#but then i remembered that i had to add the render at the end

[kayak-lmao]

why did I make this

(Original comic by @punkitt-is-here)

[burnthatbridge]

if you love him let him go (if you love him let him know) 

pre-buddie, bucktommy | T | 3k | angst, pining tommy needs to tell eddie something not on ao3 atm because i can't figure out if this is done or if i'm continuing it - please let me know your thoughts! now on ao3 because i hate not having all my fic in one place

“Can I get you another beer, man?”

Eddie checks his watch. It’s only a little after nine thirty. He’s kind of hoping to get home before Chris goes to sleep, but he’ll not be heading to bed any time soon, will likely stay up later than Eddie. Friday night means he disregards his supposed bedtime — not that he sticks to it that well on school nights, now he’s sixteen. “Sure, thanks.”

Tommy nods, disappears into the kitchen, returns a moment later with a can of IPA in one hand, a bottle of lager in the other. They’ve already finished the six-pack Eddie brought over, but trust Buck — well, Buck and Tommy — to have Eddie’s favorite beer in their fridge. Tommy hands over the can, already cracked open, and Eddie takes a sip as Tommy settles down at the opposite end of the couch. He doesn’t turn to face the TV, sits twisted towards Eddie instead, but he does pick up the remote and turn down the volume, the post-fight commentary rendered nearly unintelligible. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Eddie twists towards Tommy himself, something not-quite-anxious-but-almost flaring in his chest. Over the years they have been friends, he and Tommy have spoken about lots of things, including those not so easy to discuss: their respective experiences in the army, Tommy’s tough childhood, Eddie’s difficult parents, the hard aspects of the job. But they’ve all been topics that have come up naturally, raised organically. Tommy has never led into anything with such a pointed opener before.

Eddie studies him. He has one knee pulled up on the couch cushion, foot poking out off the end, the other foot planted on the floor, nearly parallel to the base of the couch. One arm is up on the backrest, the other relaxed, beer bottle in that hand, resting on his thigh, dripping condensation painting a charcoal ring on his — probably Buck’s, in fact, given how tight the fabric is stretched over the muscle of his leg — grey sweats. He’s not tense, but he’s not smiling, and there’s something about his expression that Eddie can’t place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen this look before, because he’s pretty sure he has, witnessed it in flickers across numerous occasions over the years, there and then gone, present for but a heartbeat. But he’d never known what it meant any of those times and he certainly doesn’t now.

“'Course,” Eddie says, when Tommy doesn’t go on, seems to be waiting for some kind of sign. Then adds, feeling like it’s necessary given the gravity he can feel pulling this lightsome evening down to something more serious.  “Anything.”

Tommy sighs, bites his lip like he doesn’t want to speak, even though he’s the one who said he wanted to talk, then shakes his head and takes a pull of his beer.

“Is everything okay?” Eddie’s starting to feel worried now. He mentally scans back over the past few weeks, trying to remember if Tommy has mentioned anything about work that could be a problem. He saw him at basketball last week, and nothing had seemed off. Plus, Buck hasn’t said anything. Not that he’d necessarily tell Eddie about an issue Tommy was having, not if Tommy wanted it kept private, but Eddie can usually tell when Buck’s concerned about someone, and he hasn’t picked up on anything, not at all. 

But maybe this isn’t about a problem Tommy is having. Maybe this is a Buck problem, something Buck has kept from Eddie. It would make sense why Tommy would bring it up with him; sometimes a concerted, multi-person effort is the only way to get through to Buck. And Tommy’s more likely to bring in Eddie first, and then expand the team to include Maddie, Chim, more, as needed. 

“Is Buck okay?” Eddie asks, something like panic constricting his throat, making the words come out a little strangled. 

Tommy actually laughs at that, a small, choked thing, an exhale of sound and air. He shakes his head again, but not a no. More like an extension of the laugh, a motion to accompany it, to better convey the disbelief — not humor — contained in it. “He’s fine.”

It’s a relief to hear. Buck had seemed physically okay, when Eddie had seen him briefly before he left the house, since he’d maybe purposefully waited to order his Uber until Buck pulled up in his jeep outside, despite Christopher’s insistence he didn’t need to wait for Buck to arrive, despite the fact that his kid is more than old enough to be left in the house alone for the twenty minutes it would have taken Buck to drive over, while Eddie was ferried the opposite way. But there could still have been something, Buck could have been fighting through pain, much better at hiding any hurt of his body than he is at masking his emotional distress. 

“But,” Tommy says, and that one word is enough to have Eddie’s muscles tightening once more, “It is Evan I wanted to talk about.”

Again, Tommy doesn’t follow it up with anything. Eddie has found, in their time as friends, that Tommy is not often a man lost for words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He usually says what he means, means what he says, and is an expert at listening and delivering sage advice. This reticence– it doesn’t feel like it bodes well, has the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck prickling.

“Alright,” Eddie says, a feeble prompt. “So, Buck?”

Tommy nods, like he’s gearing himself up for something, to face a challenge, to take a punch. Eddie is expecting something bad, so the words he says catch him even more off guard than they would have. “I want to ask Evan to marry me.”

Maybe if Tommy had seemed eager, excited, when he turned to him, Eddie could have anticipated the blow, could have felt a creeping suspicion this is where Tommy was headed, could have been provided with enough of a heads-up to brace himself. As it is, he doesn’t see the hit coming, takes it full force to the chest, so hard it steals his breath, knocks the wind from him. His mouth goes slack, and he feels his fingers slide against the slippery sides of his beer can, almost spills it over Tommy and Buck’s lounge carpet before he gets a hold on it, on himself. He forces himself to smile. “That’s– that’s great,” he makes himself say, only faintly aware that Tommy isn’t smiling back, like this moment should call for. “Did you–” he swallows around the bile climbing his esophagus, “Do you want help planning the proposal?” He wishes he could take the words back the second they’re out. Because this — just hearing that Tommy wants to ask Buck — is torture enough. To be involved with it, to help enable it, Eddie will be lucky if it doesn’t kill him. Maybe not his body, but certainly his soul. 

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, I want to ask him to marry me. But I’m not going to. At least, not now.”

Eddie squints at him. The news that Tommy wants to marry Buck might hurt Eddie, but it’s not exactly surprising. Eddie’s seen how much Tommy cares for him in the years they’ve been together, has seen the way he looks at him, the way they look at each other. Has felt the way it burns him, the scorching heat of flame, the searing cold of ice. He doesn’t understand what Tommy is saying, doesn’t understand why this proclamation seems not to be a happy one. “Why not?” Eddie asks, almost grateful for the opportunity to present confusion, curiosity, rather than forced pleasure at the thought of one of his closest friends and his– best friend marrying each other. “You guys are serious. I mean, you live together.”

Tommy huffs another laugh, still more disbelief than humor, really the opposite of humor. “His lease was up.”

“Right. But he chose not to renew it. He chose to move in with you,” Eddie says, slow, struggling to understand, the pounding of his pulse not helping him think clearly, see through the puzzle that is everything Tommy has said so far and the way he has said it. 

“He was never going to renew it,” Tommy tells him.

And that’s– that’s something Eddie didn’t know. He hates it when he learns information about Buck from Tommy, always has, even though he fights with everything in him not to feel like that. Tommy is Buck’s boyfriend, of course he’s going to know things about him that Eddie doesn’t, know him in a way that Eddie doesn’t. 

“We hadn’t spoken about living together,” Tommy says, eyes on Eddie. “But he’d said he thought the loft was too expensive and he was spending nearly every night at mine by that point. When he wasn’t on shift. Or at yours.” Eddie pulls his eyes away, takes a sip from his beer for something to do, even though the bitter taste is turning his stomach. “He said he wasn’t going to renew it, that he’d look for somewhere new, cheaper. But this was too close to the end of his lease to find a place before he had to move out. I asked where he was going to stay in the meantime.”

“And he said with you,” Eddie guesses, more a statement than a question.

But Tommy shakes his head. A smile curls his lips but his eyes– his eyes don’t match. “He said he’d crash on your couch, actually.”

Eddie takes another mouthful of beer, holds it there, on the back of his tongue. He didn’t know any of this. Buck would, of course, have been more than welcome. Likely why he hadn’t asked in advance, why he planned for it without seeking permission. 

“I said he could stay with me, instead. That he’d be able to sleep in a bed here.” Eddie swallows, the beer somehow thick and cloying in a way that it shouldn’t be. “And then when he started making noises about looking for a new place, I told him he should stay.”

While it’s not how Eddie had, unwillingly, pictured it in his head — Tommy and Buck mutually agreeing that Buck shouldn’t renew his lease, deciding they wanted to live together — it still doesn’t explain what Tommy has said. “And he did stay,” Eddie says. “So, why aren’t– Does Buck not want to get married?” But that can’t be it, that can’t be right. Eddie is certain Buck does want to be married, only he’d tried hard not to think of Buck wanting that with Tommy, with anyone. Anyone else. 

“No, he does,” Tommy confirms it. He leans over and deposits his beer on the coffee table. Then sits back, still turned to Eddie, but arms crossed over his chest, like a protection of himself. “We’ve spoken about it, discussed it. And he’s told me he’s always wanted that, to get married, to be part of a family.” Tommy pops one hand out of the fold of his arms to hold it up, out, quelling, like Eddie has protested. He hasn’t, but his heart is doing something approximating a riot at the idea of Tommy being Buck’s family. “And I know he has a family. He knows he does. In you and Chris, in Maddie and Jee, in the 118. But–” Tommy breaks off, tips his head to the side, gaze boring into Eddie’s face so strong that Eddie wishes he could turn away, duck and run. “You know how much he’s always wanted to belong somewhere.”

He does, Eddie thinks, the thought almost violent in its intensity. He belongs with me. Except, he doesn’t. Not really, not how Eddie wants, not the way he does with Tommy.

“And I want that for him,” Tommy goes on, tucking his hand back in, squeezing his arms tighter about himself. Eddie’s never seen him like this, hunched in on himself, curled small. Tommy is usually so open, larger than life. “I want to be the one to give that to him.”

