#I’ve been doing a lot of other scribbles but i didn’t want to share any proper wips

[avenin7]

a scribble dump from the last few weeks; modern au, botw, ancient au

[shinybearnerd]

"Under The Rain's Look"

Hi! So, this is a request made by the lovely @shuichiakainx. I hope that you like it, my darlings. Enjoy!

Pair: Crowley x GN!reader Words: 2,4k Genre: angst, fluff at the end (our favourite demon is an idiot)

Story: Y/n have feelings for Crowley but they are afraid that he won't reciprocate and therefore won't declare themself. One day, in Aziraphale's bookshop, Y/n overhears the two talking about them as Crowley starts being an asshole...

English is not my first language. I'm sorry if there're any mistakes.

(he's so hot. I can't...)

The atmosphere inside the bookshop was calm and relaxing. A Tchaikovsky’s vinyl was playing, echoing all over the room with Aziraphale’s humming. The angel scribbled something on his desk while Y/n was on the armchair, enjoying both the music and each other’s company. Spending time with Aziraphale was one of their favourite things. Especially when outside, like in that moment, for example, there was a storm. Even in times like that, where they weren’t talking to each other. But if there were a chance to meet a tall and mysterious demon, they wouldn’t mind breaking their quality time… God… They really shouldn’t think about him, or they wouldn’t be able to stop. They shouldn’t think about the way his fabulous red hair flamed against the sunlight. The little smirk on his face that he shows every time he teases them. Or his laugh echoing through the room. And they really shouldn’t think about how their hands accidentally touch. The little winks that he sends them, lowering his glasses so their eyes can meet.

His eyes! So deep and expressive. Him being so sweet and gentle, trying to hide it in every way possible. Yes, they shouldn’t think about this cause other thoughts could occupy their mind… Like, his physic. So strong and tonic. The way he uses to sit with his legs open, making them wish they were between them while- <<My dear?>> The gentle voice of the angel and his delicate touch made Y/n return to planet Earth. <<You’re okay? Do you feel well?>> <<Oh?- Yes, Aziraphale. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.>>

The celestial creature was well aware of their feelings towards their shared friend. But revealing their thoughts would be rather embarrassing. For both. <<Oh, do not worry.>> The angel smiled. <<I was wondering if you wanted a cup of cocoa.>>

Yes! That should keep their mind off things. <<Oh, yes. I’m going to make it some.>> They replied and got up so fast that Aziraphale didn’t see it coming. <<Dear, there’s no need- >> <<Oh, don’t worry, Zira!>> They were already in the kitchen. <<I’ll make it. My treat! I’ll make it extra sweet, just as you like it!>>

In hearing that, the angel could already feel his mouth-watering.

He chuckled slightly, patting his waistcoat. <<Well… If that’s the case, then.>> Y/n smiled as they started to move inside the kitchen with ease. They spent a lot of time in that bookshop that they could make a very detailed drawing of that building with their eyes closed.

The angel walked silently inside the room, looking at them, smiling. Y/n noticed his presence and turned towards him before returning to making the sweet beverage <<What?>>. <<Nothing, my dear.>> <<Zira?>> They knew for granted that something was up. They could feel it. <<Oh, all right…>> he said, getting closer. <<Did you talk with Crowley about- >> <<I’m sorry, but I’m gonna stop you there.>> Crowley was a very delicate topic. Maybe the most delicate of all. <<As I told you before, I’m not going to tell him anything.>> <<But, dear child- >> <<No, Aziraphale. Please, don’t twist my arm in this.>> They shook their head. That familiar knot in their throat was showing up again. <<I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me, but I’ve seen it already... I start to feel something for a person, I decide to tell them ‘cause it seems like they feel the same way, and then… bam! I make a fool of myself.>>

Aziraphale tried to say something, but the little bell inside the shop rang. <<Hold that thought.>> he said, fixing the waistcoat. <<This conversation it’s not over.>> <<Believe me, it is.>> Aziraphale turned towards them one last time, mumbling, and then returned to the bookshop.

<<Hello. I’m afraid we are quite- Oh, it is you, Crowley!>> The angel couldn’t help but smile at his demonic friend. <<You want some cocoa? In the kitchen, there’s- >> <<No, I’m good, angel.>> <<Oh, okay then.>> Something about his friend seemed a bit off. He wasn’t his usual teasing self. Aziraphale watched him as he sat on the sofa next to his desk. If “sitting” was the correct verb to use, considering the way the old snake did so. The angel, tho, was so used to it that he didn’t even seem to notice.

<<So…>> He started, sitting on his armchair. <<Don’t.>> <<I didn’t say anything!>> <<I know what you’re going to say, Aziraphale. I’m fine.>> The celestial being nodded, even if he knew that wasn’t true. In fact, he continued <<Is this about Y/n?>> Crowley had a weird look on his face. Like his face was neutral but had something under it. Like he was wearing a mask. <<Y/n? What do they have to do with this?>> <<I don’t know. You seem to be a little… gloomy when they aren’t around.>> <<“Gloomy”? What are you talking about? I’m always like this.>> Aziraphale decided to not pay mind to that, shaking a hand like he was shooshing it away.

<<So, when are you going to tell them how you feel?>> <<Aziraphale, what on heaven are you talking about?>> Crowley felt suddenly tensed and much irritated by all of that. <<Oh, come on, my dear. I see the way you look at each other! You’re very cute together- >> <<Ok, now you listen to me, angel.>> Crowley got up instantly, towering over his friend with his height. <<I have no feelings whatsoever for Y/n. They’re just a little stupid human, okay?>>

<<Crowley!>> Aziraphale got up immediately, shocked and horrified by the way he was talking about them. <<What are you saying? Stop it! That’s not true.>> <<I don’t know how we both manage to stand them, with all that… human talk. I’ll never have feelings for them! Do you hear me? I’m a… demon.>> The last word was delivered with hurt. The angel was finally able to figure out what was really going on only at that moment. Aziraphale shoulders relaxed. On his face an expression of pity and understanding. <<Oh, Crow- Y/n!>> When Crowley heard the human’s name he turned around quickly. His heart shattered. Did they hear what he said? Both the angel and the demon got white as a ghost when they saw the human standing in front of them. <<Y/n, I- >> The human didn’t give the time to him to explain himself. They didn’t want to see him anymore. He was just like everybody else. Of course he was. They were like a magnet to those kind of people…

<<WHY THE HEAVEN YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THEY WERE HERE?>> <<I WAS GOING TO! You cut me mid-sentence when I asked you about the cocoa! Y/n was in the kitchen preparing it.>> <<Oh, Satan…>> Crowley was hyperventilating. He went up and down the bookshop with a hand on his forehead. Whispering <<It’s over. I fucked all up… I know I would…>>

Aziraphale was shocked and unamused. <<That’s why you didn’t tell them? My God, you’re an idiot!>> Crowley looked at him surprised. <<They love you, you fool!>> <<They- What? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE?>> <<BECAUSE THEY TELL ME NOT TO, YOU MORON!>> <<STOP INSULTING ME!>> <<YOU DESERVE IT!>>

They both panted, overwhelmed by all that screaming and all those raw emotions. Suddenly, a lightning lit up the whole street, followed shortly after by a thunder. <<The storm is getting worse. I-I need to go after them.>> <<…THEN. GO! What are you waiting!>>

The angel saw his friends running out of his bookshop, forgetting his glasses inside, and going on in the Betley, rushing after Y/n. He noticed them only after the car was nowhere to be seen. Aziraphale took those and folded them nicely, mumbling <<Lord, give me strength with those two...>> as he put them on his desk.

The thunderstorm had worsened more and more by the second. Y/n was drenched and cold but they didn’t care. All they had in mind was the way Crowley was talking about them. <<Y/N!>> They recognized that voice. They’ll always recognize them, even in a room full of people… But they didn’t want to do anything to do with him anymore. <<Y/n, please. You’ll get sick! Get in the car.>>

They kept ignoring him, starting to walk faster. The demon steered the steering wheel as he pressed on the accelerator. The Bentley was now on the road in front of Y/n, blocking their path.

The human stopped abruptly. Both tensed and angry.

<<What the hell do you think you’re doing! You can hurt someone!>> They screamed as they watched Crowley approaching. <<I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t- >>

<<“-know you’re here”? Yeah, I figure that out.>> They turned around and started to walk away. Crowley was immediately after Y/n, trying to stop them. <<That’s… true. But it wasn’t what I was going to say!>> <<I think you said enough, Crowley. Don’t you?>>

Crowley tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out of it. He was very aware that Y/n was right. That he was behaving like a child. But he couldn’t let them go like that, with them thinking that they weren’t enough. He needed to come clean. For them.

He continued to call their name, trying to grab their arm to stop them. Nothing, however, seemed to work.

<<Let me go!>> <<Please. You have to listen to me…>> <<Why should I?>> They jerked their arm, freeing themselves from his hold. They look at each other's eyes for the first time that day. Y/n was surprised. They noticed that the demon’s eyes weren’t covered. Did he get out of the bookshop without them? He had some for backup inside the Bentley, they thought immediately after. So it was all for the show. They also noticed, tho, that his eyes were red with a look full of sadness and fear. Like… like he was feeling the same way as them.

With a shove, they got him away from them. Crowley was surprised and hurt by that. But he knew he deserved it. <<Why would you say that? What I’ve ever done to you to make you say those things? Uh?>> Another shove. <<Y/n, I…>> <<You made me feel horrible!>> Another one. <<Wortless!>>

Another… <<I thought you were different! But you’re just like everybody else!>>

…and another… <<Why should I listen to you?>> and another followed. Pushing the demon away from them as they started to feel tears in their eyes. <<Y/n, please… Stop…>> He didn’t even have the energy to fight anymore. Seeing how he was able to wreck them… Since he understood that he felt something for Y/n, he decided that nothing could happen between them or he would hurt them. But now, seeing them like this, because of him, made him realize that that was worse. <<Why?>> <<I-I love you…!>> Y/n stopped. Gazing up at him, as they take a step back. <<What?>> <<You heard me…>> He blushed a little, looking away ‘cause he was flustered. <<Say it. Again.>> Crowley huffed. <<I… I love you.>> He looked at them. <<I love you.>> Y/n didn’t know how to feel… <<I think I always have…>> …it was like in one of their dreams… Minus the angsty part of course. <<I didn’t tell you anything before because… I’m a demon, and you’re far too nice to want something to do with me in that way.>> With that sentence, their heart shattered. <<Crowley…>> <<Y/n, I never even for a second thought that.>> He walked closer to them. <<Believe me… I was just being an idiot…>> <<But why saying those things? You could have just said “No” to Aziraphale.>>

Crowley groaned softly, in pain. <<Every time I look into your eyes, I see them…>>

<<"You see them"? What are you talking about?- Have you gone mad?>>

<<The stars, the galaxies that I created! I-I see them every time I look at you… I made the stars more than six thousand years ago. The more I created them, the more beautiful they were. Creations worthy of God Herself! They always told me it was to enrich the sky, like a giant wallpaper for your people. …But then you-you came along and…>> They could see the change in his posture and his gestures. From huffing and mumbling something, trying to find the words and an escape. To seeing his expression softening, his eyes getting teary.

<<I realised that I created those galaxies. Those nebulas. To celebrate your beautiful eyes. Those fucking beautiful eyes… Every time I see you looking at the sky. I see you smile, saying how beautiful the stars are… I feel something in here>> He touched his chest. <<a kind of pride because you do nothing but admire my creations. But also jealousy ‘cause I think that all I ever did was create an enormous looking glass in which you can mirror yourself. And nothing else… &lt;<And-And if before I cursed Her because She gave me those eyes so that I couldn’t see them again… I thank her ‘cause She gave me… you.>> Y/n didn’t know what to say. Crowley looks around, growling, frustrated by all these emotions. <<I feel a nebula creating stars in here! That explodes and makes me want to see and hear you and only you. That’s what I feel! <<I can not live without you! I can't function properly. I want to be with you! I want to kiss you. I want to hear you whisper my name while I kiss your neck. While we make love… And I wish it would never end. I want all these things! But I won't tell you because I know you’ll never feel the same way. So I stay quiet. And-And I do the asshole ‘cause is the only way to protect myself…>>

<<…holy shit!>> Is the only thing that came up in your mind. And it seemed to eased up the tension a bit. You even chuckled. <<God. You're such an idiot!>> Without giving him the time to reply, you took his face, kissing him. Crowley was startled but he then took their hips, bringing them closer. Deepening the kiss. They separated when they heard a thunder. They both were breathless, looking first in the sky and then at each other and starting to laugh before kissing again. <<You know, I have to say that you were right about the “kissing under the rain” thingy.>> The demon chuckled. <<There isn’t the canopy, tho.>> <<No, I guess not.>> Huffed amused. Y/n put their arm around Crowley’s neck, while he caressed their hips, kissing them again.

[giggly-toybox]

now that you're writing for One Piece, if you don't mind, u could share some general tickling thoughts/headcanons on the series? (hcs of characters, scenarios between them etc) if this is too broad u can feel free to ignore, thanks!

HI OKAY SO!!!! I was literally so excited to make this bc this show has absolutely taken over my brain AAAAA

But here we go! For now, we’ll only be doing MY personal favorite characters! If you want a character that isn’t on here, let me know when requests open up again!

Also note: I am in the middle of the Marineford arc (and might have cried a little bit) meaning I am nowhere near up to date with some of the newer stuff!

Basil Hawkins:

EASILY my favorite character. Me and my mutual have been rambling about him for days. So far he’s only had like eight minutes of screen time so don’t know why I like him so much, I just do. My silly babygirl. My borblo Right off the bat, he’s feather ticklish

Like, really. Feathers affect him more than actual fingers

I think he has a very gentle and soft laugh most of the time, but it can get loud if you hit a bad spot

I think his worst spots are his belly, neck, and chin

If you use a feather on any of those spots he will die

EXTREMELY squirmy. He will buck, kick, shove, squirm, whatever he has to do to get away

He’s a really gentle ler most of the time

He’ll just hold you close with an arm while he mindlessly traces his finger on your belly, reading his cards like nothings happening

If you want to get away he’ll let you

But if you tickle him first, that gentleness is thrown out the window and he immediately targets your death spots, scribbling his gloved fingers all over your squirming figure

He doesn’t do it for long tho, and he’s nice enough to get you some water afterwards :)

Perona:

MY GIRLLLL! I love her so so much she’s easily my favorite female character! I just love her style sm, I need her outfit! I love her little ghosts and her aesthetic as a whole, she’s just so pretty!

Persona just oozes sister vibes, both big and little. So I would say she’s an even 50/50 switch

She’s probably ticklish all over, but I would say her worst spot is her belly, specifically her belly button

She doesn’t shut up when being tickled. She’ll scream, beg, plead, complain, or try to distract you

Either that or she’ll send her ghosts to make you depressed

She would be such a brat after being tickled tbh 😭

She would pout and scold you before eventually moving on and floating away

She only tickles things she deems cute, so if you’re not cute in her book, you’re safe

But once she has you in her sights, she’ll playfully tackle you and absolutely wreck you

She likes your cute laugher :3

Crocodile:

My boy Crocodile! Gosh he’s just so cool. I didn’t like him too much in the Alabasta arc, but he got a lot better in Impel Down and Marineford! I just really love the way he looks, and his sand powers :3

Yeah…In all honesty I don’t think this guys really ticklish at all

As much as it pains me to admit

The only spot that could really make him laugh is his neck

Even then all you would get are a few chuckles

He’s not sensitive enough to wreck sorry 😔

He doesn’t really participate in tickling either

He thinks it’s childish

Nico Robin:

The best Strawhat. I do not take criticism. She is my girl and I love her so much. Her “I want to live” made my heart ache! And she easily has my favorite devil fruit

We love a canon ler

Gosh her ability is so well for tickling as we’ve seen in the show twice!

Like she can summon two arms to hold yours and then two to tickle you silly

She’s a nice ler most of the time tho, she won’t torture you for too long

As a lee I think she’s one of those people that are ticklish on most of their body, but not too ticklish

Like no matter where you tickle her, tummy, neck, feet, she’ll giggle but that’s about it

As I’ve said before I think her worst spot are her sides so that’s where you’ll get the most reaction

She’s a bit louder but other than that there’s not really a lot of difference

She had a lovely laugh though <3

Jewelry Bonney:

Another supernova! I really like Bonney, I find her devil fruit really interesting! I can’t wait to see more of her Ticklish thighs. I don’t take criticism she’s definitely weak there

She also has pretty sensitive armpits, but her thighs are a bit worse

Her laugher is kinda rough, and she definitely snorts

If you’re really close to her, she doesn’t mind being ticked by you

But if not you’re getting kicked in the face

Since she’s a big foodie, I see her favorite tickling methods to be things like nibbling or raspberries

I would say licking too but I’m super uncomfortable with licking tickles

X Drake:

X Drake! I love him so much, my dinosaur boy. He easily has the best animal devil fruit so far (I forget what the type is called)

While I do think he’s ticklish, I think he has a lot of tolerance for those kind of things

I mean he used to be a rear admiral he definitely has some endurance

He doesn’t actually squirm around that much. He’ll flinch and shove a bit, maybe kick his legs a few times, but for the most part he just takes it

But he does have one weakness: raspberries

If you blow one right on his belly, like on the middle of the bottom of the huge X on his torso, he’ll laugh louder then the sea

He’s definitely more of a ler. I see him tickling people in his dinosaur form

Like he’s carrying them like a doll and tickling them all over

Or holding them by the ankles and wrecking their soles

Human or dinosaur form, if he’s tickling you you’re not escaping until he lets you go

[danielfuckingricciardo]

16 + Charles and 26 + Pierre please ❤️

Hi!

