of yet, but i am getting there. i've been making art since i was small, but before GO i hadn't drawn seriously for years and years beyond doing D&D character art for me and my friends!

anyway! thank you for getting this far if you managed it! so grateful for you all 🩷

#ophelia answers #ask ophelia #good omens #good omens fanart #gomens fanart #ophelia-draws

22 notes · View notes

lucky-stick · 7 months ago

Text

Hiii as I said in my intro u would be getting journal pages and I haven’t actually done that yet so oops but today I have I’ve done some basic stats and some things I want to do this month.

Anywaysss here is the journal it looks really nice actually:

Here’s the first stats page (there will be translations at the bottom cus my handwritings shit and ignore the pencil I don’t trust myself writing in pen)

(Ignore the shit drawing I did in class and the random sticker I found)

1 of July stats:

Kintypes:

Bull shark - fully confirmed

Vancouver coastal sea wolf - otherlink (coping)

Golden retriever - semi confirmed

Leaf sheep - semi confirmed

Snake - questioning

Things to do:

Build a den, practice shifting, collect natural items, explore territory, practice vocals, watch documentaries on kintype, draw kintype, plan posts, listen to music, make gear, care for plushies, meditation, go to beach and dig, swimming, roll in grass, picture yourself as your kintype, research kintypes behaviour

Quadrobics workout

Basic arm and hand stretches, snake hiss pose, star jumps, sumo squats, frog jumps, lunges, hamstring curls, single leg deadlift, calf raises, mountain climbers, donkey kicks, push ups

Anyways that’s my first bit of journaling I know it’s not the first anymore but ignore that I’m very disorganised I plan on doing it almost everyday and doing a shift log and meditation log ect so I hope u enjoyed this I promise I’ll make it more aesthetically pleasing and more drawings

Thank you for reading ^^

24 notes · View notes

sahrii · 2 months ago

Text

impossible; tetsuro kuroo 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

episode 2 ! fault lines

prev < mast > next

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ a/n hehe second chap! againnn bare w me my first time doing this fr n i tried to like make kuroo mean without making him ooc which i probably failed but its okay ig (it’s not) hope u guys enjoy!!!

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ warnings mentions of inferiority complex, ooc kuroo :( AND MEAN kuroo :( idk what else hopefully nothing else

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ taglist open (ask to join through dm or ask box!!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ requests open

The classroom was quiet. Quiet aside from the sound of her ballpoint pen rolling out some pitch black ink on the paper of her notebook, and the tranquil hum of the chilly breeze, tiptoeing from the slightly opened window and tickling her senses.

She was focused–too focused to notice that three out of the four people whom she invited were running behind the meeting time as the other person, Akaashi, was waiting for her to notice his presence.

“you seem like you’re about to find out what the root of negative one is,” spoke up akaashi, approaching the desk she was sat on. his voice startled her, causing her to jump a little and drop her pen. “jesus christ you scared me” she put a hand on her chest as she let out a sigh of relief. “and it’s impossible to find the root of negative one” she added, mocking his earlier sentence. “I know,” he replied with a chuckle, leaning down to pick her pen and setting it on the table. “when did you get here? And where is ko?” she asked, referring to bokuto who always accompanied akaashi, as if the both of them were twins conjoined by the hip. “actually, we’ve both been here since 2 because we joined nekoma for a bit of practice. I left a bit earlier to grab some snacks and reminded them that we’re supposed to meet at 4 but I think they’re too caught up in practice so im not sure when—” he said, setting a bag of snacks on the desk as per bokuto’s request from yesterday. and as if he’s onto some sort of sorcery, their three figures walked into the classroom. “Hey y/n! it’s been ages since—” bokuto began, approaching her for a hug. “absolutely not, your sweaty figure will not be touching me!” she cut him off, pushing her chair back a bit. “you’re so mean to me,” “you’re late you deserve it—and speaking of late, care to explain why the three of you are late?” she narrowed her eyes at the three of them, well, avoiding eye contact with kuroo for already established reasons.

Ironically enough, kuroo was the one to open his mouth.

“oops—so sorry. We totally weren’t practicing for the volleyball event your majesty is planning” he retorted with crossed arms in front of his toned chest, causing kenma to audibly sigh as this was a sign for the beginning of a long argument.

His figure leaned casually against the desk, just close enough to be infuriating. And though she despised him with every ounce of her being, she couldn’t deny—much to her own dismay—that there was something irritatingly magnetic about the way he carried himself.

