#about: scope yellow

[kanirou-crosshack]

Guy Gardner is also MY current fixation, and I just did a powerpoint on him for my friend group powerpoint night 🫡 god speed, and good luck on that powerpoint

oh god BLESS you fellow soldier, spreading the Good News

I've been obsessed with him for like fifteen years now and it's only gotten *worse* lmaooo. The hardest part will be keeping it under seven minutes. How do I contain such multitudes. How do I make EVERYONE IN THE ROOM LOVE HIM

At least one slide will be nothing but a wall to wall collage of Pat Gleason's Guy faces

[possessedpasm]

Something I try to keep in mind when making art that looks vintage is keeping a limited color pallette. Digital art gives you a very wide, Crisp scope of colors, whereas traditional art-- especially older traditional art-- had a very limited and sometimes dulled use of color.

This is a modern riso ink swatch, but still you find a similar and limited selection of colors to mix with. (Mixing digitally as to emulate the layering of ink riso would be coloring on Multiply, and layering on top of eachother 👉)

If you find some old prints, take a closer look and see if you can tell what colors they used and which ones they layered... a lot of the time you'll find yellow as a base!

Misprints can really reveal what colors were used and where, I love misprints...

Something else I keep in the back of my mind is: how the human eye perceives color on paper vs. a screen. Ink and paint soaks into paper, it bleeds, stains, fades over time, smears, ect... the history of a piece can show in physical wear. What kind of history do you want to emulate? Misprinted? Stained? Kept as clean as possible, but unable to escape the bluing damages of the sun? It's one of my favorite things about making vintage art. Making it imperfect!

You can see the bleed, the wobble of the lines on the rug, the fading, the dirt... beautiful!!

Thinking in terms of traditional-method art while drawing digital can help open avenues to achieving that genuine, vintage look!

[katakaluptastrophy]

The thing about having read our way through two previous books full of necromancers and weird eldritch shenanigans is that the absolute horror of what happens to John as a person doesn't quite register.

John's own glib, matter of fact narration tells the story as an apotheosis. He was doing great. He'd have fixed everything if only people had listened.

But reading between the lines in the John chapters, you glimpse something rather different.

John basically spends the first half of the Jod chapters sitting in the dark with his creepy yellow eyes, not eating or sleeping, literally stroking his favourite corpses and coming out with chill and fun statements about how he can feel their skin when he's away from them and he's 'waking up'. Cool, cool.

Passing swiftly over the cow dome, Presidential Puppet Pals, and the suitcase nuke, day to day life in the cow dome must have been fun... You're all on the Interpol watchlist, the Vatican is asking a lot of questions, the police are outside and John - who hasn't slept in a week and doesn't eat anymore and is probably wearing some kind of weird novelty tshirt - comes wandering past while you're eating breakfast, followed by a dozen silent, dead-eyed corpses like some kind of mother hen. He makes a cow joke, and then zones out because he got distracted by listening to the bacteria in your gut.

And then some guys die accidentally and it turns out he can eat death energy. So now he's got creepy Twilight eyes, an entourage of corpses, a cape, some very dodgy eyeliner, and he's barely breaking a sweat as he instantly kills over 100 people, says it was an accident, and then, dead serious, tells his followers to drag dead UN peacekeepers inside to add to his 'skeleton army'.

By the end, he's not slept or eaten in weeks, is tweaking his own bodily processes on the fly, is puppeting the dead US president and possibly an army of over a hundred corpses, monitoring G- in Melbourne, carrying on at least two conference calls, and helping to build barricades out of chairs.

And I just keep thinking how weird it must have been for his friends. How sometimes he would have seemed like the man they'd known and loved for so long, and sometimes he would seem different. Did they ever find themselves mourning the man he was? Did they ever stand there as he tuned into something they couldn't fathom, staring at them with those yellow eyes, and feel some awful, uncanny valley terror? Did he ever feel like he was losing himself? At what point did the cow jokes stop feeling like oh, classic John and start to be a reminder that his desire for vengeance and the scope of his powers were outstripping his remaining...perspective?...restraint?...humanity?

[peachesofteal]

Sometimes I think about Dr. Riley sitting in his office, fidgeting with a pen staring out of the window, waiting for something... someone. There's a storm coming.

I still think about Dr Riley.

I think about him having a very inappropriate relationship with his patient, Clover. Clover who got her nickname because her special ops team thought she was sooo lucky… until she wasn’t. Until she made a mistake, miscalculated, and got two of her teammates killed. Clover, who had to look Captain Garrick in the eyes as he told her to take indefinite leave until she got her head on straight.

Clover can’t think or eat or sleep without hear the high pitch whine of a drone in her ear. Public places make her skin crawl. She can hardly function. Manages to feed herself and slink down to her building’s gym in the middle of the night, when no one else is there. She runs herself ragged, to the point of exhaustion, and only then can she manage sleep.

The train is late.

The tardiness makes everyone on the platform uneasy. They shift and grimace, fingers fidgeting, eyes roaming.

It’s grey down here. Grey up there, too. A city blanketed in rain, thick cottony fog obscuring streets and buildings, rolling through day, washing it into night without giving the sun it’s singular chance.

It’s grey everywhere. Grey in your bones, in your head. Grey cotton stuffed between your ears to stop the bleeding.

You try to let the anxieties of the delay drift past you, like a warm breeze, but it feels like a winter’s wind instead. Icy. Vicious. Cutting to the bone.

You’re a dog at the end of a chain. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Captain’s orders.

Relax. You’re at home. Waiting for the call. Going to finish therapy, so you can finally get out of here.

The yellow line of the boundary lays straight in front of you. You count the cracks in the concrete and wonder what would happen if you took a step off the edge.

Just one.

A single step.

Would these people try to save you? Would they scream and run? Would they watch you die, body exploded into bits by a train that couldn’t stop? How long would it take you ID you? Who would they call?

It’s not that you want to die. You’re more… curious about it now. Morbidly so. Wondering when it will happen, if death is following you around, waiting to collect his due.

You steady with a long breath, attention focused on the wall across the tracks, counting each tile. Your eyes are still sharp, as sharp as ever, and you focus in on each one individually, judging the distance, imagining a scope in your line of sight, smooth trigger under your finger.

There’s a collective sigh across the platform when the train squeaks to a halt, and you intentionally board last, watching the backs and profiles of everyone else. Back packs, long jackets, anxious faces are all catalogued and sorted, filtered and stacked into neat little piles.

You tug at a piece of skin around your nail, trying to tear it down to the cuticle. The delay has made you uneasy, nervous. Not at all like you used to be. Not at all like your old self.

This will be it this time, you coach, train car pulling away and rocketing into darkness. You’ll get it this time. It’s almost over.

“Hi, sorry I have an appointment at ten, with…” you check your calendar. “Dr. Riley? I know I’m late…” the woman at the desk smiles. It’s clinical, just like every other time. You don’t think she likes you much, you’re not like her. Not like any of them.

“That’s alright, it’s just this way.” She leads you through a maze of hallways, coming to a stop at one dark, wooden door. “Dr. Riley? Your ten o’clock is here.”

It opens to the biggest man you’ve ever seen, clad in jeans and a black hoodie. Is this… is this the shrink?

He says your name. When you don’t answer, he says it again, a little louder. His Manchester accent is full of grit, a mouth full of rocks, but there’s something warm in it too, something spinning you in a soft cocoon of yarn.

“H-hi.” He extends his hand, a massive palm, dwarfing yours.

“I’m Dr. Riley, come in. Thanks, Laura.” He bids the receptionist goodbye, and clicks the door shut behind her, turning with a motion to the couch. “Take a seat. I was just about to call you.”

“I’m sorry, the train was delayed and-“ He holds up his hand, a motion to stop.

“You made it, that’s what matters.” Your hands shake, and you clutch them in your lap. It’s a side effect, they tell you. It’s supposed to go away, but you’ve stopped counting the days.

He’s not what you expected. Your last doctor in this building was an old man who wore a dress shirt and slacks. Dr. Riley looks like he’s in his forties. He’s built out like a solider, broad shoulders and broad chest filling out his casual clothes, glasses reflecting his focused gaze. There are scars on his face, faded white streaks on his upper lip, cheek and jaw. His nose has been broken and repaired, and there’s a patch of his eyebrow missing, like it’s been burned away. He’s part shadow, part marble, full lips, sandy brown hair, chiseled jaw, ocean eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” He begins, glancing at the laptop screen.

“I need to pass my psych eval, sir.” You focus on the question, and not the lone drone rattle rolling through your skull.

“There’s no rank in this office.” Oh, duh. “Why do you need to pass an eval?”

“I’m ready to return to my job. Just need to pass this last step.” Sir. You bite the honorific off just in time.

“If you can’t pass a psych eval, I’d say the conclusion is you’re not ready.” Your spine straightens at the authority in his voice. “And you’re not here for an eval.” Wait, what?

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not here for an evaluation, you’re here for therapy.”

“N-no, sir- ah, Dr. Riley,” his lips tilt, a fraction, and your knees press together involuntarily. “I’ve already had therapy.” He ignores your protest.

“You’ve failed three evaluations in the last two months. You can’t just keep throwing it all the wall, hoping it will stick. You need care.” The room pitches, and you’re trapped on a tilt-a-whirl, locked into a too loud, too bright carnival ride, sirens and screams screeching in the distance.

He says your name again.

“Sorry.” The tablet folds into a laptop, balanced on a broad knee.

“Tell me about them.”

“About…”

“The psych evals. Failing three in such a short time window is a feat.” You blanche. You hate that word, fail. It stings. It’s an affront to you, you who doesn’t fail. You who was the top of her class, first selected, first pick. Your captain depends on you, your team counts on you, to not fail. At anything. Ever.

“I… I struggled with them.” There are photos on the wall, framed medals and degrees. A picture of a German shepherd, and a hanging house plant of some kind, spritely and green, leaves and vines twisting from its perch.

“Let’s start today talking about why you’re struggling with them, then.”

“I don’t know why. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” You’re peevish, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I’m just… stressed. My team-“

“is operating in the field without you.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s causing you stress.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” What is this?

“Why is it causing you stress? Do you not trust them to operate successfully without you?”

“No… I do.”

“What about your captain? Do you not trust him to lead them?”

“Of course I do.” Your fingers tighten on the chair. “I do. But they’re down a man, and they can’t be down for too long.”

“I’m sure your team cares more about you getting the care need, over rushing back into engagement too soon.”

“I know, but I’m ready.”

“You’re not. And I know your captain, Garrick? He wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your wellbeing.” How does he know cap?

“You know captain Garrick?” Dr. Riley smiles.

“I do. And like I said, he wouldn’t want you passed through if you weren’t ready.” He’s got you pinned, metaphorically. Back against the mat, shoulders immobilized. You can’t crawl your way free, can’t fight or twist out of his grip. “Do you want to talk about why you’re on leave?”

“No! No, I… don’t need to.” You complain. “I’ve had eight counseling sessions in the last two months.”

“They’ve clearly helped.” He drawls, glancing at you over the laptop. The eye contact rakes a shiver down your spine, and you find your feet.

“I don’t want to talk about it again, sir.” You whisper it to the ground, silently begging he won’t make you.

“There’s no rank here.” He reminds, voice soft and understanding. “But I’m your clinician now, and I won’t sign off on you taking another psychological evaluation until I’m confident you’re healthy enough to return to work.”

“Can I ask…” you taper off, but he nods to encourage you. “Can I ask why I’ve suddenly been switched to a new doctor?”

“You failed an eval three times. The practice decided you needed a different approach to care.” There’s a pause, and the laptop shuts. His hands settle across his thighs. “Let’s talk about what they call you.”

“Sir?” His lips press together but deigns to remind you a third time about rank.

“Clover.” Oh.

“Yeah, that’s what my team calls me. Only my mum uses my real name anymore.” You joke, and he smiles in a small way, gaze unreadable, bearing down onto you from above.

“Is there meaning behind it?”

“I used to be considered good luck.”

“Used to be?” You blink. Used to be. Like you used to be someone else.

“I guess… my luck ran out.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Why do you think that?” Because you fucked up? You got your friends killed? Because you got into a jam you couldn’t get out of? Because you were tortured into an unrecognizable piece of human pulp?

“I… I don’t know.”

“You do.” He states matter of fact, leveling you easily. You gape.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mutter, looking towards your knees.

“How about mirrors?”

“What?”

“How do you feel about mirrors?” The question sets you aback. It’s never been asked, not in your previous sessions, not by anyone. No one knows about the mirrors in your flat, covered by shirts and sheets and dish towels. Turned away, forced into corners. The bathroom vanity obscured by a long white bedsheet; your reflection hidden at every turn.

“I… I don’t like them.” The honesty on your tongue tastes good, but it burns.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like to look at myself, now.” The laptop reopens, and he types in silence for a long moment. The quiet settles around the two of you, ticking of a second hand clicking away in your ear.

“I’m going to give you some homework.” Homework?

“What kind of homework?”

“I want you to look in a mirror.” You draw a sharp breath. “When you’re at home, and you’re alone, I want you to really look at yourself, see yourself, for as long as you can. If it’s only a few seconds, it’s only a few seconds. There’s no time requirement. The only thing you have to do… is look.”

“Dr. Riley…” you laugh nervously, and he meets your eyes with a serious expression.

“Only for a few seconds. Can you do that?” No.

“I can… I can try.” You can do whatever he wants, if it will get him to pass you on the eval. If it will get you out of here.

“Good.” The watch on his wrist glints in the afternoon sun. “I’ll give you my number. Text me when your homework is done.”

“Okay.” That’s it? He stands, and you look away, unable to focus on anything but the edge of the table, brown wood slatted together and worn with age.

“You can run away now.” He murmurs, standing between you and the door. “This was good, Clover. I know it’s not easy. You did well today.” Words catch in your throat, caustic and rough. Still, you try to get them out.

“T-thanks.”

You try to do your homework that night.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror in your pajamas, one hand on a hem, waiting to pull free and reveal your reflection.

You can do this. You can. Just do it.

The tug never comes.

You stare at the white sheet until your eyes start to cross.

Better luck tomorrow.

You hold steady in your routines. Eating. Walking. Stretching. Strength. You do yoga in the evenings, weights in the mornings. You spend too much time in your building’s gym, mindlessly pounding out miles on the treadmill, headphones blaring at full volume. You do it all robotically.

You’re outside of your body. Out of your mind.

But you could still pull a trigger.

Sometimes, when you can stand it, you take your walks outside, bypassing those who linger on sidewalks, cutting through parks and alleys. Fresh air and sunlight are supposed to help, but you don’t think it does any good. The rot is still there, curled up in your bones, blackened and sticky, festering like an infection. It’s a monster inside your body, a monster you now share your life with, cutting away pieces, long after being freed from the cell.

You eat. You walk. You try to look in the mirror.

With three days before your next session with Dr. Riley, you still haven’t managed to complete your homework. You try, in the hall, in your bedroom, again and again in the bathroom, but it never happens, you can’t quite get yourself to cross the bridge.

Failure.

Dr. Riley is waiting for you in the lobby on the day of your next appointment.

“Hi Clover.” He smiles, and it’s genuine, warm, almost wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hi, Dr. Riley.”

“How was your week?” You lag him, letting him guide you to the office, where the yellow lights are dim and darkened, casting shadow across the brown couch where you take your seat.

“It was fine.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve been at the gym a lot, trying to keep myself in shape for when I go back.”

“Exercise is good as long as you’re not overdoing it. Do you do anything else?”

“Um, I take walks outside.” His leg shifts, ankle on knee, and then his hand folds over his thigh. Something akin to interest brightens in your heart but is desperately snuffed out. He’s your therapist. “I walk in the park a lot.”

“Oh yeah? Which?”

“The one off of eighth.”

“I walk there too, nice park. Lots of trails.” You try to imagine him in joggers, taking a stroll. “I’m going to guess; you didn’t do your homework?” Heat unfurls across your face.

“I tried, but…”

“That’s okay. I thought we could try today, if you feel up to it.” Here? Now? Your eyes go wide. You look around.

“I don’t see a mirror.”

“There’s one on wheels down the hall, the occupational therapists use it all the time. Can I bring it in?” Your stomach twists up, nausea tossing your lunch from side to side.

“I uh… I don’t know.”

“You can do it. I know you can.” You hedge, unsure. Can you? Will you?

You can try.

“Okay.”

“Alright, close your eyes. I’ll be right back.” The door opens and shuts, and then opens again, wheels rolling close. You clench your eyes closed so tight it nearly hurts.

Warm fingers grab yours.

“It’s over here.” He murmurs, leading your blind steps away from the couch, coming to a stop… somewhere. “Whenever you’re ready.” You can’t feel him anymore, but you know he’s there, at your back. There’s a faint ruffle of air through your hair, against your neck. “Take a deep breath.”

You focus on the pace of your lungs, the expansion, the give and take of your ribcage.

“I can’t.” You whisper. You’re floating in space, unable to pull the trigger.

A kind hand on your shoulder brings you back.

“You can do it. Try.” The encouragement, the belief is a vine in your heart. Alive and green, it sows roots as deep as it can manage, clinging to fibrous flesh and hollowing you out. It catches on valves and ventricles, spiraling forward in a complicated web like an anchor.

You see him first, in the mirror. Stare straight back at him, falling into his gaze, vibrating in his hold like a child’s wind-up toy.

“Not me. You.” He says gently, and when you can, you bear it.

You almost gasp. It’s been two months since you’ve seen your own face, your complexion, your nose and your eyes and your chin. You’re long healed, bones set perfectly, everything right as rain. You look normal. You look fine. It’s the most shocking thing, to see yourself looking healthy, pieced back together, nearly whole. Your lower lip trembles with effort to hold yourself at bay, to keep yourself from breaking apart, drifting back towards the moon.