Eddie wants to be the one to give that to him. Desires it desperately, a secret need he’s tucked as far inside himself as he can. He can feel it now, raging to be let out, to be set free. But he can’t, he won’t. Buck is with Tommy, he’s happy with Tommy. Tommy who is so warm and kind and good, Tommy who is better than Eddie in every conceivable way, who brings so much to Buck’s life, who gives all of himself to Buck. Who wants to give him even more. Wants to, but apparently won’t.

Eddie doesn’t understand. “Then, if you want to, why won’t you ask him?” he questions, trying to. 

“If I ask him now, he’ll say no.” Tommy states it like indisputable fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that Buck would refuse him. 

Eddie shakes his head, understanding even less. “But he loves you.”

Tommy smiles again, then, larger than he had before, but as devoid of happiness, as empty of cheer. This smile hurts to see, reflects the way Eddie felt inside when Tommy had said I want to ask Evan to marry me. “I know he does.” Tommy’s tone is sure, but wistful. “But he loves you more.”

It’s like– It’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt. Or maybe it’s like everything he’s ever felt. The shock of a residual lightning bolt, the joy of being a part of the 118, the pain of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, the awe of holding his son for the first time. Eddie wants Tommy’s words to be true maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But he also cannot believe them, has no trust that they are true. Because they can’t be. Buck loves Tommy. Not Eddie. 

“We’re friends. Best friends,” Eddie points out. “Of course, he– he loves me. But not more. Not like he loves you. He’s in love with you.”

Tommy sighs, arms uncrossing, palms coming to rest on his thighs, body taking on a posture Eddie is familiar with, the one he falls into when he’s talking someone through something, the one he adopted when Eddie came out to him some six months ago. “Eddie, he’s in love with you.”

Eddie shakes his head. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear, but coming from the wrong lips. Spoken by not by Buck himself but by Buck’s boyfriend, oh god. “He isn’t. Tommy, he can’t be.” 

But Tommy is nodding, nodding like what he’s said is true, like he wants Eddie to believe it. 

“He’s not,” Eddie says, hears the denial, the disbelief spill from him. Buck doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. But Eddie– Eddie loves– “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, almost a gasp. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy cuts him off. “I knew what I was getting into. When I started seeing Evan, I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. I just–” Tommy sighs again, scrubs his palms along his thighs. “I didn’t expect it to get this far. I thought we’d just be a fun, easy thing. Something to ease Evan into his sexuality, that new part of himself. I didn’t expect it to go like this. I didn’t expect to feel like this.” Tommy closes his eyes, lashes falling to his cheeks. He breaths in and out, while Eddie’s own breath is caught in his chest. When Tommy opens his eyes, he says, “But I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to love him.”

Fuck. Tommy knows. Because Eddie does. He loves Buck, loves him so endlessly he doesn’t know where the feeling starts and where it ends. Doesn’t know when it started; doesn’t think it will ever end. “I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, needing to say the words again, needing Tommy — his friend — to hear them. 

Tommy lifts one palm from his thigh, his wrist pressing into the muscle as he cuts his fingers to the side in a dismissal. “Don’t apologize for it. I’m certainly not going to. I’m never going to be sorry for loving him.” He drops his hand back down, pats his leg, emphasis of the point. “But it is a problem.” He smiles, rueful. “I thought I’d be able to break up with him, if he didn’t break up with me. I should have, ages ago. I certainly should have when you came out.” 

Eddie, selfishly, had hoped Buck would break up with Tommy then. But it had seemed like a farfetched fantasy. He had told Buck he was queer after Buck had already moved in with Tommy. He’d admitted it to himself, to Frank, before that, but hadn’t told anyone else for weeks. In hindsight, sometimes he figures he’d left it too late, but most of the time he didn’t think it would have made a difference at all. But now, with what Tommy has told him, maybe it would have. It’s a knife sliding between Eddie’s ribs to think maybe. Maybe.

“But I didn’t.” Tommy looks resigned, shoulders drooping. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Eddie needs to know. It seems like Tommy has known for years that Eddie has loved Buck. Loves Buck. I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. So why is he only bringing it up now?

“Because I didn’t. Because I can’t. I can’t break up with him. But I want to move forward. And I want to do so with him, for us to further our life together. But if I ask him to marry me when he doesn’t know for sure that you’re not an option, he’ll say no.”

Fear freezes Eddie’s insides. “So, what– what are you asking me to do?” Because Tommy is asking something of Eddie, wants something. Something Eddie fears he will have to make himself give.

Tommy straightens up, shoulders rolling back. He’s serious, solemn but not demanding or pleading when he says it. A devastating request. “I’m asking you, as my friend, to let him go.”

Eddie could be sick, he thinks, could vomit up the three and a quarter beers and the half a dozen chicken wings he’s consumed since he got to Tommy and Buck’s place. Could spill the mess of his insides up all over himself, all over Tommy, all over their lives. Tommy is his friend, was his friend before he was ever Buck’s boyfriend. Eddie should do this thing for him. Should give Buck his blessing to marry Tommy, give Buck up, give him over, completely, to this man who has loved him so well for the past three years. Eddie should; in his gut he knows it would be the right thing to do. But his heart– his heart is in revolt. It’s Buck. He loves him. How can he ever let him go?

Tommy leans forward, places a hand on Eddie’s leg, squeezes his fingers around the ball of his kneecap, until Eddie lifts his gaze and meets his eyes. “Or,” he says, somehow even more serious, “I am telling you, as your friend, to go and get him.”

[dilvei]

vei sama i have a request pwetty pls may i get yandere!monster x m reader it can be scenarios or oneshot or even a drabble i am so hungry for your writing

𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ( y! naga x m! human reader )

yandere! naga x m! human reader

warnings:

kidnapping

creepy + stalking behavior

dubcon/noncon

oh and some venom poisoning

brief mentions of corpses

first post here so idk what to add help

thank you for requesting pookie 🙏🙏 this almost went into smut territory ngl but i remember u said u only want a little bit of sexy so i'll end it right there hehe + i think its better for it to stop right there too so :)) hope you love this one since i know you like snake bois 🎀🎀

✾ | you are a hunter, a monster hunter, to be exact; stalking predators under the safety of shadows, silently prowling, avidly watching.

✾ | you have always known the dangers ever since you were but a little boy, ever since your father fell victim to the large amount of dangerous beast leeching their hide in the darkness of the woods.

✾ | but being a monster hunter has its perks—money, for one—and you are never one to deny yourself, especially when you have the perfect set of skills that would make the job much, much easier.

✾ | the request that forever alters the fate of your life comes in a murky, rainy evening, brought to you by a young survivor who lived to tell the tale.

✾ | the heaving man with haunted eyes comes to you immediately, pace frantic as he pushes through the crowded tavern to hand you a heavy bag of gold.

✾ | "this is only a quarter of it," he says as he pants, a hand shivering as he holds on to his own cloth. "i want you to kill the hideous beast hiding in the cave. i want him dead by the morrow."

✾ | by the time the clouds above has parted enough to let way for the moonlight to shine on the damp earth below, you are already in gear, striding into the forest with a rabid-like smile.

✾ | if only you had known that, this time, the monster you'd thought would be your prey, has been eagerly awaiting your presence all this time.

✾ | as you wait near the cave, searching for signs of life from a safe distance, your predator is all smiles, feasting on your figure from afar, unseen, patient.

✾ | when you think to yourself there is no monster hiding inside the cave, nothing but a mountain of corpses and bones that's putrid smell crawls under your skin, the creature lunges from the shadows, presence felt before seen.

✾ | your weapon helplessly clatters to the ground before the creature swiftly seizes both your wrists behind your back with a single, powerful hand. then, a cruel, slithering tail entwines your lower body, coils tightening around you with inescapable force, rendering you immobile in the creature's grasp.

✾ | you cannot run, so you twist your neck for a glimpse, only for both awe and horror to fill your lungs. it almost leaves you breathless.

✾ | you realize that the creature that has captured you is a naga, a serpent guardian, a half-human and half-snake, feared and revered in equal measure.

✾ | his upper body is unmistakably human, with muscular arms and a face that is both eerily beautiful and terrifyingly alien. his lower body, however, is a massive, sinuous tail, its powerful coils tightening around you with every passing second.

✾ | the naga smiles at you, and an instinctive shiver wracks your body, a distant part of your mind realizing that, somehow, the naga has been patiently waiting for this, for all of this, for you.

✾ | the naga's grip tightens, pulling you closer until you can feel the heat of his scorching breath against your skin.

✾ | slowly, almost deliberately, he laps at your trembling neck with his forked tongue. the twin tips of his tongue flicker over your pulse point, sending hot shivers down your spine.

✾ | and then, without warning, he plunges his sharp teeth into your neck, a searing pain radiating from the puncture wounds, a breathless gasp escaping your lips.

✾ | you can feel his venom coursing through your veins, a burning heat spreading from the bite as your vision blurs and your limbs grow heavy. it takes hold quickly, the venom rendering you completely powerless against him.

"You are adorable, little hunter," the naga says, sweetly. He releases his hold on your hands, now that you are unable to struggle, and cradles you against him, pressing you flush against his upper body, as if to soothe you.

His hand carefully caresses your cheek as he looks down at you, smiling gently, almost proudlike. "A human who acts like we are prey, a human who thinks himself better than us. How rare it is to find a piece of treasure like yourself."

With the last of your strength, not yet rendered useless by the venom, you turn your head away, only for his fingers to catch your chin, tilting your gaze back to him.

"I have been watching," he croons, "for quite some time now. My eyes have always followed you, whenever you stepped foot into these woods."

Your breath hitches at the confirmation, but even more so at how utterly enamored the naga sounds as he says those haunting words.

"My little hunter, my adorable treasure. Your presence has tempted me for so very long now. I could no longer ignore it, especially when I imagined how exquisite you would look under my grasp."

You feel utterly helpless, and it doesn’t help when he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I made a plan.”

You close your eyes, but you can still feel the naga’s gaze piercing into you.

"The man who gave you this job—a frail, pathetic-looking man, wasn’t he? It was I who sent him.” He laughs, a cruel and chilling sound. "It was I who ordered him to find you, to send you here, so you could be all mine."

A soft kiss is pressed against your cheek, and you suppress your urge to vomit.

"I'm glad you arrived here safely, my little hunter. I am so utterly happy, so utterly famished to taste you, to taste everything of you."

His heavy breath is against your ear now, and you can feel him grin as he asks, "You would want that too, wouldn't you?"

