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shellshocklove · 8 months ago

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moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants.

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use.

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic.

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel.

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed.

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt.

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation.

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya."

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks.

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that?

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

You could be brave– Just say it!

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure.

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan?

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home.

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand.

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason.

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped.

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt.

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks.

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form.

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks.

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless.

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck.

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder.

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock.

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand.

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug.

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing.

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass.

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity.

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man.

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away.

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth.

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly.

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out.

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub."

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal.

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to.

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you.

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built.

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles.

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum.

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin.

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans.

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

#logan howlett #logan james howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james logan howlett x reader #x-men fanfiction #lumberjack!logan #hugh jackman #*writing #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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bisexualpixiebabe · 2 years ago

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I'm about to personally fight Fidelity investments because trying to figure out their billing software is making me fucking feral.

#like literally the most complicated and confusing shit I've ever seen #my boss went it was confusing so im sorry but you try #why can't i just give you this easy to read invoice?????

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er1nne · 6 days ago

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hi! i’m the anon who requested a new part for “the interview with drew goes viral”. you actually posted it on my birthday, so i’m sending you a huge thanks, really.

i absolutely loved it and i also wouldn’t mind if you wanted to turn this into a series too hahah.

the two of them 🥺🥺🥺 i love that drew is going to the coffee shop after her, would love to see how their relationship grows! i’m in love with them and with the you you write. thanks again!!!

hope you’re doing well, have a nice weekend xxx

another run in with drew ♡

part one, part two, part three

author's note: love how this had become a series lol, also series masterlist coming soon. give me ideas on what you want to see, your wishes are my command

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

You haven’t seen Drew since the coffee shop. No texts. No calls. No accidental likes on Instagram stories. Just that strange little moment—quiet, simple, unexpected—followed by nothing but silence. A silence you didn’t have time to question, at least not out loud.

Work swept you under fast. One interview turned into five, turned into twelve. There were red eyes and red carpets, layovers that bled into morning glam, emails marked urgent that weren’t, and endless voice notes from your assistant reminding you to drink water or, God forbid, actually sit down and eat. You’ve been floating from event to event, mic in hand, pretending the whirlwind is normal.

And maybe it is. Maybe this is just what success feels like when it comes all at once.

But somewhere in the back of your mind—between camera flashes and client lists—you still think about that coffee. The way his hand brushed yours when he reached for the lid. The way he looked at you like you were someone worth pausing for. Not performing for. Just… seeing.

You never followed up. Neither did he. So maybe that’s where it ends.

Until now.

You’re back on the red carpet, badge clipped, mic wired, heels biting into the carpet just enough to remind you to stand tall. Another night. Another venue. Another lineup of stars and stylists and agents crowding every inch of the step-and-repeat. Ironically enough, for a Drew Starkey interview. Even when you can't make time to see him personally the universe has a funny way of putting you two together. Meant to be? who knows.

You try not to think too hard about it—don’t give it weight. You’re here to work. You’re here to do your job. Not to chase the what-ifs of a man who left your texts untyped and your mind way too occupied on nights when you should’ve been sleeping.

Still, your fingers tighten around the mic just slightly as you read down the list of arrivals. Tom Blyth is slotted ahead of Drew. You know Tom. He’s warm, low-maintenance, the kind of actor who gives thoughtful answers and makes your job easy. You ground yourself in that—small wins. Familiar rhythms.

Your team gives you the signal, and you step forward into the chaos of flashbulbs and pre-show nerves. The cameras sweep toward you and Tom as he arrives, his publicist giving you a nod. You settle into the interview, asking your usual questions—questions you could probably recite in your sleep by now. He smiles, laughs, says something about the director’s process. You nod, respond, push the conversation where it needs to go. It’s smooth. Effortless. Just how it’s supposed to be.

Your heels click into place on the press line, the carpet beneath you plush but just unstable enough to remind you you’re balancing on borrowed time—and four inches of designer expectation. The noise is a hum—paparazzi flashes, producers shouting cues, the murmur of industry air kisses and small talk no one really means.

Then you see him.

Tom Blyth moves through the crowd like it’s parting for him on instinct. All charm and movie-star ease, dressed in something sharp and tailored, the kind of suit that looks effortless but costs more than your entire monthly invoice report. The lapels lie just right, the fabric catching the camera flashes like it knows it’s being watched. He carries himself like someone who’s used to being looked at—and knows exactly what to do with that attention.