Before she could open her mouth to respond, kenma beat her to it.

“are we gonna get this over and done with before chairs end up being thrown across the room or is that gonna be hard?” he asked, pulling out a random chair and sitting on it. “you should ask—”

“I think the question is posed to you, because as far as I remember, the one who threw the chair was—” “can you not”

And just like that, the bickering spiraled into a heated back-and-forth. Kuroo’s smug grin only fueled her irritation as their words collided, the volume in the room slowly rising.

Meanwhile, Kenma and Akaashi exchanged a long, knowing look—equal parts exhausted and unimpressed.

“Enough,” Bokuto finally interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension like a sharp whistle.

“I really want this meeting to finish without losing anyone’s life and before the Yakiniku restaurant down the street closes,” he added, causing everyone to deadpan. “you really do have a big back, ko” she jokingly stated as she placed her notebook in front of everyone, wanting to start the meeting. “Y/N!”

──────────────────────

“okay before we move on to distributing the roles, is everyone happy with the tasks we’ve come up with?” she asked, her eyes making contact with everyone. kenma and kaashi were discussing something about the food stalls, kuroo had a smug smirk on his face and bokuto was sat , practically hugging the back of his chair as his chin rested on it. “you mean the tasks you came up with,” spoke up kuroo, that smug smirk only getting bigger. “thanks for establishing this groundbreaking, flabbergasting news, Kuroo. Have you got anything in mind or do you just like commenting for the sake of annoying me?” she mocked, sarcasm dripping from her words. “I actually do, but it’s not my problem that I can’t even speak about what I have in mind because your inferiority complex comes out every fucking time I speak to you” smirked kuroo, oblivious to how those words slapped her in the face. and suddenly, the room fell silent. No more murmurs were heard, only the sound of her heart palpitating like a maniac inside her chest could be heard in her ears. the pen she was previously holding felt too heavy now, the classroom’s floor looked like it was ready to swallow her alive, and for reasons she cannot comprehend, a fuzzy ball appeared in hear throat that she struggled to push down, but eventually did. “excuse me? What—what inferiority complex are you talking about, have you—” and before she could even complete her sentence, he cut her off. she hated how he knew her—knew how to get on her nerves every single time. “no—don’t even begin. Have you seen yourself, trying so hard to not fall below anyone, to be better than everyone in every way possible as if you’re compensating for whatever the hell you’re insecure about. Stop bossing people around, ask for opinions, y/n. the world does not revolve around, or else I’m scared that you’ll end up alone on your death bed,” he breathed, he breathed words that were similar to needles, puncturing holes inside of her heart. He was so oblivious—so oblivious to how right he was, to her, he hit everything right on the spot; yet so oblivious to how he just hurt her.

Because despite all these years of rivalry, no word from his infuriatingly sharp tongue had ever truly struck her—until this very moment. For the first time, his words cut deeper than she thought possible, leaving her feeling exposed, as though the walls around her were closing in, trapping her in a relentless cycle of suffocating doubt and raw vulnerability.

“Is that what you think of me?” Her voice wavered, startlingly soft and brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering. “That I’m a petty, stuck-up girl who’s also a control freak?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, but for once, words failed him.

“Y/N—” Kenma stood, his voice quiet but urgent, trying to cut through the tension.

“No, it’s fine.” She held up a trembling hand, her gaze fixed on the floor as she shoved her belongings into her bag. “I’ll leave. Continue without me. Good luck.”

Before anyone could respond, she pushed past the four boys standing in stunned silence, the slam of the classroom door echoing behind her like the final chord of a tragic symphony.

And then, nothing.

A heavy, suffocating silence settled in the room, too thick for anyone to break immediately.

Kuroo felt it in his chest, a hollow ache he didn’t want to name, as if her absence had stolen all the oxygen.

Because she never reacted to any ofhis word in the same manner she did now, she always, always had some sort of funny response back.

“Do you ever think before you speak?” Akaashi asked finally, his tone as sharp as the glare he aimed at Kuroo.

“No, because I promise you, Kuroo, you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met. maybe even stupider than Bokuto,” Kenma added bluntly, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Hey! What did I do?” Bokuto protested, a faint whine in his voice.

“You’d better fix this,” Kenma said firmly, ignoring Bokuto’s comment as he leveled a rare glare at Kuroo. “Because you messed up. Big time.”

And with that, Kenma walked out, leaving Kuroo to grapple with the weight of his own words—and the look in Y/N’s eyes that he couldn’t seem to forget.

