#think of a character that is ridiculously hard to draw—

[forthereaderinserts]

The first swordsman you meet would be Zabuza, a very arrogant, cruel man who has a reputation of murder and betrayal, but what shinobi doesn’t at this point-

He’s probably very impressed you’ve managed to read his movements as well as you have.

Maybe it’s because he’s never actually met a swordsman from Konoha who actively fought like you did, not to mention Konoha probably have a way different sword fighting style. You knew exactly where he was which was a little terrifying given the mist hiding him, but how would he know that you just saw his literal soul moving?

There was also the fact that you could take the brunt weight of his sword no problem and push him back? That’s scary especially for a kid your size.

After driving zabuza off, Kakashi had many questions, obviously, you don’t act like a normal kid, nor did you fight like one. You had a resolve in your eyes, a determination and of course he was curious. Why was this kid fighting like he did as a kid? That’s not normal.

Kakashi of course being Kakashi, figured you probably didn’t have much chakra capability but was able to walk on walls like the rest so he had some ideas on how to advance any training, maybe help you open your gates or maybe he can rely on guy for that…? No he’s way too high energy and you already deal with your team.

Sakura helps wraps your wounds and Sasuke (Grumpily) overlooks your sword, admiring the blade as Naruto talks Kakashi’s ear off.

I imagine that you never behead someone, no, that’s a little too gruesome for naruto standards. Unless it was some background character. But until maybe Chunin exams sorry pals

Speaking of, I like to think that Rock Lee and Guy are very interested to know that Kakashi’s team has a “taijutsu specialist” and sword wielder…when you’re really just beating the shit out of someone that doesn’t have a name to the move. You can make shit up on the spot thanks to demon slayer naming the breathing techniques though so yay :)

Oof- but steer clear of Orochimaru, he’d be a little too interested in a sword specialist. Especially one as fast as you that’s been honing your skills to an unbelievable degree…it’d be funny if you caught him several times in the fight though. Just him thinking he’s got you and then bam you whip around and grab his arm and throw him like he’s a pebble on a pond.

Like Guy thought his training was ridiculously hard? Imagine explaining the steps you do for your routine. You’d look like a lunatic.

“What do you mean you train your lungs?”

“What do you MEAN you eat half of your body weight because you burn off so much calories during training???”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SLICED A BOULDER IN HALF????”

Gaara is immediately on your case too, staring at you, glaring at you. All the while you’re just ._.

How do you cheat in the written exams btw? You can probably copy arm movements perfectly with breathing techniques if you concentrate hard enough.

Kabuto has to stay for an even amount of fights to happen in the Chunin exams and he’s getting his ass beat I’m sorry. He cannot catch a god damn break. One minute he’s there to test the strength of you the next he’s knocked out cold.

Your team just sees you stand there, lurch forward, and bam he’s on the ground and you’re standing behind him.

Unfortunately this would probably draw the eyes of Orochimaru, he’s a sword wielder too, though obviously not one of your caliber.

Kakashi can’t make heads or tails of your abilities, because it’s not ninjutsu, and you’re moving too fast for someone who has such little chakra. And it’s not like Minato’s speed since he’s just teleporting to a kunai (should’ve been passed down to naruto ;-;).

Guy is probably talking his ear off about you, like “yeah they’re pretty strong, my Lee could beat them though :)” because that’s his son.

What’s worse is that Kakashi rarely even trains these guys. Like we never see him actively training them or giving them actual advice, we saw like one mission that wasn’t filler before everything went to shit. So he’s probably scared as fuck, turning to you as soon as you come back all smiley because Yknow, you won. But he’s “where the fuck did you learn to do that??? Those weren’t techniques they teach here” and he’s sure as hell he didn’t teach you that.

On the downside, you’ve made your teacher and other jonin’s very suspicious of your skills and caught the eye of Orochimaru and that also means sooner or later you’ll catch the eye of the Akatsuki.

On the plus side you gave your team some serious credibility.

“What the fuck has Kakashi been feeding them”

“What are they learning over there???”

And it’s just you with a fuckin sword.

Since breathing techniques are more something like tai jutsu but also way way way WAY beyond that does that mean a demon slayer could just…fuck shit up and no one would be able to stop them unless they stopped themselves

Like I’m talking hashira level demon slayer but even regular demon slayers are fuckin crazy

[krokodilesideshow]

When I'm drawing Tiki Tong I gotta redraw the whole piece at least twice in order to get the shape of his head right it's pure TORTURE!!!

[starflungwaddledee]

from: @starflungwaddledee to: @post-it-notes7

message from santa: "happy holidays post-it-notes! 🎄🥳 i know you very politely only wished for a few modest things- characters high fiving, or struggling in christmas attire- but i hope you'll still enjoy this given that i kinda went the opposite direction entirely! i'm an enormous fan of your work and most times you post anything i wind up browsing your art tag from tip-to-tail in enraptured delight. as such, i thought it was only fair i give back something a little more significant in gratitude for all the joy your work has given me. i knew i wanted to do a comic, so i was thrilled you already had a whole storyverse for me to work from!! this scene seemed the most obvious choice (chapter 8 of "wishful thinking" on ao3) given that i enjoy a dramatic fight scene 😂 i tried to stick as beat-by-beat to the writing as i could and worked in as many details as possible; i hope it'll be fun to see it envisioned this way! merry christmas! ~starflung 🎀🔔 "

[not-a-heretic]

never a frown with golden brown

(quick nigel study to recover from whatever tf that water drawing was.)

pose reference

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[rosenclaws]

logan and his super strength

warnings: minors dni, 18+ only, fem!reader, a little mean logan, degradation, logan gets off on you crying, doggy style, prone bone, logan fucks ur brains out and calls you princess

a/n: gonna be so honest I am ovulating rn and I am so fucking horny for all hugh jackman characters and all i could think about today was getting ruined by Logan

It’s not fair how strong Logan is. Super strength and adamantium bones make for one wicked combination. It’s not fair that he can just man handle you whenever he wants to. How he can put you in any position he wants and you just have to take it. God you love to take it.

On your knees, on your stomach, on your back, against the wall, bent over anything Logan can find. It’s ridiculous how he can just. Move you to his will. Ridiculously hot and god does he know it. That cocky fucking grin as he fucks the life out of you.

The one on his face right now as he has you pinned to the bed. Knees achy from how long he’s held you like this. One hand on your back and the other on your hips. Drilling into you over. and over. and over again. Just fucking relentless. Tears falling down your face as he fucks other orgasm out of you. The bedsheet is torn to shreds from your harsh tugging and Logan’s claws.

“Aw is it too much princess?” Logan coos mockingly.

"Are your poor little knees too tired? It must be so hard for you." His patronizing voice makes you whine.

He grabs your chin and turns your head, kissing you sloppily as he slows down his thrusts. Biting at your lower lip until it's sore. He grins at the tears that stream down your face. You just look so pretty like this. He licks up your cheek and groans.

"Pussy so sweet and tears so salty."

"Logan.." Your whole body aches. Too much pleasure. Your legs are shaking wildly and you can barely stay up.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya." He slowly pushes you down until your flat on your stomach.

The burn in your thighs is relieved as you sink to the bed. Logan runs his hands along your naked body. His hard cock slowly sliding across your ass. His cock slides back into your pussy as he holds your legs together. The breath is pushed out of your lungs as he sinks deeper than he's ever been. He lays his body across yours as much as he can. His heavy bones pining you to the bed.

"Holy shit." Logan closes his eyes as you clench around him. You're so much tighter, so much wetter. A cry is ripped from your throat as he draws his cock back and slams into you.

"Fuck!" You wail as Logan sets a punishing pace. You try to crawl forward subconsciously, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Logan laughs as he puts more weight onto you.

"You wanted this right? Just too fucked out to stay up on your knees. Gonna make me do all the work." He grins wickedly as he props himself onto his elbows and kisses your shoulder. You let Logan's weight press you to the bed. He's fucked any coherent thought out of your head except the want for more. All you can think of is needing more and more. He's ruining you and you love it.

Logan presses a kiss to the side of your head shushing your mindless babbles and placing his hands on top of yours.

"That's it princess, just be my good girl and take it like you always do."

[clumsypuppy]

WAIT i just remembered my sona in 6th grade was a pink cat with angel wings

how. do u sona....

[a-suspicious-number-of-ducks]

Hermit-a-Day May, day 14 (belated): Docm77. Today's style/medium is the original covers of the Rainbow Magic: Rainbow Fairies series by Daisy Meadows! This was inspired partially because of Doc's elytra and partially because I just thought it would be really funny. Having now finished the piece, I can confirm that it's really funny (to me, at least). References and details under the read more!

References: the Rainbow Magic books have a lot of different cover styles, especially the first few mini-series. I found what seemed to be the most original (and what I remembered seeing as a kid) and went with that. I referenced Fern the Green Fairy most closely, but checked all of the Rainbow Fairies for various details (hair highlights, facial expressions, etc.). The character art for the books has definitely gotten a little better and smoother over the years, but I wanted to capture that slightly awkward first-run look.

Random details: I had to do all the stripes and clouds and lettering and whatnot by hand, which is...why I didn't manage to post this on the right day. Now that I have the base, though, I could totally do a whole series of hermits in this style and I'm kind of ridiculously tempted to. The hair shading was SO hard to work with you don't understand. Going from dark hair to stark white highlight is the antithesis of my natural style and it still looks super weird to me but. I did my best. Also for the record it is not easy to translate a bright green adult man with a beard into the cutesy fairy girl style. I consciously had to make the way I was drawing hands worse at one point because they looked too complex and realistic for the style. I think drawing those crocs killed a part of my soul. Thank you and goodnight.

[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[scorpioriesling]

All the fourth wing males x reader maybe as a punishment for nearly getting herself killed or something but up to you

You're Pushing It

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden x Liam x Garrick x Ridoc x Brennan x Dain x Bodhi x reader

Warning(s): implied smut

Summary: A series of one-shots for each character pertaining to their implied "punishment" for doing something that put you in danger.

SR’s Note: These aren't real spicy, but more of the lead up before the spice... thank you for the request, and I hope you absolutely <3 it!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @freakishfandomfiend @lreadsstuff @desprrssooo-espresssooooo (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Xaden

"What in Malek's name were you doing?" He roared, following you as you stormed off toward your dorm. You huffed, not even wanting to respond.

"What I thought was right!" You shouted, not even turning to look back at him. Before you knew it, his hand was curling around your bicep, yanking you to look at him.

"You could've been killed, Y/N! Why didn't you-"

"Oh please," you rolled your eyes, reaching behind you to twist the doorknob. The door swing open, and you turned to strut inside. However, your boyfriend wasn't having any more of your attitude.