“That’s it. Great job, Clover.” His hand still rests on your shoulder, but you shake with a violence now, a torrent of emotion, threatening to cut you off at the knees. “It’s okay.” He whispers.

When you can’t stand it any longer, you close your eyes.

“How did you know?” You’re resettled on the couch, hands tucked under your thighs.

“Know what?”

“That I hadn’t looked in a mirror… since…”

“I know a thing or two, about coming back different. I know how it feels when you don’t want to see yourself.” You glance at the medals on the wall, primly tacked to a plush pillow, encased in glass, and wonder.

“Did you work with captain Garrick?”

“We were in a task force together, before I retired early to do this.” He smiles, easy and light, but there’s something guarded in it, something sharp, shark’s teeth aiming for docile flesh. It purrs, and makes you want to pull back more layers. Gives you something else to focus on, something else to fall into, but it’s gone before you can really study him.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say as he types something on the laptop, and then puts it away.

“That’s all for today. I’ll see you next week then?”

[miguelhugger2099]

OMG imagine the one bed trope w miguel. like idk why itd happen, maybe like they’re scoping out an anomaly in another universe and somehow the portal back gets blocked and they gotta stay the night at a hotel, but miguel and reader are stuck in the same bed (she SWEARS she booked two beds but oops! all the rooms are filled up!) and like oh no they need this hotel!! so at first they’re really rigid and like miguel’s all tense, he’s like “i’ll sleep on the floor” but reader is like “no it’s okay we can share! i don’t move a lot in my sleep anyway” (that’s a lie btw.) so then like miguel’s wide awake in the middle of the night, and reader keeps shifting in her sleep, and they end up in a pretty compromising position if ykwim… and then maybe she wakes up and finds miguel like so flustered and starts teasing him a bit and then things heat up ofc… idk just a thought! it’s been so long since i’ve seen the one bed trope tbh. (fem reader btw plssss)

Forced Proximity

i tried with my best with this 🫠 i wanted to try something new instead of regular p in v i hope that's okay 😭 thank u for requesting! if anything, i'd be happy to redo this when my requests open again

Miguel x Reader, Suggestive/Smut, Word Count: 2,271

Just as you and Miguel were about to shoot your webs at the new anomaly, a black bubbly portal opened up and sucked them up into another dimension. “Dammit!” You cursed, groaning at the convenience of an anomaly escaping. Miguel is already beside you, mask eyes squinted in focus as he clicks buttons on his watch. “Where’d he run off to?” You ask him. “No clue. Trying to track him now but the touchpad isn’t responding.” He grunts and furiously taps his screen but it seems to be glitching. He tries to open a portal back to HQ but it only warbles a little bit before shutting close again. “Let me try.” You lift up your watch to try and press the same coordinates when it responds the same way: a little warping but it shuts close. “Lyla,” Miguel calls out and she pops up between you two. “Run an analysis on our watches.” Her small heart glasses fog up with various numbers and letters, codes that only she knows. “Looks like the watches are bugged, Mig. Probably an effect the anomaly had.” “So we’re stranded?” You rip off your mask and place a hand on your hip. “Yup!” She nods. “For how long?” Miguel pinches his nose bridge with his finger and thumb.

“Well, most part-time spiders are off doing other missions in other dimensions and the other half of them have the day off. No one will be available until morning.” “So, we’re staying the night.” You lift your arms up and slap them down. “I’m finding a hotel.” You turn and look around for any around you two. Miguel sighs and faces Lyla. “Is there another way home? Are we safe from the glitching?” Lyla nods, pulling up frames and data for him to look at. “Safe from glitching. Probably just a program issue. Maybe an update issue. Unfortunately, not even Margo is at HQ so your next bet is waiting for a spider to portal you two back.” She explains and glitches out of the air. He tries to find a new solution but comes up short, deciding to just accept it before he grows angry. Miguel hears you calling his name as you run back to where Lyla and him were standing. “Okay, I found a hotel! I talked to this lady up front–luckily the currency is the same as yours–and we got extra lucky,” You huffed with a wide smile on your face. “They’re pretty busy but she managed to get us a room with two beds and two bathrooms. Left her a tip, hope you don’t mind.” You placed your hands on your hips and continued to grin at the frown on his lips.

Miguel rolled his eyes and called for Lyla, her little form glitching back and perching on his shoulder. “Lyla, get back to base. Let the others know we’ve been stranded and call for backup whenever someone’s available.” Her vibrant yellow glare shifts as she moves, her hand coming up in a salute and a police hat glitching on her head. “You got it, boss! Have fun you two!” She giggles and phases out. Miguel passes by you coldly, heading for the hotel where you booked for the night. You yawn behind him, just wanting to rest after a wasted day of failing to catch an anomaly. You walked through the hallways of the hotel, checking down at your key for the number of your room. Once you found it, you slipped the keycard on the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet–” You cut yourself off after peeking into the room and what greeted you was a singular bed. “Wha–?!” You glanced back at the roomkey number and the plate outside, finding the two matching that this was indeed your room for the night. “I swear I asked for two–” “I’ll take the floor.” Miguel grumbles behind you, his entire frame stiff and rigid. You take a look up at him and his face is unamused and staring straight ahead to avoid your eye. “No, it’s–it’s fine,” You chuckle nervously and walk over to the bed. You pat the edge of it and try to convince yourself and Miguel that everything was fine. “There’s so much space. It’s like–what– a king size? We have plenty of room to share!” Miguel doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest, already making a move to grab a pillow. “I don’t even move that much in my sleep! Promise! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky to Miguel and he stops to stare at your hand with a deadpan expression. “Fine.” He grunts, placing the pillow back down and not wanting to deal with you any further since he was exhausted.

You, in fact, actually do move a lot in your sleep–Miguel figured out. He really was exhausted and expected himself to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but with you next to him, it was like the energy hadn’t left his body. He laid there straight as a pole with the blanket at his chest and staring at the ceiling. You were in dreamland, snoozing and sprawled on the mattress– blissfully unaware of Miguel’s misery by the situation at hand. You shifted around in your sleep, your hand hitting his shoulder or your leg bumping against his ankle. Miguel could handle it. He’s spent many uncomfortable all-nighters so he thought to himself that one more wouldn’t be too damaging for him. It wasn’t until you moved further to his side of the bed that had Miguel’s heart racing. You turned to his side, throwing your leg over his and your arm draped around his neck to bring him closer to you. His arm instinctively went under your body and held your waist while you pressed yourself against him, so as to not make the position uncomfortable for either of you. Miguel’s cheeks burned while you nuzzled to his chest, acting like he was some sort of teddy bear. He hoped his heartbeat wouldn’t wake you from your slumber. Your thighs were close together and any closer you’d start accidentally grinding on him. Miguel looked back up at the ceiling and prayed that you’d move soon.

His prayers were not answered. You woke up after feeling a bit too much heat and it became unbearable to sleep through. You blinked away the sleep groggily, wondering why the pillow you had been on had gotten a little more firm. You lifted your head to see you weren’t on your pillow but basically cuddling up against your boss. You looked down to see your legs intertwined together and turned your head to apologize when you stopped seeing Miguel’s cheeks flush red. His eyes did not meet yours but you felt the pounding of his heart. A smile curled up on your lips, apology wiped off your mind and instead leaning into wanting to taunt him for how shy he’s acting. “Miguel,” You tease with a bit of laughter. “Aw, c’mon. A little accidental cuddle gets you nervous?” Miguel glares at you from the corner of his eye. As you laugh, you continue moving against him. You don’t notice how he takes a sharp inhale when your knee brushes against his crotch as you lift yourself up. Your hands rest on either side of his head. “Did you even sleep? Or did you just stay up all night like some perv?” You snort, having the time of your life seeing your usually sulking boss look so cute with red scattered across his cheeks. Miguel squeezes your waist then uses both his hands to grab you and force you down on his thigh. You gasp in shock, all playfulness leaving your body as your core hits his firm muscle. The action ignites a spark in your chest that sends it straight between your legs, making you whimper, all in a split second.

You snap your head towards him, cheeks already burning and mouth dropped open in shock. Miguel meets it with a cheshire like grin, his own blush on his cheeks but less now that you’re  more flustered than him. “Careful,” He says. “Wouldn’t want to be some sort of perv, huh?” You could’ve sworn his voice dropped down an octave. You stutter, unable to respond back as he rendered you speechless. His thigh flexed and it sent a jolt up your spine with your cunt throbbing which he felt. Maybe it was him being tired, drained from the day that he was acting out of character. Too tired to care about the consequences while his mind clouded and numbed his usual feelings. For now, he enjoyed the way your hands gripped onto his shoulders, cute eyes wide open and feeling the delicious beat of your pussy on his thigh. He rubs your hips on his thigh, his muscle flexing to put some stimulation to your pussy. You squeak and lean forward as the pleasure runs through your body and makes you grow hot. “Miguel…!” You gasp and moan. You automatically grind yourself on him and his grin widens, leaning back to see the show. Miguel feels your wetness seep through the thin fabric of your suit and panties onto his own suit. He phases just a small part of his thigh out his suit to feel just how wet you’ve gotten with a little teasing. “Already?” He murmurs and your cheeks burn brightly. “You like this, huh?” “Fuck…” You huff out, hanging your head to not meet his gaze. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he moves your hips. “C’mon. Show me how much you like this.” You know he was only doing this to get back at you for teasing him, for booking a one bed instead of two and with how his patience had run out from being stranded here, you decided not to test that anger anymore.

So you slowly moved up and down his thigh with a soft whimper, shutting your eyes close while you did so. Your breathing grew heavy, and you shook with every slight movement on his end. Slowly, you picked up speed, the lust flooding your mind and the pace you were going at hadn’t been enough. You humped his thigh faster, still opting out of looking down at him. “Shit…Not enough…” You murmured under your breath, not thinking he’d heard you over the accumulating wet sounds on his skin and shuffling of bed sheets. “Let me help.” You hear him say and feel his hand by the zipper of your suit at the nape of your neck. Weak from your pleasure, you let him tug your suit off your torso. Miguel tapped your thighs as a signal to lift yourself up while he slipped the rest of it off you. You were now bare in front of him, his hands placed back at your hips. You still felt embarrassed, trying to cover up your chest with your arms and hands. Miguel wasn’t having it, growing annoyed at you covering yourself. He cupped the back of your neck and pulled you flushed down on his chest. “Keep going.” He growled. The rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt once more, succumbing to him as you began grinding yourself on him, skin to skin. Your folds smeared your juices on his thighs coating him in your wetness. The swollen nub of your clit rolled deliciously between you and his thigh and you panted softly as you tried chasing you high.

“There you go. That’s it.” Miguel murmured, bucking his thigh to your pussy to the same pace of your humping. He held your hip with one hand to help you and his other hand raked up and down your back, his talons scratching your flesh. “You’re doing so good. Good girl riding my thigh, yeah?” He purred which made you groan and buck your hips faster. “Miguel…” You breathed out. “More, more.” You pleaded. His talons pricked your skin. “Cum on my thigh first and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Peter B. met you two once the portal fully opened up in your stranded dimension. He greeted you with a smile, Mayday babbling in her carrier. “Hey! Glad you guys survived the night. Took a minute to get you guys. Sorry about that.” He playfully punched Miguel’s and your shoulder. You beamed at him and held Mayday’s little hand, wiggling it around softly enough to make her giggle. “Hope it wasn’t agonizing.” Peter chuckles to you. You chuckle back and step away from Mayday, giving the two a smile. “Not at all. He’s surprisingly good company.” Miguel doesn’t react behind you. “Oh, yeah? Must be going soft. Big guy isn’t just pleasant for anybody.” Peter says. “Funny how things work out.” You grin and turn around to peck Miguel’s cheek and walk towards the portal. “I’ll see you guys later?” You give a wink and slip into the portal, your body phasing out and leaving the two men behind. Peter gapes at the warping space where you had just left and slowly turns to Miguel to see his friend, very much stiff but his face has a slight tint to it. “Did something happen–” Miguel shoves his face aside and phases his mask over his head to hide his cheeks. “Cállate.” He mutters and enters into the portal towards his dimension.

Peter gets snapped out of his stupor by Mayday babbling and waving her arms around as if cheering Miguel and you on. Peter looks down at her and grabs her little hand in his. “He’s growin’ up, huh?” Mayday squeals.

[eatmekaneki]

His Obsession

18+

✖︎Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x fem!reader

✖︎Word count: 4.8k

✖︎Warnings: smut; noncon; dubcon; k!dnapping; Kn!feplay; blo*d; manipulation; yandere themes; izuku is a yandere; all characters are aged 18+

✖︎A/n: I have a prompt list with random themes and characters I spin a wheel for and this prompt landed on Izuku Midoriya and knife play! So here we go!

Izuku had been on his own a bit too long now. He’d been on a job in your city tracking a trail of criminal activity that had led him straight to you.

Wanted posters with your face plastered on them were hung across the walls of his dark and sad rental studio apartment.

He had maps everywhere with leads and sticky notes. Pins and strings were winding across them all in multicolored webs pointing to spots across the city you’d been linked to.

He knew the danger you posed to him especially.

Your quirk was a mind manipulation type. It made you drive men mad with lust. As far as the hero’s knew, you were able to do this through something like a telekinetic ability but to activate it, your whole body would break out into a blush. That was the only things he’d been told about you, other than that you’ve been using your charms to rob and manipulate people across your large city. No one quite knew the range of your powers, or if someone even looking at you through a screen could be affected.

Cursing under his breath he picked up a photograph of you that one of his informants had been able to get him and looked it over. You might have already been a problem for him even without your power.

He looked around the room at all of the other photos of you he’d gathered over the past couple months. The photos hanging by his bed were zoomed in on different body parts of yours; lips, legs, shoulders, fingers, eyes…one where your plaid yellow skirt had almost blown up in the wind.

He pinned the new photo up on his living room wall and put a new red string across to a second pin to mark on the map of where you were last seen.

You’d been starting to put together a crew of other villains that had quirks that could manipulate people, he needed to move in now before you took your crimes to a more grand scale.

Laying down in his bed he stared at the photos of you so close to him…you were so close to him, and he was so close to finally getting to you.

He imagined every night what it would be like to finally confront you, to finally get his hands on you…

The obsession of catching you had started to transform into an obsession of other sorts, and his hand often found his way underneath his boxers at night staring at photos of you. You were everywhere… everywhere in this city it seemed. Everywhere in his apartment as well, and he needed you everywhere around him.

He’d imagine that with your powers you had to have the sweetest pussy that he’d ever felt. He hated that you were out there using that perfect body to steal from people, making them drool over you with your charms. It wasn’t right. He wanted to, needed to teach you a lesson.

He tucked his favorite knife under his pillow, the metallic red hilt of it poked out slightly from his white pillow.

There were ways to reform a villan. He’d seen it happen. A few of his former classmates had told him how they’d taken some villains underneath them to teach them a lesson. He never thought he’d be one to need to do it; but, for you he’d do anything. You could be good, and you could be his.

———

You were standing in line at a small bank you’d planned on getting a bit of free cash from. Nothing huge so you didn’t bring any of your crew you’d usually keep around with you. This was just for some pocket change for dinner.

You were scoping out the tellers and trying to figure out how to make sure you got the cute older man with glasses at the first desk. He was pretty fit for his age and you wouldn’t have minded taking him out for a spin after you’d gotten some cash out of him.

You let someone go in front of you when the wrong desk opened up next for you. impatiently you hoped that he’d hurry up with the customer he was with. You wore your favorite low cut shirt and short skirt that you liked to have on when you were on a job. It was plain, no grand villain costume for you, just something cute and flirty. Men were easy, even without your quirk. sometimes all it took was shoving your tits forward in their face and they’d give you exactly what you wanted.

Finally the coast was clear for you to head forward. You put on your best flirtatious grin, and felt a small pink blush forming on your cheeks as you started to activate your quirk. that would guarantee you’d be the most appealing woman this guy had ever laid eyes on. At least for while you had your quirk activated he’d think so. He’d have no choice. Even after you’d linger in his mind from time to time if he stared too long at the blush on your cheeks and the way it almost swirled hypnotically under your skin. That was your plan at least. To take all you can but leave nothing but memories of you for their jerk off library.

You barely took one step forward before you were stopped frozen in your tracks. you felt the back of your shirt lift slightly by rough fingertips and something cold and sharp touched the skin of your lower back.

“Tell them never mind, we forgot something in our car.” A quiet voice growled from behind you.

Your jaw hung open slightly. You weren’t sure what to do but every instinct in you that wasn’t keeping your knees from buckling was telling you to listen to the command.

“N-never mind, sorry.” You stuttered speaking to the bank teller then walking out of the line.

The mysterious man behind you still held the blade to your back and walked with you.

“We forgot s-something…” You rushed as fast as you could, trying not to make a scene.

The man walked you to his car, a black SUV, a rental by the looks of it. He shoved you forward against the door face first. Your chest was pressed up against the window and your cheek hit the car hard enough to bruise. He then grabbed your arms, those rough and battered fingers digging sharply into your skin with a power you knew you’d never resist. He put them both behind you and slapped a pair of handcuffs on your wrists.

“You are under arrest for theft, and sexual coercion.” He grunted as he secured the metal handcuffs with a click as they locked into the tightest he could get them without cutting off circulation.

You heard the shuffle of his feet moving against the gravel between your own feet. A knee roughly shoved one of your legs aside. even though you had panties on under your skirt you felt exposed there in the parking lot.

You did a quick glance up to see that it was unfortunately a very empty lot and he had you positioned on the side of the car where any passersby might see.