You open your eyes, see the crazed look in his slitted eyes, and tremble once more. "There is no need for such fear in your eyes, my sweet darling. I am not your villain," he sing songs.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"I am not your predator, and nor are you my prey."

Your jaw clenches as your mind spins and spins and spins.

The naga chuckles at your expression, wanting to forever etch it into his mind. "You and I. We will only ever be each other's. I am yours, and you are mine."

"Beast," you finally spit out, venom lacing your voice.

The naga pauses, his eyes widening, before an absolutely elated expression crosses over his face. He seems terribly sated as he, so very slowly, whispers to you his greatest and utmost desire, "I am your beast. Forever."

[tokoyamisstuff]

Fragments Pt. 1/3

Homelander / GN! Reader

Ch. 1: Fallen Angel

Summary: After a new drug rendered Homelander both powerless and amnesic, he gets saved by someone blissfully unaware of who he is.

Shoutout to @blindmagdalena who did the impossible: Making me simp for this guy. Your writing is simply impeccable! 💌

Warnings: Injury, blood, lots of exposition, not proofread

Notes: Hurt/comfort, OOC, pre-canon, Scientist! Reader, idc about logic gaps (I will cry if you point them out to me)

Four days already, and he still hasn't woken up.

Winter in the Canadian Arctic was rough, with the polar night bringing permanent darkness, as well as severe snowstorms that could last up to a week.

Luckily enough your old radio communication system was still functioning, so you were at least able to request a few necessities in advance: Food and water for another person, a doctor of course...

...and clothes for the guy you had to cut out of this ridiculous costume to patch him up properly.

Leaning back in your chair, you take some deep breaths, unable to concentrate on your work. Your glance unwillingly wanders back to the man lying on your bed, still unconscious.

Who knows how long the weather will cut you off from help arriving? You just hope he will make it until then.

Maybe it's for the better, though - since whoever had done this to him could still be out there wanting to finish the job, too.

It bordered on a miracle that he landed so close to your research station, when you were outside to notice at that. And the storm followed only shortly after you managed to pull him inside.

That man really had more luck than anything, even while having been messed up like this.

You watch him until you're sure he's still breathing and not in any discomfort, once again catching yourself admiring his handsome features.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was a literal fallen angel that crashed from the goddamn sky, right into your little front yard.

Damn it, the loneliness that came with this job made even your thoughts pathetic...

Well, to your defense, you've been raised pretty isolated your whole life, with parents being a doctor and a scientist that were devoted to spend their work at the most remote areas of the world.

It surely was a unique childhood with lots of traveling, and you were mostly spared the soulless corporate-controlled bullshit that was modern society. To add to that, your parents were never fond of using electronics for more than practical reasons. Not that there was internet connection where you lived either way.

All in all, while you obviously know about supes in general and might even have heard about Homelander the brief time you spent in civilization, the last time you've actually seen his face on a magazine or some sort was decades ago - and you didn't care enough to remember.

So it was no wonder that you were completely oblivious to who exactly was lying in your bed this whole time.

Sighing, you close your laptop with a dramatic gesture before making your way to the kitchen unit. You pour yourself a coffee to fill your rumbling stomach, having rationed the food in favor of your new involuntary roommate.

Having followed the footsteps of your parents - yet without proper funding - you led this mission all by yourself. At first it was bearable, since an elder native couple came to visit and assist you from time to time.

But your work demanded you to stay secluded from human intervention, deep in the mountains with the next tiny village being half a day march away. And now that winter made traveling scarce due to the dangers, the idea of some company certainly wasn't so bad.

You almost felt bad for being excited about him being here - whatever had happened to make him end up here was exactly the oppsite of great, after all.

Even though the emergency power aggregate was whirring loudly, the sound of strained groans reaches your ear - not the first time those past few days. So you immediately rush over to the man's side, pouring him a glass of water and dissolving some painkillers in it.

"It's gonna be alright" you assure him, unable to tell if he can even hear in this state. Blood is seeping through the makeshift bandages, making you realize you should probably reapply them soon. Maybe after the meds had some time to release their effect...

...however, just when the cup touched his lips, two icy blue eyes snapped open, making you wince.

"Don't touch me, fuck!" a raspy voice snapped at you, quite understandable in his situation. He pushed you away from him, causing you to stumble and fall as the glass scattered on the floor right next to you.

"Whe-where am I? And who the fuck are you?!"

"Who the fuck am I?" You felt almost offended at the accusation in his look, having to remind yourself that the person in front of you is in fact in an exceptional situation. "You're in my house. I found you injured in the middle of nowhere. So I should be asking you!"

His face fell in shock at the realization, internal struggle present in his features as he finally whispered - no, whimmered "I...can't remember..."

Racketing his brain around to make sense of the situation, he stumbled across his own words and repeated "I-I-I-I can't remember!"

"Can't remember what exactly?" You spoke more softly now as you got up, tentatively approaching him. He on the other hand jumped up from the bed, panic increasing with every passing second.

"Anything! I-I don't know who I am- shit, what happened?!" He was shaking, muscular chest having as he started to hyperventillate. You hesistantly put your hand on his back, feeling him tense at the sudden contact. "Please don't move too much. You're injured."

Only now he noticed the medical wraps around his chest, abdomen, left arm and both legs. Hell, his whole body was aching but the adrenaline wouldn't let this stop him from standing up, pacing around the small room.

Being overwhelmed with the situation as well, you decided it was best to tell him everything. "D-don't freak out, but we're in the middle of the arctic." Having a feeling that he wouldn't believe you - fair enough, though - you opened the door, revealing a snowy landscape. The doorway was already halfway buried under a snowy blanket, and the heavy winds were biting his exposed skin. "We'll have to wait until the storm settles. And even then, with your injuries you probably won't make it to the nearest village."

There was a long pause of silence between your explanation and his response, blinking at you in both disbelief and despair. "...if you don't know me, then how the hell did I get here?"

"My best guess is that you're a supe" you shrugged, hoping his memory loss didn't also affect his general knowledge. You pointed towards the torn bodysuit in the bin, stating matter-of-factly "You literally fell out of the sky. Even with the snow absorbing part of the impact, you should be dead - especially with those injuries."

Not really good at comforting someone, huh, you internally scolded yourself. Yet you gave it your best to calm him down and sign your goodwill.

"Sit down or your wounds will reopen." After a brief moment of looking at you all forlorn and maybe even a little distrustful, he accepted your help. You led him back to the edge of the bed, sitting next to each other as support for him to stay upright.

"Doesn't feel like anything about this body is 'super' right now..." he joked bitterly, rubbing his sides. You chuckle sympathetic, carefully patting his back in reassurance. "Maybe you don't have access to your powers because of the amnesia? I'm not quite sure how any of this works."

"Yeah, maybe..." His eyes were now locked on you, forcing a weak smile as he finally took a proper look at you. "You still didn't tell me to who I owe my life."

"Me?" as inappropriate as it was for the situation, he did manage to make you flustered just by that - and it didn't really help that he was still only in his underwear, testing your decency not to stare. "Oh, my name's Y/N Y/L/N. I'm an ecologist. Been here for eight months to document the effects of climate change on the biome, and-"

"Climate change?" he rose an eyebrow at you, "There's a goddamn snowstorm outside, woman."

Oh. He was one of those guys. Note taken.

"Anyways" you changed the topic to not provoke a pointless discussion, still unable to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. "Do you at least remember your name?"

The man clutched the ragged costume you had handed him, forcing his exhausted self to remember something, anything at all...

...but every time he tried, there was a sharp pain in his forehead that tore him away from the memories locked away somewhere in his brain.

And smehow, no matter how insane it might sound, he felt like this was his own mind's subtle warning to better keep it this way.

"I think...my name's John" he ultimately stated, rubbing his temples as his face contorted in pain. You continued rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to comfort him, whispering "Hey, don't overdo it. Focus on healing first, and then we'll see if anything else comes back. Alright?"

John nodded mutely, and you gifted him an uplifting smile, cheering "Well then, nice to officially meet you, John! Feel at home as long as you need."

He shook your hand almost symbolically, feeling almost hopeful knowing that despite the grim situation, he was supported by such a kind stranger.

"Nice to meet you too, Y/N. I'm all in your hands."

_____

A/N: This was written on my phone at 1am, so please bear with me. The next chapters are gonna be better.

[Part Two]

[foervraengd]

Quick tutorial on how to paint still water?

Whatever idk i just gotta document what i have learned recently before i forget and the best way is to explain it.

What you will need:

- Any art software that have layers and especially some sort of layer mask feature. (i use clip studio paint)

1: (first image) You can start by first adding the core objects of the artworks before adding any water. You can start on a gray or dull brown canvas if thats your thing. The rock here is going to be half-submerged in the water so thats why only the top part is more rendered here. But depending on the setting and your own style you pribably can render the lower half too, just remember to have the submerged part in a separate layer since the reflection of the water will be placed between the top-rock layer and above the bottom-rock layer.

2: (second image) Now you add the color of what the bottom of the river is. Most rivers where i live have muddy bottoms so im going with a brown color. Depending on how deep or shallow the river is, the more objects is visible. Note how i added a darker shade close to the grass but also at the bottom of the canvas. It’s not mandatory but i’ve noticed that it helps to give more depth.

3:

Now i make a new layer (or in my case a layer folder because i never end up using just one layer) and just add a sky! You can make it daylight or evening or lit up by the moonlight probably. Use either your favourite brushes, the default round brush, or some weird custom brushes for the clouds - whatever suits your style and fancy! Just keep in mind that the angle of the clouds should match the angle the overall painting has - but you can also just give the cloud an unspecific shape that works in any angle.

4 and 5:

Okay so this is where the layer masks are your friend. You can probably be brave and just use the eraser but that method is quite unforgiving imo.

In the first image i used a big soft airbrush eraser (you can use a gradient tool as well) to lower the opacity on the bottom part of the water. I have noticed that, in certain angles, the sky reflection on water is more faint the closer it is to the viewer.

This isn’t necessary but i used two layer masks here, the first gradient one is on the layer folder. The second layer mask is on the blue sky layer. I know that not all art programs might have this, so you can just do all of this on one layer mask if thats all you got.