Sorry this took so long, I’ve been in such a writing slump lately and this has sat unfinished in my drafts for weeks! But I finally did it and I hope you like it!

The Charles one is also in progress, I’ll make sure to tag you in that one when I post it :)

Song 26 - Creep//Radiohead

Pairing - Pierre Gasly x Reader

Word Count - 3.8k

Content Warnings - swearing, discussion of mental health issues

When you were here before Couldn't look you in the eye You're just like an angel Your skin makes me cry You float like a feather In a beautiful world I wish I was special You're so fuckin' special

Your therapist called it impostor syndrome. She mentioned it a lot during your weekly online meetings, and you usually laughed it off with some cringy internet joke about being ‘sus’ and tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. You’d receive a concerned glance, as you always did when you apparently ‘used humour as a coping mechanism’, but she would eventually move on to another topic, usually something about taking care of yourself physically as well as mentally.

Taking care of yourself physically was never a problem. You had nutritionists and personal trainers, physiotherapists and masseuses available whenever and wherever. The team made sure of that. To Alpha Tauri F1 team, your physical health was their top priority. Your mental health? Not so much. It was easy to lie to them and say that everything was fine, so that’s exactly what you did. You didn’t want to risk losing your seat because you told the truth about how you actually felt inside, so instead you saved that for the therapist you hired for yourself, and every Wednesday at 2pm you unloaded a week’s worth of thoughts and feelings you couldn’t share with anyone else.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, (y/n), we all feel like we don’t belong to some degree. And the bigger you make it in this world, the stronger those feelings will be.” She says, and you scoff.

“I’m not sure about that. The rest of the guys on the grid all seem so confident in themselves, and it’s definitely not a facade. They believe that they are the best of the best. I wish I could feel the same.” You say, and your therapist gives you a small smile before scribbling something in her notepad.

“You can’t know that for sure. Everyone experiences self doubt at some point in their lives, but they beat it, they get through it. Look at you, (y/n), against all odds you made it to where you are now, and you can’t tell me that the powers that be would have you there if they didn’t believe in you. You just need to learn how to believe in yourself as much as they do, and as much as your fans do.” She says, and you nod.

You know she’s right, but you wish that she wasn’t. You wish that your feelings would be vindicated so that you didn’t feel like such much of an idiot for having them.

“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?” She asks, and you open your mouth to ask a question, but are immediately interrupted as your phone begins to ring.

You look over at the screen and check the name - Pierre. What the fuck does he want? He never calls you, hell, he hardly ever talks to you unless he’s obligated to. This was definitely weird, something was definitely wrong.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Work stuff.” You say, and your therapist nods.

“Okay, let’s end the session early this week. Please do text me if you have any concerns you’d like to discuss.” She says, before ending the call and sending your computer screen back to her website.

You take a deep breath in and out before pressing the green icon on your phone screen.

“Hi?” You say, to no reply.

“Hello?” You repeat, and you receive no reply once again.

After a few moments of nothing but shuffling and breathing on the end of the line, you hear a quiet voice in the distance and strain your ears to hear. It’s clear Pierre didn’t mean to call you, it was probably a butt dial or some other similar fuck up, but you couldn’t help but want to listen in to whatever conversation he was having.

It was probably wrong, a total invasion of privacy, but your curiosity got the better of you, and you turn your phone’s volume to maximum.

“The fact of the matter is that Pierre feels as though he isn’t getting anywhere with Alpha Tauri, and therefore, as a team, we have made the decision to make the move to Alpine for the 2023 season.” You hear a familiar voice you cannot place say on the other end of the phone.

You let out a gasp and immediately clap your hand over your mouth, hoping that your shock had not be heard in the silence that had descended across the room.

Pierre was… leaving? After all this time? It was no secret that the two of you had never really bonded following your ascension to Alpha Tauri’s second seat, but you depended on him a great deal. He was great with the media, the fans, and the other drivers, and you felt comfortable following him around the paddock like a lost puppy, laughing and smiling along with everything he said and did.

You probably annoyed the hell out of him, and that was probably part of the reason he was eager to get away, to find a team mate he could actually have some meaningful banter with. Sure, you knew that he hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye with Esteban, but they had grown up together, and had an awful lot in common with one another. It seemed like a solid ground for a relationship, one that would definitely be more popular with the fans than your own.

You hear shuffling through the phone handset, and a whispered ‘fuck’ before the call is ended and the line goes dead.

“Fuck.” You echo, and you throw your phone down on your couch and pull your legs up to your chest, burying your head in your knees as you let out a single tear.

You didn’t think that you were crying for the loss of Pierre, that didn’t make sense, after all, the two of you hardly spoke outside of work. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine being without him? You hadn’t realised until now just how much you had relied on him, and how much he had helped you over the years. He was the only friend you really had, though he probably regarded you as an acquaintance at best. All of your other friends had been left behind the day you moved your life to Faenza to be closer to the team, and you spent so much time travelling here, there and everywhere, that you hadn’t really had the chance to make any closer to your new home.

You hated to say it, but Pierre was your rock, and you had grown to care for him deeply, and now, losing him, what would it mean? You hoped they would call up some other, more experienced driver, like Daniel perhaps, to take the first seat. He could more than make up for your lack of confidence with his outgoing, loveable persona. But the alternative? The alternative scared you. If they were to call on some rookie to take his place, suddenly you would be the experienced one, the one to teach the newbie what to do and what to say. You barely knew yourself just how to play the game, you wouldn’t exactly make the best mentor.

You suddenly become aware of your breathing becoming faster, and more erratic, as your mind races, and employ one of the techniques your therapist had taught you to slowly regulate and steady yourself. God you regretted ending your session early, you could really do with someone to talk to right now.

Shakily, you reach for your phone and begin to draft out a text to your therapist. She had said to text if you had any concerns, and this was a real fucking big one.

Your phone begins to vibrate in your hands, and it almost slips out of your unsteady grasp as you read the contact name at the top of the screen - Pierre.

Fuck.

You take a shaky deep breath in and count in your mind, 1,2,3,4. You squeeze your eyes shut and squeeze your lips together tightly, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. Finally, you exhale, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8, and you accept the call.

“Hey! Did I call you just now?” Pierre asks, and you hesitate.

“Umm…” You say, unsure whether to lie, or to tell the truth.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, and you chuckle awkwardly.

“You still live at the same place? I’m coming over, I think we need to talk, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah, same place.” You say, and he hangs up.

You stare at your phone for a moment, your mind racing as you wonder exactly what Pierre wants to say to you. Was he angry at you for eavesdropping? You knew you should have hung up, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were always taught that knowledge is power, and you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to discover something new, even if it came from a blatant disregard for your team mate’s privacy. Hell, you’d be angry too if someone eavesdropped on a private conversation of yours, it’s only natural, so you wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to come over to yell at you.

Why else would he be coming to visit? It’s not like he owes you an explanation, or an apology. You meant nothing to him, you were just some overgrown rookie hanging off of his coat-tails, nothing but a burden.

Lucky for you, you weren’t left waiting long, as your apartment was only a few blocks away from Alpha Tauri’s headquarters, and you soon heard a rhythmic knock on your front door.

You take a second to breathe once again; in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, out for eight seconds, before getting up to answer the door.

“Hi.” You say quietly, opening the door for Pierre to enter, your eyes not leaving the ground for a second.

Pierre follows you inside and takes a seat on the chair opposite the sofa where your things were spread out; a blanket, your phone, your laptop, a hoodie, and your favourite stuffed animal.

“Before you yell at me, let me bring my tissues. I always cry when I get yelled at, it’s not a guilt trip thing, so don’t feel bad, it’s just this thing I do, I can’t control it, I…” You say, walking over to your side table where you kept your tissues ready for a particularly sad movie or dog video.

“Who says I’m going to yell at you?” Pierre interrupts, and you turn to look him in the eyes for the first time.

“You’re not?” You ask, blinking away the tears that already threatened to breach your waterlines.

“No, why would I… That’s not why I’m here, I just wanted to make sure you were okay after hearing all of that.” He says, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Me? Okay? You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.” You say, throwing yourself down on the sofa and closing your laptop, which still happened to be open on your therapist’s website, which Pierre had, no doubt, already seen.

“Oh, thank you! I expected a little more from my long time team mate after finding out I was leaving! Maybe not tears, but, something?” Pierre says with a chuckle, and you shake your head.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely devastated that you’re leaving, and I’m going to be completely tragic and sad next year without you because I’m a total loser with no fans, but I’m happy for you, really.” You say, and Pierre gives you a warm smile.

“You’re not a total loser, (y/n).” Pierre says, and you give him a small smile.

“But you do think I have no fans?” You chuckle, letting out a small sniffle.

“You know I don’t think that. I’ve seen it myself, how many fans you have out there.” Pierre says, and you scoff.

“They’re all your fans, Pierre, and they’ll be leaving with you. We all know they only tolerate me because of you.” You say, and Pierre shakes his head.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true! I mean, I have practically no personality when it comes to media stuff, I freeze at the slightest interaction with the media, I post like twice a month on Instagram because my life is just that boring, and, not to mention, I spend my free time talking to my therapist in the company of my fucking stuffed animals.” You rant, and you feel tears running down your cheeks as you speak.

“You really don’t see it, do you? How much they like you because of those things. You’re relatable, (y/n), you’re normal. You’re here to race, not to be a celebrity. You’re not an attention whore posting shirtless selfies for likes and saying stupid shit to keep your name in people’s mouths. And people like that.” Pierre says, and you scoff.

“Yeah, as if.” You sniff.

“If you don’t believe me, then just look online.”

“My therapist said googling myself was a bad idea. Besides, I don’t just wanna be normal and boring. I want people to know me, but I just get so… scared, I guess? Scared they won’t actually like me the way they like you.”

“Well, the little of you that I know, I like.” He says with a smile, and you feel your cheeks heat up. This was the first time you’d heard Pierre compliment you before, and you couldn’t deny the fuzzy feeling it gave you.

“I just wish I was more like you. You’re so popular, with the fans, the media, the other drivers. I see how everyone crowds around you, you were made to be the centre of attention and you’re so fucking good at being in the middle of everything. You have this winning personality, everyone wants to either be you, or fuck you. Or both. If I could just have one tenth of that charisma, that personality, that vibe, then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to do this thing properly. But I don’t. I’m just (y/n). A loser.” You say, and Pierre shakes his head again.

“But you don’t need to be me, (y/n). You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not for people to like you. The other guys like you just fine, they just wish you would talk to them more so that they can get to know you. Fuck, (y/n), I don’t think I even know you properly yet. I’d like to, and so would Charles, and Lewis, and Lando. You know, they ask me about you, a lot. I think they would talk to you more, but they don’t want to scare you.” Pierre says, and you chuckle.

“Ha, they know me well enough to know I’m terrified of social interaction, so there’s a start.” You say.

“You know that me leaving doesn’t mean I’m abandoning you, right? I’ll still be there for you.” Pierre says, and you look up at him, sniffing away your tears.

“Really?” You say, and Pierre smiles.

“Hey, I wouldn’t do it for my other team mates, but I guess you’re special.” He says with a chuckle.

“Well, that genuinely means a lot, really. Thank you.” You say, looking up at Pierre to briefly glance into his eyes.

He smiles at you, not breaking eye contact for a moment, and you feel the warmth of a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I have to go, I have so much shit to do today, but don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Pierre says, standing from your chair and heading for the door of the apartment.

“I won’t.” You respond, and he winks at you before disappearing behind the door, closing it gently with a click.

Once you were sure he was out of earshot, you grab your phone again and immediately dial your therapist.

Ring. Ring. Ring. The call connects.

“Hey, um, I know this isn’t strictly therapy stuff but I need some advice.” You say, and she chuckles down the phone.

“I’ll help as much as I can.” She responds.

“So, I think I have a crush on my team mate, well, and don’t tell anyone this, he’s technically gonna be my former team mate. But yeah, I need help.” You say, and she laughs again.

“Oh, well that’s interesting. Let’s see how I can help then, yeah?” She says, and you exhale a shaky breath.

———

One Year Later…

You look out at the sea of fans, cheering and screaming for you and your team mate as you walk out onto the stage. You give them a wave, a smile, and a wink, and notice just how many of them are wearing your number on their shirts and caps. It gives you a fuzzy feeling on the inside, knowing that Pierre was right, losing him as your team mate wouldn’t mean you’d lose their support.

If anything, losing Pierre helped you. You did take his advice, and with the help of your trusty therapist, who was no longer your therapist at all but your closest friend, you had managed to come out of your shell more and show the world your true personality. And it felt good.

You take your seat beside Nyck on the stage, and turn your attention to the interviewer, who was waiting for the fans to stop their cheering to ask you the first question.

“Okay, okay, any more cheering and we’re gonna run out of time! Let’s get to questions, hm?” The interviewer asks, and you smile.

“Actually, I don’t mind the cheering! Keep going guys, let me hear you!” You say, your voice dripping with enthusiasm and excitement as the crowd goes wild once again.

“First question then, who are you and what have you done with (y/n)? You were so quiet and reserved these past few seasons, but now you seem to have really grown in confidence, and I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we love it!” She says, and you chuckle.

“Well, it’s true I struggled a lot during my first few seasons. I honestly didn’t feel all too confident in myself and my abilities, and that really made it hard for me to be so outgoing. But, things have changed, and I owe it all to my former team mate Pierre. He’s really helped me to grow as a driver and as a person, and given me confidence that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to have. Even now we’re not team mates, I’m still his biggest fan and just so grateful for his support. So yeah, I really really owe it to him.” You say, and the audience cheers and whoops at your mention of Pierre.

Since Pierre’s move to Alpine, the two of you hadn’t been able to spend as much time together at work, but that didn’t stop you from spending time together at all. You had both made an agreement with one another to go out together at least once a month, and you had even taken a trip together during the winter break at the end of the previous season. Naturally, this meant that speculation was wild with fans over the nature of your relationship, with some insisting that you just had to be a couple.

But the truth was, you weren’t really sure what your relationship with Pierre even was. Sure, a few drunk kisses had been exchanged, and there were hugs aplenty, but as far as Pierre was concerned, you were just friends, even if you did desire something more.

“You mentioned Pierre there, and I’m sure everyone in the audience has seen the photos of your little dates and that ski trip you took back in December, so, are you really just friends?” The interviewer asks, and you blush.

“Yes, yes, we are just friends, really.” You chuckle.

“But if he asked you out, what would you say?” She asks, and you shake your head, a smile playing on your lips.

“Put it this way, I wouldn’t say no.” You laugh, and the audience erupts into loud cheers at your response.

Once the crowd’s shouts and whoops had quietened, the interviewer directs her attention to Nyck and you sit and listen intently until you are ushered backstage with a smile and a wave.

“You wouldn’t say no, huh?” You hear a familiar voice say, and your cheeks immediately heat up.

“I mean, I’d be a fool to say no right?” You say, trying to play it cool despite the anxiety rising within you.

“Then I’m taking you out Wednesday. Properly. Wear that black dress, you look sexy in it.” Pierre says, and you can’t help but stare at him, your eyes wide and your mouth dropping open in shock.

You try to search your brain for a response, but it seemed to have become completely blank the moment Pierre called you sexy. You can’t quite believe he actually said it, and for a moment you wonder if you were hallucinating, or dreaming, and pinch yourself on your arm. It stings, like a bitch, and you realise you most certainly weren’t dreaming. It was real.

“Okay. See you in practise tomorrow, yeah?” You finally manage to say, and Pierre smirks at you.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” He says, winking at you before joining Esteban who was waiting in the wings ready to step out on stage.

The pair step on stage to roars and cheers from the fans, and you chuckle in disbelief, taking one more glance out to the sea of hats and shirts that bore your number. You were finally able to be you, unapologetically so, and the fans loved it, Pierre loved it too, but most importantly, you loved it.

[artofapeach]

First | Previous | Next

We got two paired up! Six more to go!! 🥹👍🏽

That said uhhhhh I didn’t think I’d get this far into this comic, so quick update moving forward.

I DO want to keep this nightly update I’ve got going on (I think it’s a big reason why I’ve kept up with it), but I know it’ll eventually bite me in the ass, so in the future, I mayyyy move to a more task-based schedule, where I share one piece of fun art, then share one page of this, one fun art, one page, so on and so forth, however much time it may take in between. Task based schedules just work really well for me, so don’t be shocked if I switch to that!

Right now though, the hyperfixation is STRONG, so Imma keep going nightly for now until I pass out 👍🏽

Secondly, I do have a very loose outline of how I want the whole story to go, but most of it is likely gonna change moving forward. This fancomic is more me playing dolls with the characters than me actually trying to write a coherent story, so I imagine there’s going to be plot holes, weird pacing, and a LOT of inaccuracies (the wiki is a godsend, but it does not have everything 😔). I hope it’s still a fun read in any case! I also want to try to focus on what’s NEW with this comic (like, what I as a fan have changed) rather than actually retelling Termina. A lot of key moments in the game are going to be majorly skipped over UNLESS they have an impact on character and/or relationships (this is why I started with Abella in the tunnels instead of the dream). This also may make the pacing a touch janky, but ya know, it’s all for fun, we’re just havin fun here~

Thirdly, as you have probably noticed, we don’t have an 8 person party yet. They’re probably not going to all come together until day 2. Right now, they’re making separate alliances, but the main 8 WILL get together eventually! Not just that, we’ll also be touching heavily on the NPCs! It’s an everyone lives AU genuinely because I want to play with *everyone*. So while the main 8 will be the focus, each of the 14 will have their chance to shine :3c

Sorry for the ramble! I’m just really excited that I got this far; I legit thought I’d drop this after 3 pages 😭 and I’m also so happy so many others have been reading and liking this, scribbles and all! Hope we can keep playing in this lil hostile dollhouse until it’s completion <3

[maddipoof]

Room 217

Steve and his girlfriend just having a lovely moment in a hotel. Lots of banter, lots of teasing, every old woman wants Steve to propose, like yesterday, and John Mellencamp. CWs: No y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns and there are no descriptions besides wet hair. Old ladies being weird, mentions of skiing and they have a dog. Some references to the shining as well, also I've never been to colorado so if i get the 2 things I said about it wrong you have my endless apologies. If I missed anything, let me know and I'll add it here, also if you're any kind if enby and you would rather this with any other pronouns, as a fellow gender blender demifemme feels right atm, I'm more than happy to oblige and repost with whatever you'd prefer.