You felt a nauseating chill -and though it was only because you couldn’t help it- you felt excitement in your core as he started to brush the front of himself against you. He was hard.

You opened your mouth to say something but he suddenly and roughly grabbed you by the shoulders and spun your trembling figure around to face him.

His wavy dark hair fell over angry eyes and a terrifying expression. You recognized him instantly. Though he seemed so much different than you’d seen him on television. Instead of his hero’s outfit, he wore casual loose black jeans and a black hoodie with a black baseball cap, likely to try and disguise his appearance.

Pro hero Deku, one of the strongest heros currently in the game. And supposedly a sweetheart, and good man.

The crazed, widened eyes on face in front of you had you questioning if tabloids had done him wrong. With that knife in hand he looked scarier than most villains you’d worked with in the past.

“I’ve been trying to find you for a long time. You really haven’t been behaving.” He held the knife up to your face, scolding you with it like he was wagging a finger at you.

You felt yourself shudder as your body tried to slump away from the knife the best it could without jerking away from him in a way that might set him off more.

He looked you up and down silently, giving you a terrifyingly casual smirk suddenly before commanding you.

“Now get in the car.” shoving you aside and opening the door you’d been in front of before roughly forcing you in.

He drove you back to a small studio apartment in a part of town you knew well. It wasn’t an area you liked being in. It gave you an uneasy feeling out here. The streets were littered with trash and rats and it felt like there was just a thick layer of smog everywhere more than the rest of the city.

You wondered what a pro hero like him was doing here. Even more strange was why he was even taking you here, instead of a police station.

You gulped nervously. Now that you think of it, you hadn’t heard him call your arrest in to anyone at all. Wasn’t that standard to do?

As if reading your mind he spoke from in the front seat.

“The only one that knows you’re here is me…” A trembling, but excited smirk came across his lips, he seemed like he was starting to sweat slightly.

“Sorry, I’m just so nervous” He chuckled. “I’ve never tried rehabilitation before…so it’s like you’re my first!” he grinned a large smile at you.

You had no idea what he was babbling on about. You were only wondering if when he opened the door you could just use your charms to let you make a run for it.

He stepped out for a moment, gathering a few things from the trunk into a black backpack before putting it on and walking over to your door.

The blush came back to your cheeks and your pupils turned into hearts as you activated your quirk fully.

He swung open the door and you met him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you could muster and a pout on your lips.

“Deku…please, I think I just need to go home.” You flirted. “I can give you something sweet before I go if you want.” You winked at him, with no intention to let him have an inch of your body.

He stalled for a moment, looking you up and down. You bent over slightly so that he could stare down your shirt better. You heard a small sharp intake of breath, and his hands twitched at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You smirked. They always fall for your charms.

Suddenly, Izuku started breaking out into a crazed laughter, throwing his head back and clutching a hand to his stomach with the hand that clutched the knife tightly still. Your expression fell and your body tensed up, suddenly realizing you weren’t safe from this anymore.

“Honey, that’s not going to work on me.” His eyes met yours. “I’ve been attracted to you. For a while.” He leaned forward down to your level, getting close and dragging the knife across your cheek. The feeling of the cold metal made you tremble.

“I figured the best way to get immune to your charms was no different than building up a tolerance to poison.” He spat out that last word at you, glaring at you as his eyes flicked from yours to your lips and back. He was mere inches away now, and still holding the knife to your skin.

“I’d cum to you every night, sometimes many times a day, just so when I finally got you that you wouldn’t have any affect on me.” The look he gave was unashamed, though what he said had you hanging your jaw open.

He what?

You weren’t blind to the idea that often the men you enchanted would need to go home and take care of themselves later. But, this man you’d never met, this hero no less…thinking of you that way, that often. You gulped and felt it hard to swallow.

He stepped back from the car, grabbing you by your arm and dragging you into the building.

You did try and struggle against him as he pulled you into his apartment, but it was never going to be any use. Your strength matched with his was an absolute joke, and you knew the knife wasn’t the only threat that he had here. Waving around the knife seemed to be more of a show for himself than anything. It didn’t make it less threatening though.

With your hands still behind your back he pushed you forward and you stumbled inside his apartment. He gave you a few more heavy shoves as you clumsily tripped over your own feet and landed stomach down onto his bed.

Your skirt fell up as you landed, your bare ass cheeks now exposed to him on the bed. You heard a sinful and desperate moan from behind you.

You quickly tried to cover yourself back up the best you could, a real blush forming on your cheeks slightly.

Izuku practically growled at seeing the flash of skin you’d accidentally given. He jumped on you and straddled you, sitting on the back of your thighs so that your ass was directly in front of his clothed erection.

You gasped and tried to squirm forward to release yourself from being pinned. Useless and hopeless of course.

This felt so wrong. You weren’t a saint yourself, but this man was supposed to be a top pro hero. A good guy.

You’d seen him on posters and always thought he was such a pretty man. One you’d love to ruin. Of course you’d thought of it. Who doesn’t fantasize about a pro hero from time to time. Not like this though…

Gone was anything resembling a hero. He was just an insane looking man with a knife in his hand and a devilish smirk on his face as he lifted the skirt up further.

“Fuck.” He hissed out. His hands shooting to massage at the plump cheeks. You whimpered out in protest at the feeling.

“Deku…please…what are you doing.” You sputtered your words out against the gray blanket on his bed your face was now buried in.

He grabbed your hair in the back roughly and turned your head so that you got a good visual of what was plastered all over his wall.

You felt cold ice in every limb at the sight. All of the photos of you on display right where he’d been sleeping…every night. You were repulsed and terrified. This wasn’t a normal investigation for him. He wasn’t just tracking down a villain, this had become something more for him. You’d had your own stalker and hadn’t even realized.

It hurt where he was still pulling at your hair. You didn’t dare struggle against him though. With the hand not holding your head down, you knew he still had that knife close and ready to use.

He lowered his face down next to yours, his cheek just ever so slightly brushing against your skin. You flinched away and that seemed to set him off.

“You’re going to have to get used to me little slut.” He then brought his lips to yours and sloppily kissed you. Again you tried to flinch away but he held you right to him in an uncomfortable attack.

You felt his hips starting to press deeply into you and grind against your ass. His hard cock was aching to be set free.

He needed this so badly. He’d been waiting for too long to have you beneath him like this. He told himself this was the perfect time to teach you a lesson. You deserved to be taught a lesson.

He pulled away from you and sat up again to get a good visual of the way he had you in front of him.

“Don’t. Move.” He spoke quietly, but in such a chilling tone that you instantly froze up and obeyed.

He then took the knife and put it to the back of your neck. Slowly he trailed it down, not enough to cut through the fabric of your shirt, but enough for you to feel the tickle of the blade against you.

It sent a shudder across your body and at that your stomach flipped, hoping you hadn’t twitched at all and made him cut you.

“You’re shaking little slut.” He chuckled breathily the knife stalling at your lower back.

His other hand grabbed tight to your hip and he pressed down holding you still to the bed.

“Don’t move.” He repeated hastily and excitedly in a raspy voice.

His hand left your hip and he pulled at your panties.

He took the knife and cut along the fabric of your underwear right over your crotch. You sucked in a tight breath as he was trailing dangerously close from your clit to your asshole. He then set the knife down on the bed next to you. Taking your panties between both hands and ripping it further leaving everything exposed in front of him.

You squirmed harder at this. He gave your ass a hard smack, causing it to redden instantly. You knew how hard he was capable of hitting. the fact that you knew that was probably the most reserved he was capable of being made you feel like death might be easier than what was about to come here.

“Deku…please don’t.” Without many other options to stop this, you tried to turn your quirk on again and woo him into letting you at least have it more gently

Your whole body covered in a slight blush for a moment as you activated it.

To no avail though. Izuku gave your ass an even harder smack. You yelled out at the sharp sting and your eyes squeezed tightly shut. It felt like that one already was developing into a bruise.

You could hear a snicker from behind you.

“It’s not gonna work, naughty girl. Like I said..” he pointed to the pictures of you on the wall.

You looked again through tear blurred eyes again to see the one in particular of your skirt almost flying up.

“I got off to you all the time. I'm immune to your charms.” He started to unbuckle his pants. “At least enough to do this my way.” He grunted as he took his thick and throbbing length out from his pants.

You hoped that the power he extended through the rest of him didn’t reach there, but you knew that’d be reaching for too much luck.

He was huge, and veiny and angry and dead set on being inside of you.

“I am going to teach you what happens to naughty girls like you that whore themselves out to commit crimes. Making good people cum in their pants over you, even if they don’t want to?” He spat at you.

You felt his plump head pressing against your entrance.

He tried to tease you slightly but he saw that you weren’t at all ready for him.

You were going to be reluctant it seemed. But, he didn’t care. He moved back and angrily shoved your legs further apart in one motion, using his knees, and went to enter again. This time with more force, not wanting to have to try again.

“It’s about time you learned what it feels like to be forced to...” he lost his words as he sucked in a sharp breath. The feeling of your walls sucking him inside so tightly had his eyes already rolling back. His lower half shuddered and he realized he was right, you had the most perfect pussy he’d ever been inside.

His hands gripped into your hips so tightly you were scared he’d forget what he was doing and snap you in half.

His head was hung back and he’d stalled for a moment, before starting to move himself slowly.

You hated how he was filling you up so completely. Every time he pushed himself all the way in your body was betraying you with a moan falling out reflexively from your lips.

He seemed pleased at this and continued to give you deep thrusts, his hips pounding against your ass. His breath hitched in his throat when he locked on to the way your ass was jiggling and rippling each time he smacked against it.

“Fuck you’re so good…” he moaned, grabbing the handcuffs by the chain between them. He used the motion to pull you up, making you arch your back and making him slide even deeper inside of you, kissing painfully against your cervix.

You let out a small scream as he started to pound into you roughly like this.

He didn’t seem to mind your protest though. In fact he might have even liked it.

“Guess you don’t make all the men you trick fuck you like this Hm?” He slammed up into you in one rough and painful movement. “Gonna have to show you why it’s a bad idea to go around offering yourself to everyone like a slut.” He grabbed your head again and shoved you back down onto the bed, pressing your face into the blankets but lifting your hips up into doggystyle.

“Please…stop…” you sobbed, hating the filled up feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your walls. He filled you up in a way that was making your pussy throb all over.

You couldn’t help it though. You couldn’t stop your body from enjoying the feeling.

With each unwanted movement, you also were overwhelmed with the reality that he was good with what he was doing. It wasn’t fair.

With no warning the blade of the knife was back against your ass.

You could feel the tip cut slightly against your skin. Not very deep, but enough that you knew he’d broken skin.

“FUCK” you screamed, “What the fuck!”

You heard chuckling from behind you, a raspy and breathy series of laughs. He was so far gone in the moment he might have lost his original plot of trying to rehabilitate you.

He wasn’t sure what lesson he really wanted to teach you at this point. Now that you were here all he really wanted was to never let you leave. Maybe that’s all this ever was about.

You looked so good in person, everything he’d ever dreamed of in a girl. You felt even better. It was just a shame you were a dirty slutty villain. He realized that was the real reason he needed to rehabilitate you.

He’d make you his. His good girl instead of the dirty criminal that you were.

That required a lot of hard lessons though.

“Please…” you sobbed

A trickle of blood ran down your ass cheek from the cut, he wiped it off with the sleeve of his hoodie in awe. he never realized how pretty blood could be until he saw it on you. He’d been around it plenty, but this felt like something else.

To test it he stopped his movements and gave another small cut to the other cheek.

“NO!” You screamed out. He simply smirked at that, letting his thumb run over the cut this time smearing the crimson red across your skin as he picked back up his torturous pace.

The power surging from him being inside you was something you could practically feel. His quirk was something terrifying when he wasn’t being a hero.

It also started to feel like a slight bit of static inside of you along with every pump, he was directing a bit of his power to his entire pelvic area. Whether on purpose or accident you couldn’t tell, but the pace was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You felt your stomach tightening and you started to clench around his dick.

“Deku…stop…don’t wanna…c-cum” you whined with tears flooding down your face now.

His face lit up at this.

“You’re gonna cum? Shit..” he reached around between your legs and found your clit with two of his fingers. He flicked the swollen area between his middle and index quickly.

“N-no! Please no!” You cried out, though it was useless. His attack on your clit continued, flicking and massaging it with just the right amount of pressure.

It sent you fully over the edge. You shivered as the waves of guilty euphoria were pulsing throughout you. Tears were pouring as well, any makeup you had on was down your face with the wetness as you were sobbing at your body’s betrayal.

Izuku looked down at the way your messy face was pressed ruined against the mattress. All for him. All his now. He’d give you all the lessons you needed. Show you how you’re all his and you don’t need to go around being a slut anymore.

“Tell me this pussy belongs to me now.” He hissed out at you as he was smacking his hips relentlessly against your ass.

“W-wha” you blubbered out.

“You heard me whore.” He grunted as something he did seemed to feel particularly good. “Say it.”

You whimpered, not wanting to give him this, but knowing you didn’t have much choice.

“My pussy is yours now Deku.” You cried out.

He seemed pleased at this, and started fucking into with an even wilder pace. Lots of ‘fuck’s and ‘damn’s were being repeated and you could feel yourself sore with the feeling of his brutal pace.

“Deku it hurtssss” you whined. Something in that seemed to set him off, his eyes widened and he let out an animalistic growl.

“Oh my goddd I can’t keep it in…” he mumbled, slowing his pace and becoming more uneven with his thrusting.

“Gonna cum!” he let out a hoarse cry as he collapsed on top of you, bucking his hips over and over clumsily as he spilled inside of you, letting out a series of ‘oh my god’s.

He pulled out and instantly put himself back inside his pants. You were sat still dripping and full of the cum he’d left there.

“Absolutely disgusting.” He chuckled. “Villains are absolutely disgusting.”

He shook his head at you before shoving you over onto your side.

“I might’ve gotten a bit carried away. But I guess I have to work up more of a resistance to your quirk than I thought. You really do bring out people’s inner animal with that.” He glared at you. “It’s dangerous. Too dangerous even to put you in prison. You’ll just manipulate the guards.”

You now saw that he was moving towards a spot on the bed you hadn’t noticed, a sturdy metal bar with another set of handcuffs on it.

He forced your arm to it and hooked you in to the new handcuffs. Taking the old ones off and tossing them aside.

“I think it’s safer for everyone if you just stay here with me.”

The terror must’ve shown on your face because he gave you a small kiss on your forehead.

“It’s alright. I won’t need to be mean to you once you’re rehabilitated.”

You realized he’d picked the knife back up at some point, as it was being waved around in your face.

He then walked away to his kitchen that was still in the eyeline of his bed, to get himself something to drink.

“I’ll figure out a way to get out of here. you’re no different than me for this Deku” you spat that last bit. “You’re a villain now too.”

He ran back over to you, jumping on the bed in a crouch like an animal and grabbing your face roughly.

“No sweetie, that’s not true. You’re the villain here, and I’m the one teaching you a lesson. Just like it’s always been.” He gave another menacing smirk as he saw you shaking slightly. “Anyways, it’s your fault. You brought it out in me, flaunting it around all over the place.”

You had a feeling you’d flown too close to the sun with your quirk. How could you be so stupid to not realize it would eventually get the wrong hero too riled up.

He had become a feral animal when it came to you.

“So, like you said, you’re mine now.”

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Hi!!! I know it’s only a small idea but I wanted to request something for Emmett based on when he first puts his hand around Evelyns mouth to keep her quiet but instead he does it to the reader to keep her quiet, in whatever scenario you can think of. The way he looked was so hot with that eye contact it had me sweating 🥵

My dear anon, literally no idea is too small for Emmett. This man is so underappreciated it's a crime. I also decided to shoehorn in some inspiration from another one of my favorite snippets of Emmett thirst, which is the gif below of him looking through his rifle sights because hnnnnnnggg. Hope you don't mind ;) Thank you for requesting! <3

Distractions

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: The more time you spend around Emmett, the more distracted you get. And when you finally can't keep quiet about it any longer, Emmett has to take matters into his own hands (heh heh) and make you stay quiet.

Warnings: Smut, sexual tension, a whole lot of build-up, close call with a creature, kinda angry sex, quiet sex, biting

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Distracted could not even begin to describe the way you were feeling.

The dim light forced you to squint as you watched Emmett - the scope of his rifle held out just in front of his face as he peered through the sights to scan for potential threats. He took his time, sweeping across the expanse of road stretched out in front of you. Making triple sure that nothing would jump out at you as you climbed down from where you were perched. 

The gun rested firmly against his squared shoulders, and you found your gaze trailing idly from there, down over the line of his arm. Somewhere from off in the distance, a pale yellow light illuminated him just enough for you to make out the soft hair on his forearms. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but shook your head, chasing the thought away quickly. It wouldn’t do either of you any good if you startled him.

You refocused on his lips, which were parted slightly. In concentration, his tongue darted out to lick at the sliver of space between them. You wished you had something to hold onto and brace yourself with, against the wave of desire that moved through your whole body. 

But, aside from you and Emmett, the only other thing around was an old metal guardrail. And you really couldn’t risk releasing the noise that might hide in its depths. These days, anything that looked even remotely like it might creak was off limits.

A gentle breeze rustled his hair, and he lowered the rifle. He turned briefly to nod at you, once. It was safe. 

No words dared to fill the dark, empty space as both of you stepped carefully over the guardrail. Pausing at the top of the overpass to take one last look at the scene below, you stopped to reflect on the past two days. That was how long you’d been traveling for, and you’d been together with Emmett for only a bit longer.