Now technically these are reflections of the rock and the grass that i am masking away. But since theyre so close to the water we dont get much visible details and mostly just the silhouette. If i had just added a 100% mirror-like reflection here it probably would make the water look like liquid metal or something. However, reflections in water can vary a lot depending on the setting, so look up references that match the setting you wanna go for and take notes.

And this is essentially it!! Yes i know the example image isnt a masterpiece, but i didnt wanna expand this post even further and wanted to keep this simple. You can absolutely go further with this and add more vegetation or animals or droplets or rim light or 50000 overlay layers. I hope this made sense and is of any use or help for y’all out there!

[atrueneutral]

Feel free to just ignore this if the prompt is too horny but uh...

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael or Haarlep). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and has a collar and chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav isn't opposed to being in this... ah... position, but she'd have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here via invitation rather than... whatever this is)

I hope you don't mind a little humor! ---

Of all the strange situations Tav had found herself in (including the entire tadpole debacle), it was safe to say that this was the one of the strangest.

How it happened - well, frankly she’d been kidnapped!

It all started when she’d received a message from Helsik by way of a Scroll of Sending; the message wasn’t very descriptive outside of ‘please come to the Devil’s Fee at your earliest convenience’, and, thinking it was a job to add more (needed) coin to her pocket, Tav had gone immediately.

Into the Devil’s Fee she walked without a care in the world, only to have Helsik give her an empty smile and an emptier apology. Tav had no idea what the apology was for until two fiends burst forth from nowhere. They quickly rendered her immobile with a spell (before she could even think to defend herself), and she was subsequently blindfolded and spirited away.

By the time the blindfold had come off, Tav was naked.

Naked on a bed.

A bed in a boudoir.

A boudoir in a House of Hope.

Above her, a golden horned devil head was laughing at her predicament from where it was centered at the top of the velvet tufted headboard her back rested against. A lengthy piece of red silk hung fastened around its neck, and at each end were her bound hands. Her feet were in a similar state, ankles tied together by another piece of silk, and she was annoyed to feel a leather collar against the skin of her neck. Attached to the collar was a weighty chain that messily decorated the silk bedding.

It was an added frustration to see an unattainable, sealed note at the foot of the bed. She assumed it likely wrote out an explanation on why she’d been plucked and placed in Raphael’s gaudy boudoir.

For a split second, Tav thought to call out to Haarlep; the boudoir was mostly their domain, and maybe they would come and help her. But she wisened up and remembered that Haarlep’s definition of ‘helping’ was wildly different from that of a morally inclined person; she’d be inviting the incubus to tease her, grope her, and use her.

Which would be fine on a day where she’d been told in advance and had some semblance of knowing what-the-fuck-was-going-on.

It was probably in her best interest to call for Raphael, as embarrassing as the situation was. She expected he’d be equally perplexed by why she was in his House, naked, tied up, and in his bed.

“Uh, Raphael?” she called out meekly into the ether, thinking he could somehow magically hear her from wherever he was. “You, uh, around?”

After about a minute of getting nothing in response, Tav cleared her throat.

“RAPHAEL! You bastard! I’ll loot this place dry once I figure out how to untie myself!”

It took about fifteen seconds, but there was a burst of fire and embers - signifying the arrival of-

“What have we here!” trilled a voice that sounded vaguely like Raphael but assuredly wasn’t Raphael. “I thought I heard a guest yelling in the boudoir! And yelling without me?”

They tutted, and Tav inwardly cursed the gods.

“Not you…” she bemoaned. 

“Now why do you say it like that, little thief?” Haarlep faked a frown as they sauntered over to the end of the bed. The frown didn’t last; it flipped into a fiendish smile when they devoured the wickedly risque picture she made. “Have you gifted yourself to us? It’s good to see some results after master’s constant planning…”

“Aha! So it’s his fault I’m here!” Tav shouted like she’d deduced the perpetrator for a murder, but as Haarlep’s words further registered, the perpetrator suddenly looked like Raphael and the person murdered was her. “Wait - what do you mean ‘constant planning’?”

Haarlep continued to smile with mischief dancing brightly in their infernal eyes. They scooped up the note and slid a clawed finger under the folded flap, breaking the wax seal. Their gaze shifted from Tav to the words on the parchment.

The incubus grimaced. “And here I hoped you’d already signed yourself away to us.”

“Not today, I’m afraid,” Tav said. She awkwardly readjusted in her bindings. “What does it say? Who is it from?”

To her horror, Haarlep decided to join her on the bed with the note in hand. They crawled over, mattress dipping with each knee they took, and they situated themself over her so that their legs braced either side of her thighs - giving Tav a bird’s eye view of their barely clothed erection.

Haarlep (thankfully) shoved the note in front of her face rather than their crotch.

”I can’t read it,” she said dryly.

“Poor thing.”

To help, Haarlep read it out loud.

“Haarlep,

This mortal is a much better distraction to my son’s ambitions than you.

I suggest tempting her into a contract with your persuasive talents.

Lord Mephistopheles”

Tav swallowed. “This is a joke, right?”

Haarlep folded the letter and tossed it aside on the sheets. The back of their fingers came to caress her cheek. “Mm - no, little thief. It’s very real, as are you… here, tied up… helpless…”

“While that may be true…” Tav was beginning to feel nervous, and she resisted the urge to wriggle underneath them lest it provoke them. “Unfortunately, this situation isn’t as much of a turn on as it would be if I was here of my own volition.”

“It’s a turn on for me regardless.”

“Sure…” Tav officially hated the gods. She did not know how she was going to talk herself out of this with an incubus who was hovering over her restrained body with a hard-on, a lust-filled gaze, and an order to get her to ‘sign a contract’. She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “But you know what really gets me wet and wild, Haarlep?”

“Do tell…”

She raised herself up an inch by pulling on her bindings and stared at them with budding (pretend) lust.

“Not signing a contract.”

Was that jingling bells she heard entering the boudoir?

“Do you not want to stay here with me?” Haarlep purred, their hand trailed down to grip her chin while the other found and her collar’s chain. “You’d get to be master’s pet - my pet…”

They tugged up on the chain and Haarlep’s head moved in for the kill - intent on giving her an intoxicating kiss that would turn her to putty in their hands.

Shit.

“Ra-” Tav attempted to shout, but the cambion’s name was cut short by Haarlep’s smiling lips pressing against hers. The chain was given a light tug to force her closer, and their hot, forked tongue slid across the seam of her locked mouth… 

She did not know how long she could hold out; her lips were tingling in a pleasant way, her blood was racing, and the promise of pleasure was right there if only she would give in…

The lust she felt was no longer the pretend kind. 

“Haarlep, pray tell, who is your wayward plaything?”

Tav mentally and woozily cheered; it was Raphael!

“Was my warning not explicit enough? I will not tolerate you inviting in stray visitors because you’re bored,” continued her maybe savior. 

Tav could not see Raphael, as she was too busy being lip locked with a younger version of himself, and she wasn’t sure if he could see her with Haarlep’s wings and body in the way.

The chain went slack as Haarlep broke away. They relinquished their hold on her leash and discreetly swapped the chain for the nearby note. Between their bodies, the piece of parchment combusted into flames - destroying the proof of Mephistophele’s intentions.

Tav hissed as the melted seal dripped hot wax onto her chest.

Haarlep winked at her, and she responded with a glare.

Meanwhile, jingling boots arrived somewhere around the foot of the bed.

“Look who is here, Master!” The incubus said suddenly, removing themself from her body and moving over enough to reveal Tav in all her naked, restrained glory. “I wrapped her up like a little present! Just for you - specifically as she instructed…”

Heat crept up her body and flared in her loins.

Raphael, a talkative fiend who often talked too much, was rendered speechless and slack jawed. His brow furrowed and his nose scrunched while his mind worked to process what and who was in his bed.

It was a reaction that almost made up for being kidnapped.

His confusion cleared when his mouth snapped closed, and the look in his orange and yellow eyes turned insanely desirous.

“Uh, hello,” Tav said, giving him a polite wave while also trying to ignore the wetness that rapidly continued to pool between her thighs.

Her lips still tingled from Haarlep’s kiss, and the scene wasn’t too far off from a fantasy she’d had more than once. 

“What are you doing here, Little Mouse?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Haarlep unhelpfully supplied. “She’s here to have fun with us!”

She was grateful that Raphael looked somewhat skeptical. “Is this true, my dear?”

“It’s kind of a long story…” Tav replied.

Raphael glanced at her silk bindings.

“Forgive me - I don’t see you going anywhere anytime soon?”

“Ah, yes. Touché,” she conceded.

“I want to hear it from you,” Raphael said, a warning threading into his tone. “Why are you here?”

She looked to Haarlep, and they seemed all-too-curious in what answer she would give. It was anyone’s guess as to why they destroyed the note from Mephistopheles, and Tav wondered if they would feel at all indebted to her for not spilling the beans.

“Korrilla told me it was your Name Day last week. I realize I’m a little late, but I wanted to do something extra special since it was your… wait, how old are you exactly?”

“Funny.” Raphael’s thin smile did not reach his eyes. “Try again.”

“I was kidnapped?”

Why did it come out as a question?

“Haarlep, do get the mouse’s lips moving, won’t you? I think I will get comfortable and watch…”

The incubus happily motioned to return to his previous position over her.

“Alright - hold on!” Tav yelled, causing an amused Haarlep to stop. “I’ll tell you the truth - under one condition.”

Raphael barked a laugh.

“Again you show up in my House uninvited, this time naked and fettered to my bed, and you think you have the right to demand conditions?” His gaze turned stormy. “You are lucky that my fondness for you extended into forgiveness the first time.”

“You’ll forgive me for this second time as well, I think.” Tav smiled mischievously and parted her legs to give both cambion and incubus a better view of her sex. “I’ll give you the truth, Raphael; what I’m asking for is that I be returned home, safe and sound after we… reacquaint ourselves - without the talk or the signing of any contract.”

“You’ve already honored your contract, and I have not yet come knocking at your door with another.”

She shrugged with a shoulder. “I’ve learned you can never play it too safe with devils.”

Raphael turned suspicious. “What are you up to?”

“Just agree, Master,” Haarlep said. They licked their lips. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Judging by Raphael’s dark expression and the stiffness in his breeches, he was also tired of waiting.