March, 1992

Steve thought he’d pay a visit to the nice ladies in the mailroom that afternoon after work, he’d been having a pretty good day so far, why not share the joy? “Hello, ladies. How’s today been treatin’ you two?” he asked them over the counter.

“Not too busy, thank you for asking. Always so charming isn’t he?” Mrs. Smith asked Mrs. Lowe, both their white hairs deflating by now from the curled, permed coifs they shaped and gelled and sprayed every morning. 

“Oh yes, oh, and Steve, we saw your girl this morning. Looking lovely as ever.”

“Mhm, we saw her, but no ring.” Mrs. Smith reminded him again, twisting her own 2 carat diamond around her finger. Just 2 weeks ago she told him the whole story about it, how Mr. Smith scrimped and saved for ages to afford it, including selling his favorite tractor, to which they both side eyed his BMW through the window. 

“Oh, Deirdre, didn’t you see her with a ring catalog this morning?” Mrs. Lowe asked her, both of them poorly hiding their schemes. 

“I do think I did. I’d take notice of these things if I were you, Steve. How long have you been together again?”

“I’ve known her for 9 years, we’ve been together for 5, Mrs. Smith.” He wasn’t hurt by them asking again, in fact he expected it, as much as his tone expressed it. “And yes, I do notice, which is why I’ve been coming home so late these last few days, I need a bit more than 30 hours a week to afford this place and a ring.”

He saw the sneaky smiles on their faces as they wheeled around in their office chairs to get his mail. A few deliveries and a blush colored envelope with a floral postage stamp in the corner, a wax seal on the front. “Ooh, a wedding invitation?” Mrs. Lowe teased.

Steve nodded as he read the return address, “Looks like it’s from her cousin.” He checked his wrist watch and realized his girlfriend must have been expecting him, “I better be going, don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Oh, you two going out?”

“No, staying in tonight, making risotto.”

Mrs. Smith gasped, “My recipe?”

“I think so.”

“Oh you watch out for that one, Steve, I used that recipe once and 9 months later I had Joey and Hannah,” Mrs. Lowe added.

Steve huffed a laugh. “You are bad.”

“Watch it Harrington.” “It’s very easy for mail to get lost down here.” “Packages stolen,” they joked back before waving him upstairs and calling for him to send their hellos to his girl. 

“Hey, gorgeous, where you at?” He finally got to the fifth floor and held the door open with his foot while he took the keys out of the knob. “We got a fuck ton of mail.”

But he didn’t see any sign of her or their dog, Leo, a big black lab, anywhere. “Babe?” He walked further into the kitchen of their cramped apartment. Leo’s leash was gone too, but there was a scratchy note left on the counter, probably left in a rush accounting for the scribbly handwriting. 

Hello my love, I hope you had a wonderful day. I was going to wait for you but Leo got antsy so I’m taking him for a walk. We’ll be back by 6:30 I promise —xoxo 

It was already 6:25, and by the time he was worried enough to grab his sweatshirt and go out to look for her, there was already an incessant scratching at the door and a giggle of ‘I’m trying, I’m trying. Relax buddy, I gotta get my keys.’ 

It clearly sounded like a struggle, Steve assumed her keys must have been deeper in her pocket than she remembered. He could have waited and let her unlock the door herself, but the excitement to see her was too much to bear. Also because he didn’t want any complaints from the landlord about scratched paint on the door. 

He heard her surprised little gasp when the handle turned from the other side, ‘Is Stevie home?’ He heard Leo make some sound like E.T. would have made in response, as well as the slamming of his tail on her leg.

“It’s 6:30.”

“What? No ‘hello’? No ‘how are you my beautiful, gorgeous, angel of a darling? Every hour in your absence has been agony.’ And here I was, thinking you were such a romantic.” She hung the leash up while Leo was shoving himself against Steve’s leg to get more attention and pets. She was about to walk out of the teeny tiny foyer after taking her shoes off but Steve caught her by the arm before she got the chance. Leo got out of the way while he pulled her shoulder into his chest, both hands on the other one furthest from him. 

“Hello,” and she expected his usual schtick of saying everything she said back to her, a little teasing but she could always hear the truth underneath. “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

“Steve,” she groaned and pushed him off of her and into the coats, “You’re supposed to love me, not kill me. I don’t even have six fingers on my right hand.” She got louder as she walked further away, “And besides, you’re much more of a Westley anyway.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“How so? Wait, farm boy Westley or Pirate Westley?”

“Oh, Pirate Westley, definitely.”

He silently shooed her out of the kitchen and fed Leo before washing his hands and starting on their own dinner while she explained.

“I don’t know, you just love too much to be an Inigo, too smart to be him, also you know I love you but you have like zero loyalty to your father and you shouldn’t anyway, so definitely a Westley.”

“Like I’d carry you through the fire swamp and everything?”

“And everything.” Leo laid at her feet while she went through the mail on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions that were probably older than her since it was a hand-me-down from Hopper when he moved in with Joyce at the same time they moved into their apartment. A sparkling seal caught her eye. “A wedding invitation?”

“I was waiting for you to open it, I think it’s from your cousin.”

“Hm. Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Deanna Sampson cordially invite you to a renewal of their vows, the 12th of December, 1992, Colorado Springs, Colorado. It’s at a hotel, like the Shining.”

“Oh that cousin?” The renewal of vows is what caught his attention. “Must be a small venue then.”

“Not funny, Steven,” she didn’t take her eyes off her lap where she flipped through the details of the invitation but the slight quirk of her lip that Steve was always able to clock betrayed her amusement. A wedding with ample opportunity for skiing, her cousin’s husband, and now by extension her cousin, are kind of rich, at least his family is, so they're renting the biggest, nicest, fanciest lodge for the day and having the wedding and reception there. “I’d totally have a small wedding first with just the people I want there then a bigger one for all the people that are mad they didn’t make the cut.”

“Who’d be at this wedding? The small one.”

“Dustin, Eddie, Robin, the kids, Joyce and Hopper, and maybe my parents, I haven't decided.”

He knew he was pushing his luck asking this, but the ladies of the mail room planted a strong idea in his head and he just couldn’t let it go. “I’m not there?” but he stayed facing the near boiling pot.

“I thought you were a given,” She said so casually. Only looking at him when the clatter of the spoon falling on the floor pulled her attention his way. They’d discussed it before, in passing mostly. Saying a marriage and a family is something they both want, but he’d never heard her say it like that. Like marrying him is the only option she’d ever choose. Like he’s always going to be the obvious choice. “So we’re going?”

“Hm?”

“To the wedding?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Deanna’s the best.”

December, 1992

They arrived two days before the wedding, Steve wanted to get more use out of his skis. She liked them because the bottoms were bright pink and she could find him anywhere. Checking in was a bear though. The mailroom part 2 for him since y/n was at a payphone to check in with Dustin about Leo.

“How can I help you, sir?” The woman who looked to be around Joyce’s age asked.

“Uh, I’d like to check in, please. Should be under Harrington.”

She scrolled through the system to find it, “Oh yes, you’re here for the wedding? Bride or groom?”

“Bride, she’s cousins with my-”

“You’re wife? I’ll get you an extra key then, one for both of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay, room 217.”

“Thank you.”

***

“God, I’m exhausted.” Y/n threw herself down on the bed, wet hair and all. Everything about this room was so much bigger than their apartment. The bed, the bathtub; the kitchen was smaller though, but there was a much bigger space as a sort of living room. The fake fire was going and the tv above it was stuck on one of those MTV channels, the ones that only play music with slideshows of various album covers, because they couldn’t figure out the remote. She called the lobby about it and found Steve must have made quite an impression in the few days they’ve been there. “Hi, we’re in room 217, our remote kind of broke and it’s stuck on one channel.” “217, hmm… Oh you must be Steve’s wife, he’s quite the charmer down here.” “He usually is. Um, is there anyone who can help us with this?” “Unfortunately not at the moment, but we can send someone up first thing in the morning, just give us a ring and we’ll send maintenance right up there.” “Will do, thank you.” “Mhm, have a lovely night Mrs. Harrington.” “You as well.”

Steve came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam surrounding him and a fluffy, white towel around his hips. “Steve?”

“Hm?” But his main focus was on digging through his drawers for pajamas.

“Have you been telling everyone in the lobby I’m your wife?”

He quickly straightened with his sweatpants clutched tight to his chest. “No-uh…no. They just assumed and, y’know like, who’d pass up a chance to have such a total knockout babe for a wife, right? So I just-didn’t correct them.”

“Mhm,” the look in her eyes feigned skepticism, but she really didn’t mind, she thought it was cute. “Can’t flirt your way out of this one, Harrington.”

“No flirting, just truthing.” He knew even that wouldn’t save him from his fate, her thinking he’s such a dork and then most likely going home to tell Robin all about it. He needed to think fast before she rolled over on the bed and picked up the phone to dial Robin’s number, he thought he could see her fingers already twitching in its direction. The song changed and while the intro played and he rushed to get dressed, inspiration struck. He held his hand out for her hoping she’d get the hint. 

“What?”

“Come dance with me.”

“This is hardly a danceable song,” she swung her legs over the side. 

“It’s John Mellencamp, of course it’s danceable.” Steve pulled her up by the hand even though she was already going to walk over. 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sh, sh, sh, let me listen.” He held their joined hands in the air, her left in his right, and his other was on her waist, swaying side to side and rotating around in a circle.

“You dance like such a dad,” she half whispered, half giggled.

“I’m a great dancer.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Could you listen to the song please, they’re like us,” and he started mouthing the words out with his breath.

A little ditty 'bout Jack and Diane; Two American kids growing up in the heart land

“Steve, we’re from Indiana.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s not the heartland.”

“I’m pretty sure the heartland is all of the midwest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jack, he's gonna be a football star; Diane's debutante, backseat of Jacky's car

“You played basketball and swam, those are like the furthest things from football.”

“You’re really draining all the fun out of this,” but she could feel the rumbles of his laugh with her ear pressed to his sternum. 

“And I’m not a debutante and we’ve never done anything in the back of your car.”

“The point that you’re purposely missing is that they’re in love.”

“I know they’re in love, but I’m in love-er with you.”

“Is that the right way to say that? Not ‘more in love?’”

“Well now look who’s being willingly obtuse.”

“I’m not obtuse, you’re obtuse.”

“I’m not obtuse, I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too.” He rested his head on top of hers, his eyes stuck on her bare fingers. “But those things can coexist.”

“Steve!”

This was not a request but I thought of it at work because all we listen to is fm radio and everyday John Tesh makes me want to strangle myself with receipt paper. But I had the idea and I thought it was cute, and as always, it got way out of hand. So here, have my first complete Steve Harrington one shot <3

Tagging some babes because I love you and I want to annoy you all @beezywriting @haydipoof @sw34terw34ther @esperisdrunkinwonderland @avipoof @loving-and-dreaming @katsu28 @manyfandomsfanvergent and if i think of anyone else and they don't get to this before I get to them <3

[melaniekhu122811]

Ler Mood

Ler:Han

Lee:Jeongin

Han was in..a frustrating situation.

Han was in one of the WORST ler moods EVER. He was just yearning for some laughter! And what better way for laughter than to tickle one of his members?

Now, all of his members had once been lees before, including Han, but they had also been lers before, including Han. Each member had their own way of tickling their members. For example, Chan was the member who knew every members tickle spots. He was the eldest after all, and it was his duty to punish his babies by tickling them. He was also the best teaser because of how much he adored all of his members. On the other hand, Minho, was one of the roughest lers. As long as he wasn’t hurting anyone, he didn’t care. And to be fair, he would tickle for VERY long.

But putting that aside, Han needed someone to tickle. And FAST. All of the members were currently available to be wrecked, so he scanned the members. First, he eliminated Chan, and Changbin. They could both easily overpower him, and he wasn’t planning on getting rid of his ler mood by listening to his own laughter. Next, Minho. Minho was well..he was Minho. And Minho would most definitely get him back afterwards if he had tickled him, as well as Felix, and he didn’t want to deal with that. That left 3 members, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and I.N. Hyunjin was just wrecked by Minho yesterday, considering the fact Han could hear his shrieks all the way from his own room, and he didn’t want to torture Hyunjin again right after he was recovering from Minho. Which left the 2 maknaes. Seungmin, and I.N. Now Seungmin wasn’t as ticklish as other members, and with this ler mood, Han needed LOTS of loud laughter. And good for him, I.N was one of the most sensitive members, if not the most sensitive member. So I.N it was.

He walked into his and I.N’s shared room, to see a I.N on his bed scrolling through his phone. Han walked over to I.N and jumped onto the bed with him.

“Hi hyung.”

“Hi there Innie. You know, I’ve been feeling..strange recently.”

“Strange? Why? Are you okay?”

“I’ve been feeling as if..I need some laughter, if you know what I mean.”

And before I.N could react, Han tackled him, sat on his hips and restrained his arms.

“H-Hyung!? Please, it doesn’t have to be like this!”

“Sorry Innie, but it does.”

And without any warning, Han started to scribble, poke, and squeeze anywhere he could on I.N’s stomach.

“Hyuhuhng!! Stohop!”

Han decided to start off a bit light, not going in to rough, teasing I.N as he tugged on his arms under his hips, being restrained by his hips and Hans weight.

“Pleahease! Stop teaheheasing mehe hyuhuhg!”

“Oh you want me to stop teasing? Alright!”

And without any warning, Han drilled his fingers into I.N’s ribs, making I.N shriek, then let out peels of cackles afterwards.

“WAHAHAIT!!! HYUHUNG DOHONT DO THAHAT!!”

“Aww..look how adorable you are with your big smile!”

“STOHOP TEAHESING MEHE HYU-AHAHA PLEAHEASE!!”

Then without any warning Han plunged his hands into I.N’s underarms, making I.Ns laughter go silent, as tears of mirth started to form in his eyes.

“How adorable Innie~”

Not wanting to kill his maknae, Han went from roughly tickling I.N’s armpits to softly scribbling I.Ns stomach, which wasn’t as ticklish but left I.N still giggling.

“Hyuhung! Pleahease stohohop!”

I.N begged his evil hyung to stop as tears of mirth started to roll down his cheeks and neck.

“Alright, alright Innie, but let me do one more thing first.”

“Fihinie! Juhuhust huhury!”

“Alright!”

Han leaned down and attacked I.N’s worst spot, his neck. He started to blow raspberries, blow, nuzzle, and nibble on I.N’s neck, while he dug into his armpits.

And I.N went CRAZY. He started to throw his head around, begging and begging, and not even a few seconds after Han started his attack, I.N’s laugh went silent.

Han opened his eyes to see a adorable I.N, his face red with tears running down his cheeks and neck, mouth agape, silently mouthing the words “stop,” and “please no more,” not even having his voice to beg anymore.

And even though I.N looked extremely adorable to Han, Han knew he should stop, seeing that I.N couldn’t take it anymore.

He climbed off an exhausted I.N who immediately started to scratch his neck, trying to get rid of the ghost tickles on his neck. Han scooped up his adorable maknae, and placed him in his lap, rubbing his back.

“I’m telling Channie hyung!!”

“Yeah right.”

But Han was really hoping to make it up to I.N some way, knowing Chan would do anything for his adorable little maknae he adores.

In the end, Hans ler mood was long gone after hearing his maknaes laughter, and I.N ended up falling asleep in his hyungs lap and comfort, exhausted from the previous few minutes.

………………………………………………………………

Hope you liked my first fic! I’m not an experienced writer, and I’m a minor, so if this story doesn’t meet up to your expectations of the regular tickle fics you would usually read, I apologize. And because school is starting soon, I may not be able to make as many fics. Sorry! And remember, I DO NOT take requests. These fics are just based on my own fantasies. Hope you enjoy my fic! And I apologize if I made any spelling errors!

[greatbigbellies]

ANNOUNCING THE 2023 PREGNANCY KINK ADVENT CALENDAR!

After months (Yes, months) of planning and on and off work throughout this year, I am excited to unveil the 2023 Pregnancy Kink Advent Calendar! From December 1st to December 24th, I have new, unreleased, completely original content going up EVERY day. These range from written kink fics (clocking in at approximately 1k words each with some longer exceptions), some batches of pictures, both bare bellied and with a fake bump, multiple kink audios, AND a video floating around in there! I’ve been working hard planning, writing, recording, and editing everything for this for a while now, and I’m super excited to show it all off. I began work on this back in APRIL, so it’s been a labor of love (pun intended) that I’m really proud to have finished in time for december this year. Those vague calls for kink audio ideas that never seemed to come up again? Those repeat posts asking what people would scribble on my belly? Yeah, those were all for this. Which means if you sent something to me in response to those, congrats, it probably made it in!