Although, “together” was the operative word. You had been sticking close to each other, under some quiet but shared understanding that two people were often better than one, at least when it came to things like keeping watch while you camped out in the open, or scavenging for supplies. But he and you weren’t together together, as much as your mind liked to wander and go wild with possibilities. In fact-

Something suddenly caught your attention, and you snapped back into focus again, to see Emmett waving an arm at you. He was standing a short distance in front of you, partway down the hill that connected the overpass to the wide road below. Staring up at where you stood, with an inquisitive look and just a hint of concern in his eyes, half hooded with shadow.

You gave him a thumbs up, and cautiously started to make your own way down the steep hill.

It was early. So early that it was still almost full dark out, and you followed the beam of the flashlight that Emmett held like a beacon. Usually, you weren’t out until after the sun had risen. But last night, neither of you had seemed able to sleep, and so it felt silly to waste time just sitting around when it would be light in a few hours.

You thought you could glimpse the first few streaks of dawn, just barely starting to leak out on the horizon. Goosebumps spread over your skin, in the chilly half-darkness. Emmett had loaned you a checkered bandana, and you reached up to tuck it a little more snugly into the neck of your jacket. The rough fabric brushed up against your chin, and you smiled.

In front of you, Emmett stopped short. You were only a few paces away from him now, and you paused just behind him, before you could bump into the hand he’d extended to stop you.

The hill didn’t sit fully flush with the ground below. Instead, it dropped sharply off at a stone wall, just a few feet above the road.

Emmett kept one hand pressed to his rifle, holding it still as he eased himself down; careful to not make even the smallest noise. You shuffled up to the edge of the wall, ready to follow right after him. As you stooped down, Emmett reached up, offering help.

You accepted it, awkwardly, and let him take one of your hands in his while the other came firmly to rest on the small of your back. As he guided you down, you felt your arms heat up, rapidly chasing away the goosebumps.

You looked at him once your feet were back on solid ground, slightly surprised by the physical contact. Not that it meant anything. Not that it was even anything worth getting excited about. He would probably do the same thing for anyone. He was just being helpful. 

Abruptly, you realized he’d already started to walk away, continuing on the journey that you were both supposed to be focused on. You hurried to catch up, but made sure your footsteps were soft as you followed.

With no opportunities to talk, the time spent traveling felt long. You were both in your own worlds; Emmett focused on scanning for danger, and you, well, distracted by watching him. As usual. 

It was probably best for both of you that Emmett hadn’t yet noticed the way your gaze lingered on him. But, that was just how he’d been, in all of the short time you’d known him. He was observant, and overly anxious to keep an eye out at all times. He seemed almost not to notice anything that wasn’t actively threatening his safety, and that included you.

Streaks of pink started to stretch across the sky, and then blended into the blue of a new day. Finally, it was light enough to see clearly, and you looked around at what was once a small town. You were just passing through, but the devastation that was clearly written across streets, stores, and houses felt unsettling. 

To your left, a sharp, unexpected sound made your blood run ice cold. Emmett froze right along with you, and you both whipped around to watch as an animal scampered away from a trash can, now tipped over and spilling out garbage onto the street.

Litter was the very least of your worries, though, as an all-too-familiar screech echoed across the empty street.

What shit luck. That was the only thought running through your mind as Emmett frantically dragged you by the arm, not wasting even a second more as the creature advanced. It was close by, and you had nowhere to hide. 

Apparently Emmett did, though, as he forcefully shoved you into the backseat of a car. Both of the doors, you noticed, were missing - completely torn off by some previous run-in with these monsters, by the looks of it.

As your back landed against the cloth seat cushions, you felt the wind knock out of your lungs. The soft sound of breath leaving your body was silenced, as Emmett slammed down on top of you, hastily bringing a hand to your mouth.

Your eyes blew wide as his body pressed fully into yours, stealing your breath in a quite different way. A sound caught in your throat, and you swallowed it down, hard. You were not about to get both you and him killed by moaning at a time like this.

His palm pressed down over your nose and lips, and you could feel the heat of your own breath as he stayed there, not focused on you but still scanning, even now, for the monster that sounded like it had finally arrived. The metallic sound of the trash can echoed out on the street.

You moved your head a little, trying to shake out of his almost-oppressive grasp to breathe easier. That finally seemed to get Emmett’s attention, and he looked down with a mix of horror and embarrassment as his hand pulled away. Still pressed tight together, you both shifted your attention to more urgent matters. 

You could still hear that thing wreaking havoc as it searched fruitlessly for the source of the sound. Sometimes you were almost impressed that the creatures could hunt at all, when they were the ones who were making the most noise out of anything. Anything left, anyway. This was a bad case of wrong place, wrong time, but for the most part, anyone who hadn’t learned early on to stay quiet was no longer around to learn.

Emmett’s arms, planted on either side of your head, tensed as his fingers dug into the seat cushions. In any other situation, this would have been pleasant. As things were now, though, you could feel both your heartbeat and his as they pounded together, hard enough to cross the thick barrier of bone and flesh.

The car lurched, and you felt your eyes bug out of your head. The creature was on top of you now, quite literally; you could hear a sharp groan as the car protested under its weight. A series of clicks told you that it was on the offensive, still searching for even the tiniest sound.

Another sharp jerk made you gasp, barely audibly, but loud enough for Emmett to press his rough hand over your mouth again. This time, he was a bit more careful, leaving you room to breathe out of your nose as he pushed his palm down on your lips. But the panic that swarmed in his eyes as you looked up told you exactly how he felt. You both stayed stock still, waiting to see if that little sound had been enough to give you away.

The car screamed even louder as the creature stepped off, lurking its way down onto the street, now on the other side of the vehicle. You stretched your neck to look back, and watched as it swiveled its head side to side. Thankfully not listening in your direction for too long. 

Cautiously, you dared to move just a few inches, wiggling and brushing your hips up against Emmett’s as you tried to make yourself more comfortable. As you did, though, the unmistakable feeling of something hard pressed into your thigh.

You looked up at him, your eyes straining with horror as both of you realized what had just happened. 

Emmett looked even more mortified than you felt; his lips pressed together in a tight line as his eyes seemed to beg for a way out of this. You threw him a panicked, questioning look. In reply, all he could do was reflect the same painful and wide-eyed face, as if to say, “What do you want me to do about it?”

There wasn’t much either one of you could do, however, as in that moment the creature’s head whirled back around with a sharp screech in your direction. You’d been quiet, you thought, although maybe the sound of your breath mixed with Emmett’s as he strained against you was enough to grab its attention again.

You both froze, and you quickly buried your face in his chest, tucking yourself away from the horrible fate that awaited you, as best you could. 

But, after a few harrowing seconds, you heard the creature move on. The sound of its clicks grew more distant as it ran off, still searching for prey.

You let out a huge breath, silently this time, and lifted your head from your hiding place. As you pulled away slightly from where you had curled up against him, you saw Emmett still looking down at you, horrified. You wondered why, for a second, before realizing your fingers were tangled firmly in his belt loops, desperately pressing his hips against yours as you’d braced for your end.

Now, though, that the danger had passed, all you were doing was grinding yourself firmly against his erection. Which had definitely not gone away, despite all the imminent, life-threatening danger.

Emmett’s hand brushed against yours, and your heart skipped, only for him to pry your fingers apart, releasing himself from your death grip. He refused to make eye contact with you; instead awkwardly shuffling out of the car, and facing away as you crawled out after him.

Your heart was still thundering in your chest, maybe even a bit louder than it had been as you were being stalked by the monster. You wished desperately to be able to talk to Emmett; you hadn’t said more than two words to him since you’d set out earlier this morning. That wasn’t unusual, but if there was ever a time when you wished for the ability to communicate, it was right now.

You scanned quickly for any safe space. Now that you had time to actually assess your surroundings, you noticed several buildings with wide open doors. You tugged Emmett’s sleeve, silently telling him to follow you.

He did follow, somewhat reluctantly, and soon you were deep in the relative safety of the stockroom of a small store, your weapons and backpacks cast quickly aside. Someone who had been here before you had taken the time to shove mattresses up against every wall - added protection to muffle any sounds from within. Finally, you could speak.

“Emmett…”

But where could you even begin? Did you admit that you had feelings for him? Would that only scare him away? Maybe scaring him was good; if that was what a little adrenaline had done to him, part of you felt tempted to put him in even more dangerous situations. But, then again, if that’s all it had been, then maybe he didn’t like you at all. At least, not in the way you liked him. As you quietly wrestled with indecision, Emmett took over the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still not meeting your gaze. “I didn’t mean- I’m… Fuck.”

“Sorry?” you echoed. “What are you sorry for?”

“For…”

Emmett trailed off; his face twisted into a new expression of pained awkwardness. The tension was thick enough to wrap solidly around your ankles, rooting you to the spot where you stood. 

Emmett shuffled, apparently still restless despite the heavy pressure that had settled over the small room. Your whole body felt weighed down, and yet you were still buzzing with the unchecked excitement that always came after surviving a close call. Your veins felt ready to burst.

“Shit, is it hot in here?” you wondered. 

While outside you’d been freezing in the cold morning air, suddenly in here you felt flushed. Maybe Emmett wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by the adrenaline rush.

You peeled off your jacket, and looked up to see Emmett’s eyes glued to you.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m-”

You cut Emmett off before he could finish his sentence. 

“Don’t say you’re sorry again,” you whispered, a bit more harshly than necessary. “You don’t need to apologize if it’s nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emmett sighed. 

“So it’s not nothing?”

“What’s not nothing?” Emmett shot back, exasperated. “The way that I’ve been trying my best to ignore you looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off for the last week?”

You stared back at him with renewed horror. It hadn’t really been that obvious, had it? You had felt certain he hadn’t noticed you staring.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” you gasped. 

“Because I didn’t want what just happened to happen!”

“Nothing just happened,” you hissed.

Now you were the one spitting out denials. The oppressive atmosphere grew hotter, and you felt the need to strip off more layers. Not that doing that would be particularly helpful right now.

“Look, Emmett - do you like me?”

You figured that asking him point blank would get you the most direct answer. Instead, he looked at you as if you’d just grown an extra two heads.

And you might as well have, for all the good your current one was doing you. You racked your brain for another strategy, growing increasingly frustrated by the second.

“Do I like you?” Emmett said finally, interrupting your frenzy of thoughts. “What kind of question is that?” “It’s the kind that I’d sure like an answer to,” you replied. “If we’re going to be able to move forward from this, one way or another.”

Emmett glared at you, incredulous, his mouth hanging open as the rest of his face twisted into a look that was hard to read. Just when you thought he was going to turn on his heel and walk out, he took a step closer to you.

In the next breath, he’d grabbed your shoulders and pulled you in, quickly stifling your gasp with his lips.

Kissing Emmett felt like fighting for air, and like having it pumped directly into your lungs. All at the same time, and all scorchingly hot as his lips seared against yours. The torturous days spent fantasizing about this exact moment flashed before your eyes, as you tried to search for some hint that you’d missed to suggest that he felt the same way. Had you really been so wrapped up in your own pining that you hadn’t noticed him struggling, too?

As you both pulled back, you stared at him in shock. Emmett’s eyes were on your lips, too downcast for you to catch his gaze. But finally, they flickered up and lit the spark that had been smoldering deep inside of you. Your fingers tightened over his clothes

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” you asked again, feverish. It was a challenge to keep your voice quiet.

“Say anything about what?” Emmett bit back.

You noticed the way his eyes drifted over you, taking in the frazzled and overwhelmed state you were in. That kiss had taken a lot out of you, and you were frantically scrambling to re-collect your thoughts.

“Why torture both of us by pretending that you don’t want the same thing I do?” you clarified.

Emmett’s hands traveled up to your face, cupping your jaw in his palms as he tugged gently, pulling you to meet him again.

“Because I didn’t want any distractions.”

That was probably the most ironic answer he could have given. What had you spent the past few days doing if not being constantly, thoroughly distracted? By him; by the question of whether or not he would notice you, in the way that you found it all but impossible not to notice him?

“That’s so stupid,” you grunted, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You barely resisted as Emmett maneuvered you, swinging you both with your lips pressed together so that he could pin you against a small table. He lifted you up, making you sit on the surface, as his rough hands wandered over your legs.

“Some of us have self control,” he informed you.

“Really? Who?”

His fingers tightened their grip, and you felt thankful that you were already seated. Without the support of the table, you almost certainly would have crumpled against him. Emmett’s waist was between your legs, and you squeezed desperately, not wanting to let him go in case he suddenly got the idea that this wasn’t the time or place.

And it wasn’t, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.

Emmett’s hand snaked under your shirt, then your bra, rubbing his thumb against the hard peak that had already formed. You bit his lip, cautiously at first, and then with more vigor as your bodies reacted to the other’s touch. It had been so long since you’d done anything like this, and you felt your legs growing more shaky already.

“Take my pants off,” you gasped, pulling away for a frenzied breath of air.

Emmett deftly popped the button on your jeans; practically growling at the sight of you once he had finally peeled them off. You settled back onto the table, and hooked your legs around him once more. Already wet, you could feel yourself stick to the cloth of his t-shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed, bracing your hands on the table to push closer.

Emmett pulled back, and just as you were about to complain, you felt his hand drift down and brush through your folds. Shivering all over again, you threw your head back.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Emmett muttered, just like you’d thought he would.

“I don’t care. Need to feel you,” you moaned, grabbing his wrist and guiding his fingers right where you wanted them.

You let go, urging him to take over. Despite his reluctance, Emmett seemed all too willing to be pulled along. His fingers sank into you, eliciting a long whine.

“Be quiet,” he reminded you.

But, luckily, the threat of making enough noise to be noticed by whatever monsters were lurking outside wasn’t enough to stop him. He pressed deeper, curling his fingers and brushing the pad of his thumb dangerously close to the bundle of nerves that would almost certainly seal your fate. It was a dangerous game, and every whimper that threatened to escape your lips could be your last, if it was loud enough.

“Fuck.”

Your legs were sore from walking for days, and it hurt as he spread them. It felt good, though; the deep stretch serving to set your imagination on fire with all the possibilities that were unlocking with every twinge of your sore muscles. 

“Emmett.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “I… I want more than your fingers.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned. “You’re already causing enough trouble as is.”

You pouted, but felt something stir inside of you at his words. If you had anything to say about it, you would show him just how much trouble you could be.

“I didn’t realize this was such an- inconvenience for you,” you snapped, voice hitching in the middle as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

“I didn’t want you to realize,” he shot back. 

“And yet, look where we’ve ended up. Despite your best efforts.”

The devilish smirk that played out over your lips seemed to make Emmett falter, and you felt him brush against your clit again. You had to bite your lip to stop from screaming.

Teetering dangerously on the edge of destruction only made you more eager to press on. The adrenaline from earlier had started to resurge, and you clung to it, heart beating fast in your ears as you rapidly approached your climax.

“Emmett. Gonna come,” you warned, already out of breath before you began.

Wordlessly, Emmett kissed you again, and you felt yourself explode against him. His thumb traced circles over your clit, somehow feather-light but solid, all at once. You cursed against his lips, maybe a little louder than you should have, but it was too late to take back now. As your high faded, you listened carefully for the shrill screech that would let you know you’d been caught.

It never came, and slowly you allowed yourself to start breathing again. Leaning over you, Emmett pressed his forehead against yours.

“That was way too close,” he complained.

“But worth it,” you hummed. “C’mon. Now it’s your turn.”

Eyes still half-clouded with sex, you struggled for a few seconds to find his zipper. As soon as you’d started to pull it down, Emmett stopped you.

“We’ve barely survived the last hour,” he scoffed. “And now you want me to fuck you?”

“I was just gonna jerk you off,” you lied. “But hey. If you want…”

Emmett’s face turned bright red as he realized the corner he’d been backed into. 

“Come on - you weren’t complaining two seconds ago,” you teased. “Well, I mean, you were. But you seemed into it.”

Emmett sighed, but his shoulders stiffened as you reached past his zipper and took hold of him. He was definitely still into it.

You slid off the table but stayed pressed against it, leaning back slightly as you pulled him out and pressed his head flush to your core. He slipped in easily, already slick with your arousal and unable to resist the pull of your body.

You sighed, and that was enough to make Emmett grab hold of you again, burying himself all the way in with one thrust.

The shock of it was sudden, but you quickly recovered and pulled him in closer, greedily pressing him as far as he could go.

“This is exactly what I’ve wanted,” you hummed, smiling contentedly.

Emmett’s only response was a grunt, as he pushed deeply into you again, dragging his hips back before snapping forward. His hands were holding onto your arms, keeping you steady against the sharp edge of the table. Both of you hung onto each other for dear life.

“Goddamn distracting…” Emmett muttered. It sounded like only part of a sentence, but you didn’t catch the rest. Too wrapped up in the way he was filling you.

Without warning, he pulled all the way out. He flipped you around, bracing your palms against the table, and then sank back in. You felt your walls tighten around him as you moaned, a little louder.

Fingers splayed over the grain of the wood, you clawed at the table as Emmett pummeled into you, picking up speed to match the erratic beat of your heart. Your eyes screwed shut, chasing the pleasure that steadily built in your stomach.

“Shit. I’m gonna come again,” you gasped, already feeling the waves wash over you.

From behind, Emmett’s hand reached around to slap over your mouth, one more time, pulling your head back a little as he continued to rut into you. You made a muffled sound of protest, but he kept going.

You didn’t have long to concern yourself with comfort, as you were quickly overtaken by pleasure. You let yourself give in; surrendering to the feeling that coursed through you, and the way that his hips never stopped snapping up to meet yours, and the rough palm he held over your mouth. Which was fortunate, actually, because without Emmett’s hand stifling your sounds, they almost certainly would have gotten you both killed.

“Mmmf!”

You tried and failed to bite back the cry that threatened to erupt, only halted by Emmett as he succeeded in keeping his hand steady. 