"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time," his voice came out in a growl as he grabbed both of your arms, shoving you against the back of the door hard enough for it to swing shut. Your breath caught in your throat as his grip tightened, and his lips tickled the shell of your ear.

"You. Could have. Been. Killed," he says slowly, his lips brushing the skin of your neck as he continued on. You let out a breath as his teeth softly bit the skin there, the sensation driving you wild.

"Keep up this attitude and I'll have to punish you more for it."

✧･ﾟ: *

Liam

Your boyfriend continued to lightly massage your back as you continued your recounting of events, though his kneads and presses were growing firmer.

"And you... didn't get hurt?"

You shook your head, though the motion was lost as you were in fact face down on his bed. He sighed, moving to the lower muscles on your back next.

"Y/N, I am really proud of you as a rider -- but don't you think going on these forbidden quests will, I don't know, get you in trouble?"

You laughed.

"I really do enjoy the quests, and besides; there's no punishment they could give me that I can't take."

Liam chuckled, his hands moving to grab and knead your ass. His fingers slid lower, rubbing near the most sensitive bundle of nerves below.

"I may have a punishment of my own that I'd like to watch you struggle to take."

✧･ﾟ: *

Garrick

Your boyfriend stalked slowly from one end of the room to the other, eyeing you as you continued your story. His gaze grew more and more lethal when you got to the most chaotic part; the part where you were put in true danger.

"And you're telling me this because... what? You want me pissed off?"

You huffed.

"No, Garrick -- I'm trying to tell you how I held my own. Why can't you see that I'm just trying to-"

He crossed the room in an instant, pushing you back on the bed and lacing his fingers with yours above your head. You squeaked in surprise, and you watched as his gaze darkened.

"No, what you need to understand is that this is exactly what gets me mad," he says lowly, his lips merely ghosting over yours. "You putting yourself in risky situations like that is... just plain ridiculous."

You frowned.

"I did it for everyone's gain-"

He dipped his head, smashing a bruising kiss to your lips. He yanked away seconds later, opening the nightstand draw in favor of the silk ties you kept for... well...

"Big mistake," he said, taking your wrists again in his hands. He pulled you to the headboard, making quick of tying the ribbons around the metal and securing your arms above you. "Hopefully it's one you'll learn from."

✧･ﾟ: *

Ridoc

"This isn't funny, Y/N. Do I look like I'm laughing?"

You rolled your eyes and giggled, trying to take your jokester of a boyfriend's expression seriously.

"No, not yet," you grinned. "But come on, Ridoc, you're always laughing!"

His nostrils flared as he stared at you.

"Not about this, Y/N."

You waved him off, making for your vanity to brush out your hair. Sure, did you put yourself in a dangerous situation? Yes. But did your boyfriend need to make a big deal about it? Hell no!

In seconds he appeared behind you, his hands palming your waist and turning you to face him. He lifted you swiftly atop the wooden desk, and your ass hit the surface with a rather harsh landing.

"Ridoc-"

"You just don't get it, do you." His words were low in tone, the anger finally creeping in. Your eyes widened as one hand gripped your butt, the other coming to shove beneath your waistband. You groaned as his fingers dipped below your panties, finding you already ready for him.

"If you're so tough, you can handle a punishment, right?"

✧･ﾟ: *

Brennan

He stood immediately as you entered the office, an armed guard tugging you forward through the doorway. You glared at the metal-faced male, showing all signs of frustration with the situation you'd been put in.

Before you can speak, the soldier opens his mouth.

"Caught her just beyond the borders, sir," he says, holding your arm steadfast despite your wiggling. "She was in bad shape when we got her."

Brennan sighs, an impassive look flashing across his face. "Did she have her dragon with her?"

"N-no, sir."

He looked down, quiet fury raging in his eyes. When he looked up again, he only looked at the nobleman. "Release her, please. I'll take it from here."

You opened your mouth to protest when the guard let go, at least try and defend yourself. However, the guard exited the room and Brennan didn't let you get a word in.

"Bren, you have to understand-"

"I don't want to hear it."

You flinched, your brows knitting in confusion. "Brennan, seriously-"

"You knew the orders, and you disobeyed them anyway." He laced his fingers, pressing his pointer fingers to his temple. "You know you're in deep for this one."

You rolled your eyes as he sat again behind his desk. "Okay, first of all, I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself, thank you-"

"Close that mouth, and get over here."

Your brows rose as you stepped forward, not daring to disobey again. Although the usual punishment from your boyfriend was far from "bad"...

"Bend over."

You did as instructed, getting to your knees and lying your torso over his legs. He yanked down your leather pants, pulling them to your knees before smoothing a hand over your ass.

"You've been a bad girl, Y/N -- and crimes cannot go unpunished."

✧･ﾟ: *

Dain

"I was just doing what was right," you griped, your hands on your hips. "You surely weren't going to help them."

Dain glared at you, mirroring your stature.

"Yeah, I wasn't -- sorry I have a girlfriend I want to come home to at the end of the day." He shrugged. "I prefer that than risking my life on a death wish mission, thank you very much."

You laughed humorlessly at his admission.

"You'd let all of them die!" You shouted, the wind whipping across the flight field drowning out your words. "You should've gone with me, Dain -- you are the Wingleader, aren't you?"

In an instant, your boyfriend was before you, his dominant hand wrapped lightly around your throat.

"You watch it, now," he warned, his gaze drifting to your lips for a fraction of a second. You glared furiously up at him, but he still pulled you in for a quick, bruising kiss nonetheless.

"How you speak to your Wingleader will effect how much he will punish you later for it."

✧･ﾟ: *

Bodhi

"So what," your boyfriend panted, punching at the bag before him. "You figured involving yourself in that type of situation was the best course of action?"

You shrugged as you leaned against the wall, watching your boyfriend's hits get harder and harder.

"Yeah, I mean -- we came out sucessful, didn't we?"

Bodhi's punches halted as a humorless laugh tumbled from his lips. His hands rest on his hips as he looked down, shaking his head slowly.

"You're impossible." He said, looking up at you again. Your brows narrowed.

"C'mon, you know it was the right thing to do," you reasoned, making way for the mat to begin stretching. You'd just gotten down on all fours when Bodhi's body heat became present behind you, his pelvis pressing into your ass.

"The right thing to do, huh?" He tsked, his hands grabbing your hips.

"The right thing to do is to listen to me when I tell you it's too dangerous. Since you can't seem to remember that, maybe you need a little reminder."

✧･ﾟ: *

[fallenprophets]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[jungkoode]

WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 02

"corporate hellscape & theoretical arrangements"

"Despite every rational thought screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself agreeing to the most ridiculous professional arrangement in the history of professional arrangements."

next | index | wc: 7.5k

↦author's note : Okay so first of all *turns microphone on, taps twice, clears throat aggressively* 🚨 WE HAVE AN OUTLINE FOR WGU, PEOPLE. I REPEAT. WE HAVE AN OUTLINE. 🚨 Which means this fic is now officially going to be 30 chapters long and highly likely somewhere between 200-250k+ words, so buckle your seatbelt, tighten your shoelaces, and kiss your emotionally stability goodbye. We're going full send. This is wild because… I never outline. I'm not built like that. I am a write-by-the-vibes, stream-of-consciousness, playlist-induced fugue state kind of girl. I daydream entire scenes while brushing my teeth and then rearrange them mentally like a madman pinning red thread to a corkboard. The closest I've come to a "structure" before this is just knowing what general direction I want things to go—like I might know, "at some point they'll kiss in the rain," but no clue if that's Chapter 5 or Chapter 17 or a hallucination I made up in REM sleep. But now? Now I know what happens in every chapter. Not just plot beats, but character turns, internal shifts, thematic echoes. And y'all… it's life-changing. It lets me plant narrative seeds that will grow into devastatingly beautiful emotional collapses later. Like, suddenly I feel like an actual architect instead of a raccoon with a pen. Still feral. But, you know. Feral with a floorplan. And because I'm me, this story is now also structured into four volumes, because it needed to be arch-y like that. Big arc energy. Arcs that make you cry in the club. I genuinely think this might become my most emotionally textured fic—because I'm working with intent instead of just instinct. Both are good. But together? They go feral. Together they write this fic. I love it so much. I love them so much.

Your alarm goes off at 6:30 AM sharp, dragging you from dreams about okonomiyaki and stupid orange beanies.

The corporate world of Osaka doesn't give a shit about your jet lag, your existential crisis, or the fact that you spent half the night staring at the ceiling wondering why Jung Hoseok draws porn for a living.

You stumble through your morning routine in the cramped bathroom, squinting at yourself in the mirror that's too small and positioned at the wrong height. Your reflection looks like it's been through a blender—hair doing its own thing, eyes puffy from restless sleep, and that general air of 'please don't perceive me' that seems to be your default setting these days.

The shower barely produces lukewarm water, and you're starting to understand why rent was so cheap. Everything in this apartment operates on the principle of 'technically functional but aggressively mediocre.'

You throw on your most professional-looking outfit—a navy blazer and matching pants that felt impressive in Sydney but now seem inadequate for whatever corporate hell awaits you. The fabric wrinkles the moment you sit down, because apparently even your clothes are nervous.

The commute to Umeda is a forty-minute journey that involves two train transfers and a ten-minute walk through streets that all look identical in the early morning light.

Everyone around you moves like they're on a mission or part of a James Bond movie (hard to tell, honestly)—briefcases and designer handbags clutched like weapons, faces set in expressions of determined politeness.

You study the other foreigners on the train—scattered among the sea of black-haired commuters like misplaced chess pieces. A few Western faces here and there, all wearing the same slightly overwhelmed expression you suspect is plastered across your own face.

The building housing Synergy International Marketing is a gleaming tower of glass and steel that probably looked cutting-edge in 1995 but now seems like it's trying too hard.

The lobby has that corporate smell—air freshener mixed with coffee and the faint anxiety sweat of people pretending they know what they're doing.

You present yourself to reception, where an immaculately dressed Japanese woman greets you with the kind of professional smile that reaches exactly nowhere near her eyes.

"Y/N-san? Welcome. Please wait here. Tanaka-san will escort you to orientation."

Tanaka-san turns out to be a harried-looking man in his forties who speaks English like he's translating every word in his head before letting it out.

He leads you through a maze of cubicles and conference rooms, explaining company policies in a tone that suggests he's given this speech approximately ten thousand times.

"International Communications Department is on seventh floor. Your desk will be in shared workspace with other English-speaking staff. Please maintain professional appearance and punctuality at all times."

The elevator ride up is silent except for generic jazz music that makes you want to throw yourself out a window.

The seventh floor is an open-plan nightmare of beige cubicles, warm lighting, and the aggressive clicking of keyboards.

It's honestly like someone took every stereotype about corporate offices and decided to make them reality.