“Very well; I will return you to your home, safe and sound - albeit sore. No contract will be signed during this visit. Now, the truth.”

The words easily left her. 

“The truth is I want you to fuck me, Raphael. I’ve wanted you undiluted and raw since meeting you, and imagine my disappointment stumbling upon Haarlep on my first visit. You should know they said some very scandalous things about your… performance.”

The (undiluted and raw) darkness that overtook Raphael’s features would have frightened her… if she weren’t so turned on by it. It was a dangerous mix of desire and fury; desire for her, fury for Haarlep.

“What did you tell the mouse, Haarlep?” he asked, head canting with a piercing stare directed at the incubus. “About my performance.”

Haarlep did not immediately respond; Tav could tell they were frantically plotting how to navigate a floor covered in eggshells.

“The mouse asked if you were good in bed...”

“And you told her?”

It was Haarlep’s turn to be nervous, and Tav savored every second.

“And I said, jokingly, of course, that you… weren’t. A-ha!”

“I see,” Raphael said flatly. “Well, since I am not ‘good in bed’ your participation privileges for this bed have been revoked.” The cambion’s unblinking, penetrative stare turned to her as he stalked over to the side of the bed.

“It was nothing but a joke, Master! At least allow me the opportunity to watch you fuck and fill the mouse?”

“No.” Raphael picked up the end of the chain and wrapped it once around his hand. “She’s mine...”

Sinfully wet after such a declaration, Tav turned her head to throw a secretive wink at a pouting Haarlep before they resentfully disappeared with a burst.

There was a snap of fingers, and Raphael came to be instantly naked and was very, very aroused. A second snap followed, causing a flash of heat to singe her skin as her silk bindings went up in a puff of smoke.

The cat gave the chain a tug. 

“Come to me, my little mouse.”

Before her mind could be overrun by sex and pleasure, Tav thought of a note to (never) send back to Mephistopheles.

Lord Mephistopheles,

No need for a kidnapping; all you have to do is ask. I’ll be more than happy to return to your son’s bed, no contracts necessary.

Sincerely,

The Better Distraction

[marigold-hills]

june 4: wildfire | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 626

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus says: “take me to bed.”

Remus say take me to bed and Sirius remembers a trip to France when he was a child, the summer air during a drought, sharp and heavy and dense enough to blanket him, and then, a week later, watching a wildfire ravage through the forest. This is the spark, Sirius thinks.

He was safe within the Manor’s wards, but the fire was a savage, hungry thing and it ate the horizon. Sirius was a wild child then, and he is wild still, and the desire to go outside and feel the burn on his skin hasn’t changed.

“I’ve finished my dissertation,” he admits, not ready for this golden moment between them to end and coming clean about the little omission is easier than facing new thoughts.

(Remus says that’s amazing, Sirius. He says good job, congratulations.)

“And I… um… tattoo.”

“You got a tattoo?” Remus reads into the jumbled words, frowns, “why didn’t you say? You’ve been going on about it all year.”

Sirius is wearing an oversized Queen T-shirt he likes to sleep in. The hem is loose. Makes it easy to lift up above his torso. Down the middle of his breastbone, exposing more than skin: the sign of the alchemical Great Wolf and below it seven intricate moons, waxing and waning.

“You… you didn’t say that’s what you were getting.”

Remus doesn’t blink, not once. Takes in the ink like reading a book – top to bottom, careful eyes. Reaches out to touch each symbol in turn, one by one, his fingers holding the same reverence Sirius has seen in him when handling ancient texts. They’re keeping his place, marking where he is on the page. For one mad moment Sirius wants the mark to be permanent.

“Why, Sirius?” Remus asks as if Sirius knew the answer. He doesn’t say Pads or Padfoot or “you great big mangy dog” as he does usually, he says Sirius and that’s how they both know it’s important.

And Sirius wants to answer – wants to give the right answer - but he can’t because he doesn’t know. Only knows this: he was there, with the money ready, and the man with the tattoo gun asked what will it be? and out of the window, out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the moon and said: this. This is what I want to touch me for the rest of my life, this is what I want to carve into my skin.

And while the ink was being needled into him, it quietened the need he has to bite and keep, to hurt.

And now, Remus’ careful fingers meld it together and satisfy the part of him which wants to be soft and gentle, sweet.

“Sirius?” Remus prods when he doesn’t answer. Splays his hand so that it lays flat across the tattoo, and has Moony always had hands this large? Has the rough edge of his fingers, from years of using a quill, always felt like that?

It must have because this is Moony – their Moony, his Moony - but it couldn’t because Sirius never once has been rendered quiet by a simple touch before. There have been so many over the years, in the Shack, after Quidditch, in the Lake, at nights filled with nightmares. Always the same hands, and yet.

Sirius let’s go of the hem of his shirt and grabs onto the hand on his chest, presses it closer into his skin like he could push it through to touch his heart (it’s beating now, so fast, so, so hard). He wants more and he wants to understand, and he’ll give into both the urges. For as long as Remus will let him.

Remus, eyes wide, lets him.

NOTES:

This is part 4! There will be 30. I suggest reading in order for the full experience but they also should work as standalone.

Don’t do this in the library. If you must, I suppose 2am is a good time.

I’ve changed Sirius’ tattoo from how it was in the movies. Originally the symbol he has on the very top is for amalgamation and here I went with antimony because it signifies the great wolf and I like the idea of that. The symbols are actually very similar looking. If you remember part one, this one goes back to the dissertation he’s writing.

not sure if I should add smut to this. Thoughts?

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[thr0wnawayy]

How Corrupt Is Hero Society?. Part 2

Nomu and Endeavor, a cause for concern

To add to the today's chatter about Endeavor and his excessive force and how that applies to the rest of MHA's "heroics". I'd like to point something out

It has always been this way

Excessive violence against Nomu isn't anything new, ever since Hori downgraded them into punching bags so the audience wouldnt question the morality of it all.

It does, however bring into light just how desensitized Hero Society is, how they view villains and may display some quirk-ism. Allow me to elaborate.

To the publics knowledge this is a PERSON.

The general public, hell most heroes. Had no fucking clue what a Nomu was. To their knowledge this was just someone with a heavy mutation quirk.

And they just, carry on.

Endeavor's gut instinct here was to burn his head off to stop him from regenerating and no one bats an eye.

But don't worry it gets worse.

Gran Torino is someone the community has dug into countless times for his attitudes towards Shigaraki and belief that "killing is another way to save"

So when Torino does this:

it doesn't really help his case, especially when Endeavor tried to kill that Nomu prior to this by incinerating him alive (almost killing 2 civilians. But I'll get to that)

Such a move would at the very least, sever someone's spine rendering them paralyzed for life. While I can see what Torino was trying to do, the ends do not justify the means here.

I'm not saying the Nomu are innocent, but it's blatantly obvious that they should be aiming to detain them rather than resorting to lethal force right away.

The worst part is the public has no reaction to this. No one asks anything and the authorities sure as hell aren't telling them squat.

We see it again during the Hood Fight and what's worse is that Hood can talk, bringing into question of how sapient is Hood.

Again Endeavor incinerates the Villain and no questions are asked.

Alright remember what I said about the two civilians?. well it gets worse, Firstly, they didn't even know if they were alright until near the end of the Hosu Incident, just letting them run off.

After Endeavor recklessly unleashes a wall of flame, the Nomu absorbs it and processed to reflect the same attack.

(on a second note: Torino and Enji even refer to the Nomu as if they were fighting a Human!?)

What does this mean?. Well that Enji ran into that fight without thinking!.

He didn't even so much as think up a strategy (just like a certain blonde we all know and despise) for what would happen if the opponent just, didn't die.

In Vigilantes he opts to bathe an entire city block in fire because he can't find the Villain (6)

He creates a fucking fire tornado with no thought for collateral damage

(The reactions of his sidekicks concern me, though knowing how Burnin' reacted to Dabi's exposé I'm not suprised.)

Given that he's this destructive and openly antagonistic in public, I don't even want to imagine the state Rei was in after every "training session" spent protecting Shoto.

This is why looking back, I can't say I'm suprised how some of the civilians dove back into worshipping heroes, even after Hawks killed a man and Heroes left them to fend for themselves.

Because as the saying goes

A bird stuck in a cage believes flying to be an illness

_______________________________________

Additional Info:

As pointed out by @gecmi09 (thank you for bringing that up), Endeavor did indeed refer to Crawler and Popstep as villains, as seen here:

I'd like to draw attention to the fact that he is drawn in a similar manner to Number Six, who is also often drawn in a silhouetted fashion, especially when his true colors are exposed.

The two characters are ironically very similar. Both are willing to resort to destructive means if it means achieving their goals.

Both willingly hurt those around/close them and use flawed logic in an attempt to justify their actions.

Both pretend to be something/someone they're not

Both of them brought about their own demise through one of their victims (Dabi and Knuckleduster [who took in Koichi] respectively. Though Six's was more indirect.)

Even though Vigilantes is loosely attached to MHA, I find it interesting that these two characters are so similar. Really makes you think.

[brabblesblog]

In recent weeks, I have been receiving hate anons on my ao3 fic. I have tweeted about it here and there, but have mostly ignored it. Unfortunately, today I received another, and due to the content, I feel like I have to respond. It’s been said before but it bears repeating: public accusations like these are damaging to creators, even when they are phrased passive aggressively rather than direct. 

I shall endeavor to answer these in full in this message and then I don’t plan to address this issue again. I would have preferred this to be resolved more maturely, through conversation, but as these remarks have been placed in the public sphere, and have been happening for weeks now, I am opting to reply openly. 

The concept of an A!A that could be softer was inspired by a number of A!A fanfics, particularly 'The Rogue You Were', and I have always been open about this. In fact, were you to look at chapter 1 of Whither, an acknowledgment exists. Whither’s foundation was built on this concept, and grew into 2 – going on 3 now – full longfics from there. I have never been shy about where my original inspiration came from. 

These tropes that I am now accused of copying (masquerades, Raphael-esque characters, Astarion being murderous, comic relief, and bats) are as we all know common tropes amongst the fandom and amongst vampire literature, and were not new concepts when they were used by the person claiming credit for them.