──────────────────────

once again any likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!!!!

taglist

@kashee-h

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu kenma #smau haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro

15 notes · View notes

sanitysims · 3 months ago

Text

A Party to Die For, Day 23: Athlete

Welcome to the party: Mark Nishimura! He's active, family-oriented, and good, even if his resting bitch face makes people think otherwise. He's trying his best :( The only opinions that matter to him are the ones of his siblings, but how could they not love him after all the work he's put into practically raising them?

made for the halloween cas challenge by @la-llama-sims using @changingplumbob’s wonderful templates!!

something about men with long hair will do it for me everytime. wow. also i'm literally unable to get markiplier out of my head when i look at him for some reason so he's named after him lol (ˆ𐃷ˆ)

at this point i'm starting to forget which fonts i've used oops. maybe i've used this one before but i can't remember so i don't care! (ˆ𐃷ˆ)

pose - @ninawhims // hair & pants - @aharris00britney // earrings - @its-adrienpastel // headphones - @pralinesims // necklace - @wistfulpoltergeist

#sometimes i wish i could hand my sims away #just so i can see their story continue #me when my sims are mine: 😔#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #llptdf #SC #SCsims #SCchallenges #SCPTDF

8 notes · View notes

thatseventiesbitch · 4 months ago

Text

Fictober 4 - "No, we're not doing that"

"Do we need one of these?"

Donna glanced across the aisle at Eric. He was holding one end of a brightly colored, octopus-shaped crib mobile. It had some bells attached to the top, and they jangled as Eric shook it at her.

"No. Put it down."

Eric did, but as soon as he let go of the mobile he snatched up something different from the shelf.

"What's this?" he wrinkled his nose, utterly confused as he turned the gadget over in his hands. Hoping to make her laugh, he set the cone-shaped end on his head like it was a party hat, and posed.

He succeeded. Despite her somewhat sour mood, Donna lifted a hand to stifle her laugh.

"That's a breast pump," she informed him.

Eric's face widened with horror, and he whipped the breast pump off his head, dropping it like it was made of burning coals.

"Yech."

"Stay focused," Donna reminded him, grabbing his elbow now to guide him down a different aisle. "We're here to look for a crib."

"But do we - do we need one of those?" Eric's voice pitched into his squeaky-voice. He still glanced unsurely over his shoulder, at the breast pump. "It looked like some kind of medieval torture device - "

"That's breastfeeding, honey. It's not for the faint of heart."

The voice behind them was familiar... too familiar. The hair on the back of Eric's neck prickled.

Fenton.

He whirled around, and his worst fear was confirmed. Standing just a few feet away behind the register was none other than Fenton, and he wore a blue lanyard that declared him a FLOOR MANAGER. Because of course. Of course Fenton worked at the baby furniture store.

"Fenton." Eric crossed his arms, greeting the annoying menace with a firm, no-nonsense tone.

Fenton mirrored his pose. "You," he snarled.

Donna, however, was unphased. "Oh, great." She waved Fenton over towards them. "We could use some help."

"That's exactly what I'm here for." Fenton practically danced over to them, and then extended forward into an awkward sort of bow. "Floor Manager Fenton, at your cervix." He giggled while Eric and Donna looked uncomfortable. "Oops. I mean - at your service."

Donna looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or to run. "Um. Okay. We're looking for a crib."

"But of course. Aisle 13." With a flourish, Fenton led them towards the other end of the store. As they got closer, Eric could see the dozens of different cribs on display.

"Great," he said. "We've got it from here."

"Oh, but don't you want my personal recommendation?"

Eric eyed him wearily. "Is that like your personal recommendations on breastfeeding? Because I think we'll have to pass - "

"Sure," Donna interrupted him. She looked to Fenton. "What are the most popular models?"

"I'm so glad you asked."

Fenton leapt in front of a massive crib. It had a mahogany frame and intricate, detailed carvings on the head and foot boards.

"This is our Little Sleeper Deluxe. It has - "

"Yeah, we're not in the market for the Deluxe," Eric interrupted impatiently. "How about your Bargain line?"

"Eric - " Donna elbowed him in the ribs. It hurt, and he rubbed the spot.

"What? Donna, there's no way in hell we're getting that up two flights of stairs to our apartment - "

"Or there's always the Sweetest Dreamer." Fenton had already moved on. Now he directed them to a white crib a few feet away. "Look at the sleek, modern design." He stroked one of the bars of the crib in a way that felt overtly sexual. Eric grimaced.