Your desk is a small corner space next to a window that looks out onto another building approximately six feet away

The previous occupant has left behind a stress ball shaped like a hamburger and a coffee mug with 'I want to drown in coffee' printed on it in faded letters.

Inspiring.

"Your immediate supervisor is Davidson-san," Tanaka explains, gesturing toward a tall man with prematurely gray hair who's currently engaged in what appears to be a heated phone conversation in English. "He will explain your duties. Please make good impression."

Davidson finishes his call and approaches with the kind of smile that suggests he's simultaneously relieved to see you and already exhausted by your presence.

"You must be our new copywriter! Dave Davidson, department head. I know, I know, my parents were very creative." His handshake is firm but sweaty. "Ready to dive into the wonderful world of international marketing?"

Aaaand… That's how you spend the next three hours in meetings that could have been emails, learning about 'synergistic brand integration' and 'cross-cultural consumer engagement strategies.'

Your role, as it turns out, involves translating Japanese marketing concepts into English copy that doesn't sound like it was written by robots having a nervous breakdown.

Your colleagues are honestly a mixed bag—two other foreigners who look like they've been here long enough to develop thousand-yard stares, and several Japanese staff members who speak perfect English but seem perpetually confused by your presence.

Lunch is a sad bento box eaten at your desk while reviewing client briefs for companies you've never heard of selling products you don't understand.

The work itself isn't terrible, just mind-numbingly ordinary.

Write copy for a new line of beauty products. Edit brochures for a tech company. Make everything sound 'dynamic' and 'innovative' without actually saying anything meaningful.

Marketing, as it is.

By 3 PM, you're wondering if this is what death feels like—slow, bureaucratic, and accompanied by the sound of printers jamming.

Your phone buzzes with a message that makes several of your new colleagues glance over disapprovingly.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢? 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝? 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝! (◕‿◕)

You glance around to make sure no one's watching before typing back:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙰𝚠𝚠𝚠 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢! 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝! (╥﹏╥)

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜! 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢! 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑? 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛!

You look around the office—at Davidson explaining synergy to a potted plant, at your coworkers staring at their screens with the enthusiasm of people watching their own funerals.

It feels like watching dead insects.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟻:𝟹𝟶 𝚒𝚏 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢. 𝟼 𝚒𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 '𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗' 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝟼! 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝, 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚊 𝚑𝚊, 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍, 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝? (𝙸 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘!!)

You put your phone away and try to focus on the task at hand—writing compelling copy for a line of anti-aging moisturizers targeted at 'modern Japanese women who demand excellence.'

The irony isn't lost on you.

At exactly 6:07 PM, you escape the corporate hellscape and find Hoseok lounging in the lobby like he actually belongs there.

He's wearing ripped jeans, a faded band t-shirt, and that same orange beanie, looking like he wandered in from a completely different universe.

Several security guards eye him suspiciously.

"Capy!" He jumps up (and you want to slap him) from the leather chair he's been sprawled across. "You survived! I wasn't sure you would make it out alive."

"Barely," you mutter, adjusting your blazer. "This place is where souls go to die."

"Harsh. But accurate, probably." He looks you up and down with an expression you can't quite read. "You look very... professional. Like you could fire someone and feel nothing."

"Don't tempt me. I already have a list."

He laughs, falling into step beside you as you head toward the exit.

"That bad, huh?"

"I spent six hours learning about 'consumer-focused brand narratives' and I still don't know what that means. Also, my desk faces a wall."

"Sounds like you need alcohol and carbohydrates. Lucky for you, I know just the place."

You follow him out into the early evening chaos of Umeda, where salary men in identical dark suits stream past like schools of depressed fish.

The contrast between Hoseok's chaotic energy and the rigid corporate atmosphere is so stark it's almost funny.

Almost.

"So," he says as you navigate through the crowd, "tell me about your coworkers. Anyone interesting? Any office romances brewing? Workplace drama?"

"It's been one day, Ott. I barely learned where the bathroom is."

"Details, Capy! I need details! Is your boss hot? Is there office gossip? Do people eat lunch at their desks like sad robots?"

"Yes to the sad robot lunches. No to everything else." You side-step a group of tourists taking photos of street signs. "Although Davidson—that's my boss—seems like the type who has strong opinions about proper email formatting."

"Davidson? What kind of name is Davidson for a boss? He sounds like a middle management villain."

"Davidson Davidson, actually."

Hoseok stops walking entirely.

"You're joking."

"I am not joking. His parents named him Dave Davidson. He acknowledged the lack of creativity himself."

"That's the most tragic thing I've ever heard. No wonder you looked dead inside when I picked you up."

"I didn't look dead inside."

"Capy, you looked like someone had surgically removed your will to live. Which, honestly, is understandable after spending eight hours with a man named Dave Davidson."

You can't argue with that assessment.

He leads you to a small izakaya tucked between a convenience store and a shop selling nothing but different types of socks.

The interior is all dark wood and paper lanterns, with the kind of cramped seating that forces strangers to become uncomfortably intimate with each other's elbows.

"This place doesn't look like much," Hoseok says, sliding into a booth that's clearly designed for people smaller than either of you, "but they have the best karaage in the city, and the beer is cheap enough that you can afford to forget about Dave Davidson's existence."

"I can't get drunk. I have to work tomorrow."

"Who said anything about getting drunk? I said forgetting Dave Davidson exists. That only requires like, two beers, max."

The waitress appears—a woman who looks like she's been working here since the restaurant opened sometime in the Meiji era.

Hoseok jumps in, ordering in fluent Japanese that flows so naturally you almost forget he's half-Australian. 

His mom made sure he was bilingual from the start, but hearing it now, surrounded by the actual language and culture, makes you realize how much more connected to this place he is than you.

"What did you order?" you ask when she leaves.

"Food. Beer. Trust me."

"That's not an answer."

"It is now, Capy. Live a little."

You lean back against the booth, feeling some of the day's tension leave your shoulders.

The izakaya is warm and dim, filled with the comfortable buzz of people unwinding after work.

It's the first time all day you've felt like you could breathe properly.

"So," you say, "how's the porn business?"

Hoseok nearly chokes on the water he's sipping.

"Jesus, warn a guy before you just blurt that out."

"What? You brought it up yesterday. I'm just making conversation."

"It's... fine. Good, actually. I just finished a commission that's probably going to pay my rent for the next two months."

"What was it? Wait, do I want to know?"

He grins.

"Probably not. But I'll tell you anyway. It was a twelve-page story about a librarian who discovers that late-night study sessions can be... educational."

"Oh god."

"Hey, don't knock it! The characterization was surprisingly deep. She had a whole backstory about her graduate thesis on medieval literature. Very sophisticated stuff."

"You're defending the artistic merit of librarian porn to me."

"I'm defending the artistic merit of all my work. Just because it's explicit doesn't mean it lacks substance."

The food arrives—platters of fried chicken, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and enough beer to drown a horse.

Hoseok immediately starts dissecting the chicken with the precision of a surgeon.

"The thing is," he continues, apparently not done with his professional defense, "most hentai is garbage. No character development, ridiculous scenarios, anatomy that defies physics. But I try to make mine actually... realistic, you know? Like, what would these people actually be thinking? How would they really react?"

You take a long drink of beer.

"Realistic hentai. That's your niche."

"Mock all you want, but it's harder than you think. Especially drawing women. Like, actually making them look like real people instead of inflatable dolls with anatomically impossible proportions."

"I imagine that is challenging."

"It is! I spend hours looking at reference photos trying to get facial expressions right during…" He clears his throat. "…intimate moments. And body language! How do people actually hold themselves when they're vulnerable? What do real emotions look like on someone's face when they're—"

He stops mid-sentence, looking suddenly self-conscious.

"When they're what?" you prompt, more curious than you want to admit.

"When they're... you know. Experiencing pleasure. Real pleasure."

There's something in his voice—a genuine frustration that catches you off guard. Like this actually matters to him beyond just paying rent.

"That does sound complicated," you say, surprising yourself with the sincerity.

"It is. I mean, I can draw bodies fine. Anatomy, positioning, all that technical stuff. But making it feel real? Making the characters seem like actual people instead of just... vessels for fantasy? That's the hard part."

The beer is making you bolder than usual.

"So what's the problem exactly?"

Hoseok fidgets with his chopsticks.

"I think... I think I draw women the way I assume they should look and feel, instead of how they actually do. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of. Like you're working from secondhand information instead of... primary sources?"

"Exactly!" He leans forward, animated again. "I'm always guessing. What would her face actually look like in this moment? How would she really move? What would be going through her head?"

You take another drink, processing this unexpected insight into his work.

"And you can't just... I don't know, watch porn for reference?"

"Porn is the worst reference possible. It's all performance. Fake expressions, exaggerated reactions, completely unrealistic scenarios. If I based my work on porn, it would be just as terrible as everyone else's."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh." He picks at his food, suddenly looking younger than his twenty-six years. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up on trying to make it realistic and just draw ridiculous tentacle monsters like everyone expects."

"Don't do that."

The words come out more forcefully than you intended, and he looks up with surprise.

"I mean," you backtrack, "if you think realistic is better, then... keep trying to make it realistic. Right?"

"But how? I can't exactly ask random women to model for explicit manga. That would be weird and probably illegal."

You're quiet for a moment, an idea forming that you immediately try to dismiss.

But the beer and the warmth of the izakaya and the genuine frustration in his voice make you consider it.

"What if..." you start, then stop.

"What if what?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Capy, what were you going to say?"

You drain half your beer in one go.

"I was going to say, what if you had someone to model for you? Like, someone you trust who could give you actual realistic reference?"

Hoseok stares at you. Frowns, like genuinely, actually frowns (and isn't that the first time in his adult face you've seen it?)

"Are you... are you offering?"

"I'm not offering anything. I'm just saying hypothetically, if you had access to realistic references, your work would probably improve."

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically."

"And this hypothetical reference model would be...?"

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and blame it on the alcohol.

"I don't know. Someone who understands that it's just work. Professional."

"Professional reference modeling for hentai manga."

"It's not any weirder than your current career path."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"You're serious," he says finally.

"I'm drunk," you correct. "There's a difference."

"But you're serious about being drunk."

"Shut up, Ott."

But he's grinning now, that stupid, wide grin that takes over his entire face.

"Capy wants to model for my sexy manga!"

"Keep your voice down!" You glance around the izakaya, but everyone seems too absorbed in their own conversations to care about yours. "And I didn't say I wanted to do anything. I said hypothetically—"

"You offered to pose for me."

"I offered a theoretical solution to your creative problem."

"By posing for me."

"By... providing realistic reference materials in a professional capacity."

"For my hentai manga."

"For your... adult-oriented sequential art."

He's laughing now, delighted by your obvious discomfort. "This is the best day of my life. Capy is going to be my muse!"

"I am not going to be your muse. And stop calling it that."