When he stops in front of you, the grin he offers is the kind you feel—not just see. It’s practiced, yes, but not fake. It lands with just enough weight to leave a mark.

You hold your mic steady and smile back, but the energy shifts the second he opens his mouth.

“Well, well,” he says as he stops in front of you, eyeing your mic, then your face, “didn’t expect to see the best-dressed person here holding the microphone. Shouldn’t you be on this side with the rest of us?”

You smile, professional but just shy of bashful. “Careful, Tom. Keep sweet-talking me like that and I might start charging for compliments.”

“Go ahead,” he says, laughing. “As long as you let me expense it under ‘networking.’”

He winks, and you try not to let your shoulders tense under the cameras. “Let’s talk about the film, yeah? You’ve worked with some heavy hitters this year. What drew you to this script?”

He leans in slightly, enough for you to catch a trace of his cologne—something warm, amber, expensive. “Besides the fact that it gave me a reason to show up and see you again?” He pauses, grin widening. “I liked how human it felt. Honest. Flawed. I’ve been chasing those kinds of roles lately. But this one hit different.”

You nod, genuinely engaged, your mic lifting instinctively. “Do you think audiences are ready to see you in something that vulnerable? Or do you still like being everyone’s golden boy?”

“Depends,” he says. “Would you still like me if I wasn’t?”

Before you can even come up with a reply—witty or otherwise—a voice cuts through the noise, low and unmistakably familiar.

“Now he’s trying to steal my favorite interviewer.”

You turn.

Drew stands just behind Tom, casual but calculated, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on you like he’s trying to read the punchline before you’ve even delivered it.

Tom steps back half an inch, amusement flashing across his face. “Well, didn’t know I was stepping on any toes.”

“Not toes. Just territory.” Drew’s tone is light, but the message is there, coded in the way his eyes flick to you, then back to Tom like a reflex.

Tom glances between the two of you, catching it. “Didn’t mean to step on anything,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “Or anyone.”

You force a smile—tight, professional—and tilt the mic toward Drew without looking directly at him. “We’re all friends here. Right?”

“Sure we are,” Drew murmurs, eyes still on you. He doesn’t blink when you finally meet his gaze. He just lifts one brow slightly, like he knows something you don’t want to admit out loud.

Tom excuses himself down the line, sensing the shift, and you don’t blame him. The moment he walks away, the noise around you fades into a blur. Your crew’s still watching. Cameras still pointed. But all you feel is him.

Then he leans in closer—like he’s adjusting something on his suit, like he’s letting you fix his mic—but his mouth is right by your ear.

“Long week?” he asks, voice low.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. You don’t turn to face him, just nod slightly, lips pressed together. “Busy.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Too busy for coffee, huh? Maybe dinner works better instead.”

You slightly hold your mouth agape with a surprised smile decorates your face. You swallow hard. He’s not wrong.

“Sure, it that will make it up to you.”

"How about tonight? If you’re not busy after the premiere.”

You pause. Then add— Then: “There's not a such thing as 'too busy'. It’s a date, then.”

The words fall out softer than you expect, almost natural, and the moment they land, both of you flinch—just a little.

“Promise.”

That gets him.

He doesn’t smile—but something in his expression shifts. Softens. You feel the shift in his body before you see it—his shoulders ease, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s forcing stillness. He doesn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his face unlocks. Like your words knocked the wind out of him for half a second.

And then—

You turn your head. Just slightly. Just enough for your mouth to hover where his had been.

“Tell me something,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin. “Are you the jealous type?”

He goes still. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just still.

One beat. Two.

And suddenly it’s like everyone around you vanishes. The press. The handlers. Even the cameras seem quieter. Because anyone watching now sees it—the way his hand flexes at his side. The way your smile lifts just barely, slow and knowing. The air between you buzzes, hot and thick and impossible to ignore.

Then you smile for the camera—tight, sweet, unreadable. “We’re rolling, Starkey. You ready?”

He pulls back, expression unreadable. “Always.”

You lift the mic, voice smooth. “Drew Starkey, star of tonight’s premiere, joining us now…”

And just like that, you fall back into the rhythm. But your pulse is nowhere near calm. And neither is he.

And just like that, you’re back on script—two professionals, poised and polished.

But your pulse is nowhere near calm.

And his? His jaw ticks once. His eyes don’t leave you.

But this is anything but far from over.