But it was clear he was close behind you. His hips bucked up with far less precision than they had a few minutes ago, and you could feel him tear out at the very last second, leaving you empty.

“Mmm!”

You cried again as you felt Emmett bite down, his mouth clamped onto your shoulder as he came, stifling his own desperate growl. His cum went not into you but all over you, coating the inside of your legs before he could stop himself. Emmett had clearly waited slightly too long to pull out. 

The soft grunt that vibrated through his teeth sent a shiver down your whole body, followed by another as he rubbed himself into the mess that was now dripping between your legs. Chasing the feel of your combined lust and the friction of your thighs.

“Self control, huh?” you goaded, once he had finally pulled his hand off of your mouth.

“More than you.”

Emmett’s rough voice was right in your ear, and you felt his chest press into your back, breathing heavy to make up for lost air.

“Well,” you said, a bit breathless yourself. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

Taglist: @cillmequick, @hanawrites404, @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch, @littlewinter1917, @mothhball, @nnattu, @red-riding-wood, @slut4thebroken

[cyclesprefectpress]

[image description: photos of The Disco Elysium Tarot, printed letterpress in an edition of one from handset lead type and linoleum blocks. It is a complete 78-card tarot deck printed primarily with white text and illustrations on medium grey cardstock, in a custom dark grey hardcase box with a hand-marbled orange and yellow endsheet. The backs of the deck are decorated with an illustration of a sprig of may bells, and a quote from Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns: "None of this matters at all." The interpretive meaning of each card is expressed on its face with a small excerpt of the game's text. The Minor Arcana are divided into four suits of Harry's Attributes—Motorics, Psyche, Physique, Intellect—and each card in that suit is a quote from a skill under that Attribute. The Major Arcana are assigned quotes from other sources like NPC dialogue or Thought Cabinet problems & solutions. Pips for the Minors are counted with diamonds like the game's skill points; each actor or title is printed with their in-game color, but made shiny & metallic with bronzing powder.

each piece of text was set in handset lead type, assembled from individual pieces for each letter and space, and printed relief on a chandler & price clamshell press. end description.]

🎊🎊 Desert Bus for Hope starts for 2023 on nov. 11th and i have made an item this year for the craftalong that will be up for giveaway between 6am-12pm on Monday the 13th! 🎊🎊 It is a full tarot deck based on Disco Elysium and it has several pieces of my heart & soul in it but NOT my blood because i put a bandaid right on that :) donations for this and any other auctions & giveaways for Desert Bus go to Child's Play Charity.

notes: i did not make a whole new interpretive model for this deck, apologies, that was outside of my scope. it's generally compatible with a Rider-Waite model, with Motorics for Wands, Psyche for Cups, Physique for Swords, and Intellect for Disks. (full distribution of text listed by card, linked below. any spelling or transcription errors you find there, i promise i fixed them in print—that's copied from my digital mockup which was copied hastily from screenshots.)

i also do not track hours on these kinds of projects because that way lies madness, but i will say: i knew how much time it would take to print it. it was a lot but i was not worried about it, i know how to print. i was very worried about how much time it would take to absorb the sheer amount of text, and distribute it across the cards, and really get an array i believe in. i was right to worry, and i have absolutely had a few anxious nightmares about discovering the Perfect excerpt that should've gone in and i missed it, and the suit of Intellect made me want to lay on the floor a few times, but still! i believe there's many versions of a deck you could make from this game and this one is a good one.

i think the Minors fit really well with the double-edged sword of Harry's skills, their advice, their priorities. the circular way the Fool-World assignment works out makes me smile every time. The colors on The Star came out so nice. i think Justice fulfills some of my favorite things about Kim's character & purpose in the story. i worried sometimes that editing to such short clips would lose too much of the politics of the game, but of course you can't really take them out and they're especially present in the Majors—the Devil and the Hierophant, The Star and The Sun. i've wanted to design a tarot deck for years and i love this game deeply and i let this idea percolate for a few months and it never stopped making me laugh so here it is, & given a beautiful purpose :)

i also literally could not have done this without xyrilin's Disco Reader and the FAYDE On-Air Playback Experiment to navigate the dialogue and skill checks. Really couldn’t have tied the whole concept & colophon in its final bow without the Disco Reader :)) thank thank thank, they're so fun to investigate that it was honestly very difficult to focus on my task instead of veering off and exploring every branch in an extremely disorganized way.

actual printing went well honestly, very few problems! i think that means i'm getting pretty good at planning one of these monstrosities, although perhaps it also means i'm not challenging myself enough. hmm. no that's silly there's 78 ding dang cards in this thing. anyway the drop & replace formes worked well, no registration issues. mum convinced me to overprint another half a deck's worth of cards when I was printing backs & borders and of course she was right :/ there were a handful of cards that actually had better line breaks and fewer lines total in true type than in the digital mockup, so i needed all the spares I had to put those new short quotes into the appropriate border breakage. next time i will not question her.

handset in Garamond, Eden Bold, and secret Neuland.

WIP : full text card assignments

bonus photo of the kind of trash notes i always take to plan things like how many borders were printed with space for short excerpts vs long excerpts, and how many of those are majors vs. minors, because they have a slightly different frame at the bottom edge, etc.

[image description: they are truly garbage notes, i tell you. half of it is written at angles to the other half, many numbers in the math problems are not labeled, mistakes are scribbled over. it gets me there but it doesn't look pretty. end description.]

[atxxokirina]

Unspoken Words PT. 2 — (18+ MDNI)

Neteyam x Mute fem Metkayina reader

part one here

contains: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, dom Neteyam, p in v, degrading, tummy buldge, oral (f receiving), creampie, very slight aftercare

author's note! (italic is used to symbolize when you, Neteyam, or anyone else are using sign language)

Your eyes flutter open, the bright sun shining through your Marui waking you. You look your your right, seeing Neteyam's body sprawled out on the cot, your head rested on his arm as it was wrapped around you. Carefully, you lift his arm over you, placing it back down softly to ensure that he stays sleeping. You stood up and stretched your limbs, quietly yawning as you keep your eye on Neteyam laying on his back, mouth wide open as he snores.

Since it's early, you figure you might as well get something to eat while you still can. Grabbing your gear, you throw it around your shoulder and give your mate a tiny kiss on the cheek before leaving. "See you soon, my love."

You make your way to the water, stepping in knee deep as you scope out for fish, readying your catching net just in case. As you continued to carefully examine the clear water, your eye catches something. A fully blue fish with with multicolored fins, floral flushed orange and yellow. You throw out the net, scooping it up and holding it to your face as you studied it's properties.

It was an interesting shape to say the least, large pincher's at it's mouth, while it kept an oval-like shape. Sloapek. You don't see these around too often, but you're happy to have caught it for you and your mate.

As you were traveling back to the common square, you hear a faint calling of your name. "Y/n!" Your ears twitch back, looking around, but you still didn't see anyone. That was, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around in an instant, you're met with Tsireya who's beaming at you."Tsireya, hello! It's nice to see you." You sign, smiling wide as your tail stills in content.

"It is nice to see you too, y/n! You are never out this early, is everything alright?" She asks, concern written all over her face. You nod. "I am fine. I just wanted to get something for Neteyam and I, see?" You hold up the net and her face drops in awe. "Sloapek!? Oh, I'm so jealous! I never see them anymore!" You held back a giggle as she spoke, nodding with a pleased look on your face. "You must have worked hard for this, I'm proud of you!" You awkwardly smile, knowing that it took you less then 2 minutes. "I should get back to Neteyam. He's might be missing me right about now."

"Oh, mhm! See you later, y/n!" You wave before going back to your Marui. As you approach the entrance, you get a glimpse of Lo'ak inside, he's sitting on your cot while Neteyam stands. As you were about to step in, you hear one of them speak.

"So, does she really not talk?" Lo'ak asked Neteyam.

"I mean, no. Not really.. She speaks with her hands."

"Shit, man. That's so weird.. how do you guys fuck?" You winced at his words, feeling shameful for yourself. "I don't know how you do it bro." He chucked.

"Don't say that." Neteyam defends. "..and we don't fuck, honestly. I don't know how to tell her and, plus, I don't wanna hurt her." He playfully scoffed, folding his arms. In all honesty, you wanted to expirience such things with him, but you never had the courage to ask. Your relationship consisted of pristine love, and though you have been together for a few months, neither of you made a move.

Not wanting to hear any more, you finally walk in. Greeting Lo'ak with a small head bow as you set down your net. Giving your mate with a short, but passionite kiss. "Y/n, hey baby." He pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arm around your waist. "Hey y/n." Lo'ak mumbled. "I'm gonna get going but, it was nice to see you- y/n. And, talk to you later bro." Before leaving, he pulls his brother into a breif handshake. "Tell her." He whispers in Neteyam's ear, gone right after.

Neteyam's body flushes with anxiousness, rubbing his hands together. You took the rest of your gear off, wrapping your coiled curls into a low ponytail and bending down to reach for the fish that sat in the net. "Wait, before you do that-" Neteyam starts. You freeze in your position, turning your head to look at him and holding your palm out. "What is it?" His mouth opens and closes before speaking. "Y/n, are you.. a virgin? Like, have you ever had sex before?" A lump formed in your throat as you gulp. You weren't quite sure what to say, you didn't really want to answer him. "No." You avoid eye contact, looking down as you go back to your standing position. "I have not."

Neteyam seemed taken aback by your response, his lips quivered for a moment. "Do you, want to?" He blurts out

You instantly shot him a look, the breath you had being sweeper from your lungs. A part of you wanted to. So badly.. but the other part was petrified of how it might turn out. Would it hurt you? Would you hurt him? What if you do something wrong? He holds your chin with his two fingers, turning your head to him as he stares down at you.

"I'll make it easy for you.. we can even go slow, how about that?" His melodic tone filled your ears, practically making you melt before him. You blink a few times, feeling like your heart was going to shoot out of your chest. He was patient with your response, letting you take your time before making this important decision. Hesitantly, you nod. He smiles and kisses your forehead. "Great," he starts. "You'll feel so good, I promise, okay?" Neteyam kisses you again. "Okay" Even though it was sign, he could tell that you were still scared. He reassures you by pulling you into a hug, you buried your head in his chest.

The scent he gave off never failed to chill your nerves. "I love you, y/n. I would never do anything to hurt you, okay?" He softly pulls back by your shoulders, facing down. You held a hand up, closing your middle finger, but keeping your pink, index, and thumb up. "I love you too."

"I have to get to my training session, but I will be back at eclipse." He ruffles your hair, earning a warm smile from you as he rushed out of the Marui.

Several hours have passed. It's almost eclipse and you can't stop your anxiety from building. You pace around the room, trying to take deep breaths and focus on anything else, but it was damn near impossible. You sit down as your mind raced, nervously fiddling with your hands. Closing your eyes, you inhale through your nose and exhale with your mouth. After a few huffs, your rushing heart starts to slow down. You lay back now, sighing and looking at your ceiling. And just as you started to relax, "Hey baby.." You ears perked at the deep voice your hear. Sitting up on your elbows, you try to smile, Neteyam sets his gear down, slowly walking toward your small frame. There's a certain look in his eye, it's dark, and it scares you.

He climbs onto the cot, hovering over you. "Are you ready for me?" He says lowly, and you can almost feel his arousal. You nod twice, slight fear in your expression. Neteyam brings his head down to your chest, tugging at your top with his teeth, causing you to shudder. "Don't be scared," He licks a stripe and your breath hitches. "It's just me." Right after saying that, he tears your top with his fangs, your pupils dilate in shock. He was an entirely different person.

He snakes his hand up to your hard nipples, squeezing your right bud as he spit on your left one, toungue circling your areola. You close your eyes, soft pleasure begins to overcome you. You've never had the urge to make a sound until now, you don't want to, but it's almost impossible to control. "H-hmh.." You mewl. Neteyam notices and his ear twitches, you felt his grin as he continues to suckle on your tits. He now brought his hand down to your loincloth, rubbing your cunt through the fabric as he grazes the formed wet spot. "Already so wet, hm? Such a good girl." He hums, words vibrating your sensitive nipples. Expertly, he unties his own, throwing it off. He comes up from your breasts, and you're met with his large, dark blue cock. Purple veins protruding as it twitches for more. It almost looks.. painful?

Your eyes were wide. "You can touch it, it's okay baby." He reassures. You slowly reach out to his member with your index finger, the second you touch the tip, it twitches again. You quietly gasp, he chuckled at your reaction. "That's how it reacts, pretty. Don't worry." He cupped your cheek, kissing your lips with desire. "Take this off for me", he tugs at the waistband of your loincloth. You comply, lifting your hips to untie it, trying to ignore your shakey hands.

Neteyam shimmy's your cloth down, bringing his head to your wet and glistening heat with a deep inhale. He slides his finger up your folds. "Mm.. so fucking wet baby, I think you're ready for me, wouldn't you say so?" He teases, scissoring you open with his digits as he makes out with your clit. Pleasure overwhelms you, hips subconsciously bucking up to him as you held back your noises, but he could fainty hear you. "Yeah? You speak now, hm?" Your eyes squeeze shut as his pace quickens, now shoving his two fingers inside of you and pumping them with a fast pace. "Uh huh.." You quietly whimper, he feels more than accomplished at the dirty sounds you make. "That's fucking right baby", he curls his digits, massaging your spongey walls, earning a gasped "Nghh!" from you. "Juust like that." He pulled his fingers out, sucking them clean with a pop.

Neteyam pulls your hips toward him, fisting his cock a couple times before aligning it with your entrance. He notices the twang of worry in your face. "You'll love this baby, I'll make you scream my fucking name." He promised. It made you quite nervous, but nonetheless, you nod at him and close your eyes. Without warning, his fat cock is forcing it's way inside of you, inch by inch, knocking the wind from your lungs.

Your eyes flew open, mouth agape at the feeling. He grunts, enjoying the way your delicious pussy is wrapped around him. "Mhmm, yeah.." Neteyam moaned while grinding his hips into you. "Am I making you feel good? Huh?" He growls. You can't sign, and you can't respond in any way. He uses this to his advantage, pulling out and plunging himself back into you, a loud and long moan escapes from your mouth, he smirks as he pumps his cock upward, hitting your sweet spot. Every. Time.

You squeeze your eyes shut, quietly cursing and whining under your breath. "Fuck! Oh fuck, Neteyam.." You repeat with a quiet breath, followed up by another moan, unknowingly making such lewd noises. "You can do better than that." He groans, fucking you faster as the sounds of your bodies coming together filled the room. "Hmmmh, so good! Sosososo g-ood.." You whimper, no longer caring about whether or not you speak, you just need him. More than you ever have before.

You wrappes your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. "More. I need you." You mewl. "Beg." He demanded, slowly fucking up into you. "P-please.. Nete.. yam." You moaned, "I want you, I want you! S-so fucking bad!" You cry out, breath shaky. "That's what I wanna hear." He huffs, pace increasing gradually. Your pussy clenches around him, exuding wet squelching noises. You whine, begging for something, but you don't know what.

He fucking loves the way you've let go. The intimacy and tension is building between the two of you. He scoffs at how you're still trying to supress your moans, as if you weren't just begging him to fuck you harder a minute ago. "Cmon, let me hear you." He thrusts harder, looking down at your tummy to see his cock poking out with each thust me makes. "Don't try to be all quiet now, you're not so innocent as I thought, huh? You're still a slut. A nasty slut who just needed to be fucked like this, aren't you?" You whine, moans coming out even when you try to stop.

He grabs your hand, placing it on your stomach. "Look at it", he grunts, holding your hand on the reappearing buldge. You watch the way his cock made contact with your tummy, pressing down on it at every chance you get. You felt so incredibly full, each pump in your pussy leaving you breathless. "Mmm.." Neteyam moans through gritted teeth. "Yeah. Keep your hand right there, don't you dare fucking move it." You whimper in response, tears forming in your eyes from the pleasure.

An unfamiliar feeling forms around your core. Your muscles tighten as you feel light. "Uhh! Nete- Neteyam.. I feel weird", You whine, pleading for him to stop whatever he was doing to make your body react this way. "Shh, shh, shh, baby, it's f-fine." His hips staggered inside of you. You truthfully felt like you had to pee. This can't be right. The feeling grew stronger, you can't control your body in it's essance anymore. You need something, some kind of relief. It's building up and it won't stop. "Ngghhh, more! Fuck! Harder, faster!" You moaned, fucking yourself up again him. He picks you up, holding your ass and making you straddle him as his hips slammed back into you. Making you scream and cry in pleasure as you meet his thrusts.

"Almost. Almost, almost, almost", you repeat like a mantra. "Me too baby. Fffuckk, I'm almost there. Gonna paint your insides, give you my seed." Neteyam gracefully moans, it was music to your ears. Suddenly, your pussy clenches around him. Way tighter than before. You gasp and wince. "Ah! Neteyammm!!" You moan your mates name, squeezing your arms around him. Just in time, he stops his movements all together, bursting his warm load inside of you with a low sigh, followed by another small thrust. You felt a heat form in your womb, pure bliss as he filled you up.

Your body goes limp, falling back down on the cot and curling up into yourself. Feeling worn out, like all of your energy had been drained from you. Out of breath, Neteyam lays beside you, gently running his hands across your curves. "You okay baby? You're not hurt or anything?" He checks. You answer with a quiet hum. He turns your face to him, pecking your lips as he briefly glanced down at your cunt, looking at his cum slightly pouring out.