"What should I call it? My artistic collaborator? My reference consultant? My—"

"Your friend who's had too much beer and suggested something stupid."

"My friend who's going to help me create the most realistic romantic manga Osaka has never seen."

That stops you.

Because he…

He's just said the word 'friend'.

And you hate how that made something twist in your chest.

"I haven't agreed to anything," you insist. "We were just talking theoretically."

"Theoretically, when would you be available for our first session?"

"Theoretically, you're an idiot."

"Theoretically, you're avoiding the question."

You finish your beer and immediately signal for another.

"If—and I mean if—I were to consider this theoretical arrangement, it would be purely professional. No weirdness."

"Define weirdness."

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't. Are we talking about no inappropriate comments? No lingering stares? No—"

"All of the above. It would be like... like life drawing class. Clinical. Professional."

"Have you ever taken a life drawing class?"

"That's not the point."

"Because life drawing classes can get pretty—"

"Hoseok."

"Right. Clinical. Professional. Got it." He's still grinning. "So when do we start?"

"We don't start anything because this is a hypothetical conversation about a theoretical arrangement that will never actually happen."

"But if it were to happen theoretically?"

You look at him across the table—flushed from beer and excitement, eyes bright with possibility, that stupid beanie slightly askew.

He looks exactly like the kid who used to convince you to climb fences and steal apples from the neighbor's tree, all mischief and misplaced confidence.

And despite every rational thought in your head screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself saying:

"Tomorrow night. After work. Your place."

His grin could power the entire city.

"Theoretically?" he asks.

"Theoretically."

"This is going to be amazing, Capy."

You signal for another beer.

You're going to need it.

The thing is, he looks genuinely excited. Not the performative, over-the-top excitement he uses to annoy you—but the real kind.

The kind that makes his eyes go bright and his whole body lean forward like he can't contain whatever stupid idea is bouncing around in his head.

It's the same look he used to get when he'd convince you to sneak out and explore the construction site behind your neighborhood, or when he'd drag you to that weird arcade with the broken claw machines that somehow always gave him exactly what he wanted.

Which means this theoretical modeling arrangement is either going to be completely innocent or a complete disaster.

Probably both.

"You know what?" he says, peeling the label off his new beer bottle in strips, "you should see my place tonight. Get the full Osaka experience."

You nearly choke on your karaage. Because what did this nuthead just say?

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? It's still early!"

"It's past nine, Ott. That's not early. That's nighttime. When normal people go home to their sad apartments and contemplate their life choices."

"Since when are we normal people?" He grins, that stupid, infectious grin that probably got him out of trouble his entire childhood. "Come on, Capy. When's the last time you had a proper house tour?"

When's the last time you crashed at a guy's place just because he asked? When's the last time you did anything without calculating the exact social implications and potential for regret?

"When's the last time you cleaned your house?" you counter instead.

"That's… irrelevant."

"Everything about you is irrelevant."

"Harsh but fair."

The waitress brings your beer, and you immediately take a long drink because this conversation is heading somewhere you're not sure you want to follow.

The alcohol has made everything slightly fuzzy around the edges, but not fuzzy enough to make this seem like a good idea.

Actually, that's a lie.

The alcohol is making it seem like exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive thing you would have done when you were seventeen and thought the worst thing that could happen was your parents finding out.

Now you know better.

Now you know that the worst things are usually the ones that feel like coming home.

"I'm not going to your apartment at nine-thirty at night after we just agreed to some theoretical professional arrangement that I'm already regretting," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

"But you haven't seen where the magic happens! Where your theoretical modeling will theoretically take place!"

"The magic happens in your bedroom, doesn't it."

"Well, yeah. Better lighting by the window, and I can spread all my references out on the bed—" He stops mid-sentence, apparently realizing how that sounds. "Wait, that came out wrong."

"Everything you say comes out wrong."

"Fair point." He demolishes another piece of chicken. "But seriously, you should see the place. I've got it set up pretty nice now. Real drawing desk, proper lamp, even organized my reference materials into folders like a functioning adult."

"Your porn collection, you mean."

"My professional research library," he corrects with mock dignity. "Very different thing. Alphabetized and everything."

The image of Hoseok carefully organizing hentai manga by genre and artistic merit is so ridiculous you almost smile.

"Plus," he continues, voice quiet and not meeting your eyes while he picks at the label on his bottle, "you could crash there tonight. Save yourself the train ride back to your shoebox apartment."

And there it is. The real reason behind this sudden house tour enthusiasm.

"My apartment isn't a shoebox."

"Capy, you described it yesterday as 'slightly larger than a coffin but with worse lighting.'"

"That was… accurate but not the point."

"The point is you're probably dreading going back there alone. New city, new job, everything unfamiliar." His voice gets softer, less performative. "Wouldn't hurt to have somewhere comfortable to crash."

There it is again—that stupid, genuine concern that always catches you off guard. The way he can shift from ridiculous to sincere in half a sentence, like he's got some kind of emotional whiplash disorder.

It's the same tone he used when you were thirteen and crying because your parents were fighting again, when he climbed through your window and sat on your floor for three hours without saying a word. Just… present.

Just there.

And that's the problem, isn't it?

Because it's been five years since anyone was just there for you. Five years of being the competent one, the reliable one, the one who has her shit together and doesn't need anyone to sit on her floor and not say anything.

Five years of being completely, utterly alone.

"I'm not crashing at your place, Hoseok."

"Why not? We're friends, right?"

There's that word again—friends.

Like it's simple. Like five years of radio silence and separate lives can be erased with one dinner and too much beer.

Like you can just slip back into being the people you were before you grew up and moved away and learned how to be strangers.

"Are we?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks up from his bottle, label half-peeled and hanging like a sad flag of surrender.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" You gesture vaguely between you, encompassing the izakaya, the theoretical modeling arrangement, the way he's looking at you like you're still seventeen and nothing has changed. "This. Whatever this is. Are we friends? Or are we just two people who used to know each other pretending nothing's changed?"

He blinks at you. You blink at him. And suddenly the two seconds of silence that pass by feel like an eternity.

"Do you want to be friends?" he finally asks quietly.

"I don't know." The honesty surprises you. "I mean, yes. I think. But I don't know if we can just… pick up where we left off."

"We don't have to pick up anywhere. We can start over."

"Start over as what?"

"As…" He shrugs, that careful casualness that means he's thinking harder than he's letting on. "As whatever we want to be."

But that's the problem—because you don't know what you want to be.

You don't know if you want to be the girl who crashes at her old friend's apartment because she's too lonely to go home, or the woman who keeps appropriate boundaries and doesn't complicate things.

You don't know if you want to be someone who can trust that easily again.

"You still bite your lip when you're thinking too hard," he observes.

"I do not."

"You're doing it right now."

You immediately stop biting your lip, which only makes him grin wider.

"Some things don't change, Capy. Even when everything else does."

"Don't get philosophical on me, Ott. It doesn't suit you."

"What does suit me?"

The question catches you off guard.

You look at him—really look at him—taking in the way five years have sharpened some edges and softened others.

The boy you knew is still there, buried under layers of adult experience and professional disappointment and whatever other things happen to people when they stop being kids and start pretending they know what they're doing.

He's still too thin, still too energetic, still wearing clothes that look like he grabbed them off his bedroom floor.

But there's something different in his eyes now.

As if he's been waiting for something for a long time and isn't sure it's coming.

"Chaos," you say finally. "Chaos suits you."

He laughs, loud enough that several other customers glance over.

"I'll take it."

"Good, because that's all you're getting."

"For now."

There's something in the way he says it that makes your stomach do a small, traitorous flip.

You blame the beer and the warm lighting and the fact that you've barely slept in three days.

"I should go home," you say, but you don't move to leave.

"You should come see my apartment."

"Those are opposite things, Ott."

"Not if you crash at mine."

"I'm not crashing at your place."

"Why not?"

"Because…" You fumble for a reason that doesn't sound ridiculous. "Because it's weird. We just reconnected yesterday. Normal people don't sleep over at their childhood friend's house after one dinner."

Because it feels too much like before.

Because you're scared of how easy it would be to fall back into old patterns, old dependencies, old ways of needing someone.

Because you've spent five years learning how to be alone, and one night on his couch might undo all of that.

"Normal people don't agree to model for hentai manga either, but here we are."

"That's different. That's professional."

"Right. Professional." He draws out the word like it's a foreign concept. "Professional modeling, professional friendship, professional distance. Everything professional."

"There's nothing wrong with professional."

"Course not. Very sensible. Very mature."

He's grinning again, but there's something underneath it that you can't quite identify.

You feel, surprisingly, it's shaped like disappointment.

"Very unlike the Capy I remember."

That makes you swallow.

It's unfair, how he can say shit like that and have your chest cave in.

"People change, Ott. We're not kids anymore."

"No," he agrees, and his voice goes quiet. "We're not."

The way he says it makes you look at him again, and what you see in his eyes looks like he's grieving for those kids too. Like he misses them as much as you do.

Like maybe he's been just as lost without them as you have.

"I have a surprise," he says suddenly, changing direction so fast you get conversational whiplash.

"I hate surprises."

"I know. That's what makes this one perfect."

"That logic makes no sense."

"Trust me."

"I don't trust you. You tried to convince me that eating chocolate for breakfast was a balanced meal because it contained milk."

"It does contain milk! And calcium! Very nutritious!"

"You were seventeen, Hoseok. You should have known better."

"I was a growing boy! I needed nutrients!"

You laugh despite yourself, and the sound echoes off the low ceiling of the izakaya.

It's embarrassing how easy it is to fall back into this rhythm with him, like your brain has been storing all these conversation patterns for five years just waiting for him to come back.

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind you'll only find out if you come see my apartment."

"That's manipulation."

"That's incentive."

"That's emotional blackmail."

"That's friendship."

Fucker.

You drain the rest of your beer in one long pull, partly for courage and partly to delay having to respond. The alcohol seems to have erased your usually reliable sense of self-preservation.

And maybe that's what you need right now. Maybe you need to stop protecting yourself from every possible disappointment and just… see what happens.

Maybe you need to remember what it feels like to trust someone who used to know all your secrets.

"If I come see your place," you say carefully, "and if I hate your surprise, I'm leaving immediately."

"Deal. But you won't hate it."

"I probably will."

"You definitely won't."

"I have a very high hate-to-like ratio when it comes to surprises. Remember my sixteenth birthday?"

His face changes. "Oh. Shit. Yeah, I remember."

Of course he remembers.

He's the one who spent three hours sitting outside the bathroom door, talking to you through the wood while you had a complete meltdown because your mom had thrown you a surprise party and invited half your class and you couldn't handle being the center of attention like that.

"Your mom meant well," he says quietly.