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months ago

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Every so often, I hear constituents complaining about me. They march on my palatial strip-mall office and demand reforms. They ask when I'm up for re-election. Folks, I'm here to tell you that you didn't elect me at all. I'm not actually a real-ass politician. Come inside, it's cold, and let me explain. Christophyr, fire up the Mr. Coffee, these sons of bitches deserve a decent brew after what their actual politicians are putting them through.

It all started a couple years ago, on a night much like tonight, when I noticed that big corporations are really sloppy with how they pay their invoices. A friend of mine was skimming tons of money off the Mercurial Office Supply Corporation by simply showing up and asking to be paid for plumbing work he didn't do. Stood to reason, maybe they'd be sloppy with how they'd pay their bribes too. I noticed that they gave a lot of money to the local re-election campaign, so I decided to run for office too.

Now, running for office is expensive. That's part of how they keep the common man out of it. You've gotta get all those signatures, take all those meetings, give all those speeches. Don't have time for that, because I'm busy playing with remote-controlled cars in the parking lot behind this office most of the time (Helen cheats, don't trust her to not cork a battery pack,) and the rest of the time I'm calling big-business donors and asking for re-election funds. You wouldn't believe how easy it is: just prattle off some low-tax nonsense, talk about "innovation," and mention that you sure would like them to send you ten thousand dollars. Then they do it, without even checking if you're actually a sitting politician.

Now, is it fraud? No. Politicians write the rules, and if they were going to jail just because they did a little thing like "take money from shady mega-corporations and then not do what they want," then every single one of them would be in jail. Nobody is ever really happy with what they buy with the corrupt blood money, but they throw it at the thirsty politicos just in case it helps tilt things just a little bit in their favour. Lots of gambling problems in the C-suite, I'm telling you. And it's not even really a lie. I really do need that money to run for re-election: I'm the treasurer of the local small town's parent-teacher association, and competition is fierce. Nobody ever asks what my actual position is before handing over the cash, for some reason.

I hope this has been educational for all of you in the enraged, violent mob that is tweaked about some other politician's horse hockey, of which I have no control or knowledge. Please enjoy the rest of your coffees in the parking lot.

Actually. One last thing before you all leave. We've got this election coming up, and getting some small-dollar donations from all of you will really secure my grassroots bona fides. Why, you wouldn't want to be giving that money to my opponent, who will probably torture and maim your children. Whoever that opponent is, I don't have time to read the newspaper anymore. Christophyr, pass out the collection basket.

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cremsie · 9 months ago

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Current status: OPEN I will be updating this with more images later for more commission types BUT you can also just ask For now here is my commission prices on a nice easy to read sheet!! All prices are in USD. I WILL DRAW ANYTHING! Humans, furrys, fantasy, abominations! NSFW can be asked about. HOW TO COMMISSION ME:

Please message me either here privately or on one of my other sites. I am Cremexbutter everywhere but here where I am Cremsie Please Include: What type of commission you're after or inquiring about A reference or a collection of reference images in one place. (if it is a written description to work off please make sure its easy to read and comprehend, little doodles also help me loads. You don't need to be a artist to scrawl down an idea) Please include an email for the paypal invoicing! I look forward to drawing for you!!

#art #my art #commissions

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 9 months ago

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Hello, dears ❤ I do apologize for the lack of content lately (Moving to Germany and getting everything settled, on top of writer´s block and taking German lessons is the culprit, I swear 😂) BUT, I finally got around to writing that scene where Reader has to serve Alcina tea while wearing a remote control vibrator 👀This was written with Sasha in mind (if you can´t tell lol) and I do hope some of you will enjoy! ❤

TW: Slight degradation

Word count: 2,054

The castle clock hadn't quite made it to nine yet when you found yourself waiting dutifully outside of your employer´s office. You had known better than to enter the large room at a time other than exactly when she requested you to. Being early at Castle Dimitrescu was considered just as much of an offense as being late, with just as dire consequences depending on the Countess´mood. So, you stood there, quietly, obediently, waiting for the old steel bells in the clocktower to strike nine.

You had even made a point to make sure that everything placed on the silver tray in your hands was precisely as she liked it. Your uniform had been freshly pressed, your hair as neatly done as you could get it, and the small toy that she had commanded you to wear that was nestled deep within your core - while albeit, a little uncomfortably - was nice and securely settled in.

The sound of the first bell almost made you jump, nearly knocking the antique silver teapot over in turn. You rolled your eyes at yourself and straightened out your vest. You were admittedly more nervous than you´d expected to be - but also excited. Your arousal already beginning to pool, pulsing against the firmness of the toy. You found your heart all but a flutter as the final bell finally struck, forcing a slight flush across your cheeks.