So settle in and enjoy! New stuff drops starting 12/1/2023 all the way up to and including christmas eve! This whole thing was a fair bit of work but a LOT of fun to do, and if it gets enough positive interaction, I would be very open to doing it again next year. Check back every day for something new!

Additional details, context, and a bit of “developer commentary” under the cut!

So… what should I expect from this?

This is a larger scale project that I’ve been building for well over half a year, and I did my best to provide some variety to it. There is, of course, some good ol McPreggo content in there. Because it’s one of the most popular things this blog has to offer, I get a ton of asks about it, and it’d be silly of me to not give that crowd some love. That said, if you’re not really into McPreggo or rapid preg as a whole, fret not, there’s lots of other content to enjoy! Most of the written pieces involve longer progressions split over multiple posts. This is by design, because I didn’t want any one post to be too long (advent calendars are supposed to be easily consumed ‘treats’, but not whole presents unto themselves), but it’s hard to do anything meaningful with only 1K words to a post. If you’ve read my older stuff, like some of the comms I fulfilled a few years ago, you know the buildup and foreplay is really my strongest aspect, and it’s no different here (if you haven’t but would like to, the ‘commissions’ and ‘writing’ tags on my blog will take you where you want to go). Nothing in the calendar has any outright SEX scenes in it, but there’s plenty of pregnant contrivances and paragraph long descriptions of heavy bellies that you’ll find something you’ll like! There’s over 13k words cumulatively across all the writing, so there’s a wide breadth to enjoy!

The audios range from 3 and a half to 6 minutes long, with one more experimental, slow burn exception. They range from sweet to spicy, and might be my favorite content in the whole calendar. While previously I had been taking a premise and improvising most of it, these new ones are pretty tightly scripted, and I genuinely think they came out better for it. Less repetition, more creatively, and was able to work in some sound effects to set the scene and tone for some of them. I think you’ll enjoy them!

Outside of that, I’m going to leave the rest as a surprise. Like I said, I’ve got audio, video, pictures, and writing, so there’s a lot to look forward to!

Is this something I’m supposed to pay for?

Absolutely not, this is all free. I made this because I wanted to, and wanted to share it with people. This blog is 5 years old now and is sporting well over 5K followers, which is to say it has way more popularity and staying power than I expected it to when I made it. You guys are great, and wanted to, in my own weird way, treat everyone who has been following, sending asks, and chatting with me so far. If you really genuinely would like to give back, I have tips turned on for my blog, but I’m putting this out there not expecting anything back.

This is THE PEOPLES preg kink content, damnit!

Are you going to do this again next year?

If people enjoy it, then I would like to, yes! I’m not some harsh corporation with strict engagement minimums to uphold, so I don’t know what “enough” interaction looks like to justify a 2024 edition but if people are liking and reblogging, and I get an ask or two about it, then I’d call that a win! It’s just good to know that hard work is appreciated, y’know?

If anyone else out there likes the idea and wants to do something similar, I would be very excited at the prospect of collaborating in the future. It’s not lost on me that this whole production doesn’t have any kink art, but believe me, you don’t want to see me try to draw something resembling a person, let a lone trying to make it sexy. Even if someone wanted to contribute a single article, a written piece, some art, an audio even, even just 1 “day” of content for people to enjoy would be amazing. Any outside contributors would, of course, receive credit for their work and have their main tumblr (or other kink social media) listed in their post.

Honestly, if I had enough people reach out and want to contribute, I would likely just create a separate sideblog JUST for pregnancy fetish advent calendars, so it’s not going up on any ONE contributor’s blog to benefit them above anyone else. I didn’t want to reach out to artists in the community going “hey would you like to draw some free art for this thing I’m doing that I’m gonna post in december, I swear”, because that just reads like a scam. I’m hoping that, having made and rolled out everything myself at least once, it can stand as proof that I am genuine about this kind of thing. A way to prove for someone that has the drive and bandwidth to work on this, that I’m not going to take credit or otherwise run off having gotten free art/work.

If you’re reading this and have something you would be interested in contributing to the calendar next year, my DMs are open, and it is never too early!

Any other questions, or just to share what you think about it all, shoot me an ask or a DM!

[goldkirk]

sharing some of my trauma processing quest events for general reference, just trying to provide some stuff on the internet for people behind me on the same path to see and feel less alone/weird after

Not gonna go into any details because as I am FINALLY starting to learn, you really ARE not supposed to poke at things or think about ALL related things at once, you can in fact really truly just stop partway in, like you can stop, guys, you don’t have to go all the way through and trigger moods or confusion or anything else. you can actually just absolutely say “hey, stop. I don’t want to go there, brain, I want to distract myself with a different thought instead and I’ll think about this path of thoughts a different time instead” and your brain actually has to listen. It can’t do what it wants until the moment you lose your grasp on the reins, so until then, it actually has to listen and you can say, uh, “no”. Apparently. That’s what I’m doing now.

But partly to show anyone who’s interested and partly because tumblr is where I have inevitably stored all my past break through breakdowns since starting college and apparently my brain just really doesn’t want to do it anywhere more private and will wait me out for weeks until I give in, quick background on this post--

tw for religion/religous trauma, use of the word and concept “cult”, emetophobia (reference via a euphemism), and mentions of harmful control/abuse

I have been in the thick of religious deconstruction for just around a year now, finally feel less crazy about it but now feel wary and skittish about it too. Too many times getting bitten where I didn’t expect a snake. 

I’ve learned a lot about religious trauma and high control/high demand groups and the harms of fundamentalism and other peoples’ experiences and that’s great, but learning doesn’t mean I understand myself, my reactions, or my neglected nervous system any better, so nothing changes, right? So I’m working on that. Very. Very slowly. I don’t get a choice anymore, the last time I tried to push it just a little bit with some body work I ended up worshipping the porcelain god for almost an hour at 4 in the morning because my vagus nerve said “i think the fuck not!!!!” and shut me down the better part of a day. 

Anyway. Slowly. So I’ve read a lot and watched a lot about the BITE model and I’ve mentally dabbled in thoughts about the experiences on it on and off--thinking of different groups i was in and my overal social circle and remembering things here and there that fit those criteria, but I kept shying away from ever actually writing things down or tallying up what amount of the BITE model categories I kind of “met the criteria for”, so to speak. 

Anyway last night I was finally able to do it for the first time, and I scribbled down my tally and then clicked all the right boxes on my interactive BITE model checklist I made, and then I didn’t really look at it and just went and fell asleep. 

I looked at it today. I was stunned. I had believed this whole time that while the BITE model is helpful, it was something I’d only use as a thing to help label why certain experiences were wrong, but not ever to label my overall experience or anything because even though I use the word sometimes, I wasn’t in anything REALLY like a cult, those are way worse. I was just in some unhealthy pressures and groups and media messages and I’m just over-sensitive about things right now, and in a few years I’ll have mellowed out a lot and see my experiences and the good-hearted people behind all my old groups in the much more balanced, kind, and favorable light that they really exist in, rather than my over-compensating bitterness and blinders. 

Well, I was surprised. I don’t know what to say about this, because I don’t want to jump to any conclusions or declare I’m part of groups I’m not or lead anyone wrong with false information or a bad idea. I also just don’t know what to say to MYSELF about it either, because like, what is there to say? You know? Either I was in what amounted to a seriously harmful group (objectively, not just to me) or I was not. There’s not like, anything to be said about it. I can’t accept this as one or the other yet because I don’t know how to trust my own judgement and I don’t want to practice right now. And I can’t get an external read on the situation yet because I’m not ready to show anyone the un-checked checklist and then tell them what I remember feeling even though I don’t have many memory examples to share of real events and have them go through with me and check things off and make sure I understand why, so I know if my hunches were right as I filled the checklist out the first time. 

I’m not ready to try to do anything with this on my own, and I’m not ready to talk to anyone about anything related to past things right now (and possibly for a long time, I think I finally had enough of a bad experience with my last therapist while at the same time finally realizing I actually DON’T want to say things to people and I DON’T want to ever talk to people like that ever again and I really really really really don’t want to talk to anyone who doesn’t respond in a way that lets it be a third person perspective of who the memories came from. I know therapy is important and I know I’m probably in some kind of critical risk stage or something since I moved across the country suddenly on a spur of the moment decision I didn’t feel the emotions for anymore less than 3 days later, and I’m starting a totally new life and I don’t even know how much I know about real American and world history and I don’t know what rules for daily life or anything else are rules I SHOULDN’T know and I don’t know what rules I don’t know that I SHOULD, and I have to learn the rules for ALL the areas of the real world all at once, even just how to walk or sit or stand or navigate through a park so you blend in instead of standing out. But I feel like I’m trying to keep my mouth above water right now and I don’t want to spend energy and time and money trying to hunt down someone I would maybe partially talk to, when there are way more critical things to take care of right here first, like biohazard prevention in the kitchen and a dog getting minimum humane care and me getting like, dressed at least once daily and sleeping at least 4 hours a night no matter what bribery it takes to get there. 

Anyway. I don’t feel ready to say anything about these screenshots. I don’t want to say anything about them and I’m MARVELING that I suddenly can realize that I don’t want to talk about something and it makes me uncomfortable. Oh my gosh. Something made me feel uncomfortable! I feel uncomfortable!!!! Holy moly! I feel a little bit of a feeling again! It’s like the quiet warning beep of one of those car-parking sensors, just super quiet and alarm bell but faint, but it’s THERE! LOOK AT THAT, HA! Love that for me. 

Uncomfortable. Huh! I like it. It’s cool to feel uncomfortable again. I don’t know when the last time was, actually, I thought I knew uncomfortable but now that I feel uncomfortable again I think uncomfortable is actually different and what I was feeling was like...shame-dread or danger-shame-fear of consequences or danger, like feeling like I did something wrong and am getting called out for it or waiting for someone to just get it over with and really chew me out for it instead of beating around the bush or going easy for THIS time. Uncomfortable ACTUALLY is just feeling...literal discomfort. I feel literal discomfort, somewhere in my chest, like, lower than my sternum, but not all the way in my stomach, I didn’t know you could feel stuff there. It’s actually just “uncomfortable”. There’s not any urgent-fear-of-consequences or slow-simmering-dread-about-what-something-leads-to. It’s genuinely just, “ooh hey, I don’t think I want to think or talk about that right now. It’s making me feel uncomfortable.” not uncomfortable AND scared. I didn’t realize uncomfortable could be its own sensation! I thought it was just packaged as a truth of every negative-feeling emotion. Wow. Learning things every day over here. Well! Now I see why my brain wanted me to journal this out. I wish so badly it would let me use anything besides the public internet but it’s kind of worth it I at least do get these lessons or breakthroughs. I appreciate being able to go back and see recent events and entries from myself when I occasionally AM more checked in. 

By the way, as a general note, sorry for frequently word vomiting on here and being barely-concealed needy and manipulatively fishing for support on and off all year, ugh. I’ve had a lot of training to be manipulative and a lot of memories of being punished for just being direct, but it’s also not fair treatment to other people, and I’m trying a lot this year to watch a lot of videos, listen to podcasts, etc, from people talking about their same process of unlearning that, so my brain gets a speed-run of exposure to alternative neural options without me having to spend three years thinking some up myself lol. (THIS IS NOT ME TRYING TO MANIPULATE YOU INTO RESPONDING OR GIVING ME ENCOURAGEMENT, PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY, I JUST WANTED TO HONESTLY SAY THIS, there’s just almost no good way to do it through written English without always making it sound a little manipulative every time you try to apologize for subtle manipulation. it’s such a trip. i’ve been thinking about that on and off since I was six and it’s never gonna have a resolution because we just can’t do it without involving something visual or auditory to the written text and that. Defeats the whole purpose of written text communication, lol.)

As always, thanks for reading all the way through this, those of you who read or skimmed this post and my other posts like it. You guys make me feel a lot less alone and a lot more heard and validated. I’m glad you’re there and I hope today treats you well. Don’t forget water and food and meds and a jaw or shoulder stretch if you need them!

[fawnnbinary]

It's All About the Metaphors

642 words, Rasmus meets a bard and learns about poetry :)

Papers littered the grass. Some had words beautifully scrawled across in looping script, some were littered with frustrated scribbles - and the rest were perfectly blank. They were just waiting to be filled with songs, with poetry - with the occasional mindless doodle.

That had been the plan before the wind had scattered them anyway.

Harper dashed about, cursing under his breath as he tried to pick up all his writings before they blew away. He couldn’t just lose all the work he’d done, this was weeks of work!

The bard was far too focused to notice the quiet steps of a young witcher, especially a Cat. Rasmus snuck up close, carefully picking up one of the pages and looking it over. Well none of this made any sense - wolves and birds didn’t talk to each other, he would have heard them.

“Hey, you missed one!”

Harper swiveled around immediately, papers hugged tightly to his chest - but it was just a child. He sighed in relief. “Scared me there, boy,” he chuckled. “Thank you, I wouldn’t want to lose any of them.”

Rasmus handed over the page, snickering a bit. “It’s all kind of nonsense there,” he teased, “are you crazy or something?”

“Crazy? Perhaps,” Harper replied, organizing the pages, “but I think that’s all right. Helps with the creative process.”

“If you say so.” The young witcher followed the bard back to his spot by the river, sitting down with him and hugging his knees to his chest. “Do you always write stuff that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well that’s the thing.” Harper took up his charcoal again. “It does make sense. Just in a figurative sense, not a literal one. There are a lot of metaphors in my work.”

“Meta- what?” Rasmus tilted his head. “You’re still not making any sense.”

“Here, look. Show me the page you were looking at.” Harper holds out the papers and Rasmus shuffles through to hand him the piece about the wolf and the lark. “Ah, this one!” The bard grins, quickly refreshing his memory of the work. “This one is good, a perfect example.”

“Yeah, see, this one is crazy.” Rasmus scooted closer to point at the page. “Wolves and larks can’t talk, they just do this.” His impressions of the animals were immaculate, in his opinion.

“That’s because it isn’t really about animals,” Harper chuckled. “It’s about the White Wolf and his bard. I’ve taken a few courses in Oxenfurt while the master bard Dande- er, Jaskier was teaching. It was absolutely riveting the stories he tells. Full of action! Full of passion! I couldn’t get them out of my head! See, the wolf is the witcher, and the lark is the bard.”

“...So why are the bard and the witcher talking about regular animal things?”

“That’s part of the metaphor!” Harper grins, absolutely thrilled to explain. “The lark speaks of how sad he is to fly south while the wolf spends the season near his den because the bard and the witcher part in the winter. He gets so glum about it, it’s rather adorable the friendship they share.”

Rasmus reads the page again. “So… a metaphor is like saying something but with totally different words than you mean. That sounds confusing.”

“It can be, and not everyone will understand what your words mean.”

“So… why write like that?”

Harper thinks on this a moment. “I suppose because even if they don’t grasp the real meaning, they might still enjoy the surface level story. They might like just reading a story about a wolf and a lark having a chat. And it makes it easier to write heavier stories and emotions.”

Rasmus nods a bit, looking at the words on the page. “...Can I have some paper you haven’t used?”

“Sure, kid.” Harper hands Rasmus three clean sheets. “Just use them well, all right?”

[thepringlesofblood]

heroforge hoes: pt 1(?)

i keep making guys in heroforge. i don’t know why. is this what ocd is???? i can’t stop????

anyway. i want to share these so that I can stop working on them. so that I can go “there. it is done. it has been put out into the world, and it is complete. stop adjusting tiny little things and do your fucking homework. or eat. or sleep. or shower.”

also, i am weirdly proud of them. but the point of me posting them is so that my brain will consider them “finished” and will stop adjusting every. little. thing.

99% of these are blorbos from my various shows. these are the ones I will be posting (in a series of posts so I don’t waste ALL of today), bc part of this obsession seems to be with getting things “right” - i.e. accurate to the source material. by solidifying one representation of them, and throwing it out into the internet, i’m filing them away under “vetted and approved.”

so please, please, please do not comment “oh you missed this actually :)” no matter how well meaning. keep it to yourself. I guarantee you, I have already thought of it and attempted to do a heroforge representation of it somehow. it’s a good system but it is limited. compliments are fine just. i can’t fix these. fix them yourself if you want but don’t tell me about it.

I’m going to do screenshots as well as links. heroforge is a free service and doesn’t have any ads or anything so it’s not gonna throw a bunch of popups at you. (you can buy heroforge pro but it just unlocks some extra stuff and early access).

For this one I’m going to start with just posting my good omens characters.

one of the first guys i made was Aziraphale, and I’m pretty proud of how he turned out

I was kind of PO’d that I couldn’t put the watch in his jacket but I think it worked out fine. I was originally going to give him a full afro (I’ve always liked the afro = halo look in aziraphale art) but the one they had kind of blocked off part of his face so I went with a shorter one. still a great style, just didn’t really work for me.

One thing I do wish heroforge had is the option to give a character stretchmarks*. I’ve always loved the headcanon of aziraphale with golden stretchmarks. I cobbled together these two options from other kinds of body decals, and I think they’re decent, but still. hf lets you make your characters pretty fat but the proportions can get a little fucky sometimes, especially when you consider that these guys were designed to be 3d printed.