My favorite thing about fandom spaces is that they are a place to share ideas and collaborate. The person who made this accusation was someone I considered a friend: we had openly expressed to each other various instances where she and I were inspired by each other’s work. I have credited her influences; she has not credited mine. Dredging up screenshots to support this statement would be exhausting, and I hope it doesn’t become necessary. I’d much rather be working on my fic than dealing with this, and I hope this is the end of it so we can all get back to doing what we enjoy with our time.

I have as of late retreated from reading other fanfic within the fandom; mental health issues and intense impostor syndrome have rendered it impossible for me to engage in others’ writing, no matter how much I’d like to. Art, being something in the fandom that is removed from writing, is something I really enjoy seeing and delve headfirst into, but I am not at all up to date on the latest fic trends. These ideas (the masquerade, batstarion, and a more light-hearted tone) are things my editor and I have long wanted to add to the fic, but they did not fit into the plot right away. Presenting a cohesive, well-thought-out story has always been the most important thing to me, rather than chasing the latest trend. 

We are all playing the same game, writing from the same base material, often for the same characters with slightly different takes on those characters. There is no way to write for a fandom, particularly one like this, without a fair bit of overlap. I've worked hard this year to find my peace with that, and to not see others using similar plot points as copying. We are all appreciating the same masterpiece of a game, after all.

And lastly, I’d like to add that I don’t in any way condone harassing anyone, anonymously or otherwise, so please do not do so on my behalf.

Comment can be seen in this chapter, will post a screenshot if it's deleted:

[sluttywonwoo]

All I can think about is somnophilia with Wonwoo (with consent of course) I feel like he would try not to wake you up but is just so horny and then he goes feral or something but sweet at the same time LOL

you’ve talked about it before, he knows you like it, but it still makes him feel a little pervy. he supposes it is, regardless of whether or not you’re asking him to. you’re unconscious, totally unaware of your surroundings. wasn’t it at least a little wrong?

still, wonwoo’s so hard he can barely stand it. he needs relief and you’re practically offering yourself to him on a silver platter.

he doesn’t want to wake you. if he did, he knows you’d just ask him why he didn’t use you in your sleep.

so, with another self-pep talk (“she’s into it, you’re into it, don’t be a pussy c’mon”), he gingerly pulls back the covers to reveal your sleeping form.

his cock twitches again as he takes in the sight of you. you’d worn one of his t-shirts to bed. it’s long on you but it had ridden up in your sleep, exposing both your panties and a strip of bare skin just above the elastic band on your hip.

wonwoo’s careful as he slips into bed next to you. you’re not a light sleeper but too much movement would likely wake you up, and it’d be a bummer to end this before it even started.

you curl up to him instinctively and he smiles, kissing you on top of your head.

with a bit of trial and error, wonwoo’s able to get a hand down between your legs so that he can begin to touch your over your underwear. it’s agonizingly slow, but it works. you don’t so much as stir but you do start to get wet. he can feel your arousal soaking through the fabric and coating his fingers, and he wants nothing more than to rip those stupid boy shorts off and bury his face in between your thighs.

but since he can’t, he settles for this. for touching you over your panties. for sliding them to the side ever so gently and rubbing your clit in a way that makes you furrow your brows in your sleep. for sliding one finger inside of you and then two, watching with a smirk as you frown in pleasure.

he fingers you until you’re dripping down his forearm (he can’t help but pause to lick it up— he’s just a simple man and he’s only so strong and he really tried to resist but just couldn’t help himself…) and then rolls you onto your back.

you cling to him, even when he pulls away to get his cock out. it’s only for a second, just long enough for him to shove his sweats down under his ass, but you reach for him in sleep-laced desperation, whining like you’re on the verge of tears.

wonwoo shushes you even though you’re dead to the world and takes another second to admire his work. you’re so worked up and you’re not even conscious. he can’t remember the last time he’s seen you this wet… your pussy’s glistening in the darkness of the room and he just wants to spit on it, add to the mess, make you even wetter, but he knows it’ll be too loud so he doesn’t.

what he does instead is get into position and notch the head of his cock inside of you, pushing in slowly until he’s bottomed out.

wonwoo has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. you feel so good around him. you’re clenching already and he knows you’re not doing it on purpose but it makes him want to curse your name and your cunt for rendering him pussydrunk this early on.

he draws his hips back, almost pulling all the way out, and then eases them forward again. it’s experimental, trying to find a pace that’ll get you off but won’t wake you up, but his luck runs out before he can get it locked in.

“nonu?” you ask sleepily, blinking your eyes open to see your boyfriend on top of you. “what’s going-”

“shh baby,” he whispers in response, “go back to sleep.”

“but?”

“it’s okay, angel. just rest. you have to work in the morning.”

you start to nod, then cut yourself off with a surprised moan. “feels… good,” you mumble.

“yeah?” wonwoo affirms, leaning down to kiss you on the lips now that you’re somewhat awake. “i’ll make you feel even better, okay?gonna take care of you, baby. just be a good girl and rest while i do all the work.”

[iztea]

They still feel off specially the eyes i could feel them about to manifest their own life and run off

Even my linework is ... Idk what's wrong and it's the problem maybe I'm staring too much but I don't think so

Sorry for bothering alot but i loved your last advice ty

i think the main problem with the first picture has to do with the proportions and anatomy of the lower body area aka the neck and shoulders. i'd make the shoulders wider and add some sort of form to the neck so that it looks believable instead of a flat rectangle shape ( maybe make it slimmer a bit too? although that might be just a stylistic choice so you do you). That's the first thing i'd fix because otherwise the head looks too big in comparison to the rest of the body, and it can throw you off

I actually think you did a great job with the eyes, they have a lot of life and that comes from the fact that they are the most rendered part of your piece, which is not a bad thing. The thing is, while it is true that the eyes are the main focal point of a face and portrait in general, that doesn't mean you can neglect the other parts, so i think it is also a consistency issue or not figuring out exactly what sort of style or rendering you want to go with that holds you back (which is totally fine and normal ofc). So let's pick a semi-realistic stylized rendering style for this since this is the vibe i'm getting from this piece.

If that's the style we're going for, then the face should have a bit more form. You have to remember that our facial features ( eyes, nose, lips) are connected with each other via the planes of the face, right? So, for a semirealistic style, revisit your reference and try to idenitify what those planes are and how they connect to those features, and most importantly, where the shadows hit, and just accentuate them more, because at the moment they look like 3rd forms plastered over a 2d surface which is not right, our skin has form as well. Color-wise, don't be afraid to go darker with the shadows, they really make your drawings pop. Without looking at a reference, i'd def add some shadow under the lips, a bit where the lips connect to the nose, under the neck, and in the lower body area.

I'm really trying to avoid the most basic answer which is " practice anatomy !!1! " because everyone can say that however, at the end of the day, this is the main thing the face lacks. And tbvh you don't have to actually know anatomy, you just gotta know some proportions things that make the face look believable enough. I feel like the features are mostly just drawn from the reference without an understanding of the structure behind it. Something tells me that in the reference picture, the person had their head tilted a bit upwards, but here it's kinda flat and the features are just painted without following the motion. Try to draw over your reference picture the vertical and horizontal lines and make up the head shape behind it to figure out the way it is tilting and facing, because the lips, eyes nose, etc will follow that same sort of flow, they're not stationary. I'd also make the eyes a bit smaller, or maybe make the skull bigger bc i think they are touching the outer edge too much now, and also narrow the distance between the nose and lips just a bit. Kinda hard to explain without actually doing it myself. But really, try to play with that, and try getting comfy with drawing 3d forms i know it's easier said than done but..... there really isn't any shortcut unfortunately As for the lineart drawing, yes it's actually pretty solid, i like that duplicate blur thing you did, i'm familiar with that technique and it def has its perks so that's great. Im not an expert on lineart, however here i think there are too many " unnecessary" lines that could easily be omitted (purple). Less is more and all that~ The hair strands at the end feel too stiff and identical (green). If you notice, they all just end in this " V" shape and they rarely overlap thus making the image look flat. Try to break this pattern by introducing more spontaneity aka random hairflies, making the strands overlap, adding more shape variety etc

Make sure that the lines connect properly whenever they meet, and also although you already did it and i think that's great, you can make some lines even thicker, go even further and add even more lineweight. As a general thing, usually, the exterior or contour lines are thicker and whatever it is inside is thinner so experiment with that, you can start from the nose- thicker lines for the nostrils thinner for that nose tip i forgot what it's called and also add thin lines that just hint at the form. Lineart is hardd so i don't blame you, but if you're gonna keep the lineart in, try "shading" with black blocks so to speak, make sure the lineart layer can stand on its own, and pay more attention to the lower part area (neck and shoulders) even if it is less exciting to ink

[sockcanvas]

may I request an angsty fluff with gun? <3

𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 .ᐟ

𖡼. Requested by anon [1.1k words]

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ Pairing : Gun Park x G.N.Reader

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ c/w : Established Relationship | Angst+Fluff

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ a/n : I SWEAR I WILL STOP WRITING ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP AFTER THISSS ITS JUST SO SILLYYY ngl i already planned this as fluff but because a anon request smth with Gun to have angst, this boutta be fluff+angst..... i've been writing since 8am. I hope this is okay LOL, first request after three years of inactivity. OH and again!! gif was filtered and cropped by me, but created by @nonden.tx on tiktok. not very proud/don’t like how i ended it 🙁might go back to add stuff but idk

synopsis . ₊˚. If the cigarette between his lips could be you instead.

There was nothing you hated than murky wisps of vapor that infiltrated the air, lingering with their pungency, a tainted atmosphere from its noxious breath. An unwelcome assault on your senses with each inhale. Not only was the smell obnoxious but you were embarrassingly jealous of the cigarette between his lips. 

Gun Park’s smoking habits was a knowledge you were already aware of, an understood boundary you came to live with in your relationship with him. The revelation was a thrust of reality when you caught him upon the act one time, an illicit puff of smoke escaped his lips in the dimly lit alley way just after a night out, how his head would throw back slightly to release the narcotic. The cigarette that sat between his lips was like a perfect puzzle.

And from then on, you’ve started to notice his indiscreet smoking locations, from the balcony, the faint glow of the cigarette tip betrayed his presence. Tendrils of smoke snaked through the night air, mirroring the silent tension that had started to weave itself into the fabric of your interactions. The frequency he spends smoking continues throughout the weeks, often from the balcony.