With a short exhale you knocked softly on the large door.

“You may enter, pet.”

Her voice was warm, aged - like a finely distilled whiskey. The sound of it alone brought an even deeper heat to your cheeks, and you knew right then and there that this wasn't going to be easy. Not a single drop spilled, she had said. Not a single one.

And she had meant it.

You entered quickly and without pause, eyes adjusting to the bright morning sun as it shown brilliantly into the normally darkened room. Luminous rays of warmth basking the Countess in a dusting of cladden gold.

“Right on time, pet. As always.” She smirked, looking up at you over the rim of her reading glasses - her desk covered in a mess of invoices and letters for the day ahead. You cleared your throat.

“Of course, my lady.”

She carefully placed the paper she had been reading on top of the others before allowing the smirk on her lips to curl a little deeper. “Mh, obedient little thing, hm? So eager to please.”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Fuck, she wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? Still, you smirked a little in turn, walking closer to the desk, your stride slightly staggered.

“I do believe that's how you prefer me, Countess, is it not?”

She chuckled. “Feeling rather cheeky this morning, I see.”

At this you only grinned, placing the serving tray on the one empty spot on her desk and raised the teapot in your hands. “Tea?”

She chuckled again and nodded, leaning back into her chair - with one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched in your direction as her gaze raked you over, watching you. She was absolutely stunning in the fresh morning light - nearly evanescent. Her raven locked hair perfectly styled and a tight fitted, white collared shirt in place of her normal everyday dress. It was cuffed at her forearms and hugged her body quite exquisitely. In that moment, you were certain the small toy that remained in your core was already sufficiently drenched, its presence becoming ever more noticeable as you began to set out the tea.

“I'm assuming you haven’t forgotten our deal?”

She traced her fingers down your arm and your core immediately clenched, forcing you to adjust your stance.

“O-of course not, my lady.”

“Not a single drop.. Or there will be consequences.”

You nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

She smirked.

“Though, something tells me you'd rather enjoy that.” The chuckle that now danced darkly across her lips was dripping in desire, much like the juices that had already begun to drip from your core. And the sight of the small black remote appearing casually between her fingers only fueled that.

Gods, she was not playing fair and she knew-

“Mph-!”

You let out an embarrassingly needy moan the moment you felt the warm, abrupt vibration deep inside you, your knees almost immediately buckling.

Fuck. Why had you agreed to this again??

Because you loved it, that's why. You loved the effect she had on you and just how needy she could get you. You loved how aroused you already were, knowing just how much higher she'd eventually take you. With your core soaking wet and absolutely aching for her.

And this, she knew.

“Mh.. you look a little flushed, my pet. Is the tea too hot for you?”

Oh, that devilish smirk as she leaned back into her chair even more, eyes bright with a teasing glint while she idly allowed the remote to dance between two fingers. You cursed softly under your breath before straightening your back, teapot still in hand.

“Quite the contrary, my lady. The only thing too hot in this room, is you.” You replied with a smug smile, making her chuckle.

“Always with that silver tongue of yours.”

“Last I checked you quite enjoyed my tong-”

Another wave of pleasure erupted in your core, this time even stronger than the last. Your hands held firm around the warm metal as you moaned needlessly, wantingly, the slacks of your uniform growing more soaked by the second. You were panting by the time the vibration was cut short, which only brought forth another chuckle.

“That I do, pet. Though, it does have the tendency to get you into trouble, no?”

You cursed again, this time wiping the sweat from your brow before rising back to your full height. Every inch of your body now screaming for more, for release. For her fingers to replace the all too small toy that resided deep within you. You took a steadying breath and smiled, holding the steaming water over her cup.

“I s-suppose it does, my lady. How would you like your tea this morning?”

You tried your hardest to remain focused, but your eyes were locked on the tiny remote in her hand. Watching it's every movement, waiting for any indication that she was about to press it. That was until she cleared her throat, bringing your attention swiftly back to her.

“Eyes on me.” She ordered.

You nodded. “Yes, my lady. Sorry.”

You straightened out your vest again, teapot in hand. Your cheeks a deep crimson and your underwear nearly completely soaked through. She watched you intently, a scorching gaze that never wavered and only made the heated place between your legs throb relentlessly. Her lips parting ever so slightly before she spoke, legs coming to cross in front of her.

“Two cubes of sugar this morning, pet. And a generous pour from my flask.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

“Oh, and one of those intricate designs of yours I love so much.” She smirked. “Expertly executed, of course.”