*whenever I complain about heroforge not having something, understand that I am both a. very appreciative of it as a free, kickstarted service with limited staff and time and a variety of options for players of many different cultures, play styles, campaign settings, abilities, gender identities, etc. and b. thinking every goddamned day about the TWENTY-ONE discrete kinds of eyebrow scars you can put on your guy (and they all look the same!!!)

anyway.

here’s crowley!

smallest face tattoo I could find, I think it worked out OK. the shoes actually have the “reptile: black” skin texture lol but hf doesn’t really render individual scales for reptiles most of the time so it just looks black :/ he gets a molotov cocktail bc there’s no tire iron or car/bentley situation and i think he deserves it. as a treat. for the wine bottle on the ground you have the option to both put a label on it AND put a symbol on it, which is great, and there’s a LOT of symbols to choose from, but none that are just “scribbly writing that looks like a wine label” so i chose a rune of draconic power. I also wanted to do some secret scales for him, but again the body decal gods were not in my favor. here’s the two options I came up with.

the “dapples” are p cool and it’s awesome that they have so many options for vitiligo, but also given the sheer volume of “lizard/snake person/dragon/crocodile” options they have it’s real weird that there’s no all-purpose “scales” body decal.

speaking of snakes...here’s an all-snake person crowley. they let you be a “naga” (half-snake half-person, like a mermaid but snake) or a “serpent-folk” (a person-size snake). i didn’t do a naga since I have a person-crowley and a snake-crowley so just like. jam em up in your imagination.

as you can see, surprisingly few scales. the “bands” on the bottom are a body decal called “coral snake” that was the closest I could get to an overall scaly look. they got the belly scutes, the head, the hood (which is optional i just thought it looked nice on him), the tops of the forearms, the hands and some shoulder and back scales. but the real snakey bit - nada. fascinating. i still like him. I would’ve made him all one color and less shiny, but the “coral snake” bands have to stand out somehow, and I figured i’ll make up for the lack of scales in shininess

and the final good omens character I have made...anathema!!!!!

this one was Hard. so we got the Book, we got her bread knife (something left out of the show that I personally love), and I couldn’t really find many weird witchy looking instruments so I went with some bottles. her outfit is really just 50 shades of green and black, but it has all this lace and different kinds of fabrics to keep it interesting. here she’s just. different greens. and blacks. hf can’t do lace (completely understandable can u imagine trying to 3d print that??) and while you can sort of do different textures, it’s just not the same. I think she turned out OK though! glass in the glasses kind of just got in the way of seeing her eyes, so I took it out. I was surprised at how thick the frames are! they’re all like that - very sturdy. also this jacket is called “undercover jacket” hf my guy that is the loudest looking jacket i ever seen in my life.

now you may say ‘fuck finally, that’s the last good omens character i’ll stop reading this post now’ but ohohoho not quite so. you see. i do have several permutations of aziraphale and crowley, so while they’re not new good omens characters they are new takes on the boys.

now. before we go any further you must check out @worse0mens​ and their many wonderful fics on ao3. these versions of aziraphale and crowley are based on their marvelous Lord of the Rings AUs, and were made early into my heroforge phase, when it was mostly just me playing dress-up with this dnd character creator, before the Madness set in and it became an ocd thing. they’re some of my favorites of all time!

I’ll link the fics each of them came from next to each character, but I cannot suggest enough that if you like Good Omens aus or fics of any kind (perchance, omens of another kind?) I would highly recommend checking them out! ^v^

enough dillydallying, here’s Orc Crowley from “The Orc and the Elf” “What Remains of a Heart” and “The Good Orc”!

ladies, gents, and those of us who know better, you cannot make this dog look not derpy. i hate even saying derpy but there’s no other way to describe him. I tried every menu and sub-menu to see if there were any controls for the warg’s expression but alas, no dice. the warg mount just. looks like that. it’s a dope ass character model though can’t complain about that in a 3d printed model you’d never notice it, he just stares like he sees the end of all things and comprehends none of it. though maybe that’s accurate for some dogs. Rover didn’t strike me as a pinnacle of intellect when I was reading the fic (he is of course still a very very good boy!) but I did want to try and making him look more dynamic. c’est la vie!

I really had fun making this guy. one great thing about the heroforge coloration system (which I will always sing the praises of, it’s WILD how customized you can get without it being a burden to do for each character, there’s so many options) is that you can make anything glow if you want. I decided to give crowley little a eyeglow. as a treat. and I’m super glad I did! it makes them so distinct.

so. one of his hands is gripping the mane to hold on and one is just sort of. floatin. this is because for some reason, of the 3 “riding a horse/pony/warg” poses, none of them is “holding on to the very fast thing you’re riding” I guess it’s to make held items easier to distinguish, but it’s weird that it’s not even an option for characters who aren’t holding things. I had to get in the “advanced poses” menu and really finagle to get that one hand on Rover’s mane (that’s why its clipping through), and after those 15 minutes or so were spent I decided you know what, crowley’s a big strong orc, maybe he only needs one hand to hang on after all!

For some reason, I always wind up picturing crowley with freckles, and I am a sucker for magic people having like. glowing or weird freckles that look like stars. idk where this love came from but here it is. the fic describes crowley’s skin as “pebble-gray” so I went with a bright metallic silver for his freckles, and I’m really proud of how it turned out!

also for some reason while there’s a million daggers/shortblades you can have, only like. 5 of them can come in sheaths. the rest just hang loose wherever you decide to put them. hazardous! so crowley’s “twin daggers” wound up being kukri knives, since tbh I thought they looked cool and the basic “sheathed dagger” is like. really really small. which is great for some things but I figured crowley would have something with a little more heft.

the fic describes crowley’s sword as a “scimitar”, and the 2 swords hf has with “scimitar” in the name were just not sparking joy for some reason, so I looked up the sword I thought looked best (the janissary kilij) and it turns out it is a type of scimitar! incurable pickiness justified.

I pretty much just pictured elf aziraphale as normal aziraphale but with elf ears (i am not a huge elf fan, I very much enjoyed the fic dunking on thranduil lol), so I didn’t wind up making him.

I did make the hobbit!aziraphale from worse0mens’ other lotr au, There and Back Again (And Again, And Again...) though!

for some reason, when you click on “halfling” as an option, they don’t give you the hairy feet. idk if this is a dnd change for copyright reasons from the tolkien estate (everyone knows “halfling” = “hobbit” its just a matter of intellectual property and shit) or what, but I was kinda sad, since I was excited to have a woman with obvious body hair (there’s no decals for body hair either, except for upper chest hair). I tried to find various hairy-looking shoes, but no success. I did give her the vitiligo leg/foot decal and colored all of the patches to match her skin tone except for the bottoms of her feet, which I did a slightly darker color, to indicate calluses bc hobbits walk barefoot everywhere bc they’re just Built Different. I tried not to go too overboard with it though since she is a very clean and fastidious lady and generally just hangs out in her house (oh, to be a wealthy single hobbit spending the day reading unbothered by the whims of society...)

hf also doesn’t do patterns on clothes, unless they’re physically molded into the cloth (like anathema’s jacket). so no tartan :/ I imagined aziraphale to have a dark green tartan shirt under her vest for some reason so I chased that bliss, and otherwise generally followed the “brown and cream” theme.

I was going to try and get some braids and beads in her hair (if ya know ya know) but the braided buns all got rid of the loose strands framing her face and the other braids were really really long and kind of clashed with the vibe, so i stuck with the unbraided bun. and there’s no hair beads. which is fair tbh its a very specific thing (then again.....21 eyebrow scars)

for reasons unknown to me, some objects have a myriad of decals to choose from, and some only let you have blood splatter (and more recently, dirt stains or colorful powder stains). like, anathema’s “ornate book”? only blood splatter. but these books on the tops of the stacks here? a bajillion options. I went with a dragon (bc lol smaug-shadowing for the hobbit, which takes place after this fic) and some flowers to make aziraphale’s folk medicine book ;)

I don’t want to just complain abt all the stuff hf doesn’t have bc it’s a good, free service with no annoying ads, so I do want to say that the default coloring for the books and cups looked really nice - I only made a few tweaks, which is a big deal for my very picky eyes. letting you pick a “theme” which automatically colors clothes/gear/everything but the actual person is really useful for when you don’t want to go as deep in the paint as I usually do. you can still color each individual item if you want, but if you don’t want to do that it offers an alternative where it shows you like 10-15 basic color schemes for you to pick from. 

I had to decide b/w the bowtie and the zirak-baraz necklace, and I went with the bowtie, since the necklace options really don’t jive with the look and she wears it under her shirt a lot of the time anyway. also, aziraphale + bowtie = iconic. the normal plain bowtie looked weirdly big on her and kept clipping so I went with another one that was wild west themed or something, but I think it still works.

I did run into hf’s weird ideas about body configuration here. they do let you make your guys decently fat, but it’s really hard to get a ratio that doesn’t look grossly exaggerated, and its partly based on species. the default setting for halflings is like, REALLY skinny, which sucks, and the default for p much all “female” versions of species is large tits and small waists. the waist slider is honestly kind of bullshit in terms of making realistic people. i 100% get that some people like to make cartoon-y looking guys or more caricature-like looks, but since I prefer more realistic-looking characters, I pretty much ALWAYS have to turn the waist slider all the way just for them to look healthy. and then it creates a weird dent where you can turn up the other sliders for weight but the waist is stuck at its maximum so you get these hourglass shapes with sharp corners. it gets covered up a bit when you put clothes on at least, you really can’t see it with aziraphale thankfully. but it does wind up putting a cap on how fat you can make your guys without them looking really unbalanced and cartoonish. I wanted to make her much chubbier but this was sort of as far as i could get with the waist restriction and clipping (and thats a whole other issue) without her look really unbalanced, and *SPOILERS FOR THE FIC* i wasn’t trying to make aziraphale in her pregnancy era here, and idk if it would’ve worked out well. *END SPOILERS*

For dwarf!crowley I wound up making 2 versions, one casual and one in traditional dwarven clothes (and a little grimier) on a pony (if you know you know), mostly bc while i love me some dwarves, i am not a tolkien expert and have only a loose grasp on the aesthetic. some of crowley’s outfits described in the fic are pretty basic, some more complicated, so I decided to do one for each.

here’s casual crowley

I wanted to give them matching teacups so it looks like they’re toasting each other ^v^

also crowley’s tea is way lighter than aziraphales bc i firmly believe this is a ‘coffee as dark as my soul’ ‘so like white chocolate mocha?’ relationship.

the dagger sheaths got me again with this one. crowley’s dagger is specifically described as having a leather sheath, and being as long as aziraphale’s arm. couldn’t get the dwarven runes bc again, the decal gods did not will it. this one is actually called a “disciple of death dagger” - yikes! at least there’s no skulls or anything lol

he’s got the “thin black shirt” from when he’s chopping wood, plus the axe. I couldn’t exactly get a serpent beltbuckle, but I tried to at least get some silver things on him to nod at the whole “crowley silvertongue” thing.

his pants are actually fucking mariachi pants. one thing that does kind of piss me off w hf is that there’s not just. a normal, basic ass pair of pants. or plain leggings. everything has a belt or fringe or pleats or something. the closest you get is scrubs but the drawstring just makes em look like sweatpants. and its not like there’s not basic shit for shirts! there’s a bunch of plain ass t-shirts! but this was sort of the closest I could get without having an extra belt. I will say that you will not lack for belt buckles in heroforge, but they are all the same basic, utilitarian kind for the most part.

both dwarves and halflings by default are really really short. I’m glad the fic specified crowley as 5 ft and aziraphale as 4 ft, which tracks w general tolkien lore n shit, but i had to scale them up a lot from the default setting. huh. another dnd difference?

hf also decided when you click on male dwarf, you still get decent sized tits. I think its the muscle in a compressed space. I am not opposed! i decided he gets to keep them, as a treat. he’s pretty muscular (”lanky for a dwarf” but dwarves are fuckin absolute units) so it checks out and it really works w the 3 button shirt v sexy (can you tell I think dwarves are more attractive than elves?)

the “earring” is my attempt as using the clipping to my advantage to make it look like a hair bead. I think it’s not bad, though you can definitely still tell its on his ear.

one thing that surprised me is the options for wearing braids: single braid (several variations, including queue (think the dai li from atla)). hair down with two braids on top (see above). cornrows (and several combinations of cornrows and afros/natural textured hair). braided bun. “bun held with stick.” “thick braided curls” (held back in an updo).

it surprised me bc #1 good on you hf for having a variety of options for people of color, i wish this wasn’t surprising but still, props #2 you can’t have pigtail braids (2 braids one on either side of your head), and #3 there’s only 1 option for having straight hair down and having braids mixed into it. idk maybe this is a regional thing to where I’m from but people having one or more braids mixed into straight/wavy hair that’s not tied up or in a bun or anything seems p common to me, and at the very least p common in the popular perception of dwarves and their aesthetics. not upset just confused.

I tried to make him a little bit paler due to the dwarf-living-underground thing but i cannot give up my freckle headcanon unfortunately - i just made them very light. maybe he gets them when visiting the shire.

here’s the other one, w the dwarven gear on the pony

it stopped letting me upload screenshots. I have committed way too hard to this. this might be a counterproductive endeavor. we’ll see I guess. here’s the url in case it fucked itself over https://www.heroforge.com/load_config%3D502896335/

the fuckin. even on a pony they don’t give you reins. i am confusion. w a warg i kinda get it theres not much to hold onto but a pony or horse? no excuse. reins let me at em. i did go through the trouble to get both his hands in there bc crowley does have a history of being bad with horses, and idk if this followed him into this au or if its ok bc its a pony, but i figured he should have both hands in there just in case. he’s very determined at the moment.

I really like the “roan” face decal bc it lets you get your guy grimy around the edges of his face, and as we all know grime is VERY important to the lotr experience. hopefully one day when I have a normal relationship with heroforge i can make an aragorn and he can be so so grimy. or perhaps i can just look up someone else’s aragorn heroforge to check on the grime factor.

its. tilted. the pony. its like tilted to one side. i don’t know why this is. it didn’t start out like that. i don’t know how it got like that. was it all the advanced hand posing to get crowley to grab onto the nonexistent reins??? how would that affect the pony tilting??? maybe he’s going around a very fast corner.

ok thats it. fuck. maybe this way a bad idea. either way, i am putting away these designs and saying “these are complete. I do not need to spend any energy on them anymore. they are done.” I’m even gonna mark their names to say they are done.

if you stuck w this all the way through you’re a fuckin lunatic and i love it.

i use tumblr primarily to either spit things into the void and get them out of my head, keep up on memes, and reblog/compliment fanart, so I really don’t care about any criticism, constructive or not**, and am very much asking you to not do that. compliments are fine just like. please don’t insinuate I should continue to work on these, or find problems with them. they are done. they have taken up far too much brainspace, and I need to let them go. this is me sending them off into the world. i mean use them for your dnd or whatever if you want, just talk to @worse0mens​ if its one of their characters obviously.

hope you’re doing well and that this was fun and not depressing. I am growing and healing each day. ^v^

**unless you’re worse0mens bc some of them are your characters and I want to be as respectful as possible towards them

[greyias]

The WIP Project Check-In

With eight days left in the WIP Project 2022, it’s probably an appropriate time to make an official check-in/accountability post, as I... erm. Forgot to do that for the past 82 days. Oops.

So, I started the project with a bit of a head start, at not quite 9000 words, and according to Scrivener’s calculations, I’m currently sitting at just over 18k. With about 80 days of writing, around 9000 words doesn’t really seem like a whole lot... until I factor in exactly how much I’ve had to cut/rewrite: almost 10,000 words.

Which is a bit of an issue since one of my goals was to not rewrite/tweak sections. Granted, those cut words are not me endlessly tweaking and rewording paragraphs, but swaths of description, scenes, and dialogue that wasn’t working and stalling me out, so I would have to backtrack several paragraphs after a few days of starting a the screen frustrated until I figured out where I had taken a wrong turn in the scene and had to course correct to get things back on track.

Since I’m trying a bit of a different method of writing than I usually do on larger projects, that’s been part of the issue. My previous methods on longfic involved keeping everything in my head, maybe some scribbled side notes on where I want to go if I’m lucky, and to hope to god I have the time and energy to write everything down before I inevitably forget what I was doing with a scene and hope I can remember before it forever languishes on the backburner.

*looks guiltily at Smoke and Mirrors, which this project may or may not be an experimentation so I can finish that monstrosity before another decade rolls over*

Which is... not really the best method for completing things, especially if you’re someone like me who does deal with memory/motivation issues at time. So this time around, I actually had written out an overall storyline beat/structures, that even included possible conversation/dialogue topics to explore. In the beginning, it actually was working out quite well, but as I progressed further and further into the project, I kept finding myself running into issues and having to scratch out a lot of work and start over. What I find interesting is that the beginning portion, in which the words got on the page much easier -- I am far, far less willing to share any bits and pieces of, because I know a large swathe of it is going to be rewritten, because while the plot is progressing, the character beats aren’t working at all for me -- and the latter portion, which has been like pulling teeth to get done, I actually have several bits that after I wrote it (to much struggle), I got that familiar thrill out of writing down and am actually excited to share.

And what’s interesting is, while all of this has been going on, I’ve been cycling through on my commute between two types of audiobooks. One is normal fiction, which is part of refueling the creative brain, and the other is actual books on the craft of writing. The big ones I’ve worked my way through lately have been:

Murder Your Darlings by Roy Peter Clark -- really good for revisions/the art of the sentence/paragraph/etc

Save the Cat! Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody

Improv for Writers by Jorjeana Marie (didn’t finish this one before it was due back at the library unfortunately)

Write Your Novel From the Middle by James Scott Bell

and a few different podcasts recommended by @barbex (who has been sharing some amazing resources on the daily @the-wip-project posts.)

(For my fellow writers, I highly recommend those daily posts by the way. There’s some awesome resources linked there, and I’m still working my through them all, but it’s a wealth of information.)