"I know she meant well. But I told her I didn't want a party, and she threw one anyway because she thought I was just being shy. And then I locked myself in the bathroom like a lunatic while twenty people ate cake and wondered where the birthday girl went."

"You weren't a lunatic. You were overwhelmed."

"I was pathetic."

"You were sixteen and dealing with more shit than anyone knew." His voice has gone serious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. "And I should have known better than to help her plan it."

"You were just being a good friend."

"I'm still trying to be a good friend," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes you look up from your beer.

This man who used to be a boy who used to climb through your bedroom window just to sit on your floor and read comics. Who used to walk you home from school even though his house was in the opposite direction. Who used to know exactly what to say to make you laugh when you were crying about some stupid teenage drama.

Who disappeared from your life for five years and somehow found his way back in the span of twenty-four hours.

"Fine," you say, and immediately regret it. "But I'm taking the couch."

His smile is so bright it should be illegal.

"Deal. But you're gonna love the surprise, Capy. I promise."

"I doubt that."

"You love being wrong about things."

"I love being right about you being an idiot."

"Same thing, really."

He signals for the check, already bouncing slightly in his seat with excitement.

You watch him count out bills with the kind of gesture that suggests his porn money isn't quite as abundant as he likes to pretend.

His apartment is probably just as small and depressing as yours.

He's probably just as lost and lonely as you are.

He's probably just as scared of growing up and becoming a real person with real responsibilities and real consequences.

But at least you can be lost and scared together.

At least for tonight.

"Ott?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still like strawberry milk?"

The question comes out of nowhere, surprising both of you.

But something about the beer and the warm light and the familiar rhythm of your bickering has loosened something in your chest, some speck of control you've been maintaining since you walked into that izakaya.

His smile goes soft around the edges.

"Yeah. I do. Do you still put way too much sugar in your coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

It's such a small thing—strawberry milk and oversweetened coffee—but somehow it feels enormous.

Like proof that some essential part of each of you has remained unchanged despite everything else that's shifted and grown and broken apart.

Like maybe those kids are still in there somewhere, waiting to be found again.

"Ready to go?" he asks, standing and pulling on his jacket.

"No. But let's go anyway."

"That's the spirit, Capy."

You follow him out into the cool Osaka night, where the neon signs reflect off wet pavement and streets are full of people pretending they know where they're going.

And for the first time since you moved here, you think maybe you don't need to know where you're going.

Maybe you just need to trust that wherever Hoseok is leading you, it'll be worth the trip.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

Four flights of stairs later, you're questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"Exercise," you mutter, gripping the railing as Hoseok bounds ahead like some kind of demented mountain goat. "Right. Because what this night needed was cardio."

"Almost there!" he calls back, not even slightly winded. "Just think of it as pre-modeling conditioning!"

"I'm thinking of it as cruel and unusual punishment."

His apartment door is covered in stickers—anime characters you don't recognize, band logos from groups that probably broke up in 2001, and what appears to be a holographic Pikachu giving a thumbs up.

It's aggressively juvenile and somehow perfectly him.

"Don't judge the door art," he says, fumbling with his keys. "It came with the apartment."

"It absolutely did not."

"Okay, fine, I may have added some personality over the years. Sue me."

The door swings open and you step into what can only be described as organized chaos.

The apartment is small but noticeably bigger than your shoebox—which isn't saying much, but still manages to feel spacious by comparison.

Manga volumes are stacked in towering columns against every wall, art supplies scattered across a desk positioned near the window, and clothes draped over furniture like fabric ghosts.

"Welcome to Casa de Ott!" he announces, spreading his arms wide and nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. "Home sweet chaotic home."

You scan the space, taking in the details.

The couch looks like it was salvaged from a 1980s office waiting room. There's a small TV balanced precariously on a stack of manga, and the kitchen is basically a corner with a mini-fridge and what might generously be called a stove.

"It's…" you start.

"Terrible? Depressing? A fire hazard?"

"I was going to say small."

"Small is a nice way of putting it. I prefer 'cozy' or 'efficiently designed.'"

Your eyes land on a red sketchbook lying open on the low table, pages covered in detailed drawings that make you stop mid-step. You can't make out the specifics from this distance, but before you can guess the contents, Hoseok is screeching.

"Oh shit," Hoseok says, following your gaze. He lunges forward and slams the sketchbook closed, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "Those are, uh, not for virgin eyes."

"Virgin eyes?" You raise an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-six, Ott. I've seen naked people before."

"Yeah, but not my naked people. These are my professionally naked people. Very different."

"I'm literally going to model for this stuff, remember?"

He freezes, sketchbook still pressed against his chest.

"So we're not doing hypothetical anymore?"

Shit, he's right—somewhere between the beer and the banter and the way he looked at you when you called him your friend, the theoretical became decidedly less theoretical.

"I…" You falter, suddenly aware of how close you're standing. "Beer. You mentioned beer."

"Right. Beer. Very important. Life-sustaining beverage." He's still holding the sketchbook like a security blanket. "Kitchen's over there. Help yourself. I'm just going to put this away where it can't traumatize anyone."

He disappears down a narrow hallway, and you make your way to the kitchen area.

The refrigerator is covered in delivery menus and what appears to be a drawing of a cat wearing a top hat.

Inside, there are exactly three items: beer, leftover ramen, and a container of something that might once have been vegetables.

"Your food situation is concerning," you call out.

"I survive on convenience store cuisine and pure artistic passion!" comes his muffled reply from what you assume is his bedroom.

You grab two beers and settle onto the couch, which is actually more comfortable than it looks.

The apartment feels lived-in despite its chaos—or maybe because of it.

There's something appealingly unpretentious about the space, like Hoseok just exists here without trying to impress anyone.

"Okay," he says, emerging from the hallway with his hands behind his back and a grin that should probably be illegal. "Ready for your surprise?"

Every muscle in your body tenses. "I told you I hate surprises."

"And I told you this one's different. This one's going to change your entire worldview on surprises."

"My worldview on surprises is based on sound psychological principles and extensive personal trauma. One cute whatever-it-is isn't going to—"

He brings his hands forward, revealing a small, furry creature with enormous dark eyes and a long, fluffy tail.

You stop breathing.

"Capy," he says, his voice soft with obvious pride, "meet Momo."

The sugar glider—because that's clearly what she is—sits perfectly still in his cupped palms, studying you with the kind of intense curiosity usually reserved for wildlife documentaries.

She's tiny, maybe the size of a hamster, with gray fur and cream markings that make her look like she's wearing a tiny vest.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Language," Hoseok scolds, but he's grinning. "She's a lady."

"You have a sugar glider."

"I have Momo. She's not just any sugar glider. She's the most perfect sugar glider in the history of sugar gliders."

As if hearing her cue, Momo shifts slightly in his palms, studying you with what can only be described as deep suspicion.

"Can I…" you start, then stop. "Is she friendly?"

"She's cautious with new people, but she's never actually bitten anyone. Well, except that one time with my neighbor, but he deserved it."

"What did your neighbor do?"

"Tried to pet her without permission. Momo has very strong opinions about consent."

You extend one finger slowly, and Momo sniffs it delicately, her tiny nose twitching as she processes your scent.

After a moment of consideration, she pulls back and immediately scurries up Hoseok's arm to perch on his shoulder, as far from you as possible.

"Well," you say, trying to keep your voice casual, "that's… fine. I don't care if a rodent likes me or not."

"She's a marsupial, actually. And she just needs time to warm up to new people."

"I said I don't care."

But there's something distinctly annoying about being rejected by something the size of a hamster.

You're a perfectly likeable person. You've never done anything to offend small mammals.

"She's very discerning," Hoseok says, clearly trying not to laugh at your obvious wounded pride. "High standards."

"So you rescued a sugar glider."

"I rescued the most perfect sugar glider."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. Look at her little hands! And her tail! And the way she tilts her head when she's thinking!"

You look at him instead—at the way his entire face lights up when he talks about Momo, the gentle way he cradles her, the obvious pride in his voice.

This is a side of Hoseok you've never seen before, tender and protective and completely unguarded.

It's dangerous how much you like it.

"She's nocturnal," he continues, settling onto the couch beside you with Momo still in his hands. "So she's most active when I'm working late. She keeps me company during those long drawing sessions."

"Does she approve of your career choices?"

"She's very supportive of the arts. Aren't you, princess?"

Momo makes a soft chittering sound that might be agreement or might be a request for food.

Either way, you can't deny it's adorable.

"How long have you had her?"

"About eighteen months. She was really skittish at first—wouldn't let me touch her for weeks. But now…" He strokes her tiny back with one finger. "Now she's spoiled rotten."

You watch as Momo climbs onto his shoulder, then leaps gracefully to the back of the couch. The movement is so fluid it barely registers as motion—one second she's with Hoseok, the next she's exploring the cushions near your head.

"She's showing off," he says fondly. "She likes to glide around the apartment when she's skittish."

"Glide?"

"Sugar gliders have these membranes between their legs—see? She can glide from the bookshelf to the couch, couch to the desk, basically anywhere she wants to go. It's like having a tiny flying squirrel roommate."

As if to demonstrate, Momo launches herself from the couch back to Hoseok's shoulder, the movement so quick and graceful you barely catch it.

"That's incredible."

"I know. She's basically a superhero. A tiny, adorable superhero who costs me a fortune in specialized food and vet bills."

The beer is wearing off, leaving you feeling suddenly, acutely sober.

Clear-headed enough to realize what you've gotten yourself into tonight—agreeing to pose for Hoseok's hentai manga, coming to his apartment, letting yourself get charmed by his ridiculous pet.

"Ott," you say carefully.

"Yeah?"

"I was drunk earlier. When I said I'd… help with your reference situation."

His face doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture.

"How drunk?"

"Drunk enough to suggest something stupid."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sober enough to know it was stupid."

He's quiet for a moment, watching Momo explore the couch cushions.

When he speaks, his voice is casual in a way that doesn't fool either of you. "Too late, Capy. I'm already planning our first session."

"Hoseok—"

"Think about it. Professional artistic collaboration between old friends. Very sophisticated. Very mature."

"Nothing about this situation is mature."

"I'm hurt. Deeply wounded by your lack of faith in my professionalism."

Despite yourself, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. "Your professionalism in drawing pornographic manga."

"Adult-oriented sequential art with emotional depth and realistic character development."

"You keep saying that like it makes it sound more legitimate."

"Because it is more legitimate. You'll see when we start working together."

The assumption in his voice—that you will, in fact, go through with this insane arrangement—should annoy you.

Instead, it makes something flutter in your chest that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

"I didn't actually agree to anything," you say, but the protest sounds weak even to you.

"You suggested it. I accepted. Contract sealed."

"That's not how contracts work."

"It's how friendship contracts work."

Friendship contracts.

As if you're still twelve and sealing deals with pinky promises and shared secrets.