You swallowed and gave her a nod. “O-of course. Any specific design in mind?”

“Mh.. surprise me.” She replied with a wink.

You nodded again and moved a little closer to her desk, a slight tremor to your hand as you reached for the small silver tongs for her sugar. One small clink into the cup followed by another, breathing a sigh of relief as you moved onto the flask. Though the moment the dark crimson liquid began to pour from the opening your whole body jerked in pleasure. The vibration, albeit a much softer one, was still plenty enough to send a wave of ecstasy across your body.

You bit your bottom lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. Your legs trembling as it became harder and harder to focus on anything other than the deep ache in your core. You moved your hand slowly, thighs clenched shut as you continued to pour the dark liquid into the cup before capping it off and shakily placing it back on the tray. A staggered exhale as the toy swiftly shut off again.

“Very good, pet. Continue.”

You nodded through a whimper and shifted from one foot to another, your desire now trickling down your inner thigh - your uniform becoming ever more stifling. You could only imagine how flushed your face was, if the rest of you held any indication, that was. Your entire body felt as if it set a flame. As if you were the match and Alcina the strike. You straightened your back once more, this time a little more wobbly and picked up the teapot.

The look on your Mistress's face was entirely unfair. Smug, and knowing. Nostrils slightly flared as she could undoubtedly smell just how aroused you were - how utterly drenched. You steadied your hands, keeping them both firmly on the now cooling metal as you slowly began to tip it. The warm aroma of Alcina’s favorite tea wafting through the air. A predator’s gaze encased in swirls of steam as she watched you - intensely. A swift flash of crimson in her smile as she pressed the little black button yet again.

“F-fu-”

“Language. You're doing so good.”

“Mmmph-”

A muffled whimper as your teeth sank hard into your bottom lip, thighs clenched even more than before. You did your best to hold yourself steady. With the only thing working in your favor being the master of your craft - the ability to serve to no end.

Especially when it came to Alcina.

Your legs shook, body trembled. Core aching in a way that you had never experienced before. You so badly wanted to come for her, to feel the exquisite release of pleasure that only she could give you. But still, you held strong. Feeling the simple fabric of your slacks grow wetter by the second as you dutifully fill her cup with warm tea. Leaving just enough room for the foam at the top.

By the time the vibration came to a halt within your aching walls, you were a panting, shaking mess. Hair a muss and beads of sweat dripping down your all too heated face. You honestly weren't sure how much more you could take. If the heartbeat that throbbed so strongly in your core had anything to say about it, you'd likely come the moment she pressed that button again. An act that would surely get you punished. A punishment that would surely be worth it.

Your hands trembled as you placed the teapot back onto the tray, breath erratic as you looked up to catch her gaze.

And that smirked. That damned smirk.

“So dutiful, pet.” She said coyly. “You never do disappoint, do you?”

Her tongue skated over her bottom lip and wetted it, making you groan. She chuckled yet again.

“Almost there now. Just one more step.”

You nodded and quickly added the foamed cream to the top of her cup. She wanted something intricate, she had said, so you knew you couldn't get away with your usual simple heart. And your mind was far too fogged to think of anything creative at the moment. So, you picked up your small metal tool and got to work, brow furrowed as you tried to concentrate. An act that was all the more difficult when the Countess rose from her seat, remote in hand. Her scent even more intoxicating than usual. Her mere proximity fueling the ever throbbing pulse between your legs.

“I don't think you've ever smelt so aroused before, my pet.” She whispered, leaning in so her bosom was directly eye level. The ebb and flow of her chest, her warm breath across your ear, it was almost all too much.

You took a deep breath and steadied.

“A-and whose fault is that?” You replied quietly.

“Oh. I'm well aware of my affect on you, dear.” She chuckled, leaning in even further. “One could say I revel in it.”

You whimpered but held your hand steady, intent on finishing the work at hand. You were almost finished as it was, with one or two lines left to g-

“Mmmph-!”

There it was again, that all encompassing heat. That warm vibration engulfing your core just as you'd finished the final line on the crest of House Dimitrescu in her cup. She looked down at it, proud and knowing, and leaned her body against yours. You turned fully in her arms, wanting to feel every inch of her against you.

“Such a good, obedient pet.” Words whispered against your lips before she took your mouth in hers, kissing you deeply. Large hands roaming over your body before resting on the hem of your pants to unbutton them. “Such a shame it'll have to go to waste, hm?”