The inevitable thing about writing advice is that you’re not going to agree with everything. And, at least for me, part of me has a tendency to rail against certain pieces of advice, because I’m a bit set in my ways at times. I think the irony is some of those advice pieces my brain rails against at first, I slowly digest over time and find a way to make them work for me. (Not all of it of course, James Scott Bell really needs to get over whatever beef he has with the romance genre 😂)

But I think after consuming so much of this advice on structure, and as I’ve brute forced my way through on so many chapters of this project that I’ve lost a bit of internal steam on it, one thing they discuss a lot is something I stumbled on years back, but always had a hard time putting into words, and that’s the internal character journey/arc. As I’ve worked my way through this project, the basic/raw plot itself hasn’t changed, and honestly isn’t what really excites me -- it’s that internal character stuff that propels me along. It’s also what’s been tripping me up on each and every time I’ve had an issue with my scenes.

After I wrote this scene I shared a few weeks back, I realized that right after writing that it was this pivotal scene type most of the advice on story structure talks about (I think James Scott Bell calls it the Mirror Moment?). And the moment that scene came out, what wasn’t working in the first few scenes/chapters crystalized, as well as why once I got to a certain section it was such a struggle to get words on the page (the character arc was essentially in a holding pattern and stagnating while the plot moved forward). I was able to write the following two chapters in almost no time, and the only reason I haven’t written anything new in ten days (according to my documents helpful “last updated on” note) is that work got insanely busy and has been sucking all of my creative energy. Which, alas, is one of the downsides of working in a creative profession is it uses the same well of energy as personal projects as professional.

So, I’m honestly not sure if I’m going to be able to finish off the first draft before the 90 days is up, which I know is not the end of the world, it’s really an internal deadline at most... but darn it, I wanted to get another completed draft out of this, like I was able to do the first time around. Sometimes a goal and deadline is what’s needed to get things done. We’ll see if my flagging energy reserves get refilled enough for me to pull of a Hail Mary over this next week.

That aside, my big realization this past week, as I finished working my way through a fun little novel to keep the brain entertained during this three week stretch of work getting crazy, I was mulling over the fact that my writing motivation seems to tie in to the character arc more than the plot itself -- and that fact that over and over, even when I have the actual scenes planned out, I seem to have trouble identifying the actual character arc on these longer projects until it slaps me right between the eyes. I keep coming back to the thought of how do people actually identify this ahead of time? Because even when I think it’s about this one thing, figuring out that moment seems to elude me so much, and I’d certainly have a lot less writing headaches if I could more accurately identify it ahead of time. Does everyone have this issue?

On the bright side, I guess I can at least keep that in mind when doing my pre-planning on future projects once I finally finish up with this one. And oh, I am so ready to be done with this one. I both love it and hate it, and I think I only hate it because I’ve been focusing on it singlemindedly for so long, my brain wants a break. Such is the way of the fickle muse.

[bestflyerprinting]

Stay Organised - Old-Fashioned Printed Planner

The organisation of my personal life is one area in which technology has failed me. I’ve gone the archaic route of keeping track of everything on a printed notebook, yes - like old-school paper! Here’s why it works so well. December is “buy a new planner” month for me. It’s been five years since I gave up trying to organise my life with technology. Since then I’ve bought basic planners from the store or really made it my own with notepad printing or custom notebooks. My cell phone calendar was a waste of time and energy; I hated trying to enter simple descriptions, dates, and times while being asked a bunch of annoying questions like “Do you need a reminder?” and “What kind of alarm should sound and how often?” I also disliked having to abbreviate my thoughts. I tried iCal on my Mac, but that was inconvenient when I didn’t have my laptop around, or if I had to open it up just to check a single detail. The “random bits of paper everywhere” method was also a failure and needs no further explanation. I realised something had to change because I was stressed out and disorganized. That’s when I splurged and bought my first-ever Moleskine planner. It was a beautiful, old-fashioned paper notebook-style planner, with a weekly layout on one side and a lined page for notes on the other. I chose bright red since it would be easy to find in my bag and around the house. Soon it was full of the crucial information that had previously been scattered throughout my house. For the first time in months, I felt relaxed and confident that I could manage the many demands of my life at that time, which included juggling a newborn baby, semi-single parenthood (my partner was away for work during the week), and my last year of university. Every December, I look forward to the special ritual of opening up my brand new planner — always red — and filling out the birthdays, holidays, and events that will take place the next year. There are, however, lots of reasons why I love my planner beyond being organised: 1. There’s no battery to recharge and pens are available everywhere. It’s lightweight and versatile, with pages for my kids to scribble on if they’re bored, rather than handing over my phone for games. 2. I feel less rude pulling out my planner to scribble a note in the middle of a conversation than pulling out my phone. For all my friend might know, I could be texting someone else, and nothing infuriates me more. 3. There are lots of cool companies to support. Although I’ve usually bought Moleskine, which is durable and has a lovely feel, I’ve recently learned some less-than-savoury things about their environmental record. This time I’m going to look for something that’s greener and produced closer to home. 4. A paper planner is a conversation starter. People are always surprised to see mine appear and most say they want one, too. (I think everyone’s fed up with the impracticality of phone calendars.) 5. My collection of past planners is an instant collection of diaries. Without any extra effort, I have a fairly detailed record of everything I’ve done for the past five years. If you’re looking for an alternative way to stay organised, give a good old paper planner (or notepad printing for a personalised option) a try. You may be pleasantly surprised at how effective it is.

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Shared from https://fromhelveticatoprint.weebly.com/blog/stay-organised-old-fashioned-printed-planner

[anti-workshop]

One (chapter 1)

Ok, this is a thing I wrote years and years ago. I’m gonna put it up here a bit at a time because it will give me an excuse to finally edit the damn thing. No idea what tags or content warnings to include.

If you didn’t follow me to read my ancient bs, I guess block my tag “#ONE” since that’s what the book is called. Ok chapter one under the cut.

ONE

By E. Nicholas

I said that I didn't know where to begin. My own voice sounded distant, unreal. I couldn't pry my eyes from the table in front of me, for guilt or fear or sheer exhaustion I didn't know. 

Could it be guilt after all? 

The handcuffs on my wrists prevented me from placing my arms in any position but dead in my lap, resting on my thighs as I sat back a little from the metal table, a bit slumped. Posture was always an issue with me, ever since I was a kid. I can still remember the nuns, slapping my back or buttocks with a ruler or firm hand when I slouched. I don't know that my posture improved but it was certainly on my mind a lot more. 

The agent in front of me was a youngish man, probably about 35 years old, or around that age. His posture was relaxed, authoritative. He entered maybe ten minutes earlier. When he walked through the door, he had a much calmer demeanor than when I first met him back in the cellar, in the desert. 

Having removed his coat, I could see he wore a very nice but un-ironed pin-stripe shirt, beneath an unimaginative tie. I guessed he must be straight, and single. Maybe recently divorced. It took some time for him to organize the enormous folder he brought with him, shuffling papers, photographs, notes and scribbles jotted down by who knew how many police officers over the years. I knew what I'd got myself into. I was well prepared but part of me had honestly hoped that I'd be dead by now. 

Nobody ever has a plan for what they'll do after they orgasm. That's what I felt like. The moment had finally come and now I had the mess to deal with. Or rather, this man had me. 

After some minutes of silence he eventually asked me what happened. I tried my best to recall. I'm not much of a talker. I felt dirty. Occasionally I was aware of the smell of my own body beneath me. For as dirty as I was physically, my mind felt perfectly clean. My heart or gut or wherever the emotions live in a man like me, felt very clean and new. 

Fresh. 

The agent turned on a camcorder that was facing me. I could see the reflection of his back in the mirrored window behind him. He still had all of his hair, black, clean cut with those two lines of fuzz that run down the edges of a man's neck. Past his left ear, I caught a glimpse of myself. God, I looked like shit.

. . .

Just a 53 year old man, sitting in a small Vietnamese restaurant in a part of town I normally avoided. I was told to wear nondescript clothing. I recall laughing at that. Everything I owned was nondescript. My life was nondescript. My whole being seemed beyond any interesting description. 

I’ve always wanted to be more flamboyant, to be more outgoing and to wear nice things. I saw a pair of orange and yellow argyle, cashmere dress socks in the window of a shop the other day. How desperately I yearned to purchase and sport those decadent, flaming socks, maybe under a pair of charcoal chinos. I could only bring myself to look at them from the corner of my eye, embarrassed even to be near them. I purchased a three-pack of black, unribbed mid-calves instead. Just like the socks I wore in that odd-smelling diner that day. 

I suppose it's not odd-smelling if you’re used to it. It's just a normal smell. 

I’ve been on my share of blind dates before, some less terrible than others. The waiting is the worst part. You're there, usually dressed nicely, either sipping your expensive coffee or telling the server you're expecting another person. I always arrive early, I can’t help it. I'm not especially punctual, I'm just generally nervous. I fidget and sweat at home until I can't take it anymore and end up leaving twenty minutes early. I tell myself it’s to beat traffic. 

Then I wait. Typically the potential date has sent over a poor quality photo through e-mail, or worse a vague description of what to look for, so I scrutinize every single person that comes and goes as I sit there, trying my best to look calm. My head pops up every time the door opens, even though I tell myself to stop looking so desperate. I try to calm my heartbeat but that’s impossible because this complete stranger displayed some vague or passing interest in me, however small, and I want to make sure it stays that way. So I look at everyone who wanders in and parse their face and body quickly, trying to decipher if it's them, and if they're attractive and if they're attracted to me.

But this was not a blind date. I had expressed my interest in him. Well, no. It's complicated.

In this diner I sat playing with the condensation on my plastic cup. I ordered what I thought was a fruit smoothie but it turned out to be some kind of awful fruit slush filled with tapioca balls that slid up the straw and needed to be chewed like rubbery, gooey pellets. It sat largely untouched, sweating into a puddle beneath it. I can recall dressing as blandly as I could, but in that diner I stuck out like a sore thumb simply because I wasn't Vietnamese. 

I was seated awkwardly at what looked like old card table, with a plastic picnic tarp over it and a plexiglass pane set on top for easy wiping. There was a rack of chopsticks and strange plastic spoons like miniature flat-bottom boats stacked beside it. The kitchen was clearly visible through a short hallway and I could see a large, covered pot sitting on a wooden palette on the ground with a long ladle sticking out of it. The proprietor, who also seemed to be the cook, kept opening the pot to stir the steaming contents. 

I could hear the unmistakable sound of a television playing in the kitchen, amidst the unintelligible chatter of the cooks and wait staff, which consisted of an underage girl in punk jeans and a band tee shirt and a sketchy boy who I imagined was her brother. 

I shifted nervously in my uncomfortable chair. The boring white walls were peppered with garish posters of the different dishes on offer. One giant bowl of brothy noodles after another. The colors were faded and bleeding in places from years in the restaurant's moist atmosphere. I questioned my being there with every passing second.

I can remember hearing his footsteps outside of the window before actually seeing him. It was a gray, foggy day in early October. Puddles were collecting on the ground as it drizzled sporadically. His footsteps were a little splashy and very audible on the asphalt of the parking lot. 

The diner was in a secluded strip mall on the edge of town, chosen I'm sure very carefully. He was tall but not overly tall. Not so tall that you would ever really comment on it, but tall enough to be taller than me. As he walked past the window towards the front door I could only really see his black windbreaker, grayish brown hair and tan slacks, then he was past me and the bell hanging on the door jingled. 

I could hear his wet shoes squeak on the linoleum floor as he stood in the doorway behind me. He just stood there for a few seconds before brushing past me and pulling out the chair across from mine at the table. Now I could see him. He knew exactly who I was immediately, which I shouldn't have found surprising. I must have reeked of desperation and neuroses. I recall thinking immediately that he had a very personable air about him. He had a thin, wrinkled neck that plunged into a collared shirt under his jacket. 

When I looked up to make eye contact, he was already smiling, like we had known each other our whole lives. He was older than I imagined he'd be. His wide face had cheekbones like elbows, ruddy and defined. Popped blood vessels and small red veins betrayed years of neglect in his skin care routine. His salt and pepper hair was combed back and to the right, with more brown on top than on the sides. It looked rough, like a used brillo pad. 

His eyes were a sort of grayish green, and the left one looked to be slightly lazy, or weaker than the right. It looked at me, just a little off of center. He had straight teeth, but yellowed with age. The damp from outside was on his skin, emphasizing the tiny imperfections and discolorations of a man in his sixties. His build was overall very average, if a little skinny. He was maybe six feet tall. The look of him was honestly very normal, with extremely vague, anglo-saxon features. Nothing about him appeared handsome or ugly. He spoke with a very even, American voice with a tiny amount of gravel to it.

“Hi.” He said, still smiling, and offered his hand, which I shook after a moment’s hesitation. In the handshake, my hand slackened for release before his,  which made me feel embarrassed and somehow inadequate.

“It's Guy, right?” he asked, unzipping his windbreaker and scooting his chair loudly backwards a bit from the table. My name isn't Guy. In a previous correspondence, we agreed that he would call me by that pseudonym, so I nodded and wrapped my trembling fingers around the cold bottom of my slush cup, nervously maintaining some semblance of calm. I realized I should probably say something, to show that I was comfortable, however dishonest that was.

“That's right.” I stuttered, nodding along. I could hear an English language commercial for insurance playing on the invisible television in the kitchen. The loud, obnoxious voice was droning on about the “unexpected events in life.” It seemed entirely too ironic at the time, and I remember watching his eyes as he clearly heard it too. The crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes crimped a bit more as his genuine smile grew. He chuckled a little, but the warmth of his eyes grew chilly. You had to really look at him to see, but there was a room behind his eyes. It was an icebox, or a basement or a meat locker. His eyes tried to reveal something true behind the facade of his warm, inviting smile.

“Huh, life's little unexpected events. That's funny.” He grinned, patting one hand on his knee, crossed over his other leg.

The girl wandered out of the kitchen and asked what he would like, her hip bones jutting out at us above the waist of her jeans and studded black belt. He scratched his neck with a dry, dusty sound and reached across the table to tap the top of my cup with his long fingertips.

“I'd love one of these please.” His tone was very friendly and direct. After verifying that all we wanted were beverages, the girl slid small notebook into a back pocket and retreated to the kitchen, returning quickly with his tapioca-glob slurry. He swirled the straw around a bit, sniffing.

“What did I just order?” he asked, laughing a little and looking at me. I couldn't help but relax a bit. His demeanor was totally disarming. I don't know what I was expecting but I was very surprised at the man I met that day.

“It's uh, some kind of fruit, tapioca thing.” I said, shaking my head.“I don't like it really.”

He laughed and took a slurping, comically loud sip. Swallowing dramatically, he faked an exaggerated gag and shook his head, his eyebrows frowning and his mouth sneering.

“No, no I don't really like it either.” He laughed a little and took another sip. “Maybe it'll grow on me.”

Wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers, he moved a bit closer to the table, leaning in slightly. The plastic of the chair cushion beneath him squeaked.

“They don't really speak a lot of English in places like this, you know.” His smile cooling into a wry grin.

“So we don't need to feel embarrassed.” He leaned back again and cocked his head just barely towards the kitchen. He waited a second before turning back to face me.

“Hey, can I borrow your phone quick?” He asked, reaching out his hand. I, fumbling a little, reached into my front pocket and fished out my cell, handing it over to him. He scrutinized it briefly before setting it down beside his cup.

“Does your phone get Internet?” He asked. I nodded affirmatively, curious where this line of questioning was leasding.

“Have you ever heard of the website 'wheretoshit.com'?” He asked. He didn't wait for an answer, though I did shake my head.

“It's great. It's got a comprehensive list of every toilet stall in every out-of-the-way restaurant in every major city in the country. For example, this joint has two stalls in the men's room.”

He turned his head again, though he kept talking.

“You can go ahead and find the stall closest to the wall. Occupy it and wait for me to enter in a minute or two. In the interest of disclosure, I'll be going through your phone's contacts, calendar, texts and any other programs I find. I'll try to be quick so your legs don't fall asleep.” He chuckled a little at that and waited for me to move or respond in any way.

I was surprised and confused but I understood from the beginning of our correspondence that this was never going to be a normal date. I nodded and pushed myself out from the table, my chair legs making what I remember to be a flatulent noise as it scootched. He was already opening up my flip phone and pushing buttons, no longer paying any attention to me.

Past the coat rack, in a small hallway near the front door was the men's room. Sure enough, upon entering I could see there were two toilet stalls, side by side, divided by a wall that didn't meet the floor. Catching my reflection briefly in the mirror, I backed up to see how I looked. My complexion could only be described as pallid. My thinning hair was pushed over to one side. My face drooped shamefully, like a basset hound. I had shaved one day earlier, the beginnings of a shadow sprouted unevenly on my cheeks and chin. My eyes were rimmed and baggy. 

I looked awful. 

Well, I wasn't here to impress him with my looks, I told myself. When I closed the stall door behind me, I suddenly wondered if I should actually pull down my pants or not. I didn't know why he had me come here, but if he was going to be right next to me soon, I certainly didn't want to be exposed. I decided against it and sat down on the john, pants up and nervously wringing my hands.

He entered shortly after and occupied the stall beside mine. I could see his shoes beneath the dividing wall between us.

“What we're going to do here will be the protocol by which all future meetings are conducted.” He explained woodenly, all of the jovial amicability gone from his voice.

“If you fail to comply even once, in any way, or give me pause or reason to doubt you or your intentions, then I will terminate our relationship immediately and you will never hear from me again. I need you to understand the finality of that statement. Do you?”

Suddenly and with immediacy, I realized that I was taking the first steps on a journey from which I could not retreat. My heart raced, my palms became cold and clammy and my hands shook. I realized I was nodding, mute, and forced my voice enough to stammer out a choppy “Yes.”