Except you're not twelve anymore, and this isn't about friendship.

Or maybe it is, and that's what makes it dangerous.

"I should get going," you say, making no move to actually leave.

"It's late. Train's probably stopped running."

"It's not even eleven."

"But you're comfortable now. Look, Momo likes you."

You glance down to find the sugar glider eyeing you from the floor.

"She's still giving me the cold shoulder."

"She usually hides when strangers are here, so this is actually progress."

"Great. I've been upgraded from 'immediate threat' to 'tolerable presence.'"

"It's a very exclusive club. You should feel honored. You've basically been officially approved for apartment privileges."

"What kind of privileges?"

"Sleeping on the couch when you're too tired to go home. Raiding my refrigerator. Critiquing my life choices in person instead of via text."

The casual way he lists these domestic intimacies makes your chest tight.

Like he's already decided you belong here, in his chaos, part of his routine.

"I'm not sleeping on your couch, Ott."

"Why not? It's surprisingly comfortable. And I'll be in my room working when you get lonely and need someone to bother."

"I don't get lonely."

He gives you a look that suggests he sees right through that particular lie.

"Fine," you say, because arguing seems more exhausting than just giving in. "Now shut up and give me another beer."

"Can't. You said you're sober now. Can't have you making any more questionable decisions."

"I make excellent decisions."

"Says the woman who just agreed to sleep on a stranger's couch."

"You're not a stranger. You're Ott. Annoying but familiar."

He grins at that, wide and pleased, like being called annoying is the highest compliment you could give him.

And maybe, in your particular language, it is.

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[therealmrrobinson]

THE DAY THE EARTH BLEW UP: A LOONEY TUNES MOVIE Movie Review

Let’s be honest, when it comes to movies, the Looney Tunes brand has not had a very good run this decade. In 2021 there was Space Jam: A New Legacy, which turned out to be nothing but a shameless commercial for all things Warner Bros., and then there was the infamous tale of the shelved Coyote vs. Acme movie that may never see the light of day. So it’s with all of these tragedies that it’s a miracle that this movie, The Day The Earth Blew Up, even got released. (Granted through Ketchup Entertainment and not WB. themselves.) Not only that, but it’s also incredible that the end result is undeniably the best Looney Tunes ever made.

THE GOOD

What separates this movie from something like the Space Jam sequel, is that it is made by people who clearly love Looney Tunes. Despite the fact that we only have three characters, this movie stays true to who they are. Daffy Duck is more reflective of how his was when he was first introduced and before he started being paired up with Bugs Bunny. He’s a complete lunatic, he’s overly confident, and has a tendency to cause more trouble than what they have to deal with in the moment! Meanwhile, Porky Pig is the more sensible of the two, complete with his famous stutter. Eric Bauza does a fantastic job voicing both characters and much like Mel Blanc long before, it’s incredible how many of the Looney Tunes characters he’s able to voice to perfection. Petunia Pig is also a fun character. She manages to be the most sensible of the group, while also being crazy and…dare I say looney in her own way!

The animation is spectacular. It’s great to not only see classic 2D animation, but also 2D animation that was made for a big screen experience. The last two animated movies that I can think of that look like they were hand drawn are The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim or Teen Titans Go! To the Movies. In both instances, you watch those movies and question the reason to release them in theaters. The animation in The Day The Earth Blew Up is not only smooth and well detailed, but it also amplifies the insanity and comedy. One of my favorite gags is with Farmer Jim, the adopted father of both Daffy and Porky. While our two main characters are fully animated, Farmer Jim is mostly a static drawing played for full comic effect.

The movie is not just hilarious in how it captures the spirit of Looney Tunes, but also how it works as a parody of the alien invasion movies of the 1950s. From mind control, alien goo, 50s style flying saucers, and the title of the film itself, this movie is a perfect homage to those old school science fiction movies. However it’s mixed with that very chaotic tone that you expect from Looney Tunes and features enough twists that make the movie feel fresh and funny! The big masterplan of the alien invader is ridiculous but makes sense within the nature of the film!

OVERALL

This is about as good as a Looney Tunes movie can get and the flaws it has, aren't worth mentioning! I never got the appeal of Space Jam, and this is coming from a kid of the 90s. That movie should’ve been my childhood, but it just doesn’t work for me. As for Looney Tunes: Back in Action, I have a soft spot for that movie, but even then I can’t deny that The Day The Earth Blew Up blows that one out of the water. It’s got spectacular animation, it’s fateful to the source material, the characters are fun, and it’s jam-packed with jokes that made me laugh hard! Not to mention it has a lot of heart when it comes to Daffy and Porky’s friendship. It’s a reminder of what made Looney Tunes work in the first place and why they will endure until the end of time despite David Zaslav’s hatred for them!

RATING

GET OFF YOUR ASS AND GO SEE IT NOW!!!

[crunchybeards]

Could you do a breakdown of Xaria and Monty please? I think they're a bit misunderstood in the fandom and I've grown to appreciate their characters

I'm gonna be going hella off script for like the actual ask thingy that this stems from because my rambling/ answer style is very loose, like the skeleton is there but I prefer just going nuts with it lol. Like this will be a bit of mini-breakdown for these two, nothing too in depth but I just gotta yap about these two.

Usual rambling beneath the cut, with a TL:DR at the end:

But anyways, hard agree. I'll preface with this, I think certain people in the fandom just kinda saw/ heard about the dinner interaction/ cutscene where Xaria kicks the Rat Child and immediately dismissed her character and by extension Monty as a result. Like as ridiculous as this sounds, Xaria does care for the greater good, she does care about animal rights, I wouldn't even be surprised if it were revealed that she attended rallies or protests for the greater good. On paper she's a kind person. Monty just does his own thing whilst hanging with Xaria. 

And one of the things that I usually say with my buddy is that Xaria cares but she doesn't care about you, the player and Sam respectively (Not in a fourth wall type of way lol, just like in terms of mucking up the gameplay for you). And Monty honest to god couldn't give a damn about anybody that isn't Xaria even if he was bribed so there's no way in hell that he cares about Sam/ players. I think that's another thing that tends to ruffles peoples' feathers about Xaria and Monty, they couldn't give a rat's ass about you but they sure as hell love fucking with you. AND THAT'S THE BEST THING ABOUT THEM. Them not caring that much about you/ Sam is fucking great.

And I obviously quite like how Xaria and Monty are written. You cannot deny that they are well-written characters. I've always seen them as characters/ companions that were meant to kind of test how tolerant we as players are to the people we let into Sam's apartment. I've said it a few times before but there are certain aspects of the game that are specifically meant to impact us, the players, in terms of how we choose to engage with the in-game world. The door mechanic is once again a pretty good example of this. It's both how Sam sees those beyond the door and it is one of the ways in which we, the players, are able to interact with characters through the perspective of a scared and paranoid person, obviously this would affect how we choose to let Sam interact with these door interactions. Another really good example of intentional game design that was meant for us the players as opposed to Sam's character would definitely be the mushroom colony "quest" because if you're a big rpg fan, obviously you'd be excited as hell for the upgrades presented and subsequently gutted as hell for the crushing reality that none of it was real. Why the hell am I even yapping about this? Mainly because I find these choices to be really cool game design and to also establish that we as players do need to distinguish between what is meant to impact us as players and what is meant to, in universe, impact Sam. Is this meant to impact my gameplay or is this meant to impact Sam and where do we draw the line between the two and Xaria and Monty somehow got intertwined with both.

Xaria and Monty ultimately have no overall impact on the greater playing experience but they do have in-game interactions that absolutely test our mettle. And for people who don't like these two, I kind of see it more as they don't like that they are experiencing some form of discomfort/outright aggression directed towards them specifically. Obviously, you won't like it if you helped somebody out and then were subsequently met with open hostility, aggression and even kicked out of your own room. But it's the end of the world and they need a place to stay and you are capable of housing them. Like are they suddenly unworthy of being supported because they're really annoying assholes? Does that suddenly mean they deserve to die or get cursed/ fused with a cursed individual? You have every right to reject them at the door, to not let them in, this is your space and all that and you're just trying to be safe. But wouldn't that just kind of prove that you're caving into the paranoia and fear of the situation by purposefully rejecting them based on first impressions. You'd be rejecting them based on a bias, not because they've done anything particularly bad (not yet anyway lol) And yes, they do kick Sam out of his room but that's honestly the most aggressive thing they even do outright.

What I truly like about Xaria and Monty's characters is that they are incredibly flawed. Xaria oh my days I love her so much, she's such a hypocrite and I love her for it. She says she cares about the safety and care for animals and is the same person who will kick the Rat Child just because of a mistake, a mistake that anybody in that apartment could've made and yet she gets weepy for a pixilated octopus. Monty is, fun fact, THE ONLY RECRUITABLE WHO CAN KILL YOU VIA CUTSCENES. They're fucking dangerous, genuinely. But they're so distinct in caring about each other that that's what makes them so interesting. They care about each other and aren't built around Sam and if I'm being honest, the players. Every companion is distinct and separate from Sam but none of them are as hostile towards Sam as these two. They care about each other first and foremost and enable each other because they're just that close but Sam isn't close to them, he's just the dude whose place they sleep at. They don't see him as a friend, so they won't treat him as such. They drag their feet about helping you and fight with Sam as both a form of begrudging repayment for the stay and because they like kicking people's teeth in.

It's these flaws that make them the weirdly compelling characters that they are. They're a danger, only if you enable them. They're annoying assholes if you let their bullshit get to you. They're an interesting reflection of how kind is too kind. Of course you'll wonder if you made a mistake by letting them in but also people are just like that sometimes. Sometimes in order to be the bigger person you gotta deal with assholes like Xaria and Monty, not because you get anything out of it but because you showed that you cared. This isn't me excusing their behaviour or endorsing it, this is me saying that quite literally every companion is going to be different and I like Xaria and Monty both because of their specific character and the fact that they do shake things up. They aren't undeserving of a place to stay, and fans shouldn't beat down on them for that, by just dismissing them for one pissy action you're missing out on characters who are so damn interesting. I love that they represent the nuance of letting people into Sam's apartment, that their existence isn't a punishment nor a burden but understandable. You would be a bit naive to believe that every companion would be chill, that the game would fully reward you for being kind. There are assholes and selfish people in the apocalypse but that doesn't mean they're unworthy of shelter too. This is a game about self-sacrifice and caring for your neighbours, you know, being humane during the end of the world. This is most pervasive with the cursed people you save but it's also important to remember that this is applicable to non-cursed people too. Yes, even the ones that fucking suck.

TL:DR: Xaria and Monty suck on purpose. How you react to their shitty characters is a further reflection of how far you, the player specifically, are willing to act on the game's theme of being humane.

[amimuu]

VTA AU NARI + LAMB DESIGNS! (+ DOODLE DUMP!!!)