However, the discomfort of his indulgence extended further when you came back to catch him smoking indoors. An act that defied the unspoken boundary that was established of your shared space. The mundane expression on his face, furrowed brows that created an iron wall, one that you remember very clearly of a clouded mind. 

It wasn’t just a habit anymore; it was an elusive act of defiance, a rebellion against stress that had slowly transformed Gun Park into a distant figure. The quiet dinner that followed was a testament to the unease that had settled between you two, a silence that was punctuated only by the clinking of utensils against plates.

The weight of his gaze, those blackened eyes burning into yours— stifled any attempts at voicing your concerns. Like an uninvited guest at a table, rendering you mute in the face of tension, the silence became a fortress. Each passing second divided you from the man with a hardened exterior. 

The smoke, once a hidden accomplice, now a metaphor for the idling distance between you and Gun. It wrapped itself around an unstated issue, a haze that blurred the lines of communication. The atmosphere was too thick in unresolved pressure—  leaving you to tiptoe around the jagged edges of your relationship. 

As the night wore on, a suffocating silence settled over the room. Gun Park, his towering presence that commanded attention, was first to rise from the dinner table, a solemn gesture that cited the growing distance between you two. The sizzled crunch of a cigarette being extinguished in his recently purchased smoke tray broke the silence. 

In the evolving narrative of your relationship, you had once reached a point where Gun was no longer concealing his eyes behind a shield of dark sunglasses. It was a subtle shift, a sign of newfound intimacy and acceptance. Where the man of a few words occasionally allowed a smile to sneak across his stoic facade. Yet, despite these small actions, an unavoidable void stretched between you too, a evident manifestation of the emotional chasm that gradually exposed itself.

The silence at the table was an audible reminder of his reluctance to speak with you. In the moment, Gun retreated into the night, leaving you alone with the remnants of a dinner that had become a battleground of unexpressed problems. The distance both physical and emotional left you to navigate the shadowy terrain of your relationship.

You joined him shortly in your shared room. His eyes, diverged from yours, refused to acknowledge the growing chasm. Your mouth hesitated, words hanging in the air like a delicate confession, “you’ve been smoking.” a declaration that carried more weight than the simplicity of its content. His attention, slow to shift, finally turned to you. An acknowledgement marked only by a noncommittal hum in response. “Indoors too,” you added, practically holding your breath as you hinted at the issues.

There was a flash of annoyance, you might’ve heard a scoff too, “And what if I have?” The rhetorical response hung there, his stoic demeanor was conned by a flicker of irritation, daring you to confront him. “Why does it suddenly concern you now?” His tone was a bit harsh, nonchalant yet sharp. The way it slipped past his lips like mercury made you shrink.

You stood confidently, Cautious yet resolute when voicing your mind, “I was fine with you smoking before, but when have you smoked this much?” Your words dawdled in the air, “Gun, you’ve been so distant. Is there something you need to tell me?” a part of you felt relieved to ask, another part was anxious about his next response. What if Gun gets offended? What if he snaps at you? What if he leaves you? The once in a lifetime chance where your mouth could be in the heat of his would be missed. There is nobody in this world that could climb to the position you are now, and everything you’ve progressed would be lost in an instant.

Black sclera widening only slightly, he didn’t think you’d confront him so quickly. Gun was caught off guard, something that rarely happens to him when it comes to both fighting and words. It was like an instant reality check, his behavior switching a full one-eighty degrees realizing his choice of words. Gun lets out a defeated sigh, a distinct admission of vulnerability surfaced. The defeat in his exhale was an unsaid recognition that he took your words to account. 

“Things have been busy,” he uttered, skimming over the details, the Four Major Crews that he built with Goo have slowly become burdened to him. The aftermath of their inner conflicts that occur without his presence, the expectations for them consistently fell short.

Gun was not one to apologize, instead of a verbal remorse, he presented a silent invitation by patting the space beside him, a signal for you to draw near. Weary, you shuffle closer, unable to meet his gaze. His arms, possessive by nature, coiled around your waist, pulling your stiffness into his embrace. It was an apology that took the form of actions, a physical way for him to atone to his wrongs. He nestled against your back, the strain beginning to dissolve from the closeness. 

Your head turned towards his, the gravitational pull of desire took over. Lips colliding with each other, the collision was softened by the anticipation that had built up. It was slow but hungry, taking in the taste of nicotine on his lips, a residue of his earlier habits was overshadowed by the intoxicating allure of Gun Park himself. Each touch of his mouth against yours felt like an addictive narcotic. Temptation that you had waited for so long, and like a cigarette between his mouth, he pulled away.

[dwcmarshalarts]

I adore your style and content - I’m considering doing masters studies of some of your pieces just to try it out, but I’m still fairly new to art. I was curious if there’s any part of your process or any particular advice you’d have?

Gave this answer before to someone who asked me the same question, and I think it still counts! 1) Build stamina. You can do this by drawing often- and with intention. Start your drawing with a warm up- something light, not overly serious. Focus more on the literal mechanical feeling of your hand moving to draw. Then focus on the heavier stuff after you’ve both literally and mentally warmed up, setting the stage for more involved drawing. Make this a routine and drawing overall will be less tiring over time.

2) Focus on replicability, not detail. This goes hand in hand with the previous point. A lot of people develop a kind of perfectionism early on, where they get overly attached to a specific sketch and don’t wanna budge from it, and put details until it “looks good,” even when the subject as a whole is wonky. I like to equate this to “too much icing, not enough cake,” or “building on sand foundations.” I’ve been there before, and it can hold you back. Instead of focusing on a specific piece and how you rendered it that one time, focus on how you render it such that you could do something similar, easily replicate the concept. Once you’ve built more stamina, you can open up the gates to tackling the same subject matter in different ways.

3) Mind your mark making. Some folks agonize over the tiniest detail, sometimes for hours. At the end of the day, that itself doesn’t necessarily bring improvement- that’s more of a test of patience. Unless someone specifically asks, you don’t- for example- need to draw every single ridge of every knob on a switchboard in great detail. These things can be implied through mark making. Remember, a lot of drawing isn’t about literally making something for people to see- it’s tricking the eye into believing what’s drawn is actually there. You’ll be amazed at what detail can be like even when you don’t define every part.

4) Drawing is more seeing than “making it up.” * Don’t be afraid to use references and such. It’ll help you render form than imagining it- sometimes the imagination can conjure things incorrectly. *Even seasoned artists who don’t typically use too much references need to do studies from life or books every now and then to reinforce skills.

One point I didn't add before for style things specifically is: 5) Look where the artist got their inspirations from if you want to learn from them. No art exists within a vaccuum, everyone has their influences. Trying to do a study from someone's art will only take you so far- because then it'll feel more like mimicry than actual, learned study. Research or try to see parallels with artists that you might think had a hand in influencing a given artist's style. Notice the patterns there- certain textures are invoked here, this form was defined like this, etc. A lot of folks confuse wanting "more of a thing" as opposed to "what makes that thing desirable/unique." If you'd like to know where some of my influences come from, I'd say look at the works of Squiddy, covers for Hellboy comics, and the Snowpiercer graphic novel.

Addendum: If you're looking to draw anatomy specifically- study from real anatomy, and learn how to do those before you begin to "break the rules" (exaggerate, anthropomorphize, etc). For resources on that, I'd recommend the Morpho books (all of them haha) and Dynamic Human Anatomy by Roberto Osti.

Hope this helps somewhat, feel free to ask if I missed anything.

[cookii-moon]

so like I made an element post several months ago and. found it today (because I don’t post much right now lol) and was thinking about it so I tried making a chart of how I think elements might be related

I didn’t put the new elements in the “tree” simply because. I think it’d render this entirely irrelevant by the time part 2 comes out. and. I have zero clue how to sort them Ngl.

(Tbh I was very torn on whether to just do elements in general or elements by like elemental masters. Because. the two are very different for me. So I did do an alternative version but I scrapped it cuz it made no sense and I didn’t like it but I’ll show it at the end)

The lines just show there’s some relation between them. Sometimes elements can control eachother, sometimes only one can control the other, etc.

LORE DUMP UNDER THE READ MORE!!!

basically I think that the elements existed in ninjago BEFORE the FSM came into existence. If there was an ocean there has to be a sea floor. If there was a storm there has to be lightning, so on and so forth. The elements always existed and have always been intrinsic parts of ninjago. This might also apply to some of the other realms, specifically the first realm probably also abides by this. Since several native species in ninjago have elemental traits plus. Wojira. it’s probably always been present to some degree, just not usually in humans. So while the original elemental masters of creation may have gotten their powers from the FSM, the elements themselves exist in a lot of places and have always been present in the realm. In fact I think a lot of the “secondary” elemental masters probably got it from the environment somehow like the way water and wind ems seem to have gotten it from wojira (? Tbh I don’t remember much of seabound since I never rewatched it and that part of the lore had tons of plotholes iirc so it was really hard for me to follow)

Gravity, light and time are the most “overarching” elements because they mainly define a lot of the basic principles of the world and so without those elements the others can’t really exist. Especially gravity. Time and gravity are related since time is affected by gravity.

Mind and amber are sort of their own things. Amber is manmade (apparently??? I think I read the comic but I don’t know if it’s still considered canon and I forgot most of it lol ) so it isn’t actually related to any other element even if you would sort of think it was.

mind is really confusing because it’s not really a physical thing or related to any sort of foundational law or… anything, really. It’s just very isolated from the other elements and not really. Connected to any of them. So tbh I’m just gonna shove it with amber in the weird squad.

Also here’s the original list that was based around origins. I think it looks cleaner but it definitely makes a lot less sense.

I mostly scrapped it bc I didn’t like the placements of gravity and stuff or the fact that a lot of related elements weren’t depicted that at.

Sooo yeah that’s the elements chart ig !!! I’ll probably add image descriptions tomorrow I’m too tired

also excuse my extremely poor handwriting

[copperbadge]

One of the interesting things about being medicated for ADHD for the first time after forty is the ongoing adjustment of coping mechanisms. The thing about medication is that it doesn’t render them unnecessary, it just takes a ton less energy to engage in them, and sometimes it means developing different ones. 