She kissed you again before you could even reply. The soaked fabric of your slacks and underwear quickly discarded to the floor as her thigh came to rest between your legs. You moaned, whimpered, clawed at her back as you begged for release. The toy in your core now at its highest vibration as she pressed her thigh against your clit.

“F-fuck.. Alcina.. please.”

Her only response was a soft growl and the subtle rock of her thigh, moving deliciously against your most sensitive areas. A prickling heat that built slowly across your body with each movement. With tears streaming down your face and your nails digging into her skin.

“P-please.. I need to.. I need to come for you.”

She growled into your swollen lips and pushed her thigh into you even harder, forcing you to cry out.

“Be a good slut and come for me then.” She hissed.

The next moments that came were all but a blur. Waves of unrelenting pleasure crashing over you as your whole body trembled and shook. As your desire shot out from your core and soaked the soft skin of Alcina's thigh. You weren't even sure how many orgasms she’d given you, or just how long she’d kept you there. With a cold cup of tea resting next to you on the desk as your chest heaved in pants. The silhouette of her leaning over you as you felt yourself begin to fade. Body limp as the darkness swiftly took over you, with the small toy still nestled deep within your core.

#resident evil village #theo writes #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina x sasha #sasha degroi #look #i dont usually get turned on while writing smut #but with this i did #😂😂😂#just saying #resident evil village fanfiction #lady dimitrescu fanfic

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lumiidragon · 5 months ago

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This is probably a weird question but do you have any advice on spotting those scams where someone asks you if your commissions are open

I remember you posting about someone who asks if you can draw their kids pet or something (I can’t remember very well)

Are there any others you know of?

I'll be honest, I've rarely gotten potential scams that weren't PAINSTAKINGLY obvious, but my biggest red flags for the one that I had posted about were:

-They were a blank blog that wasn't even following me. Why would you commission an artist you're not even following, yanno? If you get a commission request from someone, do just a little basic check such as check out their account. If it's a blank account, an account that's not following you, or an account that has shady shit on it, then that needs to be your first sign that something is off.

-They sent me the exact same message they sent a friend of mine. It helps to be involved with other artists and the art community. You'll catch things like this easier. What they sent me was basically word-for-word to what they sent a friend of mine, and she wasn't even offering open commissions, just HTTYD head shot commissions. Commissioners aren't sending artists copy-paste messages. So if you see other artists saying something about a scam with those types of messages, watch for that.

-The type of commission didn't align with my usual subject. I am a fanart artist with some original work speckled in. I don't draw IRL stuff unless it's for IRL people simple because that's just not what comes my way. I draw HTTYD as my main with some other fandoms so my usual commissions are OCs. In fact, every commission is someone's OC, not someone's pet. So although there's nothing against someone wanting a commission of a subject you don't main in, it is weird to go and commission a fan-artist "your son's pet" (and weirder that it has to be specified as "their son's pet" as well.

-The BIGGEST one, they refused to go to my Commission Carrd link. I have a commission section on my Carrd that I expect people to go to, read up on, and fill out a form. I do this because I need people to known and understand how I work, what I do and don't do, and so I can guarantee that people are reading and accepting my terms. I don't want to do business with someone who can't be bothered to read my terms. When I offered my Carrd for them to read my rules, they flat out said "No. Just post your prices here." That reply alone made me tell them "professionally" to fuck off, I'm not interested then.

A super easy way to protect yourself from scams is to really make sure your bases are covered in your TOS and make sure that you're sending proper invoices with those terms and conditions and have all of the information set so people are less likely to scam you.

Most scams you're going to see are going to be pretty obvious, so follow your gut instinct. If something seems "off" or "uncomfy" about a client, politely decline the commission and move on.

The more "complicated" your hiring process is for a commission, the easier it is to spot a scammer in the process because most are not going to go through all of that. People who are actually interested in commissioning you are going to take time to read your rules, terms, prices, ect. If they don't have the time to bother with your commission information, then they aren't someone you're going to want to work with regardless if they're a scammer or not. I'm sure that there are a lot of other ways other artists' can provide, but these are just my basic takes on it~!

#lumii talk #//hope this helps!//

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dinoscythecreations · 2 months ago

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Chibi Raptor Adopts! 🦖

My Terms of Service (Please read!)

I'm finally trying my hand at making Adopts, let me know if you have any questions! 💙💜

Adopts are $15 each

Custom is $25 (made with chibi raptor base)

#1 - Open

#2 - Open

#3 - Open

Custom - Open

DM me if you are interested and all payments are made through PayPal (I will invoice you!)