He paused a second before continuing, his voice suddenly warmer but still authoritative. It sounded to me like he was courting someone. Whether it was me or not, I couldn’t be sure.

“I don't want that to happen. I don't think you want that to happen. Doubt. Doubt breeds fear. Fear is a worm. It's a worm that eats our doubts and grows. It lays maggots in our minds that crawl and fester and make us sloppy in our work. We cannot ever commit the sin of sloppiness or leniency or fear. Right? We'll never do that.” When he said this last sentence, he used the toe of his left shoe to slip off his right, and then vice-versa. After his shoes I could see him remove his socks. He had large feet. His shoes were brown loafers, his socks were olive gray and ribbed.

“I'm your advocate Guy, don't forget that. As your advocate, you will have to trust me implicitly and follow my instructions to the letter and with great promptness. Take off your shoes and socks as I have done and slide them to me between the stalls. Do so quickly. Prove to me that you understand.”

Hands still shaking, I reached down and untied my brown, scuffed oxfords. I was nervous for a thousand reasons. The circumstances of this endeavor were sinking in. I was afraid my feet might smell. I was ashamed of my old, worn shoes and the difficulty with which I was untying them. I couldn’t remember if my socks had holes in the heels or not. I finally succeeded in taking off my shoes and yanked my socks off, my feet making a fleshy, slapping sound on the cold bathroom floor. I tucked my socks into the openings of my shoes as I habitually do, and pushed all of it over to him. Accepting them, he slid his own socks and shoes over to me.

“You're doing fine. Now, remaining as seated as you are able, undo your belt, button and zipper and remove your pants, then give them to me.”

If I thought I was nervous before, that initial feeling paled in comparison to the dread that coursed icily across the surface of my skin. Still, I complied with as much haste as I could muster. I questioned in my head why this was the operating procedure, while I undid my pants and pushed them down my hips, lifting my buttocks off the seat enough to hike them down past my sweaty thighs. When my pants were in his stall, he snatched them up and I assume he hung them on the hook screwed into the stall's door.

“Now your underwear.”

A cold snap of panic and embarrassment gripped me. I could not force myself, no matter how I tried, to remove my white, ratty briefs and give them to this man.

“Guy.” His voice shook me and I physically jumped on the toilet.

“Don't hesitate. Give them to me now or this is how we part ways.”

My mind raced. I fought every instinct in my body and stood up, hunching as I shoved my briefs down to my ankles. I could feel my hot face sweating. I was mortified. The toes of my right foot caught in the elastic waistband as I rushed to comply, and nearly fell over, my shoulder banging into the divider as I shuffled around, trying to regain my balance. I managed to free my foot and slide my briefs over to him. 

Seating myself again on the cold seat, naked now from the waist down, I prayed to God that my underwear was clean.

“Good. You're doing very well. Now, as fast as you can give me your shirt and coat. Give me the rest of your clothing as fast as you can.”

Now I was an automaton of undressing, any capacity for hesitation that remained in me was rebuked by fear alone. Pulling my arms through the sleeves of my sweater, I yanked it over my head and threw it under the stall. The buttons of my shirt flew undone beneath my trembling fingers. With difficulty, I stretched my arms behind my back to remove it, trying not to dip the tails into the toilet water. I tossed it beneath the dividing wall, now totally naked and shivering from chill and anxiety. As the surreality of it all throbbed in my temples, all I could do was look straight ahead at the plastic stall door. The pebbled texture was slightly grimy where unwashed hands had pushed it open over the years.

“You're doing just fine.” He almost sang. I heard him shuffle and out of the corner of my eye I could perceive the blurry shapes of his feet disappear. A motion above me snapped me to attention. His head emerged over the divider, backlit by sick fluorescence I could almost see my own reflection in his eyes. His gaze scanned over me, all over, his face a blank slate.

“Move your hands, look at me and open your mouth wide.” He commanded calmly, still staring at me, standing on his toilet and bracing himself with his hands on the stall divider. 

I had instinctively covered my groin with my two hands, and looked down at them like they were two dead fish that jumped into a fishing boat. They shivered softly like timid rodents in my lap. I realized he asked me to expose myself. I was beyond help now. I came fully to the realization that I was in. In for a penny in for a pound. 

Through sheer force of will, I ordered my hands to my sides, gripping the toilet seat for better purchase, and leaned my head back, opening my mouth as wide as I could like I was in a dentist’s chair. The greenish yellow light shining in my eyes made it almost feel familiar.

“Good man. Lift your tongue for me.” He asked, and I did. I lifted it and I even said “Aahhhh.” 

My heart was pounding in my eyeballs now, throbbing. I could hear the waves of an ocean in my ears, the blood pumped like a hydraulic engine. My penis had shriveled to the size of an amputated thumb, gray and shadowed by my pubic hair, trying to hide in horrified shame. 

Finally, he told me to relax and vanished once more, back into his side of the stall. I heard what was probably him examining my clothes as he spoke, calmly and in a reassuring tone.

“You've taken the first steps in impressing me, Guy. You've done very well so far. Every time we meet, whether publicly or privately, you will first surrender all electronic devices, like you did at the table earlier. We will then take part in casual, nondescript chit chat before adjourning to a place where you can and will disrobe. I will keep one item of your clothing from every meeting. It will be returned to you later. Today it will be your shoes. I will always give you a comparable piece of clothing to wear out of the meeting. I habitually carry a duffel bag of clothes for just this reason. You'll wear my shoes and socks today for example.”

As he spoke, I began to hyperventilate. My vision blurred and I began to cough a short but deep chesty cough. The peripheral of my vision began to fuzz out into a scratchy gray.

“I will then search your body as I have just done. I carry latex gloves on my person as well and sometimes I will perform a cavity search. These searches will be random and unannounced prior to the meeting.”

I don't think I was having a heart attack but I was definitely having a panic attack. I think he recognized this as his voice became quieter and more gentle.

“Guy, listen to me. Right now I need you to calm down. It's not uncommon for people in your position to be nervous. Remember the goal. Remember the dream. Breathe slowly and listen to my voice. Close your eyes and listen to me now. Only listen to me.”

I closed my eyes and listened, trying to slow my ragged breathing. As he spoke, I could feel my pulse in the thin skin of my eyelids. I could almost see the blood in the tiny veins rushing in front of me.

“Retribution. Peace. Stillness.”

His voice was slow and became slightly deeper than it had been. I focused on his every word and the silences between them.

“You can stop the fear. You can be strong. You can regain control. Listen to me. I am here only to help you. Only to aid you in healing. To support you, in making yourself whole and healthy and complete again.”

“You will have justice, Guy. You will have what you want. Everything you want. The life you deserve will follow. Just as you know it will, in your heart, I can promise it will in reality, because I have seen it. I have seen it work and I know how to get there.”

His reassurances nudged whatever remaining strength I had to force my breathing to slow. Despite everything, sitting naked on a toilet in a Vietnamese restaurant with a complete stranger, the heaving embarrassment that dripped from my armpits, despite it all, I actually believed him.

“That's right Guy. Together we can make it reality. Together we'll get you what you rightfully deserve and you can live the rest of your days as the man you deserve to be.” 

The furious beating of my heart began to slow and I sighed a deep, spitty breath. It was funny really. He managed to generate and then ultimately release such panic in me. It wouldn’t be the last time.

After a few minutes listening only the quiet humming of the overhead lights, he draped my clothes over the stall divider and casually assured me that I could put them back on. I dressed without any real urgency, surprised at how quickly my inhibitions and embarrassment died away, at least enough for me to accept my new situation now as reality. 

He told me to put his shoes and socks on and then meet him back at the table where we would conclude our business for the day. He said that I could take my time. His stall opened and I heard him wash his hands and exit through the squeaky door.

I met him back at the table where the other patrons seemed completely oblivious to everything that had just happened. I had no conscious memory of how long we’d actually been in the bathroom. Time sped up and slowed and fluctuated so severely I was completely lost temporally.

He was sipping his tapioca chum and playing a game on my phone when I pulled out my chair and sat across from him. He exited the current application and handed my phone back to me, smiling.

“Your feet are a little smaller than mine. I should be okay though. I hope my loafers aren't too roomy.” All of this he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He was jovial and light-hearted again.

“Today was about listening and learning, Guy.” He said leaning in a bit, his eyes growing a cast of seriousness though his mouth kept smiling.

“What we do is for my safety and yours. Always remember that. You've done well so far. I have no reason to think that this relationship will be anything but successful. Our journey will take a little time, I need us both to recognize that. But in the end, you will have what you want. You will know your dream. So long as you shun fear and doubt.” 

As I followed his eyes, I could see just how capable he was and how confident. He was the only one, the only person who could guide me. His eyes were two tunnels, corridors of green-gray, lit by flickering fluorescent beams strung along the ceiling.

He leaned back and laughed a little.

“Thank God for foreign restaurants.” He chuckled, looking at me with mirth or mischief in his eyes. His shoulders jumped a little and his sudden levity surprised me. I smiled an artificial, uneasy smile at him as he shook his head, grinning. 

Pulling two crumpled bills out of his left pants pocket, he deposited them on the table, stood up and walked out past me without another word. The oddity of that day would characterize every meeting I had with him afterward. I clenched my toes in his long, worn loafers and listened dazedly to the television's drone.

[saiqherrr]

—how dare you (t. fushiguro)

.pairing toji fushiguro x fem!reader

.content warning smut, nsfw, dub-con, very very rough sex, hate-fuck, degradation, scratching, oral sex (m!&f!receiving), unprotected sex

.synopsis your ex, and the father of your child, joins you for a friendly dinner, but things take an interesting turn.

.a/n dilf toji. that's it. 🤔 jk, this one actually took a lot out of me when writing. : | i added some soft, make-up sex because toji really does a number on y/n in this one so, enjoy that. ALSO TOJI GETS A LIL SOFT TOO lmao

.wc 5.7k

GOOSEBUMPS covered the expanse of your exposed arms, causing you to shiver and let out an unstable breath. you regretted not bringing a sweater or something with you to the restaurant. you just so happened to be conveniently seated in a booth that was right under a vent.

“do you want my jacket?”

“no,” you responded hastily to toji’s giving voice. this was the third time he had asked you if you needed something, or offered something. could he just quit it? you didn’t want to accept anything from him.

toji’s eyes narrowed and his face went dull, seeing how stubborn you were being over something so small. he put his jacket beside him and huffed. “you’re obviously fucking cold, y/n. you don’t have to act like such a child.”

toji’s vulgar language was no surprise to you, but it still sent chills down your spine to hear him talking to you that way - again. even when the two of you were together, his language was nasty and mean when reacting to the smallest things. surprisingly, that had nothing to do with why the two of you broke it off being that you, too, also had a bit of a potty mouth.

“i’m not acting like a child,” you reacted unhesitatingly, but you knew you were. you were desperately trying to find ways to avoid him, even if it meant he was genuinely trying to help you out. you shivered again and rolled your eyes as you felt a flood of cold air arrive at your skin. toji stared at you long and hard from across the table, seeing how hard you were trying to avoid eye contact with him. you could feel his glare without even looking. finally, you became fed up and grunted. “just give me the fucking jacket.”

toji laughed at you, amused, as he handed over the jacket and you aggressively snatched it from his hand. you slid your arms into the oversized jacket and sighed with relief. this wasn’t the first time you wore this specific jacket. you quickly got comfortable in it’s familiar warmth.

“you’re welcome,” toji annoyingly chimed.

you rolled your eyes again before crossing your arms. “i really regret agreeing to this, y’know...”

with a smug smile on his face, toji rested his elbow on the table and let his hand cup the side of his face as he looked at you. “why? nothing even happened. i’ve been nice to you this entire time.”

“that’s the problem. you think all these little nice gestures and innocent antics are gonna’ make me fall in love with you again or something,” you spat out, eyebrows furrowed, nose twitching.

toji scoffed hearing how delusional you sounded, pushing his own face away as he sat back again, his back connecting with the leather booth. “you sound silly, y/n. what antics are you talking about?”

“oh, don’t play fucking stupid, toji,” you snapped. your patronizing and slightly degrading voice made toji’s body twitch. “this entire outing is apart of the antic. what other reason would you have to call me up randomly and ask me out to dinner?” he couldn’t help but smirk, he missed your voice. he loved hearing that tyrant-like voice come out of you whenever you were getting angry. it was spunky.

toji genuinely just wanted to work on his friendship with you for the sake of the child you shared together. co-parenting was rough when the two of you were constantly at one another’s throat all the time. but, he knew you wouldn’t believe you so he didn’t bother explaining it. plus, he found your delusional assumptions to be quite entertaining.

“so you’re just not going to answer?” you ask. toji adverted his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, making it obvious he was trying to ignore you. “oh, fuck you.”

“fuck me then...”

before you could even utter a single letter back to him, your waiter had finally came by after the two of you waited for an unnecessarily long time. the exchange was short; asking for drinks, appetizers and then walking off to fetch them for you.

after the waiter left, your eyes met toji’s immediately. you didn’t forget what he said. “why would you say that?”

“say what? you said it first,” toji taunted, running his tongue across his bottom, scarred lip.

you were getting more annoyed by the second but for some reason, you were...happy? you didn’t want to leave, in fact, whenever toji’s attention would go to his phone, it made you upset for a reason you couldn’t explain. this was the first time in almost a year that the two of you had been in the same place for more than five minutes.

after toji moved out, you agreed to dropping ‘gumi off at his place every friday, picking him up on mondays. most of the time, you did it in silence, simply putting ‘gumi in the backseat of his car, giving him kisses and leaving. but right here, right now, you were in his presence and speaking to him once again.

“...megumi’s doctor appointment.”

you blanked out so hard, so into your head, that you didn’t even realize toji was talking to you. you blinked once you snapped back to reality and looked at him. “for fuck’s sake, were you listening?” he asked, giving you another one of those dull looks.

you shook your head no, embarrassed. “sorry, i was thinking about something...”

“thinking of what?” his voice was gruff.

“don’t worry about it,” you responded. the waiter came back with your drinks and the appetizers. they asked for your meals and the two of you told him as he scribbled it down in a notepad before walking away again.

toji picked up a handful of fries and popped it into his mouth, chewing like a slob. “just tell me.”

you huffed. being honest wouldn’t hurt, would it? “you, damn it. i was thinking of you.”

“wow, i’m flattered,” toji responds sarcastically, looking down at his phone. he looked back up at you to see your face seemingly hurt, your lips parted as you didn’t know what to say. “i’m joking.” he broke out into a laugh laced with immaturity. “that’s cute though.”

“whatever,” you grumbled.

gradually, the night got better. after having a couple of two sentence arguments and spewing mean comments back and forth, they were replaced by small pick-up lines, friendly jokes and pure happiness to be around one another. toji shamelessly enjoyed himself, missing this feeling of being around you. you, on the other hand, were still stand off-ish, even though there was a yearning desire to be in his presence everyday. to be in his strong arms again, to hear him say, “i love you,” again. but you ended it. you ended it because you’re too conceited and you needed to prove that you could live without him, that you didn’t need to depend on him for everything. toji was a good man to you and a good father to the son you both shared. even with his not-so-squeaky-clean history that everybody and their mother was telling you about, he was the complete opposite. you got comments like “you’ve changed him,” that  would make you feel so good about your spirit. it got to your head, and you felt the need to keep him wrapped around your finger. when he caught on, he felt hurt that you didn’t cherish him in a more affectionate way, yet he still stayed. he respected your decision to leave him, but he wasn’t happy with it. you unintentionally spawned a feeling of anger in his heart that was targeted at you which was the reason things had to end so sour.

as these thoughts swam around in your mind, you stared out the window, eyes unfocused and lost in a daze. nimble, blurred images of street signs, houses, pedestrians and all things the city included hurried past your still eyes, failing to process any of it as you sat in the passenger seat of toji’s car.

for the most part, he kept his eyes glued to the busy road, but he’d occasionally look at your emotionless face, wondering about what you were thinking so hard about. if he were to ask, you would’ve gotten upset, so the words he wanted to speak dissipated instead. he cleared his throat as he sighed and leaned back on his seat, lounging as he drove and the sudden sound broke you out of your trance.

your eyes flickered to him as he sat in the seat, keeping his eyes forward and alert. you wondered how long you had been out of your body. you wondered if he noticed. seeing him in the seat, lightly gripping the wheel, watching how his eyes analyzed other drivers brought you back to your days with him. he was super cautious on the road, super cautious of his passengers and super cautious of himself. you suddenly got frustrated with yourself for wanting him - no, needing him back again. you missed him so much and attempting to put on this facade that you didn’t was irksome.

you didn’t realize he had pulled into the driveway of your house, right beside your sister’s car, who was watching megumi for the night. you wanted to get your emotions out. you couldn’t let him leave yet. “toji-” you cut yourself off, realizing that you were calling out to him. “toji.”

his sharp, dirty green eyes shifted over to your face, without him barely moving his head. his eyebrow raised with curiosity. “hm?”

“can you come inside?” you asked. toji wanted to laugh at how soft your voice was in contrast to the roughness of your tone from earlier. how pitiful. he kept his laughs and thoughts inside and let out a small breath.

“yeah, sure.”

toji put the car in park and the engine died as the two of you got out of the car. you walked ahead of him as you approached the front door to the home you previously used to own together, the moment bittersweet as you unlock the front door.

the sound of soft baby music reached your ears as you entered in. you can see a kids cartoon blaring on the tv, while your sister was sleep on the couch, mouth slightly open and your son asleep in his rocker. toji smiled at the sight. you barely changed anything in the house. a family portrait that you begged toji to participate in was still hanging on the wall. you took light steps as you approached your sister, nudging her.