Ppl who were interested in the auuu pspspsppspspsps (Is this au like my official introduction to the cotl fandom?)

Golly, I think in the end I am gonna keep the name- Suhddhjejfjejd

By the way! The lamb wore something different before they gave the crown away :> maybe I’ll eventually post that one too

Smoll Doodle dump under the cut :]

Vows to ash au: In which Narinder decides to bring a definitely not complaint lamb back to life after they were sacrificed a second time to help him deal with his siblings apparently not being dead dead + cult duties + he missed them terribly and the crown is slowly driving him insane. However, things don’t go as planned for the god of death since a certain someone didn’t exactly want to be alive again and in fact, would much prefer to go back to being dead, thank you. Chaos, angst and a ridiculous amount of miscommunication ensure!

What will happen? Will they get along enough to deal with this mess? Also what’s up with whole “The crown is as much of a blessing as it is a curse” thing?

All of that shall wait for now- cuz woe side characters be upon ye

Boy the birdie was so hard to draw

ANYWAYS!! These three are kids (not really kids anymore) that were born in the cult and almost raised entirely by the lamb (Dipal was entirely raised by them), reason why they are very very loyal to them. They were also turned into disciples some time before the lamb gave the crown back. They are very close with each other and the Lamb trusts them a lot. (These three are actually my in-game disciples who were born and raised in the cult almost entirely by the lamb)

WELP! That’s all for now. More doodles coming soon tho. As always, any questions are welcome (and encouraged, I like talking!) Hopefully I’ll be able to post some lore dumps or things of the such. Until theeeeeen!

[cwwv9]

«Child in the shower, disaster in life»

— Without gender!Children's!Reader x Isagi Yoichi, Meguro Bachira, Hiori Yo, Karasu Tabio, Chigiri Hyoma, Michael Keiser, Alexis Ness, Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei.

Genre: casual, romantic subtext, fluff, a little thrash

Warning: The text is the maximum amount of absurdity, folly and unexplained logic that exists in people whose inner child has never grown. The reader is a walking natural disaster with the soul of a child who rejoices at frogs, plays pranks, falls into ridiculous situations and invariably draws characters into chaos.

Note: I didn’t plan to go down like this, but my powers failed. I still don’t feel very well, but I will try to get myself together this weekend. I actually thought about trying "fem! character x reader" coming soon, do you think it’s a good idea?

wrote it exclusively for your smile, enjoy reading!

Isagi Yoichi

- Yoichi! - you’re screaming from the other end of the field, waving your hands.

He just finished training, wiping sweat off his forehead when you run to him, hiding something behind your back. He immediately gets excited. Your smile is wider than that of a horror maniac, and your eyes are burning with excitement.

- I’ve got a surprise for you! - You put both hands in front of him, clenching your fists. - Do you want to see?

Yoichi looks at the coach in the distance, then again at you. He had already been caught in "surprises" like a pie in the face, a shocking beetle and one very suspicious candy from which his tongue was green all day.

- Is it safe? he squints. I won’t have to eat porridge through a tube for another week?

You’re not happy.

- I’m serious! That’s nice! Really. Honest. Well... almost.

- "Almost" is already suspicious.

You can’t hold it and you want to, your chest tickles with impatience. Finally you breathe out:

-Okay, all right, you ready?

-No, - Yoichi says dryly, but he’s already leaning closer.

Your hands are wide open.

A small, living, grey frog jumps out of them.

- WOW! - Yoichi yells, bouncing back, almost stumbling over his own boots.

You fold in half from laughing. You fall on the grass, holding your stomach, and the frog jumps aside, shocked by what is happening.

- DID YOU SEE YOUR FACE?! - Yell through tears. - God, I would frame this!

Yoichi is breathing hard. His hand on his knee, his face distorted by a mixture of horror and laughter. He throws a murderous look at you, but the eyes already appear tired, but warm "of course".

- Why am I still surprised when you do that? - He sighs, helping you up. - How old are you? Five?

- Six and a half, thank you.

You walk beside him, touching him while he’s walking.

- And the frog was jumping, huh? Just like in a cartoon! We still have to find one. Or maybe we can have an aquarium at home, huh? And there’s frogs and bugs. And mice are allowed.

- Mouse?.. - Yoichi stops. - No. No, please. We and one of you are enough for chaos.

You throw yourself at him and cling to his hand, slightly pressing your cheek against his, feeling his warmth.

- Admit it, you liked it!

He sighs. And here is the most sincere smile of the day on his face. He looks at you as if you were a natural disaster, which is impossible not to love.

- Yes, he says, rubbing your top gently, you’re a total lunatic. But mine.

Meguro Bachira

— We only take macarons, okay? Ma-ka-ro-ne - Bachira leans towards you, clinging to the importance as if you’re a spy on a top secret mission. - No step left, no look right. Only. Pasta.

You nod with a face like you get it, but in three seconds you’re already crawling along the windows, stretching your neck and your eyes picking up shiny boxes, rustling packaging and... toy department.

- Bachira! Look! Look-look-look! - you suddenly disappear from view and burst into toy paradise like a tornado.

- Bachira! Look! Look-look-look! - you suddenly disappear from view and burst into toy paradise like a tornado.

He follows you, of course. He always comes after you - no matter how much he sighs. Because he knows: where you are, it will be either fun or dangerous. And more often both.

You’re already squeezing the breast of a plush cat. Pumpkin on the head, tail with glitter. Too bright, too ugly... and definitely your favorite for the next three days.

- He FARTS, - you proudly declare by pressing on his stomach. And indeed, something... sinister-breathing is being pulled out of the speaker.

Bachira blinks.

- What is he?

You press again. The cat makes another moist sound.

You’re laughing so hard, you almost fell.

- It’s fate! He talks to us in my native language!

Bachira picks up the toy, turns in her hands. She croaks. But then he looks at you - you’re shining like a midnight firework, holding that vile thing like a shrine.

-Okay... add to your collection, - he sighs. - seventy-one. We have a shelf to change.

You jump for joy and kick like a little child.

- I’ll call him Puffy. He’ll guard the bed from monsters!

-From me, I guess.

- He’ll let you in. I swear!

He laughs quietly, pushing you closer as you go to the cash register. And, hell with macarons.

Hiori Yo

It was a hot day, too hot. The sun was burning your neck, and you were running around the yard with a water gun like an apocalyptic gremlin. Behind the bush - ambush, on the tree - base, and in your hand - weapons of mass destruction.

- Hiiori! - you scream with a belligerent squeal. - GET READY TO SWIM, DEEP-SEA SHRIMP!

He only carries out a towel and a bottle of water, as if the jet is flying into him - direct, precise, straight into his chest. He doesn’t even have time to breathe as you’re already running up and kicking your feet in place.

- Hit! Right in the heart! Critical damage!

- You said, "You’re not shooting today," - Hiori breathes hard as she squeezes out her shirt. - That was a lie.

- I forgot, honestly! you say with a big smile. But you’re too much of a target. I couldn’t resist.

He nods, calmly and with restraint. He goes into the house... suspiciously calm.

In five minutes he comes out. He’s holding a plastic bottle of coke.

- Peace? he asks, holding it out.

You smile like you’ve never done anything wrong in your life, grab a bottle.

- Of course, the world! Drink me! - You turn the lid off quickly.

PSHCHHHH!

You forget that you yourself have shaken this bottle before as a "time bomb". Cola shoots the fountain - in the face, on the T-shirt, on the arms. You reflexively put the bottle to your mouth, trying to "save" the drink, but with laughter you get nervous, let out a fountain from your mouth and literally sprinkle Hiori with a sweet soda.

He stands. Impregnated. Sticky. With pieces of ice under his sock.

- It... was... he says slowly, looking at himself.

You’re already lying on the ground, hovering like a madman. You’re dripping with water, looking like a flared firecracker in cotton candy.

- THAT WAS GENIUS! - you squeal. - Hiori! It was a self-destruct attack! You should have seen your face!

He looks at you... then just sits quietly next to you. Takes a newspaper that is lying nearby, and puts it on his face.

- You’re like a child, he mumbles, but the corners of his lips are still shaking with a smile. - Absolutely uncontrollable.

You roll closer and squeeze to his side like a wet puppy. Licking his shoulder, which was in the ruts of coca cola. He sighs but does not repel.

- You still love me, don’t you?

- Hardly. And in the breaks between washing, he snorts.

And yet his hand gently rests on your head. As if to say: "yes, I love. Even with sticky hair and water gun".

Karasu Tobio

You were unpredictable. Like the weather in April. Or like a machine with toys, which instead of a rubber ball gives out a dead crab.

Today started well. Karasu led you around the mall by the hand like a child, so that you didn’t get lost and run off to the station with fluffy slippers.

But suddenly you got out of control and rushed to a group of serious, solid men at the coffee shop. On the go opening the tablet.

- YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS! - Loud, too loud.

Karasu stalled. His face was stretched out like a dough in a pizza.

- No. Not again.

You run to the men and with a solemn look put in the face of the screen: where the wife is sad and the child spanch bob, and the panch bob was already lying in the grave.

— Sad, right?! Hahahaha! The baby spanch bob is crying so bitterly, with comments saying that he’s already an orphan! because mom left in a man.. - Do you ask, leaning towards one of the men. - Is this for you?

They don’t talk. One of them already has his phone. The other is coughing and looking at you like you’re infected with something dangerous.

- It’s... not funny, young man - frown alone. - Where are your parents?

- I... - You look back. - I’m with him!

And Karasu, as in slow motion, runs up, grabs you under his arm like a sack of potatoes, and looks tired guard drags you aside.

- Are you BACK? he hisses. - You promised not to traumatize strangers with the strange pictures you made.

- But there’s Sponge Bob, with a beard! He LOOKS AT THE SOUL, Tobias! It’s art! You don’t understand anything! - you scream, your feet are wagging.

He stops, puts you on the ground and grabs your face.

- I can’t do it anymore. I need pills. I need a lawyer. I need... a psychotherapist to learn how to live with you.

You smile and throw yourself at his neck.

-But you love me, right?

- I’m guarding you, that’s different.

- Okay. But I still have a picture of a pigeon with the face of a grandfather saying, "Give back your pension". We show it in the bookstore?

Karasu rolls his eyes.

- Only if I sign up first.

Chigiri Hyoma

- Hyoma! Hyoma! Come here now! - you’re breaking into the room where Chigiri was quietly drinking tea and trying to breathe.

He does not even have time to turn his head - you have already grabbed him by the wrist, hold him like a raging tornado, and loudly, with encouragement you are saying:

- I’ve made a DISCOVERY! Scientific! Medical! I’m a genius! You’ll be the first to try it!

– It won’t be like last time, right? - Chigiri asks anxiously, remembering the case when you smeared his nose with honey "so that a raspberry grows on it". Or when you tried to "tame" the microwave, saying «Jars, beasts, jars».