Adopts will be sent as a Google drive link you will be able to access to download a high quality pdf image.

These Adopts will also come with a color chart for their respective designs. This will make eyedropping the colors easy and gives a better view on the stomach and leg patterns (example as seen above with #0)

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myndless88 · 10 months ago

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So the Kaneki and Hide figure is up for pre-order! Here are some pictures from Black and White Studio (the ones making this figurine).

So far, I've found four websites where you can pre-order:

Figure Choice **

Toy Okoku

Bucket & Shovel

Club House Statues

There may be other sites out there, but these were ones that came up in my initial search (and just to give y'all more options to look at). There are a few takeaways I got from these. One way or another, you're most likely going to spend a little over $300 USD for this no matter what site you purchase from. Most of the sites list it at a base price of about $250 USD. That price doesn't include shipping as that is determined by the country it's being shipped to when the orders are ready to be shipped. However, Club House Statues says that they've already configured the shipping cost into the price of the figurine (for those living in the US, Canada, EU, and Australia), so there's that. You also have the option to put down a deposit if you don't want to pay the full amount. Each site has a slightly different way on how to do that.

From what I'm reading, it looks like refunds and cancellations aren't going to be easy, so keep that in mind if you plan to purchase. Additionally, this figure is made with resin and can probably get scratched or broken in transit, so there is that to consider as well. And, of course, it's gonna be a LONG wait. From what I'm seeing, the figurines won't actually be shipped out until around March of next year.

This is my first time buying something like this in this way, so I'll see what happens. I went ahead and went with Toy Okoku and paid in full. According to the site they'll send me a shipping invoice when the figurine is ready to ship out, so all I'll have to pay at that time is the shipping fee.

Ultimately, just be sure to read the page and the FAQs of each site to better understand.

**EDIT (07Nov24): Apparently, the link doesn't seem to work for me, so I put a strike through it.

#Hideyoshi Nagachika #Ken Kaneki #HideKane #Tokyo Ghoul #I'm looking forward to this!#not sure where I'm gonna put it though #myndlessthoughts

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 9 months ago

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Bloody Footsteps

Author's note: More of [redacted] who is indeed, Petras in Husbandry.

Summary: Kestorn finds a severely wounded Black Templar Primaris Marine and tries to save his life.

Warning: Murder, character death, Let me know if I need to add anything else.

Past =-= Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Arcio Aegios of the Black Templars is a dutiful soul, a primaris Marines and one of the victims of Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras' wrath and excessive punishments. He opens his eyes and is terribly surprised that is alive. He had felt something snap in his spine and felt his legs and one of his arms, which had been screaming in pain, go numb, he could see his useless flop at unnatural angles, his bones broken and nerves unresponsive.

As he breathes in the air, this is not the planet that he had been on when Petras had chosen him to use an Example to the rest of his brothers. Had seen the sorrow and Guilt in Ramiel’s eyes as he obeyed his mentor to inflict physical punishment on him. Read the invoiced apology on the others lips, ye had given his brother the smallest of nods, before the other started the punishment.

Apparently it wasn't good enough for the First Born Space Marine Chaplain Petras, who took over the punishment and the pain increased a thousand Fold and he felt his bones break and stop healing under the onslaught. Heard the voices of his Apothecary training brothers ask for a stayed hand and the older brother denying it harshly. He wonders fuzzily if this is the afterlife, and if so, why he is both in agony and numb and three of his Limbs are worse than useless.

Arcio does have some luck, the working arm he has, while broken in multiple locations, he can move it. Slowly, painfully and every single movement hurts. So badly. His vision is blurry, and he curses his body for its weakness as he finishes the agonizing movement, which should be easy, but is not, reaching for his wrist mounted vox and sending a call for aid.

He's able to press the button and hears it do the clicking chirp that tells him that the message was sent. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on healing, he's heard that sometimes visualization helps with such things. Arcio tries to do that, although his thoughts distract him, like rabits darting away from a predator.

As his body throbs with pain and a Terrifying not pain, just numbness and an inability to move, he keeps glancing at his Limbs to see if they are still there, they are. He wills it, wills it for his fingers to move, for his toes to twitch, not that he'd be able to see it, not in his partial armor. He feels no movements, his Ceramite boots don't twitch. Arcio feels a deep well of despair enveloping him as he wonders if any one will come help him, or if he is going to die, alone and unmourned.