He sighs in content. "Come, let's go get you cleaned up." He stands from the cot and slips his loincloth back on, then bending down to pick you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he secures you "I'm tired, Teyam.." You mumble quietly. "It's alright, I'll take care of you. Just rest." He reassures, tone soothing and low as he brings you to a secluded cave to clean you up.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Fair Winds, Following Seas (M!Reader x M!Siren)

Pairing: Male!Captain!Reader x Male!Flirty!Siren

Genre: Pirates, Pining, Flirting

Word Count: 2257 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: As a captain of a feared pirate crew, not much terrifies you. Not even keeping the company of a man-eating siren. 

Based on this request: (A/N: WHELP I clearly misread this request haha, a more accurate version of this request can be found here, but for now enjoy this piece!) May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

One of your favorite things about being captain is being at the helm. With nothing but an endless ocean in front of you and a steady grip on the wheel, you’ve never felt more at peace.

Except for right now, with an incessant rapping on your shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Brightley?”

Your nervous, newest third mate jolts at your voice, probably just having worked up the nerve to approach you in the first place.

“U-um, the lookout has spotted a stranded person sitting out on the rock.” His shaky hands point out on the horizon, where a large outcrop stands solitary amidst the waves. The kind of rock that could sustain no other life than a seagull and crustaceans.

Your brow furrows.

“Really?”

“Yes, captain. The crew was wondering if we should stop and help them-”

“What do they look like?”

That stops Mr. Brightley in his tracks.

“Uh-”

“Check for me, will you?” You nod your head to the nearby telescope. Your ship is slowly riding the waves, the rock just within viewing distance.

Mr. Brightly shakily takes the scope, extending it and trying to catch any general features.

“Uh, long black hair, tan-” Brightley’s free eye squints, “It looks like they're wearing a sheet?”

You sigh.

“Tell the crew to get the rowboat ready, I’ll go and check this out.”

—

Your younger crew looks at you like you're crazy as you insist on going out to the rock by yourself, bringing nothing but a rope, a ladder and a bucket of fish with you. You told them you’ll be back in a few hours, another baffling fact.

As you row through the crashing waves,  a beckoning, melodic voice calls out to you.

“Oh, my savior!” The tenor calls out in fake falsetto, white linen flowing around his nude figure like Aphrodite. “I’ve been stranded for days. I thought I was a goner.” You throw a rope up the side of the rock, a snake-like hand grabbing it with precision. 

His face is beautiful, practically carved out of marble. His warm brown eyes are that of a doe, all innocent and alluring. “Whatever can I do to repay you?”

“Cut the crap, Harris.” 

You toss the pail of sea sweater directly into Harris face, the sheet wrapped around his chest going sheer. Harris just tosses his hair, water speckling like a rainbow as false skin fades into green scales, those doe eyes glowing a bright yellow and his demure smile becoming full of sharp teeth. He still resembles a human, a handsome one too, but this form is much more real.

“Ah, you always know how to make my day, Captain.”

Harris knots the rope around a sturdy rock, foregoing your rope ladder entirely and diving into the water with perfect precision. You roll your eyes.

“Showoff.” Haris flips back his long hair, now dark and tangled with sea water, as he pulls himself up onto the rowboat. His triceps flex and he gives you a wry smirk “You know you could send me a letter, like a normal friend does. Don’t have to do-” You gesture to the giant rock, to the diaphanous sheet now barely hanging off his hips, “-all this.”

“Nonsense, Captain.” Harris leah's over and sends a wave to your crew, most likely absolutely gobsmacked at this point. “These meetings are special! Special things deserve some drama.”

Harris flops his body over your legs, hand thrown over his forehead like the cover of a bodice-ripper. The sheet wraps around his waist, somehow making his sharp v seem all the more pronounced.

You scoff, setting your large oars aside and giving your arms a break. The sun is bright today, reflecting off the wear and right into your eyes. Sweat has begun to pool onto your brow.

A calloused, scaly hand runs up the side of your face, drawing your attention. The tips of Harris’ claws just graze your skin, lingering over a strip of puckered skin right by your jaw, no bigger than an inch.

“Is this new?”

You hum, remembering the scuffle at the bar they gave you the scar. It wasn’t even a good enough story to tell, the mark itself easily covered up by some facial hair, if you wanted to.

“Well, it makes you no less handsome.”

Harris sits up on his elbows, eyes dangerously darting across your lips. His tongue, long and black, darts in between his teeth.

You throw your thighs up and even Harris’ strong core isn’t enough to keep him steady. He falls off of you, quite ungracefully.

“Hey! Watch the merchandise, these looks are important, y’know?”

Harris brushed back his hair, showing off the sharp cut of his jaw and his perfectly pushed up cheekbones. They glimmer green and gold in the sunlight.

You grab a fish from the bucket and throw it in his face. Harris catches it between his teeth. He gives you a wink as blood and bone crunch under his fangs. 

“Hope you like mackerel, cause that's all you're getting.”

Harris pushes your knee in jest, lips so pouty, but graciously accepts the heaps of fish you give him. You’re lucky you're almost completely nose-blind, as you're sure the boat reeks of fish guts and brine at this point. 

“Now tell me Captain,”” Harris says, still picking flesh from his teeth, “-what ya been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“You always say that.” Harris whines, stripping flesh clean of the bone with one bite. “Must I pry out every battle and plunder you’ve gone through? You’re a fearsome pirate Captain, brag a little.”

“This coming from the man who's been inside the Marianas Trench and didn’t tell me until I knew him for a year. ” You pull out a fresh orange, thankful you didn’t get any of the fish-stink on your hands. “Pot calling kettle black, Harris.”

“Ugh, you’ve seen the Marianas Trench once you’ve seen it you’ve seen it 

hundred times.” Harris throws a fish bone over the side, crossing his arms and leaning on your seat. “Now, suck it up and tell me about a ‘port’ of some sort!”

This was how it always went with Harris. For a siren, he was weirdly fascinated by your land-locked tales. You’d think he’d hate human stuff, given you met when rescuing him from a fishing net.

“Meh. Some sirens are shitty, some sirens are good. I’m sure humans are the same. I mean, you seem pretty cool.”

The next time your paths crossed had been accidental. Harris almost lured one of your men over the side. But after that snafu, he agreed to let the poor soul go in exchange for another story, something exciting like you had distracted him with when cutting him free. 

After that began the trade; he told you about his underwater escapades, you told him about your land ones. You seemed to be like magnets, paths always crossing in a wide wide ocean. 

“Ooh, like this.” Harris lunges forward, clawed hand going for your neck. After years of this, you don’t even flinch. The claws pull at the lace of your new necklace, pulling out the mother-of-pearl pendant ensconced in gold in the center. “I bet this has a story. Where did you get this from?”

“Hmm, just a bet gone right at a port bar. The one I told you about, with all the seashell decorations”  It was a common haunt of you and your crew, your face well known and respected. “Stupid bastard just wouldn't stop playing. He must have been a stupid noble or something, trying to make it on his own. Too much gold and not enough sense.” You look at the pendant, seeing the faint colors shimmer in the sunlight. “He only quit after he lost this, must’ve been an heirloom cause he got real red in the face afterwards. Lunged at my neck with a fork.” 

“Oh! Oh! Did you stab his hand into the table? Did you grab him by the collar, hold your sword up to his neck and say ‘Unhand me, fool, or I’ll wear your guts for garters’?”

You raise your eyebrow.

“You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels. No, I punched him and he was out like a light.”

Harris flops down, a pout.

“Well, what about the gold?”

“Spent most of it that night. Well, the crew did. I think they bled that poor tavern dry.” You laugh, fiddling with the pendant. That had been a fun night. “I held onto the rest.”

“Well surely you spent some of it. Didn’t you party with your crew?”

“Nah, I love the lads but they make poor company when drunk.”

“Hmm, so you prefer the company of others.” Harris wiggles his eyebrows, leaning forward and an elbow. “Anyone in parti-cu-lar?” Harris gives an exaggerated wink, scrunching up his cheek and all.

You aren’t moved by the performance

“Like I said, too many romance novels.”

“Oh come on!” Harris grabs another fish, ripping its head off with one movement. “Do you know how small the eligible siren population is? There's only about 500 of us, and you’re lucky if the siren you're courting isn't an ex's ex of an ex. There’s like, thousands of you humans-”

“More like billions-”

“-and you’re saying no one comes to mind? Not even a young ingénue waiting for their fearsome captain to come back from the sea? Or pining over that rugged lover they took one night, who blew their stockings right off?” Harris takes a bite of the fish, spitting out pieces of bone over the side. He leans forward further on his elbows, chin just inches from brushing against your thigh. “You’re telling me they don’t just throw themselves at you, Captain. You? Surely there must be someone who caught your eye.”  Harris gestures to your whole body. 

You exhale through your nose, staring right into Harris' deep yellow eyes. You’re no artist, nor a writer, but you wonder what the right words would be to describe him.

Someone with big eyes, with that aquiline nose. Whose eyes are like the sunset on the water, clear yet vibrant. With a black tongue, sharp teeth and even sharper claws.

“Nope, no one.”

Harris rolls his eyes, shoving your thigh with a half-strength push. 

“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll pry you open one day, Captain.”

Fortunately, the conversation quickly drifts from your love-life to his recent misadventures. Mostly boring, according to him; Riding the gulf stream all the way to Iceland, helping a whale calf back to its mother, and sinking an English ship with some siren buddies.

“All Royal Navymen, so not the tastiest meat. But my god, do they make interesting sport.”

You show him the scar on your side you have from when such a Royal Navyman had grazed it with a bayonet.

“Lost lots of blood. But I walked away with my head intact, can’t say the same for him.”

“Not that he had much to begin with.”

That gets a laugh.

Only the setting sun can cut your meetings short, the night at sea bringing a deathly chill you’re ill equipped to deal with. Harris offers to pull your rowboat back to your ship, knowing how the sun tires you to the bone.

Curious crew members flee from the side as Harris draws closer, his handsome face poking out above the water. You’re sure some of them have already stuffed cotton in their ears, terrified of Harris. It takes your second hand, Ricky, to let the rope ladder down after you call everyone else cowards.

“I see what you mean about your crew, Captain. Who’d be afraid of little ole me?”

He presses a finger to his cheek in faux innocence, smile still filled with teeth. You splash some more water in his face.

You hop onto the bottom rung of the stepladder after typing up the rowboat, sluggish crew still too afraid to approach the side and pull the boat up. You turn back to Harris, who lingers in the water.

“Well, Farewell Captain! May your adventures be plentiful, so I have something interesting to listen to next time”

Harris propels himself upward, giving a dramatic bow half-way out of the water. You can’t fight the smile. Such a drama queen.

“Hey Harris?” You call back, now hanging off the ladder with one hand. The other gestures for Harris to come closer.

“Yes?” Harris asks, leaning up with brows furrowed.

His lips are just as salty as you’d expect. With only a three second peck, you’re already fiending for some water. It’d be harder to pull away, otherwise.

Those eyes are blown wide open, cheeks flushed an unnatural color you’ve never seen before. It’s a brand new expression on Harris, it shoots a pleasant bolt down your spine.

“Until we meet again.”

You tap the side of the rope, quickly yanked up by Ricky. You shoot only a glance back and see Harris, jaw dropped open like a guppy.

By the time you’re back on the deck, he seems to have dived back in the water, and your crew are pulling cotton out of their ears.

You give Ricky a pat on the back and he gives you a knowing smile. He’ll never let this go, that’s for sure. 

You saunter off into your quarters, Mr. Brightley and the rest still as befuddled as before.

“Absolute madman, he is.” Mr. Brightley says, wondering how he’d fit all your escapades into his letter to his sister. Hopefully her Captain was more sane than his.

[conchiferrous]

can you scope a purple blunder and admit that you are young ? oh my dear, i must be falling in love

[IMAGE ID: Digitally drawn doodle page featuring Robin and Franky from One Piece. Drawing 1: Post time skip, Robin is laying face down in Franky's chest and is resting her hands beside her head. Franky is looking down at her with a dopey love struck expression. He's sitting on the ground and is resting a hand on her back, with the other arm limp wristed. Robin is on her knees, legs apart so Franky's legs can rest on the ground. They are both wearing plain shirts and Robin is wearing pants with pockets on the butt. Robin is also depicted as fat here. The lineart is messy and is colored shades of yellow orange and pink. Drawing 2: Pre time skip. Franky and Robin are cuddling. Franky is depicted with thicker "wreck it ralph" type arms and hands, and Robin is cuddling up on one of his arms, her arms and legs wrapped around it. Franky is using the other arm as a pillow. Franky appears to be snoring loudly, and the drawing is colored with yellows, oranges, and pinks. They are laying on a pink rectangle which is supposed to be the sheets. Drawing 3: Pre time skip. Franky and Robin are slow dancing and are giggling delightfully. It is drawn from the butt up, with Robin's back to the viewer, but the side of her face is still visible. The drawing is colored in shaded of blue. Drawing 4: Post time skip. Sketch of Robin laying on Franky's chest while he talks about boats. Both of her hands are pillowed between her head and Franky's chest, and Robin is looking up at Franky with loving doe eyes and smiling. Text above Franky's head reads: "[every boat fact]". Robin is depicted as fat here and the drawing is drawn from the chest up. Additionally, there's a small doodle of Robin and Franky nuzzling and hugging with big eyes in a more cutesy style and a doodley Chopper in the middle of the canvas with the words "Free space lol" written around him.]

[artsandculture]

The Water-Lily Pond (1899) 🎨 Claude Monet 🏛️ The National Gallery 📍 London, United Kingdom

For Monet, gardens offered a refuge from the modern urban and industrial world, although he and his fellow garden enthusiasts benefited from modern advances in botanical science that were creating new hybrid flowers in a wide choice of shapes and colours that could be produced on an almost industrial scale. He made modest gardens in the homes he rented in Argenteuil and Vetheuil in the 1870s, but from 1883, when he moved to a rented house in Giverny, about 50 miles to the west of Paris, he had more scope to indulge his passion for plants. He became a dedicated gardener with an extensive botanical knowledge, and sought the opinions of leading horticulturalists. As Monet’s career flourished his increasing wealth enabled him to fund what became a grand horticultural enterprise: by the 1890s he was employing as many as eight gardeners.

Monet began by refashioning the garden in front of the house, the so-called ‘Clos Normand’, replacing the existing kitchen garden and orchard with densely planted colourful flower beds that were filled with blooms throughout the seasons. He was able to buy the house in 1890, and three years later he purchased an adjacent plot of land next to the river Epte beyond the railway line at the edge of his property. The plot had a small pond with arrowhead and wild water lilies, which he wanted to turn into a water garden with a larger lily pond ‘both for the pleasure of the eye and for the purpose of having subjects to paint’.

The idea may have occurred to him after he had seen the water garden at the 1899 Exposition Universelle in Paris created by the grower Joseph Bory Latour-Marliac, who bred the first colourful hardy waterlilies. Monet began by requesting permission from the Prefect of the Eure to dig irrigation channels from the Ru – a branch of the Epte – to feed his pond, but the Giverny villagers objected, fearing it would contaminate the water and that the foreign plants would poison their cattle. Monet was furious, but three months later permission came through and he began to enlarge the existing pond, replacing the wild water lilies with Latour-Marliac hybrids available in yellows, pinks, whites and violets.

The pond was enlarged on further occasions – in 1901 and 1904 – tripling the size of the water garden. Together with the flower garden on the other side of the railway track it became the principal preoccupation of the last 26 years of Monet’s life. While the Clos Normand garden was laid out along fairly traditional lines, harking back to the formal French gardens of seventeenth-century Europe, with a central alleyway and geometrically arranged beds, the water garden was more Eastern in inspiration. Its less regimented, more natural design and more muted colours created a quieter, meditative atmosphere. Monet erected a Japanese bridge over the western end of the pond that took its inspiration from the bridges in ukiyo-e Japanese prints. He was a keen collector of these prints and he owned a copy of Hiroshige’s Wisteria at Kameido Tenjin Shrine (1856), one of the many prints that features a curved bridge. In a more general sense, the water garden reflected Monet’s admiration for the Japanese appreciation of nature.

Monet had to wait for his water garden to mature before he could begin to paint it in earnest. As he later recalled: ‘It took me some time to understand my water-lilies. It takes more than a day to get under your skin. And then all at once, I had the revelation – how wonderful my pond was – and reached for my palette. I’ve hardly had any other subject since that moment.’ In total, Monet painted 250 canvases of his water garden. Around 200 of these represent water lilies floating on the surface of the water, while the remainder also show the Japanese bridge, the weeping willow trees and wisteria and the irises, agapanthus and day lilies on its banks. In all these pictures Monet was painting a subject that was already ‘pictorial’ – a landscape that had been carefully composed according to his personal aesthetic. The National Gallery has three further paintings of the water garden :Water-lilies, setting sun; Irises; and Water-lilies.

Monet painted three views of the Japanese bridge in 1895, not long after it had been constructed, but then took a break from the subject, only returning to it in 1899. By now the pool was overhung by vegetation and surrounded by plants, but to judge from contemporary photographs it was never as enclosed as Monet painted it, and he exaggerated the feeling of claustrophobia. In December 1900 he exhibited 12 paintings at Durand-Ruel’s gallery in Paris, all of which showed more or less symmetrical views of the Japanese bridge.

In this painting, as in the others in the series, we are looking down onto the surface of the water, where the lily pads float into the distance, meeting the dense foliage on the far bank. Weeping willows are reflected in the pond and clumps of iris border its banks. The perspective seems to shift so that it is hard to find a single focal point; it is as though we are looking up at the bridge but down on the waterlilies. The picture, like the water itself, seems to oscillate between surface and depth. The mainly vertical reflections provide a counterpoint to the horizontal clumps of the lily pads. Different colours, applied with thick brushstrokes, are placed next to each other. This way of painting has more in common with Monet’s early Impressionist works than his more recent paintings of mornings on the Seine, where he had used softer, more blended strokes to convey hazy atmospheric effects.