"Uh huh. And what's the price tag on this little number?"

"Well it's on sale right now," Fenton boasted, puffing his chest forward. "For just a small, small payment of $185." He lowered his voice considerably and added, "Over twelve months."

Eric rolled his eyes. "No, we're not doing that." He put a hand on Donna's back, and started to guide her towards the door. "C'mon, Donna. Let's finish our shopping somewhere else."

"But - wait!" Fenton called desperately after them. "Can't I interest you in our Elm collection? The Rockford glider? This changing table shaped like a swan?"

They were almost to the shop entrance. Fenton got a gleam in his eye.

"Perhaps this Star Wars Heirloom quilt?"

Eric paused, his hand hovering over the door handle. Then he glanced at Donna.

"You know, he has a point. We could make the nursery Star Wars themed. That would be worth the investment - "

Donna shoved him forward and out into the parking lot.

"You have a problem, Eric, you know that?"

#fictober #fictober24 #that 70s show #that '70s show #that 90s show #that '90s show #eric forman #donna pinciotti #eric and donna #eric x donna #otp: mom and dad #star wars #fenton #leia forman #fanfic #writing

9 notes · View notes

bigmammallama5 · 8 months ago

Note

hi 2 things 1: bone eater looks really really cool holy shit pls keep us posted and 2: is there like a story behind him or anything? i dont think ive actually seen him on your blog before

1. THANK YOU I'm so nervous. This is the second time I've built him and I haven't done much sculpture in a REALLY long time, certainly nothing this large in clay that wasn't a vessel. I've had to fix his left knee about three times even with a ridiculous amount of slip/score action, so hopefully I finally got him together (he's also got some support under his hips and wrists). He is. Very heavy lol. I think I may need to pick a connection point along his middle to cut him into two pieces, if only for drying and transportation purposes...

2. And kinda! He's actually been on my blog but in drawn form a couple times in my explorer supergirl/supercorp drawtober series from 2018 and then just this past year 2023! I totally understand how you missed him though because I'm just on here barfing memes 22 hours a day. To save you time trawling back through my blog (but if you're bored I won't stop you, just follow the "arting" tag") you can see those on my artstation:

Inktober 2018: Build a World in 31 Days "TERRAH"

Drawtober 2023: Return To TERRAH

I have a very loose idea, really more of a vibe, that Bone Eater is that culture and planetary system's deity of decay in a system of three, because everybody loves systems of threes and odd numbers! With him are the Spore Mother (birth, beginning), and World Ender (death, ending) (both names still not quite confirmed but I like them). He is the connection point between life and death, consuming so that more may become. Boom, crash, ominous sounds, goofy three-eyed grins and big chompers.

Here are my most recent super rough planning sketches of this current sculpture and hopeful next sculptures from a drawpile I noodled around in with @sango-blep (who is amazing and very supportive of my shenanigans while I gently coax my brain back to drawing after my health punched me in the face this past year):

He's maybe not quite as padded as I made him originally but I'll just have to keep practicing, maybe see if I need to look into actual armature or something if I want to keep doing this in the future? If I can get him back in mostly one piece I'd really like to make the other two as well in the same scale (this is a reminder to myself to take some wet measurements today) but I'd have to adjust the pose of World Ender for him to fit in our studio kilns. Ours are 24" deep and Bone Eater is clocking in at about 20" (oops), so I'd need to lower his head. I think I picked some compact enough poses, but we'll see. I may be the one loading him into the kiln lol.

BUT YEAH that's Bone Eater and what little I have on him right now LOL.

#ask me stuff!#arting #pottery #drawtober #return to terrah #not me going back and fixing all my grammar bc i want you to take me seriously but also not wanting to bc i want to seem approachable LMFAO #bone eater #i guess he gets a tag now #also health update im doing much better but i do have a thing tomorrow morning thats mostly a standard check #but also will maybe help me start ruling stuff out so i can find a new normal with food and stuff #fingies crossed i dont that the autoimmune thing my nephew has #okay i stop talking now

12 notes · View notes

pawseds · 14 hours ago

Text

Accidentally did a lineup of some Helvetia girls (plus Merlin) impulsively past midnight. I wanted to try draw different body types because I think of them as an extension of storytelling. Plus, it's fun and good practice! (I say this without ever having learned anatomy or having searched up reference for this lmfao oops)

Characters 1-3 and 5 belong to @theroyalzealot, and character 4 belongs to @katastrofish. Image description + more info from left to right under cut!