I’ve used Google Tasks for probably about a decade now. Generally it’s just a list of the “big things” to do -- “do the dishes” “take out trash” “weekly donor screening” et cetera. I realize dishes and trash don’t seem like big things, and truthfully they aren’t, but they are “macro” in the sense that they are not detailed. 

But now that I have more executive function, I can accomplish all of, say, taking out the trash, so I can no longer simply write “take out trash”. That will tell me to take out the kitchen trash, which is admittedly 90% of all the garbage I generate and the most important thing to actually accomplish. But I want to take out the kitchen trash, check the paper bin in the living room to see if it needs emptying, add the litterbox bag to the kitchen trash, see if the bathroom trash is full, and recycle the pile of boxes that I left by the door to remind me to recycle them and now they just live there. All of which I can do, thank you Adderall, but none of which I’m going to remember to do because I’m so focused on “taking out the trash”. 

So now my google tasks is like “TRASH” and then on separate lines are kitchen, paper, bathroom, litter, boxes. And after every single action I do, like taking the bag physically out of the trash can, I check the list. Or I have DISHES which used to be enough because I really could only manage to do one thing -- put all the dishes in the sink, rinse the dishes in the sink and put them in the dishwasher, run the dishwasher, or empty the dishwasher. Now I can do it all! If I can remember to do it all. Which I can’t when I’m doing part one of any of them. So before I do any of them I list all of them in the Tasks.

The bananas of the detailed lists I make these days is surpassed only by the insanity of how short the lists end up at the end of the day, so it’s worth it. I have one list for “during the week” that is mostly work stuff, and one list for “weekend” that is usually personal stuff or optional stuff, and at the end of this week there were three items on my work list. The last time I had only three items on my work list was when I was creating that list a decade ago. 

Meanwhile I have already checked eight things off the weekend list before noon, but primarily because it had items like “put a bandaid on your right foot” “take a shower”  “Go to the second floor of Target first”  “get a glass of water before sitting down”. 

Doing November cleaning should be fascinating this year. 

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 11

Prompt: breaking the conditioning

cw: past emotional/psychological abuse and manipulation, overworking, control issues, diet control

Summary:

Life after Zava. During a workout with Roy, Jamie struggles to keep count.

Follows after this one

Here on AO3

After thirty-five reps, Roy tells him, “You don’t have to count out loud.”

Jamie stiffens, his arms fully outstretched as he holds up the weight bar. Roy’s palms are out, ready to catch if Jamie drops it, but he doesn’t dare take the bar away from him – not after the last time he doubted Jamie.

“What?” His arms begin to shake, and he adjusts his grip. It’s a heavy load.

“You count your sets out loud,” explains Roy in that low, growly voice that Ted advised him to think of as patient. Coach sure doesn’t look patient. “I don’t need you to count them out for me. I trust you to do the amount I tell you to do.”

Icy uncertainty runs through his veins. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed that he’s the only one who counts out his sets in the weight room during training. The rest of the team, they mostly chat or listen to music, but Jamie had assumed that was ‘cause he was better than they were, more serious where they preferred to slack off under the weak demands of an inexacting coach.

Never occurred to him it might be a rule.

“Sorry,” Jamie says automatically. His face burns. Hopefully the flush of exertion hides it; after all, the weight is really heavy. “I’ll- yeah. In my head from now on, Coach. Please?”

The ‘please’ adds itself on out of habit. Even Jamie doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Roy must figure it out. After a moment of staring at Jamie with dark, intense eyes, he nods at the bar, a clear gesture to get on with it then.

Jamie gets on with it, this time sure to keep the counting in his head. He reaches forty, nods to Roy, and Roy tacks on the next set of weights. Too easy.

Jamie resumes pressing, all the numbers shut up behind his teeth where they can’t get on anyone’s nerves. He focuses on his form. Good form is paramount, otherwise he risks rendering the exercise useless.

….five….six….seven….eight….eight….eight….

Fuck. No, wait.

Jamie tries to replay the count. The numbers smear together in his head.

He realises belatedly that he’s stopped mid-press. Perched above him, Roy cocks his head like a vulture, waiting to descend at the first sign of weakness.

Jamie keeps going.

He still doesn’t understand why it has to be Roy who trains him – even Zava had trusted Jamie to do whatever the personal trainers told him to do after the first six months. But ever since Jamie’s knee gave up that one time, the man’s insisted on following Jamie to every appointment he has with a trainer or physio. Mental behaviour, the kind Jamie should definitely put a stop to. And he would, if it didn’t take his mind off the yawning abyss growing in his head every time he goes home to his empty flat and remembers that this is it for him now. His own fucking life, with no steel-fisted grip to guide him.

His heart clenches. What fucking number is he on?

He remembers getting to nine. He’ll add five. Add five to nine, and do five extra at the end, and if Roy asks, he’ll lie and tell him that he felt like it. That the training regime at Richmond is shit, and that Jamie expects a real challenge, the kind where you can’t even lift your arms when you’re done. That’s what Jamie deserves. Jamie is better than this.

He picks up at fourteen and keeps going.

At twenty-three, he feels like he’s already done twenty-three so that can’t be right. At twenty-eight, he gets distracted by how similar threes and eights look when he draws them in his head, and at forty-three, he can’t figure out if he skipped thirty-three or just thought about it too hard, so he goes back and does it again.

A memory rises unbidden: those first few months of rehab under Zava’s care, one of the few times he drove the man past any reasonable level of frustration. Too distracted. Unfocused. No more music at the gym, until Jamie learned to be present in the here and now. Until he learned to appreciate the opportunity he’d been chosen for.

Equally unbidden, Roy’s face the week before last when Jamie had used the word ‘unbidden’ in a sentence. How his mouth had curdled at the corner and how his brows drew together. The way he’d sneered, exasperated, “Do you actually talk like that?”

Then Beard, almost equally mocking, when Jamie had flubbed the word ‘philistine’: “You’re gonna want to look that one up.”

Then Ted, frowning and unhappy in a way that Jamie couldn’t grasp, when Jamie refused his book recommendation because he’d already read Fitzgerald before, it’d been on the improving books list Christina made for him a few years prior. Was fine with him if Ted had any other books he wanted to recommend, but his list at home was pretty long, so he’d probably need to let Jamie know if he had a deadline.

He didn’t tell Ted that the list was years old by now. That Zava had grown disillusioned with him once he realised how slow Jamie took to anything off the pitch.

Ted had given him a disappointed smile like he’d heard it all the same. “Maybe what we need is a different approach.”

He still hadn’t given Jamie a different book.

With a start, Jamie realises that he’s forgotten to count at all. Daggers have etched their way into the stone of Roy’s face. All sense briefly flees Jamie’s mind, and he finds himself sacrificing his picture-perfect form for the sake of doing the last twenty reps as fast as he can just so he can be free of that hard look.

By the time he gasps, “Stop,” his eyes sting with frustration. Roy grunts as he lifts the barbell free from Jamie’s sore hands. With an apocalyptic expression on his face, he drops the bar onto the rack with a heavy clang.

Neither of them say anything. Roy, because fuck if Jamie knows why; and Jamie, because he knows without having to be told how shit that was. 

It isn’t his turn to talk.

He inhales sharply through his nose, trying to downplay his nervousness, which feels as transparent as the windowpane to the coaches’ office that separates them from Ted. His tender hands ball into fists, and Jamie resists the impulse to speak out of turn, to bite first and draw blood before Roy takes a swing at him, to shout for help instead of accepting whatever discipline is given to him.

He knows in his nature to argue – Zava always said so – and since day one, emotional regulation has been his biggest weakness. Too willing to snap back, too sensitive when it came to petty slights, too willing to egg on his opponents instead of focusing on the ball, too abrasive, too loud, too needy, too much too much too much. Despite Zava’s best efforts, he could never quite break Jamie of his defects. Maybe that’s why he finally threw in the towel. He could see the front Jamie put up for the sham it was. Could see the ugly acid boiling inside. Could see the Tartt lurking under the surface, the shadow of his father tattooed under his skin.

In the seven years since he’s seen his father, Jamie’s failed to cleanse himself of the flaws he inherited when the only brand he should carry was Zava’s. 

He doesn’t even have that anymore.

Jamie needs to do better. Without Zava, Richmond’s all he’s got left.

With his shirt sweat through, he feels glued to the bench. So he stays there. He doesn’t sit up. He doesn’t push himself into Roy’s face. He doesn’t argue. He keeps his expression blank and he tries to draw up a ‘non-confrontational aura’ and he readies himself for Roy to bring the hammer down.

“Right,” says Roy gruffly. He won’t look Jamie in the eye. “We’re done for today. Go hit the showers.”

Jamie stares at him. The fight disappears out of his chest in a puff of smoke, like someone’s gone and blown out the match.

It takes Roy tapping him on the shoulder for Jamie to sit up. Then Roy tugs at his arm until Jamie’s on his feet. Then he starts towelling off the bench and setting the weights back into place.

That’s Jamie’s job, and the sight of someone, of his coach, of Roy Kent doing his job makes his breathing go ragged. Makes him feel lightheaded and unsteady on his feet. He’s not sure if mentioning it is something that could be construed as arguing – just the thought has him rocking back on his heels, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the tattoo on his arm.

When he feels like he might actually die if he doesn’t say something, he snaps with more force than he means to, “That’s it?”

Roy doesn’t mention his tone. He raises an eyebrow and asks cooly, “What, that isn’t enough?”

Aren’t you gonna tell me where I fucked up? Criticise me for letting my mind wander and losing count? Tell me what I’m supposed to do next, because training might be over but if I want to be better, I need to stay late. Where’s the extra sets? How bad did I do? How late do I need to stay before I can eat dinner?

Quit playing mind games and tell me what to do next.

But that’s not the right response, not with Roy. Until he figures out what his coach is looking for, Jamie bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything.

When Jamie stands for too long with his teeth grit together tight, Roy gives him an assessing look and just. Nods.

“Hit the showers,” he repeats, gentle in a way that makes Jamie want to scream.

After Roy leaves the weight room, Jamie waits another minute to see if it’s a test. After standing there for five minutes, he figures he’s running the risk of disobedience by not listening to that last command, and he hustles to the showers.

Cold showers are best for athletes, and if he’s supposed to do something different, then someone will tell him.

Roy’s never told him otherwise, so the shower stays cold.

The shower is always cold. 

He’s used to it.