The Japanese bridge series marked a turning point in Monet’s art. From now on his subjects were painted from an increasingly confined viewpoint, conveying the sense of an enclosed world. In later paintings of the pond, he would dispense with the banks and bridge altogether to focus solely on the water, the reflections and the water lilies. The culmination of Monet’s water lily paintings were the Grandes Dėcorations, 22 enormous canvases each over two metres high and totalling more than 90 metres in length, which he completed months before his death and donated to the French state. These are now on permanent display in two oval rooms in the Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris.

[jmdbjk]

White Bear Artillery Brigade.

I'm not here to share anything earth shattering or reveal new information. I'm just going to elaborate on what I know and how I see it. Feel free to form your own opinions.

Ok so, from everything I know, this is how I'm understanding it (long ramble)...

Republic of Korea (ROK) Armed Forces is one of the largest and most powerful standing armed forces in the world. At any given time, it consists of about 600,000 active duty soldiers and approximately 3 million reservists.

Soldiers are automatically transferred to the Reserve Forces upon discharge from their initial active duty service and serve four years in the Mobilization Reserve followed by four years as a Homeland Reservist. No one ever talks about this. They are not "free" following their active duty service. They are still considered reservists.

Jimin and Jungkook are in the White Bear Artillery Brigade of the 5th Infantry Division of the Republic of Korea Army (ROKA).

ROKA itself, the Army, is the largest of the military branches. The other ROK military branches are ROK Navy and ROK Air Force. The ROK Marines are part of their Navy forces.

It might be difficult to fathom the scope and size of ROKA. Here is an outline of the structure. You will need to scroll down a ways to see where the 5th Infantry Division falls. It is under Army Ground Operations and then under V Corps (Corps 5).

The White Bear Brigade consists of the: 195th, 196th, 205th and 988th Field Artillery Battalions. The 196th is also called YELLOW DRAGON.

I do not know which Field Artillery Battalion Jimin and Jungkook are assigned to.

Each of these Field Artillery Battalions are scattered in different locations but tied to the 5th Infantry Division. The 5th Infantry Division's top general controls these Field Artillery Battalions.

And the term "field" only means they are not located at the training base where Jin is.

It means they are out in the "field" in another remote, secluded strategic location, away from the main base, where if necessary, they and their artillery, can be deployed efficiently and rapidly should this action be required.

They don't see Jin any more. He is at a separate location.

The front line between South Korea and North Korea is lined with hills and low-lying mountains, they will be nestled up in there somewhere.

"Field" does not mean they are living in the middle of a farm field in tents, cooking food over campfires. It means they are at a base somewhere in the hills and mountains. This base will hold lots of other soldiers, though not as many soldiers as there are at the original training base where Jin is because that's sort of a hub where they deploy the newly trained soldiers from.

Simple terms: Jimin and Jungkook are out there in the middle of nowhere near the front lines at a base where they take care of weaponry like tanks and the ammo for tanks in case they have to quickly respond to an attack. Heaven forbid.

Anyway. How many ways can I explain that? Obvs a bunch.

Military jobs.

There are probably dozens of jobs that an Army base like theirs requires.

Cooking food to feed all the soldiers is one of those jobs. Cleaning the kitchen after cooking is part of that job. There were rumors since January that Jungkook was a kitchen worker. Those in the K-military call it Kitchen Police. And then JK just said he is cooking rice and cleaning up to the ceiling so that pretty much confirms he is indeed a Kitchen Police.

In the context of him being enlisted in the military and him coming to tell us he is doing good in the military, he is telling us he cooks rice and cleans up afterward.

He didn't mean he sometimes randomly cooks rice in his room. Nor did he mean he made himself a snack. It doesn't mean he also has a second job of cleaning. Everything he does will be associated with the Kitchen Police.

Their days are very regimented and structured. He will be one soldier on a team of soldiers tasked with creating enough food 3 times a day to feed the entire base. It is a full time job.

The rumor for Jimin is that he might be in a role that involves maintenance. Maintenance of what? We don't know. But what we know about Jimin is that he was on the robotics team in school, he has leadership skills, and he made a bunch of LEGO kits and a miniature house model in front of us during several weverse lives. Is he putting together computers? Is he reassembling machinery? We don't know.

The Companion Enlistment Program.

The buddy system was created in 2003 in order to foster better outcomes and psychologically stronger soldiers. It allows those who choose to enlist under this program to be with someone who they can gain this support from throughout their enlistment. That's the whole point. To be together during their enlistment.

The age range is dynamic. Every year this range progresses one year.

For 2023, the age range for this program were those born between Jan. 1, 1995 and Dec. 31, 2005. For 2024, the age range will be those born between Jan. 1, 1996 and Dec. 31, 2006. And so on.

The reason is because only Korean men between the ages of 18-28 are conscripted. 2023 was the last year Jimin was eligible for this program.

The criteria is very specific when choosing this type of enlistment. You can't "game" the system by enlisting in this program for reasons other than the ones the military has set for this type of enlistment. It's the military... they are masters at the "game." Strategy, out-thinking the enemy, creative warfare... that's their gig.

The barracks where Jimin and Jungkook sleep will be the same. The bathroom where they wash up will be the same. The cafeteria where they eat will be the same. Their recreational facilities will be the same.

It's the same base, same facilities. They may not be in each other's faces while they perform their jobs every day, but they see each other EVERY DAY. They sleep together EVERY NIGHT.

Delulu time.

Every time I say that I go "hammer time" and think of MC Hammer and the song starts in my head...anyway... I'm a dork.

I can imagine Jungkook's day starts a little earlier than Jimin's because the kitchen will need to be ready to serve breakfast for the rest of the soldiers.

There might be other teams/groups who also begin their day earlier than others. Perhaps they all gather and do some sort of brief, early morning drills or general chores before heading off to their respective posts/jobs for the day. I don't know, just guessing.

The kitchen team would do things like take in supplies, store the supplies correctly according to regulations, place orders for more supplies, gather the ingredients to make that day's menus, prepare the foods according to specified recipes, serve the food, maintain and clean the serving area, maintain and clean the cooking appliances, cookware, cooking utensils, clean the food trays and eating utensils, clean the kitchen from floor to ceiling, plan and prepare for the next day's menus, doing any preliminary prep like thawing frozen food, etc.

Menus are not decided on a whim. The Army will have set daily menus and have contracts within the country's food industry to provide ingredients and supplies in bulk.

I used to think it was slightly odd to obsess over the food they were being served in the military. But now I'm keenly interested. Is there a jikook food tray account on X?

As I don't really know the details of Jimin's job, I can only guess that he reports to his job, carries out his duties just like Jungkook and just like all their fellow soldiers. His duties may be similar in that he inventories supplies, orders new supplies/parts. Or he might be training for a specific skill like polishing glass for gun scopes or something. I just made that up to use as an example.

Of course, duty on base would be vastly different from combat if they were to actually be activated to fight. I don't want to think about that.

Perhaps during the course of their week, they all attend classes or lectures or informational meetings or whatever. I don't know. That's just a guess. But somehow, information would need to be shared and continuing training would need to occur.

At the end of the day, they'd head back to their own barracks and enjoy their evening of free time. They'd get their phones for a short period of time. From what I understand, depending on their location, their wireless signal may not be reliable or strong.

Maybe they work out. If so, they do it together. They are accustomed to doing that so there's every reason to think they'd also work out together while enlisted.

They can decompress in the company of each other, relaxing, being themselves in the comfort of familiarity. They can talk about things that they accomplished, things they learned or situations they got embarrassed about.

They can make jokes with each other, poke fun at each other, commiserate, empathize, laugh, express frustration or joy with each other.

If they have enough moments of privacy, they can vent about assholes they had to deal with or they can hype the nice people they interacted with during their day.

Or they can just relax in the company of each other in silence and nothing else.

You know... all the things you do with the person you are most comfortable with... the person they wanted next to them sharing the ups and downs of this period of their lives. It works out wonderfully for them.

Then lights out and go to sleep and do it all over again the next day.

Anyway. I send up my thoughts every day that they are safe, healthy, eating well, and that their bodies and minds are strong. I am thankful they have each other. It is day 97 into their service. 451 days remaining. FIGHTING!

[cowboydisaster]

Your Protector

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: Arthur comes to your rescue while you're being harassed.

a/n: This is technically a reupload from back in November but I added a lot more detail and its now about 1k longer so-- Also this fic was originally a request: "reader getting hit on in a shady alley and Arthur rescuing her"

warnings: gore, blood, violence (not more than game), harassment, basically a gross, greedy man who gets a bit handsy

It’s been ten minutes since Arthur left you in the alley. Nervously, you run your sweaty palms down your jeans and slow your breaths. You couldn’t deny Arthur when he had asked you to scope out this job with him. He made all the plans, crafted a safe and efficient way to get the money with no one getting hurt. And although you trust him, your nerves are still on edge. The other outlaw had caught first wind of this score when helping a passerby on the road in Bayou Nwa. Arthur helped a man with a nasty snake bite, and was gifted a token of information as a payment. Apparently, the Saint Denis gunsmith is running a little underground gambling. Big poker games, with top players, betting more money just on one game than you’ve ever laid eyes on in your life. That tip came about a few weeks ago, and after some sniffing around, Arthur found the information to be true. Tonight, at 8pm, the cards were dealt for the tournament game. The big one. 

You pace, nervously glancing down at your silver pocket watch. The time reads just after midnight. These games take hours, if not days, but by now most of the money should be out, and the players should all be here with their riches. Before jogging up the metal staircase and sneaking through a cracked window, Arthur had planted you as a lookout in the alley adjoining the gunsmith. His plan is: sneak in, play the part, and rob the bastards blind. They’ll probably be too wasted on hooch to even notice him slipping away with their life savings. Your job is strictly to keep watch, which Arthur reassured you is a very important job, despite your reservations. You glance at your pocket watch again, seeing that Arthur has now been in there for thirteen minutes. Shoving the watch into your pocket to get rid of the distraction, you glance around the alley. It's dark, and eerie. The pass way is long and narrow, with rotting wooden crates lining the walls and rats that run and squeak, causing you to jump every now and again. Water drips down from the metal overhangs, driving you mad with their constant noise. 

Anxiety pools in your gut as the shadows made by the rats and the crates shift, and the walls seem to move in on you. It’s all an illusion of course, but your heart rate picks up as the shadows shift and taunt you. A few times you scare yourself, looking at the shadows for too long until they begin to morph. So, to preserve your sanity, you distract yourself, pulling your cattleman from its holster. You grab a bottle of gun oil and a little rag from your satchel, humming to yourself as you wipe down the barrel of the gun, making sure to get in between the little grooves. Arthur had bought you this gun, and had it engraved with ornate flowers. It’s one of your most dear possessions. You still feel incredibly uneasy, like you’re being watched, followed. But you tell yourself that your mind is just playing tricks on you. You focus on the gun, keeping enough awareness of your surroundings to know if the law is coming. With a satisfied smirk, you hold your gun under the flickering street light, admiring its clean, shiny state. Suddenly the gun is knocked away from your hand, and you gasp, having only a moment to watch it fall onto the cobblestone before whipping around in shock.

A beast of a man, easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders, towers over you, sneering down at you with yellow teeth and breath that reeks of liquor. He scares the hell out of you, and you back away quickly. In one large step backwards, with a loud gasp, your back hits the alley’s brick wall. The man steps forward, sandwiching you between himself and the wall. You feel so sick, so naive right now. When you had agreed to do this job, you’d expected to run into some nasty street kids and oversized rats at the worst, but oh were you wrong. Somehow the other type of vermin roaming Saint Denis had slipped your mind: the men like this one. The men who drink their fill and search the streets for a cheap woman to spend the night with, or any woman to spend the night with. He is the exact type of man you would expect to be at an illegal poker game, with greasy hair, beady eyes, and sharp features that remind you of a predator.  Your back is still pressed against the wall, and the man in front of you corners you by bringing a hand to either side of your head on the wall. You’re trapped. You glance down to your cattleman on the street, and damningly realize you can’t reach it. When the man opens his mouth to speak, the acrid, alcoholic smell of his breath makes you gag. 

“Say, what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doin’ in these nasty parts of town all by yourself?” His breath is hot on your face, and the smell of his sweat chokes you. You think about screaming for help, but all that would do is tie a noose around Arthur’s neck. Yelling isn’t an option. One of his large hands comes up to your face and he gently caresses your cheek with the back of his index finger. You tear your face away from his touch, fuming. You look angry and tough, but under it all you’re terrified. 

“I'm not alone, got a friend in the gunsmith, he should be back any second.” you growl, staring the man right in his colorless eyes. Slowly, he turns his head in both directions, scanning the gunsmith doors and the stairwell that leads to the attic. When he turns his head back to you, there is a sickening grin on it. 

“Well, sweet thing, I don’t see anyone… do you?” The man chuckles deeply, threateningly, “It can be real dangerous around here if you ain’t got someone to keep an eye on you…” He snarls, a mock smile on his lips that causes your stomach to flip with disgust. The man leans down, only inches away from your face as you shove your body back against the brick wall, wishing it would swallow you whole. 

“The names’ Levi… care to tell me yours, pretty girl?” Levi sneers, eyeing your scowl.

Your eyes are glued to the gunsmith’s side door, silently begging Arthur to return. You know that you can’t fight this man off. He’s much bigger than you, and even in his drunken state, he’s stronger than you are. His hands grip your forearms, pushing you back against the brick wall and you yelp. 

“I don’t need you protectin’ me, now let me go!” You yell into his face, shoving against the brute as hard as you can. Levi only laughs, pushing closer to you. His weight, sandwiching you against the wall, knocks the air out of your lungs as you attempt to push him away. He only laughs, and the smell of his alcohol ridden breath once again makes you gag.

“Why don’t you come wit’ me? I’ll show ya a real good time. Do you think a lil’ thing like you can handle me, precious?”

Eyes squinted shut, you silently beg Arthur or anyone to help you. 

— — — —

Arthur scans the room once more before swiping the cash off of the table and sliding it into his leather saddle bag. Most of the gamblers have passed out, but the ones who are still conscious are far too drunk to notice Arthur slipping by, knocking out a couple of guards and stealing their wealth. It's dark in the room, most of the candles have burned out already, and Arthur isn’t seen as he crouches, expert fingers grappling and pickpocketing as he goes. There is a little makeshift bar towards the window he had crawled in through, and on top of it rests a thick clip of money. Arthur eyes it, stepping towards the window to snatch the clip. Just as he passes the window, a breeze rolls in, and carried on it is your voice. 

“Let me go!” You growl, and Arthur peeks out the window, face pale as his heart drops. He sees a big bastard, towering over you and holding you against the wall, yelling in your face. For a second Arthur sees nothing but red.

Arthur panics, filled with both rage and fear. The cash clips that he has not yet collected are discarded on the counter as Arthur runs down the interior staircase. It's quicker than crawling through the window and dealing with the ladders. Arthur’s mind is clouded with a primal instinct to protect you as he bolts down the steps, skipping multiple as he goes.

“Shit, shit- Shit!” Arthur growls, pushing up against the main door to the gunsmith. It doesn't budge, presumably locked for the night. And although Arthur would only have to reach down and unlock the fine wooden door, he wastes no time, kicking the wood with such force that it swings open, nearly knocked off the goddamn hinges. Arthur fumes, stepping through the broken door, and dropping the saddle bag onto the ground. You’re only right across the alley now.

His eyes meet yours, and you look so small compared to the bastard who is bothering you. Arthur doesn’t hesitate for a second, coming up behind Levi in a few long strides and grabbing him by the back of his collar. Even though Levi is large in comparison to you, he is not nearly as big as Arthur. 

Arthur drags Levi back by his collar with an indescribable rage, and slams him into the brick wall, opposite of you. A sound erupts from Arthur, that could only be compared to a growl as he wraps his hand around Levi’s throat. His other fist is raised and ready to beat the life out of the bastard. You breathe deeply, sinking against the floor to catch your breath and reel over what’s playing out before you., relief washing over you because Arthur’s here.

“What in the hell were you just sayin’ to her?!” Arthur’s voice is deep, filled to the core with rage, the kind that can’t be stopped or repressed. His eyes are dark, and despite the love and the comfort that they have provided you with, Arthur looks terrifying now. 

You can do nothing but catch your breath and watch the scene play out. You’re still in shock, mindlessly rubbing your hand over the spot on your arm that your perpetrator was gripping onto so tightly. You wince, realizing that there will definitely be bruises there later.

Levi cracks a sickening smile before responding to Arthur, 

“Ah, so you’re the one this whore is fuc-” Levi’s words are cut short as Arthur’s fist meets his face. There is so much force and anger behind the punch that you are surprised Levi is still conscious. A loud crack snaps through the air- you realize that it is Levi’s nose shattering as he screams out in pain. Arthur is fuming, his shoulders rising up and down quickly as he attempts to stop himself from killing this piece of shit. He puts his fist down, but keeps his hand on Levi’s throat. A bruise in the shape of Arthur’s knuckles is already starting to form on Levi’s face. His greasy hair is now falling down in front of his eyes as he spits blood onto the ground. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s drunk, stupid or both, but he attempts to get under Arthur’s skin one last time. 

“You don’t feel like sharin, do you mister?” Levi pauses, spitting some more blood to the ground and eyeing you up and down before continuing, “Can’t say I blame you partner… If I had a woman wit a body like that I’d never-” 

Once again Levi is shut up by Arthur’s fists. Except for this time Arthur doesn’t stop. Something snaps inside the outlaw, like he’s gone completely feral. Arthur shoves Levi to the ground, straddling him while landing punch after punch to his face. You sit against the wall in shock, wincing at the wet crunch and snap of bones breaking. Arthur’s chest is heaving as he beats Levi senselessly. You’re not sure how long it goes on, but it feels like forever. 