Marianne (red), 42 y/o: Pear-shaped, keeping in mind she's in her 40s. She also has small lip corner/cheek wrinkles. No idea what it is anatomy wise lmao. I designed her for my friend. Not much to say here? She's your average middle-aged woman who has curves in the right places. She's not on the athletic end because she sits behind a desk all day. I drew her in an A-pose because I didn't know I was going to be doing a lineup LOL

Molly (blue), 24 y/o: Slouch, shoulders slope more. She's the reason I started doing this lineup in the first place, because her designer and Marianne's original designer (same artist) draws them with the exact same body type and face shape, and given the big age difference and their very different personalities, I thought to try redesign her while staying true to being curvy/round. I tried leaning hard into softness since she's not self assured and is kinda melancholic sometimes. To match, I gave her a rounder face, a wider/rounder nose, and droopy eyes. (Marianne's French and Molly's Brazillian, so I wanted Molly's features to not be so Eurocentric.) I also changed her hair to try reflect her personality more.

Abaddon (green), 33 y/o: Hip dip, like she's always flexing. Originally desgined by someone else. I was drawing these with Mika on call, and this was the point they said they were curious about my interpretation of Abaddon. This woman is supposed to be fucking tall and built like a tree, so I really wanted to show that LOL. It's just angles, angles and hard lines everywhere. Whenever I'm drawing muscular/fit people, I try to remember that muscle is soft when unflexed, and that people aren't flexing all the time (unlike what media potrays). BUT. Abaddon is constantly jacked on hypergeometric steroids to the point of addiction. So I think being uncannily shredded at all times even when she's fully relaxed fits. Also, hip dip is there because she doesn't have a lot of fat. The same goes for the next 3 characters.

Melydice (purple), 30 y/o: Muscular, but not in the steroid kinda way like [Abaddon]. Toned af. Originally designed by Mika! I wanted to draw Melydice to contrast against Abaddon, by showing what a very athletic woman who's not constantly on steroids looks like. It probably would've been more effective if I've actually studied muscle anatomy! But anyway, I followed Mika's description for this: pretty average frame, but with broader shoulders, and all the muscle she packs hide beneath loose clothing. Maybe I should've drawn Melydice flexing her arm for contrast to see how fucking swole she is when she's actually flexing. But otherwise, I think she has a sleeper build. She takes her duties as a field agent very seriously, and she's been one since she was 18.

Eve (cyan), 39 y/o: Narrower shoulders. Ectomorph kinda build; leaner and not as muscular as [Melydice]. Very lean frame. Originally designed by another artist. I drew her in for variety and to contrast against Melydice. In my head, her body naturally can't build muscle as easily as Melydice's (and Abaddon's), thus having smaller muscles (and less fat) than them both. So she's more of the 'mean and lean' kinda gal, and would definitely look slim/narrow when her muscles are relaxed. However! Do not underestimate her! The fact that she's nearly 40 but has a body as toned as this means that she's been consistently training for ages! She can absolutely pack a punch if she needs to, I'm sure. She sure packed a punch in Hrothgar's criminal record by framing him-

Leyna/Merlin (orange), 30 y/o (stuck permanently at this age because she's dead): Narrower frame, but proportionally broader shoulders. L o n g l e g s. I've had the idea to draw a lineup for a long time, and I knew I wanted to include Leyna and Elmira in it. It's nice to compare/contrast her against Eve, too: they're similarly lean, except with how Eve is more muscular, Leyna's pelvis is narrower, Leyna's flat as a board, and Leyna's legs are proportionally longer. Even though both their shoulder widths are kind of the same, I like to think that skeletally, Eve's are narrower. It's just that she has muscle built on top of that. If Leyna were to work her shoulders/chest, I think they'd be broader than Eve's. She's lucky to have this build since she very often presents as male (she's genderqueer, uses any pronouns).

Elmira (magenta), 43 y/o: Petit but round. Pigeon SML shapes, as in I wanted to capture the 'small medium large' shapes of a pigeon and implant it into Elmira (since her surname is Golubev, aka pigeon/dove). Not much to say here, either. I didn't want her to necessarily be curvy like Marianne (though I could've done a better job at Marianne). I just wanted her features to be very round. She often wears a hijab but doesn't do it all the time, so it was about time that I started ideating what her hair would look like. One day, I'll achieve the thick and curly/wavy look I have in mind.

6 notes · View notes