“oh, you’re here,” she says, yawning and extending her arms out to stretch. she sat up, digging her palms into the couch and her eyes darted to the front door. “toji?” your sister looked back at you, but you gave her a pleading look, hoping she would get the hint and just go.

“hey.” toji’s voice was dry, hinted with a bit of enthusiasm in the end.

your sister gave megumi a quick kiss on the cheek as he slept before gathering her few belongings and leaving. you sighed with heavy relief and walked over to megumi to get him out the rocker. toji chuckled, seeing how desperate you were to talk to him.

you had come to find out that you’re child was a heavy sleeper, not even disturbed in the slightest when you held him in your arms. you kissed his soft, chubby cheeks and rubbed your face against his, showering him with motherly love. “i’m gonna put him to bed, just wait in our room.” you didn’t even realize you had said “our”, but toji did and he was expecting you to correct yourself, but you didn’t. toji kissed megumi’s forehead before you went upstairs and put him in his crib before going across the hall into your room.

toji was laid out on the bed the two of you once shared, staring up at the ceiling, his defined hands loosely folded over his stomach. he was sitting in the dark oddly, making your eyebrows twitch. you flicked the light on and toji’s eyes shut from how bright it was. he saw colors plaguing his vision as his pupils tried to adjust.

“so, what’s wrong?”

the question made you freeze momentarily as you were on your way to your dresser to change. you went back to what you were doing, not sure how to answer his question. you didn’t even hear him get up from the bed, you were simply given an unsolicited touch on your arm, making you flinch in place. the fact that you didn’t reject the gesture was enough for toji to confirm that you missed him.

“toji, i...” his name slipped out of your mouth. his breath fanned over the back of your neck, causing a chill to run down your spine. your heart was beating faster with each second that passed by. move. you wished he would move. you were frozen in place, scared to fall into any trap that he’d have for you. a lump sat in your throat, making you painfully uncomfortable, forcing you to speak. “toji, i miss you,” you exposed, your voice delicately hoarse. you gasped at the sound of your own voice and toji’s jaw clenched. a burning sensation plagues your eyes as tears began to rise. you only made it worse by not blinking, desperately trying to keep toji from seeing you so weak. your chin twitched as your lips began to quiver. toji caged your body as he put his hands on the dresser in front of you and he filled up the already little space between the two of you.

“i know you do.” his voice was intimidating and husky. he couldn’t see your face at this moment; hot tears streaming down your cheeks, your nostrils flaring uncontrollably. you could see his hands in front of you, gripping the dresser as if it was going to run away, his knuckles had turned snow white. “just wish you didn’t have to break my fucking family apart just so you could fail to prove a dumbass point.”

you couldn’t hold in your cries and gasped in such a pathetic way. “it wasn’t dumb-” you began to argue but a sharp, demeaning tone cut you off.

“shut the fuck up, y/n. it was dumb. because now we’re here, and you’re asking me to come inside for what?” you had no argument to that. you wanted him to come inside because you wanted to feel his presence in your home again. “this was our home.”

“i want it to be our home,” you whined, responding back almost immediately. “it’s our home,” you repeated. you bit on your lip so hard that you didn’t even realize that you had bit through the skin, causing it to bleed. you licked your lip, the metallic flavor reaching your taste buds. you turned around, putting your hands on toji’s chest. your eyes didn’t even meet his and you didn’t want to, because you knew those patronizing eyes were going to break you. “i’m sorry,” was all you could whisper as you grabbed onto his shirt, the cotton wrinkling in your grip. your breath hit his chest and he remained so still that it started to scare you. you jumped in place when he finally moved and his face was in your peripheral vision as he leaned down to place his scarred lips on your jaw. they traveled to the space behind your ear and trailed along the side of your neck until he reached your collarbone, smacking his lips with each wet peck. you grew impatient, grabbing his face with demanding hands until your soft lips connected to his.

the way he gripped your hips was irascible, but you knew you deserved it. how dare you break apart your family to feed your ego? how dare you cut the time your son has with his father for your own selfish rational? how dare you spend all this time spewing nonsense about you not loving him - how he didn’t take care of you enough? how dare you stand here and apologize after all the damaged you’ve caused? toji pulled away harshly and his eyes immediately met your glossy orbs. the look in his eyes were despondent, telling you a thousand things that only you could understand. your hands had fell to either sides of his neck, brushing against the hairs on the nape.

“i love you...” you regretted speaking as the words fell from your mouth.

toji stared at you long and hard, trying to read every bit of your face. after you spent months speaking of him so ill, he couldn’t fully believe your words. “prove it, y/n.” his voice carried nothing but intimidation in contrast to the lewdness of the command.

before you could utter another word out, toji’s fingers were wrapped around your throat, gripping the sides. your mouth went dry trying to breath in as much as you could and your face became tight as he cut off your airway. this wasn’t something you weren’t used to. you were accustomed to having rough sex with him - that’s just how he was - and you had grown to love it. but obviously, all of his actions had a different motive behind them this time.

toji kept his silence, removing his hands from your throat and pushed your head down while you simultaneously gasped for air. slowly, you got on your knees in front of him, your face leveled with his crotch. toji didn’t have to demand you like he used to. you felt guilty, you knew exactly what he wanted and the least you could do was give it to him. so, you’re fingers pulled down the cold, metal zipper on his pants and unbuttoned the silver button that held his slacks together. you didn’t have to look up at him to know that his eyes were watching your every move like a hawk. your fingers hooked onto the belt loops of his pants and you pulled them down until they fell to his ankles. he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side for them to be forgotten for the night.

as if it were routine, he took his index and middle finger on one hand and tapped your mouth, signaling for you to open it. your lips parted just enough and he facilely slid his fingers inside of your mouth. a small pool of spit sat on your tongue and it coated his fingers as you wrapped your tongue around them. with his free hand, he rubbed his semi-hard cock through his boxers, hissing as he anticipated the feeling of your mouth. he removed his fingers and rubbed the residue on his bulge. you licked him through his underwear, leaving trails of saliva that covered his length, dampening the cotton. he was fully erect by now, pulsating through his boxers. you pulled them down like you did his pants before and he kicked them to the side also. his cock slapped against his abdomen and you grabbed it, jerking him off while your tongue fed his bulbous, swollen head a couple of teasing kitten licks. you forgot the feeling of his length in your hand, feeling up on the familiar vein that ran underneath his cock. the only odd thing about all this was that toji wasn’t speaking. usually, he praised, complimented your pretty lips, your innocent eyes. but no, he wasn’t speaking at all.

your hands gripped onto his waist as your mouth took his entire length in. his tip kissed the back of your throat, as he thrusted himself into your mouth. the warmth of your mouth managed to fish out a couple of groans that’d leave his lips, throwing his head back as he felt your tongue curve in place for his girth. he pushed his flat, raven locks back, getting them out of his vision. he grabbed your head, a stinging sensation on your scalp as he grabbed your hair, and forced himself even more down your throat, causing you to gag, painfully choking on his cock. salty tears ran down your cheek and toji smirked with amusement as he watched your cock bulge inside of your throat with every thrust he delivered. it then finally registered in your brain that he wasn’t doing this for pleasure - he was doing it to watch you struggle. he pulled himself out before you could - literally - manage to choke to death, making a ‘pop’ sound. you coughed up a storm, hands on the floor as you took heavy, dramatic breaths trying to learn how to breath again. a silver string of saliva was falling slowly from your mouth. toji’s hand lightly tapped your cheek, your eyes slowly meeting his tormenting gaze. his huge, muscular arm wrapped around your torso and he carried you over to the bed.

memories of kissing your greedy lips, burying his head in between your thighs, and making love to you until you were intoxicated by the way he fucks had fogged his mind. memories of you being his and his only. he could only imagine how many men you let fuck you in this bed, how many men touched places that only he had access to, how many times their hands brushed over the ‘TOJI’ that was inked into your skin on your inner thigh, how many times they laid eyes on the ‘T’ in between your breasts, how many times you had to painfully say, “that’s my ex’s name.” how many times did it happen in these past nine months? he wanted to know.

suddenly, strong fingers were aggressively removing his jacket from your arms, throwing it somewhere to be found later. the red, mesh shirt you had on was ripped in half, exposing your back and you gasped lightly. every movement carried anger. you deserved it. you deserved to be treated this way. he took the remainder of the shirt off of your body before unclasping your bra. his hands grabbed them, feeling your soft, plush breasts that he missed so much. after you had megumi, you were gifted with a busty chest that toji fucking adored. his body was pressed against yours, his cock rubbing against your ass, the only thing keeping you separated was the jeans around your waist. his thumb ran along the area where the ‘T’ was tatted in between your boobs while his other hand pinched at an erect nipple.

his cock was hot against your ass and as rough as he was being, you wanted to feel him. you had to feel him again. you then processed how selfish those thoughts were, wanting him to fuck you after spending many nights with other men while the two of you were apart. it wasn’t fair to toji who - surprisingly - didn’t even think about go on a friendly date with another woman during these past nine months.

toji’s hand trailed down to your waist, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans. he got a hold of both your pants and your silk underwear and pulled them down in a way that was anything but gentle.

“oh my god,” you breathed out. his nails sharply glided on your skin, causing three stripes of claw marks to appear on your lower back and trail on your ass. he showed no remorse either, purposefully grabbing the affected area as he now rubbed his cock on your bare ass, making you grimace. he let his cock slip in between your legs, grazing over your warmth. his grip on your body got painfully tighter as he noticed you were getting off to this, your slick getting onto his length. the smallest moan had regrettably left your lips as you panted like a dog in jagged breaths. 

he pushed you onto the bed, positioning you in front of the headboard, forcibly putting you on your hands and knees. toji continued to run his cock along your puffy lips, groaning as he missed this feeling. normally, he’d prep you. he’d finger you, he’d devour your pretty pussy, he’d watch you desperately hump a pillow with your bare core, getting your juices all over it. he didn’t do any of that, he just wanted to use your body to fuck out his own anger. his hips gripped your waist and he slammed himself into you, his cock intruding your viscid walls, earning a cry that held pain from your mouth. he hissed at the feeling of your hole sucking him in. he pulled out slowly to see his cock glistening with your slick. he was drawn back to your body like a magnet and buried himself into your hole until he was balls deep, vast pleasure taking over his body, his mouth gaping. it wasn’t long before he was delivering strong, hard thrusts into your squelching pussy, that familiar burning sensation that you swore you couldn’t live without spread to your thighs. you gripped onto the sheets beneath you, the fabric crumbled up in your fists. heat burns your body every time your ass slapped against his groin. the bed creaked rhythmically every time toji bucked his hips, causing the headboard to slam into the wall each time. spit formed bubbles on your tongue as it barely hung out as you breathed through his strokes. whiny moans left your mouth as heavy breaths left toji’s.

he finally spoke, making your body violently jerk underneath him at the sound of his voice. “don’t wake my son up.” his lips grazed the top of your ear while his hand was swaddling your throat as he bellowed what sounded like a threat into your ear.

he let go as you frantically heaved for more oxygen again. toji’s strokes were rapid and tameless, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to have mercy on you. he stopped momentarily, leaving your pussy vacant, to flip you over on your back, and didn’t hesitate to plunge his thick cock into your pussy again. his balls swung and slapped against your ass as he moved at an unnatural speed. “t-toji...i can’t...” you struggled to speak, your words almost inaudible. “too...fast,” was all that could be audibly mustered up from your drooling mouth.

he ignored your weak words and pulled you up so your chest was pressed firmly against his own, still plunging into your pulsating cunt with feral thrusts. one arm was holding you up in place and his other hand was squishing your tear-stained cheeks.

“how many men have you fucked in this bed?” he growled. he looked directly into your panic-stricken eyes that screamed the word “stop” in a million different languages. he loosened the grip on your face just enough for you to speak, but nothing came out. he sent an incredibly painful thrust into you that kissed your cervix, causing you to scream. your scream was cut off by his clammy palm covering your mouth. your muffled squeals vibrated through his hand and your eyes screwed shut as the balance between pain and pleasure started to become uneven. it was too much, too fast. you were too full, too fucked out. your mind saw double, feeling a mental freeze while your body continued to react pleasurably to the feeling of his cock ramming into your sopping cunt. “how many men have you fucked in this bed?!” spit flew from his mouth as he asked the question again. his voice was drowned out by white noise, but you could still hear his urgent question.

eyes dead, face losing color, you finally found a way to answer his question once his hand was removed from your mouth. “s-seven,” your response was slurred. you felt like you could pass out at any minute. sweat ran down the side of your face as cold as your body was.

your answer only made him angrier, driving him to send another thrust into you. you didn’t think he could go harder than last time, but he continued to surprise you, going past your expectations. soundless curse words were liberated from his lips as your cunt milked his veiny cock unceasingly. the pain was overbearing but subconsciously, you focused on the very little pleasure that was there as he fucked into your pussy ferociously. he was purposefully avoiding your g-spot, trying to keep you as uncomfortable as possible.

“i’m gonna cum in you...” he growled the words in your ear as if it were a warning. “did you let those men come in this pretty pussy?”

“no...” your answer came out as a whine, almost like you were annoyed by the fact that he was asking you so many pointless questions. “p-please...” you didn’t even know what you were begging for, you just had to say it. you sucked in a sharp breath as toji buried himself deep inside of you in a surprisingly careful way and his hot, sticky semen left your walls daubed white. you clenched your teeth, humiliated as the fluid gushed out of your cunt, too overwhelmingly full with his cock.

you couldn’t verbally or mentally react, but your body did, squirming in his hold until you fell on the bed. you fell onto your back, your head sinking into your pillows as his cock slipped out of your loose hole. you turned, laying on your side. your body was twitching uncontrollably, tears streamed down your face as you finally regained your full consciousness. you were full-on crying at this point, wishing he’d stop all of this right now, but wanting him to be able to unleash his anger on you. your eyes were shut so tight you could see colors and it only brought more pain to your already aching head.

toji looked down at you. you were in pain, distraught and fucked out. his pretentious disposition had slowly withered, his face growing soft. he had seen red for too long, ignoring how badly he was hurting you, but deep down he knew that you were letting him. he always admired how you were so willing, how you were so quick to understand someone else’s actions. while toji didn’t deserve your poor treatment, you didn’t deserve this either.

the tension in the air was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. the smell of sweat and sex had filled your noses. the only sounds that could be heard was toji’s heavy breathing and your small sobs. not being able to see, you were shocked to feel a soft, sympathetic kiss being placed on your lips, cutting off your weeping. you opened your eyes just a bit to see toji laying beside you, giving you love the way he used to. this was a kiss you remember. it was gentle, but assertive. toji slid his tongue inside your mouth, searching all around it. your teeth strike each other occasionally as the kiss was sloppy and hurried. he leaned over your frail body, his hand caressing your legs gently, feeling up the plush of your thighs. he spread your legs open a bit, letting cold air hit your clit again, causing a moan to vibrate against his lips. you broke away to get air, a hot breath fanning over toji’s chin.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffled. “i’m so sorry, toji.” as if to save you from another round of sobs, he immediately showers your cheek with insistent kisses as his hand inched closer to your warmth.

for a second you swore you felt his lips mouth the words “it’s okay,” against your skin. your assumption was confirmed when he repeated it with a broken voice as his thumb finally meets your swollen clit, rubbing it in a circular motion. his lips go down to your neck, your head ensuing, lifting up to give him more access. he kissed and sucked on your sensitive spots, giving tedious care to areas where he gripped your neck too hard. you grinded your hips with the very little energy you had against his rough thumb, melting from his touch. toji sat up and hovered over you, kissing, licking and sucking on your round breasts.

“you’re so sexy, you know that? you taste so good,” he compliments you for the first time tonight. you never realized how much you missed those words.

he knew he couldn’t penetrate you again, so he was physically trying to do whatever he could to show you he loves you. his actions were comforting, but confusing being that he spent majority of this time trying to cause you immense pain. you watched as his lips skidded across your skin all the way down to your clit where he pressed his tongue flat. your eyes fluttered, as you gasped. you gulped as your eyes lazily watched toji taste you.

he sucked on your throbbing clit, holding your restless thighs steady. he was slurping and devouring you like it’d be his last time. he moaned at how good you tasted, the vibrations of the moan sending your body ablaze. your hands tangled in his hair that was drenched in sweat. you gripped it, yanking him closer to you until his nose tickled your cunt. his tongue explored your walls that were clenching around nothing. he was gradually bringing you closer to your climax, your bent legs stretching out around him. he saw your face fill with desperation as his tongue flicked your clit over and over, moans flying out of your gaped mouth, your toe’s curling at the consistent feeling.

“oh god, toji,” you breathed. “don’t stop...i’m gonna cum.”

“good girl.” that appraisal came again.

you bucked your hips and he latched his lips on your clit once more, sucking hungrily as your lower body went numb, causing you to wail as you reached your orgasm. you saw white, eyes rolling to the back of your head and choked on your own, dragged out moan. your legs violently shook and cum leaked out of your overstimulated pussy. toji takes no time, licking you clean, breathing against your core as he enjoyed the taste of your cum.

toji brought his face to yours again, kissing you on your plump lips before pulling away. his soft eyes looked down at you, saying things that couldn’t come out of his mouth. your eyelids felt heavy and you couldn’t help, letting a wave of drowsiness take over you as your body slowly shut down.

toji pulled the comforter over your body and his own, pulling your sleeping body close to his as he planted a kiss on your forehead and buried his head in the crook of your neck as he held you in his arms for the rest of the night.