Eventually, Levi stops resisting the blows, and Arthur gets off the half dead man, still enraged. He stands, fuming. 

“You piece of shit, don’t you ever put your goddamn hands on her again- and if you ever talk to her, or any woman, like that again, I'll do alot worse than this, you hear?!” Arthur all but snarls. 

Levi doesn’t respond, and Arthur kicks him in the ribs for it.

“Do. You. Hear?” Arthur growls, low and deep. 

You’re honestly not sure if Levi is even alive, or capable of responding. His face is beaten in, red and smashed, he's not even recognizable. You breathe a little easier when you see the beaten man nod his head up and down. He’s an awful bastard, but you’re relieved that Arthur didn’t kill him.

“Good.” Arthur hisses with an icy tone that you’ve never heard before. 

Stepping over Levi, Arthur leans down into a crouch in front of you and his features soften. He gently pulls the hair away from your ears, checking your face before running his green eyes over your body, checking that you’re not hurt. His face is pinched up in concern, and the hands that check over you are bruised and stained with the blood of your perpetrator. After doing a quick check over, Arthur grabs your gun. His gentle hands meet your waist before he helps you to stand up. As soon as you’re on your feet, without another word, he grips your hand, picks up the money bag and pulls you deeper into the alley. After some turns and bends, Arthur stops in a secluded spot. 

Arthur deems you both far enough away to be involved with any trouble from the law, and he turns to face you. His hands come up to your cheeks, and with care he gently turns your face to both sides, checking you over more thoroughly. 

“How badly do you hurt?” Arthur asks, rolling up your sleeves to assess the forming purple splotches along your arm. 

When he sees them, his jaw sets into a hard, cold state as he breathes deeply to control his rage. Your eyes flutter up to his own, and you tread on thin ice, not wanting him to go back and kill the man. 

“Im okay Arthur, really, I-” You start, tears pooling in your eyes. Arthur watches them form and then wipes them away with his thumb. 

“Now don’t lie for my sake, he hurt you? More than this?” Arthur’s hand is gently holding your bruised arm, and the other cups your cheek. His eyes speak of an ache, of regret, you know he blames himself for leaving you in the alley, and you rush to reassure him.

“No, no he didn't hurt me, shook me up a little, but nothing bad.” You whisper, catching those soft green eyes again. Arthur looks down, and his body tightens as he avoids your eyes, terrified to ask the next question.

“Did he- did he do anythin..?” Arthur looks up, eyes locked on to yours to assess your answer, and you flinch, realizing what he’s asking. God, it could have been so much worse. 

“Arthur, no, I promise, I’m okay. Really.” 

He nods, seemingly accepting your truth with a breath of relief as his tongue darts out over his lips.

“Fuckin’ bastard, I should’ve done a lot worse to him.” Arthur curses, stepping away to pace lightly.

You step forward and put a hand on his warm chest to quell his rage. 

“No, no you shouldn’t have. He got the message Arthur.”

Arthur glances up at you for a few moments, his hands resting on his belt before he steps forward, and pulls you toward him by your shoulder.

“Just… C’mere sweetheart.” He whispers.

You step towards him, grateful for the way he envelopes you into his arms. He’s so big, so warm.  It’s a comfort that you didn’t realize you needed in the moment as Arthur kisses the top of your head. Everything is perfect, just in the moments that he holds you like this.

“Y’know, I worry about you sweetheart. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or bein’ made uncomfortable by bastards like him.” Arthur mutters into your hair, still hugging you tightly.

You wrap your arms tighter around his torso, nuzzling into his chest. 

“Well that’s why I have you.” You counter, smiling into Arthur’s warmth. He chuckles, and you’re glad to hear it. 

“I'll always be your protector, darlin.” Arthur says before pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

[slxsherr]

Tonight I Feel Like More

read part I here and part III here

pairing: charlie walker x bimbo!fem!reader

summary: you attend your first ever stab-a-thon, and finally make it through all of the movies, so charlie gives you a reward under the guise of keeping you warm.

wc: 2014

warnings: fem!reader, cursing/swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of oral sex (m! receiving), public sex, unprotected sex (p in v), mentions of crying, creampie

a/n: reader is described as being taller than charlie while wearing heels i'm sorry if you're short just pretend you're wearing ridiculously high heels 😭

Since your first movie night with Charlie, it’s been his mission to finish all of the Stab movies with you. Which wouldn’t be so hard if you could get past Stab 5, but the whole time travel plot confuses you, which means you get bored, and Charlie has come to realize that your boredom manifests in a rather, promiscuous way. 

The first time you only lasted twenty minutes before you were pulling down his pants and busying yourself with his cock, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks until you were swallowing his load. After that, the last thing on either of your minds’ was the movie. 

He tries again and again, but somehow, someway, you get lost. He thinks he should feel lucky, having a girlfriend as frisky as you, and for the most part he does. But he’s worried, with Stab-A-Thon coming up he knows you’d want to go and support him at his last film festival. 

What worries him is that at some point throughout the night you’re gonna get bored, and then he’ll have to find a secluded area of of wherever they decide to throw the party to fuck you silly. A problem he never thought he’d have, but he keeps it in mind while discussing venue options with Robbie. 

Eventually they settle on an abandoned farm, far enough to not be bothered by adults, but not too far to the point where the drive is a hassle. They scope out the farmhouse, making sure it’s not too rundown for a gathering of drunk teens. It’s their last year of high school, last year running Cinema Club, last time throwing Stab-A-Thon, and Charlie and Robbie want to go all out. 

On the day of, a few more involved club members help Charlie and Robbie set up for Stab-A-Thon, handling decorations and seating while Charlie and Robbie focus on the audio and visual. Before people start arriving, Charlie adds some yellow police tape to the stairs leading up to the hayloft, spewing bullshit about not wanting a drunk idiot to fall when someone asks, not wanting to say the real reason. 

As soon as the sun falls over the horizon cars start to pull up, teenagers filing in with drinks, talking over the loud music as they wait for the movies to start. You arrive with Kirby and her friends, visibly annoyed by Jill and Trevor fighting behind you, most likely having had to listen to them argue the whole ride over. 

You find Charlie before he spots you, quickly making your way to him through throngs of people, desperate to get away from relationship drama, not wanting it to rub off on you and Charlie. The closer you get to him, the easier it is for him to notice you. You’re dolled up more than usual, pretty makeup and hair he’s gonna feel guilty about ruining later, a short dress barely reaching past your ass, and matching heels that have you standing taller than him. 

Most guys would probably be upset by that, but he can’t find it in himself to care when you slot yourself at his side, leaning in to give him a kiss. Your lipgloss is sweet, strawberry or cherry if he had to guess, a thin layer sticking to his own lips when you pull away. Your smile is even sweeter, eyes shining when they meet his, and he’s reminded of the phrase ‘the lights are on but no one’s home’, a perfect description of what goes on in your head. 

He can tell you planned your outfit for fashion over function, which is the case for most of your outfits. If you’re not whining in his ear to sneak off he’s sure you’ll be complaining about being cold. But he lets those thoughts fade, focusing instead on your warmth at his side, offering you a sip of his drink. 

“What time do the movies start?” You ask, face scrunched up at the bitter taste of whatever alcohol was poured into the jungle juice. 

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Charlie answers, pulling his hand out of his pocket to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to him. 

“Actually, we should probably get up there and do our kickoff,” Robbie says, seeing the seats mostly filled in. 

“Be right back,” Charlie whispers to you, following Robbie to the projector screen. 

Their introduction is short and sweet, poking fun at the franchise’s clichés, while also promoting underage drinking. The crowd cheers, ready for the movies to start, quoting the iconic opening scene as Charlie and Robbie make their way to the back of the crowd to the projectors. You’re sitting on some bales of hay set up for seating, thin blankets keeping the itchy straw from irritating your skin, confusion etched in your features when you see Charlie walk out of the room instead of joining you. 

Before you can follow him, Robbie takes a seat next to you, going into a rant about the movie that you only half listen to, convinced Charlie has given you the same rant during one of your private movie nights. You don’t have a chance to interrupt him and ask about Charlie though, jerking away when you feel an arm around your shoulder. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Charlie laughs at your reaction, sitting down next to you. “Got you a drink,” he says, offering you a red cup. 

“Thank you,” you say, beaming at him, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Uh-uh, watch the movie,” he says, refocusing your attention to the screen. 

You roll your eyes, but do as he says, watching the movie silently. The two of you sip on your drinks, moving closer together as more people join you on the bales of hay. By the time the second movie starts, you’re forced into Charlie’s lap after getting up for refills and losing your spot. Not that you mind, sat sideways on his lap and tucked into his chest, you’re surprisingly able to focus on the movies for once. 

He entertains you, imitating the killer’s voice and repeating the dialogue for only you to hear, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers the lines. Your giggles are muffled by his chest, his playfulness and the steady beat of his heart comforting you through the jumpscares and violence that you’re still getting used to. 

The two of you allow yourself to relax into one another, comfortably watching each movie as the crowd slowly dwindles. You’ve traded your jungle juice for soda, caffeine and sugar slowly sobering any tipsiness as dawn approaches, eyes blinking slowly as you both fight off sleep. You’re so close, the closest you’ve ever been to finishing all seven Stab movies, and he can’t help but bounce his leg nervously, your whole body shaking from the force of his movement. 

“Stop that,” you mumble, and he does, but it’s not long before his leg is shaking again. “I thought you’ve seen all of these before, shouldn’t I be the nervous one?” You tease him when he still doesn’t stop. 

“Shh, pay attention,” he scolds you, because it’s the final act of the last movie, and you’ve come so far. 

You don’t put up a fight, attention easily grabbed as the kill scenes get messier and the main cast dies off one by one. Charlie’s buzzing with excitement during the last few minutes of the movie, watching for your reaction. Your reaction is dampened by your exhaustion, but even the slightest tell of shock has his lips stretching into a smile, holding you closer as the credits begin to roll. 

“Wow,” is all you say, stretching out in his arms. 

“Well, how do you feel?” He asks you, leaning over you as you lay back. 

“Scared, tired, a little cold,” you answer, his hair tickling your skin as his face nears yours. 

“Hm, well let’s go to bed then,” he says, sitting up and pulling you up with him. 

You follow him to a set of taped off stairs, a thin blanket dragging on the straw covered floor behind him. He holds your hand all the way up the stairs, not wanting you to trip in your heels, spreading the blanket out over the loose stack of hay. The two of you fall onto your makeshift bed for the night, or early morning, laying on your sides as he pulls your back to his chest.

“How about now?” He asks, arms holding you close to him. 

“Less scared, less tired, more cold,” you answer, wishing you had also grabbed a blanket.

“Let me warm you up then,” Charlie says, an impish smile on his face as one of his hands moves between your thighs, tickling your skin as his touch trails up.

“Really? Right now?” You ask, and he can’t tell if you’re excited or not, words slurring from exhaustion. 

“Only if you want me to,” he answers, teasing your inner thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up. 

“Of course I want you to,” you say, his advances reassured as you open your legs for him. 

Since your first night together, both of you have learned a lot about each other’s sexual preferences. Although Charlie doesn’t have much experience, he found that it doesn’t take much to turn you on. You’re rather needy, and despite being the one guiding him most of the time, he’s the one doing all the work. Not that he minds.

When he dips his fingers past the waistband of your panties, he’s not surprised to find that you’re already wet, teasing your clit with soft circles as his other hand gropes your tits over your dress. Your hips buck in pleasure, thighs closing around his hand as your leg falls from the force of gravity, ass barely grinding back against him as you seek friction. 

“You did so good tonight,” he says, undoing his jeans to pull them down. “Finally watching all of the movies like I asked,” he says, thick head of his cock stretching your slick walls as he pushes into you, your panties merely pulled to the side. 

“Anything for you, baby,” you say, pushing back against him, needing to feel him deeper.

His hands hold your hips in place as he thrusts into you, building speed and tempo as he stifles his groans by marking your neck. You bite your fist, painfully aware of the people asleep just beneath the hayloft, struggling to keep your voice down. It’s unfair, Charlie thinks, how good you feel wrapped around him, milking him as you get closer to orgasm. 

“What’s that?” He asks, hearing you mumbling something through your fist. 

“Harder, please,” you moan, hiding your face in the blanket.

He holds you against him tighter, hips bruising your ass as he fucks you harder. It’s almost like you’re running away from him, grasping at the straw beside you, failing to silence your moans. He has to move one of his hands over your mouth, hearing your voice begin to echo, his other hand holding your hips in place. 

Where once the cold nipped at your skin, you’re now sweltering, Charlie’s body heat warming you up from the inside out. With the way he’s pounding into you now, there’s not much you can think about aside from the way the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each thrust, how it makes heat flare in your belly, and that you’re so fucking close. You don’t realize you’re crying, your vision having gone blurry a while ago, but now you’re seeing stars, hurtling over the edge as he chases his own pleasure.

You’re limp, twitching in his hold, drool and lipgloss smeared against the palm of his hand. It doesn’t take long for him to finish after you, grinding his release into you as he fills you with his hot cum. You whimper from the overstimulation, breathing heavily as both of you ride out the high.

“Goodnight, baby,” Charlie whispers, arms relaxing around you as you both begin drifting off to sleep, still buried deep within you.

[franabz]

★ Task Force 141 Band AU

(my asks are open for whoever has questions or is interested in the concept!! feel free to slide in)

Soap would be the drummer, and a damn wild one at that. He was never really good at singing and has a tendency to hide away in his garage to slam away on his drum set like the gates of hell were opening up. He usually performs without a shirt due to how sweaty and overheated he gets while performing, simply personal preference. Like Price, he is also a massive enjoyer of mosh pits and sometimes begins playing even harder as he watches the crowd dance around and head-bang like a pile of fish. He loved it.

Gaz would be the bassist/background vocalist, always keeping on rhythm and adding that extra flair to each song that it just needed. He has a very nice singing voice, but is way too stage shy to be the lead vocalist, though many fans wonder how he could be so scared with the sultry voice of a godsend. Despite his shy demeanor on stage he is very upbeat and enthusiastic with each note played, whether it be head bobbing or full on hopping around stage like a lunatic when he is in the zone.

Price would be the manager and rhythm guitarist, easily the most experienced of the bunch. He is the one that organized the idea of a band and gets the group gigs and whatnot. On stage he is pretty laid back and reserved, though he does get very into the music. He also isn't very good of a singer due to constant voice cracks or flat notes because of his smoker lungs, something he refuses to quit despite best efforts. Despite his reserved demeanor, he absolutely loves it when mosh pits start, often tossing guitar picks into the crowd and watching the audience roar in shouting and cheers.

Ghost would be the lead guitarist and vocalist, though not very interactive with the fans. He has a deep and gruff baritone voice, one that makes the ladies swoon at just the mere thought, though he quickly learned to not pay any mind to it. When in the zone, he's an absolute beast. Fingers flying across the fretboard like it was the last song on earth, sometimes so hard his fingers would start bleeding all over his guitar; though he doesn't seem to care. Nobody had ever seen his face, which furthermore adds to the mystery of the masked guitarist.

The group was going through a dry spot in their gigs and decided it was time to find a new addition to the band; you.

Price decided to take the band to a local bar that was currently hosting a bands night, the perfect opportunity to find potential candidates to fill the secondary background vocals position. Everyone was on board with the idea of a new member, being enthusiastic about it if anything. But not Ghost.

"They'll all be shite." He'd repeat like a broken record, as if that would do anything to change Price's mind.

Now here they are, seated in a secluded part of the bar and scoping out the crowds like hawks, the soft intermission instrumentals and the dimmed yellow lights mixed with the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes filling the musky air.

Soap came back from the bar with four shots, setting the glasses onto the sticky wooden table and sliding into the booth beside Ghost, a small smirk across his lips.

"Figured ye needed some liquid courage b'fore tae bands c'me out." The Scotsman chuckled over the overlapping noise of crowded patrons, raising a hand to give Ghost a firm pat on the shoulder, one of which caused him to grumble something inaudible under his balaclava.

"Ts' all useless." Ghost grunted, raising the edge of his balaclava briefly to take a sip of his lukewarm bourbon, curling his lip in disgust. "You ever stop complainin', Si?" Price huffed, placing a cigar between his lips and lighting the other end with a cheep lighter, the thick smoke pooling from his lips and wafting into the air. "Jus' being realistic." He jeered, watching as the lights of the pub began to dim and the stage-lights brightened, illuminating the stage. A stage manager emerged from behind the wings and gently tapped the top of the microphone before clearing his throat and addressing the audience.

"Good 'fternoon everyone! I hope you are all havin' a good night!" The man spoke, his voice quickly followed by an uproar of applause and cheering. Gaz laughed lightly at the enthusiasm; mainly from the piss drunk bar patrons. "To start off this night, let's all give a warm welcome to the first band of the night, Woodland!" As he added that final segment, the audience roared even louder as the stage manager handed off the microphone to the lead vocalist of the band, a girl by the stage name Vixen.

As the band started loading on stage, Price was vigilantly scanning each member for potential candidates, already mentally rehearsing what he would say as a proposition to whoever he deemed fit for an invite. Ghost sat in his booth with a quiet scowl across his face, though it was mostly hidden by his balaclava. Everyone seemed the same as the rest; too cocky for their own damn good. He scoffed and leaned back in his seat, folding strong arms over his broad chest and reached for his shot glass, before pausing briefly, a flicker of interest crossing over his gaze as one member in specific crossed the stage and grabbed their microphone; you.

This was about to get interesting.