- It’s DIFFERENT. You’ll have a mustache. Serious ones. I tested on a stuffed hippo, and it looks solid!

Before Chigiri could do anything - click, you pressed two fluffy black things to his face, and on top of that you put a hairspray, super glue and for some reason a bun-smelling perfume.

- That’s it! - you exhilaratingly scream. - Now you are... General Hyomka! You have a new personality! Walk, command, go!

Chigiri is looking at himself in the mirror in complete shock. He has a huge, ridiculous mustache - one side bent up, the other dangles like a sad worm. And it’s not coming off.

- ... you ruined me. I’m like a bad guy from a cartoon about potatoes.

You clap your hands:

– That’s right! UskKom 3000! I create personalities! I can give you a cape, and you will interrogate plush toys. Someone has to keep order in the house!

He’s dead.

- You... put something on my face. REAL GLUE?

You nod. Proud. Happy. Absolutely no remorse.

- Not to fall. Stability is the foundation of leadership.

Pause. He turns around, slowly goes into the bath, and in a few seconds you hear:

- I’m going to shrivel my face, I’m going to get smoother than walk with this!

You’re giggling on the floor.

- General Hyomka against the innovations... Too bad.

And you already take out of your pocket the spare kit... with eyebrows-nuts.

Michael Kaiser

You burst into a room with a homemade helmet out of a cereal box strapped to the head of a pot, and proudly say:

- Today we’re going to Mars to save my son!

Kaiser doesn’t even lift an eye from his phone.

-You don’t have a son.

- I have one. It’s a plush toad named Herman. It was stolen by the evil cucumbers from Jupiter. You don’t want Herman to become a salad, do you?

He sighs. Very slowly.

-Is it because you drank ketchup and coke?

- It’s because I’m a great space traveler! King of the Clouds, Lord Lugh and Count Ploppi!

The Kaiser is still watching. And for a long time.

You wave your pawn like a scepter, and pull out from behind... a folded map (actually a pizza flyer) with the pen reading: «HERE IS MARS».

- We’re leaving in five minutes. Get your toothbrush, it’s gonna be a long battle!

- I’m not going to Mars.

- Then Herman dies.

- It’s a toy toad you left in the oven.

You are offended:

- It was a bunker!

- There was lasagna.

- Herman loves lasagna...

You lower your head. Sad, theatrical. It’s time for you to go to Cannes for this drama.

Kaiser rolls his eyes.

- Where’s your spaceship?

You pull out a mop and a stool.

- Get ready for the acceleration, princess. We’re going to hell.

Ten minutes later, the Kaiser, still in his pajamas, sitting on a stool, holding a broom and watching you yell in a bucket: "Open the portal! Herman, hold on, Daddy’s flying!"

- That’s... - He exhales. - It’s worse than when you tried to give me a jam shot.

You giggle and kiss his cheek.

- Thank you, you saved the planet. Herman will be proud.

- I hope he chokes on lasagna.

You make a sullen face, then you spit on his knees.

- And Herman wants a brother. Do you mind if I get a snail?

- As long as she stays silent and doesn’t burn the microwave like your "dragon".

Alexis Ness

- Look, look, look! - you yell from a distance and fly down the sloped gravel path on a skate, waving your hands as if trying to get off the ground.

Ness is sitting on the blanket, just started to turn out the container with fruits, as notices your death flight.

- NO! he screams, leaping on his feet. - Not on the grass! Not through the tree! Not in the

BACH.

Skate rolls by. And you - fly right into it, carrying Ness and container with watermelons in the bushes.

You’re lying on top of it, happy as a clam.

-Did you see? I was almost in the trenches! A little bit more, and I’d have a world record. I had a real backflip going on in my head, honestly.

Ness is looking up at the sky. He’s trying to remember how to breathe.

- You’re in my head right now spinning funeral.

You sigh as you leap:

- Okay, okay, this is going to be really cool. I found a log! You can slide it on your belly like a snowboard. I called it the Thunder-2000.

- It’s... a regular log.

- But if you believe - it’s a real miracle

Ness comes up, shaking, and mumbles:

- I just wanted to eat cherries and sit in silence...

And you’re already climbing up on the log, clinging to it like it’s a giant carrot, and yelling,

- Look! It’s like "Forsag", but cheap and with bumps!

And you go. The log rolls down the hill, you squeal like a teapot, your legs are wobbly, your face in the leaves. At some point you just fall, roll over and get up with a mossy forehead and a happy smile.

- I’m alive! My ass - no, but I’m alive!

Ness comes in, grabs your wrist, checking your pulse.

- I had to sign a paper saying that I was responsible for you? Where is my legal team?.

You hug him by hanging him around your neck.

— You are my little insurance agent. And now... for the shish kebabs! - you point to the mangal, who unskillfully burned himself. And that at this moment begins to smoke suspiciously bright.

- No-no-no! - in a panic, Ness yells and runs to kill.

And you, in a fire of coal and memories, sit with the guitar and start yelling something about skateboards and love for frogs.

He already knows: the day is just beginning.

Rin Itoshi

Rin opened the door and before he could even breathe, you flew into the hallway, all wet, dirty, with hair sticking out in different directions and a bright smile on your face. On the cheek - a heart, painted, seems to be chalk, on the jacket - a mark of a boot, on the hand -... a plastic spoon?

- Rinn! I drew you on the asphalt! Only... a bit like a crab. But it was you, I remember!

You have removed from the pocket a handful of colored chalks, behind which there was immediately smeared wet grass, petals and paper from the gum with the princess.

Rin blinked.

-Why are you all wet?

You proudly raised your finger:

- Because it rained!

- And you thought that was a... reason to go outside and...?

— Dancing, drawing, catching sparrows, jumping into a puddle, competing with the child who throws the next stone... Well, I also saw a butterfly! - You put your hands on it. - I wanted to show her the peacock dance, but she flew away. Rude.

Rin pressed his palm to his face.

-And how are you... still alive?

You smiled joyfully:

- It’s because I have a strong spirit. And you also gave me vitamins, remember?

- You’ve been cold for a week. Your spit was only yesterday.

- But it was fun!

The next morning you woke up with a nose like a tomato. Walked around the apartment with a roll of toilet paper, breathed like Darth Vader and resented:

- Why is everything leaking?! I have a hole in my brain?

Rin sat at the table, eating his boring, proper breakfast and looking at you like a disaster on a natural scale.

- And I said it. Dancing in the rain is romantic until you become a slut.

You, with your nose full, tried to turn gracefully. You almost fell. You shrunk. You cried.

- I’ll go again anyway. The neighbor’s cat gave birth, I have to name the kittens. One will be Pelmeni.

Rin sighed.

- I give up. Next time just take an umbrella. And wear a hat. And... maybe don’t lick the puddles?

- It was an experiment, Rin!

He put the fork down.

- I still don’t understand why I’m with you.

You sat next to him, nodded at him and moaned through the snot:

- Because I’m beautiful.

- Because you’re a disaster, said Rin.

And I still moved the cup of tea closer to you.

Sae Itoshi

You’re standing in a perfectly white room, glowing with delight, holding a glass of soda and candy on a stick. You were dressed in decent clothes, combed your hair and even put on a bow tie that does not suit you at all, and which you tried several times removed, but as a result of Itosha each time clapped his hands and corrected him, And in the opinion of Sae, it makes you look like a decent man.

The event was important: a bunch of rich and famous people, social conversations, shiny dresses and veiled insults.

You did it.

And then I noticed a lady in a lush skirt, whose bow was slightly crooked.

You came close.

- Do you have lace?

She blinked:

- Excuse me?

- Well panties! With ruffles! I saw it. They’re so funny! Like a cupcake, honestly!

And - hop - the skirt flies. Woman screams. Someone drops a glass. Journalist turns camera.

And you - run away, drooling in your own laughter, like a goose on rollers.

- Yes! - you scream, just seeing him.

He has already squinted. He sees you rushing through the whole hall, behind you - a guard, behind him - a woman with a hat and the expression «call court».

You run into the Sae and hide behind him.

- Can you tell me it was me? Well, I guess.

- You were literally shouting, I’m a hero, I’ll see all the panties» before that - weary, he burkes, catching you by the hood like a coddling cat.

You’re putting candy in your mouth.

- But they were beautiful. I just wanted to praise them. That’s kindness, Sae.

- You’re a nightmare in patent shoes. We just got here, and it’s time to run.

— Can I get one more lady? She’s got a marshmallow skirt! - talking to the girl next to him, starting to squiggle to try to look under his skirt, but he is lifted up behind his jacket on time

- No. I’m going to put it on your head.

- You’d be a beautiful girl, Saé. I’d lift your skirt too, honestly.

He stares at the ceiling as if to ask for power from heaven. Or a new brain. Himself. Or you.

-Why am I with you?

- Because you love me, - you’re snorting, looking over his shoulder. - And because you can’t turn me in!

- You’re terrible.

But still takes you by the hand and pulls you away from the light, the cameras and the women in skirts.

- The next event is only if you’re wearing a straitjacket, okay?

You were wondering.

- And the bow is with the lace?.

Ryusei Shido

- Bro, brooo, there’s a frog path! - your voice is on the other side of the bush and Shido already suspects something’s wrong.

He takes his head off the phone where he tries to make a funny selfie with a pitcher, and comes out from behind the trees - only to find you kneeling in the green mud with your hands outstretched forward and your eyes shining with happiness.

- Really? Did you fall into the radiation?

- No! It’s a secret place. I called it the Kwa-kva-park. Look at all the frogs!

- It’s a swamp. And they may be guarding you as the new king, he snorts as he approaches. Get to shore before the toads grow wings.

You want to, you’re spitting on the surface and suddenly you’re lifting something.

- It’s an ancient sword of the swamp knights! you scream, showing Shido just a stick.

He laughs, comes up close and says:

- Give me this, I’ll show you the «double rotating hummingbird cam». Watch carefully, little one, it will be-

Plum.

You grab his wrist and pull him down.

- SURPRISE!!! - you yell.

Shido has only time to curse, before falling close by, the splashes are flying in the sides, the birds break from the trees, and the silence of the forest is broken by a deafening slap.

You both come out. Shido has algae on his head, and you have a snail on your shoulder that you now call an alter.

- I’ll KILL YOU,' says Shido with a hoarse laugh, wiping out his eyes. 'I look like a salad!

You’re snorting in the swamp, completely satisfied.

- We’re a team of swamp rage now. We’ll save the world with frogs and clay. We’ll even have a logo!

Shido looks at you, then at himself, then at you again. The smile is getting wider.

- Damn, you’re contagious. Let’s go again. But this time I’m the first one.

You jump into the swamp together, screaming and laughing while the world sinks in mud and happiness.