Or if whoever found him kills him instead of helping him live, would give him the Final Mercy and carve him up for parts. At least in that scenario, he would not die alone, and his body parts and what little armor he has can be reused for more valuable brothers or cousin’s. He hears a crackle and a voice over the vox and he gives a mental prayer of thanks to the God Emperor that at least he is not entirely alone.

He hears a voice deep and low and commandingly asks him questions. Arcio answers the questions the best he can and hears the welcome stomp of Ceramite boots, seeing familiar hope-dread at seeing the colors and heraldry of the Black Templars. He sees the Apothecary brother rush over to his side and hears and sees a few more Black Templars; he can't stop himself from flinching as the Apothecary reaches out to touch and assess him.

To his utter terror he sees the Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras. He is glad that the Apothecary is moving him about carefully so that his reactions seem as if they are in response to the care he is receiving. Petras eyes him with concern and worry, and Arcio is surprised at how well the bastard is able to spew grox-shite and act as if his hands were not the main hands who had gotten him to this state.

“We are far from aid,” Petras says with a frown. “And this Apprentice looks critically injured Kestorn, what is his prognosis?”

“Hemiparesis in his right arm and paralysis from C5 down,” Kestorn reports as he tracks and catalogs the wounds. Frowning a little as he doesn't notice much in the way of defensive wounds.

“Do you think he will regain mobility?” One of the others asks, “we don't have an empty dreadnought frame.”

“Not that it would be used on someone do young,” the tech marine of the group says under his breath, and a yelp from someone else jabbing him with an armored elbow at the glare from Apothecary Kestorn.

Alexried is helping Kestorn with the fellow younger Templar whose head turns, frightened blue eyes locking onto him briefly before his eyes dart around, lingering on the Chaplain Petras.

“Don’t move your head much,” Kestorn orders his patient. “Can you speak?”

“Y's sir.” Arcio says his speech slurEd, his pupils are different widths and Kestorn swears as he does a test for Concussion and it gives him the answers That this poor fucker has a bad one.

His medical device tells him that the younger space marine has a brain bleed as well. Arcio tries to say something to the first born Apprentice next to him,to try and warn him about Petras, but the Chaplain speaks up and the words lock in his throat as he starts up at the Chaplain as he looks down at him with a good mask on his face, “is he going to survive with treatment? Or should we give this poor suffering young soul Final Mercy?”

Kestorn wants to try and stabilize the youngster but his supplies are limited, and while they are safer on Ancient Terra. They still need to be careful on usage of supplies. He takes a deep breath, “he has a brain bleed and we don't have a sterile location to fix him up.”

“We can make a makeshift surgery theater,” One of the others says.

Which gets more of the Crusade moving to clear an area and make a battlefield medical station.

“That could work,” Kestorn says as he continues to do what he can to help stabilize the younger Black Templar.

“Why don't you supervise the medical tent set up,” Petras says, “and I will monitor this younger brother.”

“I'd rather stay closer to him,” Kestorn protests, “until I have to leave him to sterilize, then continue patching him up.”

“Very well, I shall bow to your greater experience brother,” Petras says.

Arcio knows from the tone of voice of the Chaplain that he is frustrated, and hiding it. He got that tone with Cedric’s mentor who was of a warmer opinion towards Primaris Marines. Arcio does not want to be left alone with an irritated Chaplain Petras.

But after the rushed set up was done, the Apothecary had to leave to clean up and the First Born Apprentice was to help with cleaning and scrub up. Petras stared at him, his face changing and his eyes looking black instead of blue. He crouches down and stares at Arcio and a calculating expression appears on his face.

Arcio flinches and tries to evade the hand that reaches out and lightly rests on his shoulder, near his neck and he wheezes a little, knowing the silent threat.

“How lucky,” Petras says mildly, “that Your call for aid was heard by Kestorn of my Crusade. The God Emperor provides.”

“Y's ‘e do's.” Arcio replies hoarsely.

His healing factor is kicking in now that he's gotten Some healing from outside sources. Arcio wonders if Petras is going to snap his neck or kill him. Petras has that Look In his eyes, but it fades and he lightly pats Arcio's shoulder and says, “I pray to the God Emperor that things go well.”

He stands up and moves out of the way as the makeshift body carries him over and with Arcio's neck and back supported they drag him on it and drag him to the makeshift med tent. Kestorn and the others who have some medical training do their best to fix the many issues that he has, but Arcio dies on the table despite their best efforts.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #oc: [Redacted]#oc: Petras

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