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zyafics · 10 months ago

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DEAD MAN WALKING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing —Mafia Boss x Doctor!Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe gets injured in a shootout, he can't make it home in time to save his life. However, it's just his luck to find a medical student walking out of her shift from the hospital. When he threatens you to save him, you do, but when he returns to uncover that the wound is more deadly than it seems—time is ticking for you to find a cure or die.

Content — 18+, explicit (to be determined).

It's late.

A consequence of staying overtime. Most medical students from your program left after their shift ended, but not you. You wanted more—to shadow surgeries behind spectator glass, to listen to pagers' on-calls, to follow the path of grunt work—because you believe in learning from the bottom up. It wasn't until one of the residents forcefully removed you from a debrief and mandated you to go home and rest that you finally left.

Exiting the hospital, a cool wind breezes over your exposed arms, causing goosebumps to rise. The night is dusky and grim; thick clouds envelop the dark sky, amplifying the fainted glow of lights streaming through the open windows of apartment buildings. Very few cars are passing through the main road, despite your place of work being in the center of the metropolitan area. It's empty. Quiet. Odd.

The parking lot is mostly vacated, except for a few residents' vehicles that have to stay for their hours. You don't own a car, utilizing the city's local public transportation system instead, and thankfully, there's a bus stop across from the hospital.

Your footsteps click against the concrete, each step bringing you closer to your destination, but something in your stomach churns with nausea. Something feels off. The stillness of the night isn't a common occurrence in a lively city bursting with mayhem. But before you can calm your mind—a distinct click is heard, followed by the cold press of a metal handle against the back of your skull.

Your breath hitches.

A gruff, masculine voice orders. "Don't scream."

You want to. Desperately. But you've lived in the city long enough to know it'll do nothing. It might cause your death instead. Defying the very instinct to call for help, the bubble waiting to pop from your throat, you nod once, letting your handler know you abide by his command.

"Turn around."

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, threatening to spill. With measured breaths and cautious steps, you turn.

The sight surprises you. The man holding you in captivity is tall—and devilishly handsome. But that's not your main source of concern. It's the way he's slightly hunched over, his left hand clutching a wound that punctures his abdomen. He's bleeding. Everywhere. Staining the front of his sodden shirt, it drips onto the concrete between the cracks of his fingers.

"You a doctor?" His voice is gravel and strained as if he's holding onto his last string of life. His face is a ghastly shade of pale, uneven breaths escaping in chokes, and sweat collects on the hairline of his forehead.

"I'm–I'm a student." You answer, tripping over your own voice as he tightens his grip around his gun, his fingers trembling. For a brief moment, you consider if you should disarm him. Half of you want to help—to save a man on the brink of death, as you're training to do—but the other half remembers you're being held at gunpoint. If you try, you wonder if he's in enough pain that you can remove the weapon.

But something in his hardened gaze tells you to stay put. That his trigger finger is swifter than you'll ever be and he won't hesitate to waste a bullet.

Scoffing, as if the criteria of your resume isn't enough, he raises his arm where the barrel of the gun stares you down. Your heart skips several beats, palms growing sweaty at the implication that your lack of experience can be your end.

"I can help."

He doesn't answer, eyeing you with contempt. You're still wearing your blue scrubs, the clip of the badge hanging on your waist. You look official; a formal member of the medical faculty team. But, at the end of the day, you're still a student.

You refuse to let that be your downfall.

"I can save you," you argue, the timbre of your voice is sharp, passionate, and decisive. "Let me help."

The man says nothing. Silence stretches for the next few seconds, but it feels like decades before he makes a decision. He grabs your arm roughly, pulling you in front of him with the strength he shouldn't possess. With the gun pressed against your backside, right on your spine, he warns, "One word, one fucking scream, and I'll shoot you in the middle of the floor. Do you understand?"

You nod, swallowing the bile in your throat as you reenter the hospital, maneuvering through the floor with virtually little-to-no interactions. A blessing and a curse, the man finds an empty room and shoves you inside.

It's not a surgical suite, just a backroom with a bed and a couple of tools on a cart. You try to convince him to go to one of the rooms in the operation wing, but he refuses. When you continue to advocate, his hand grips the gun with a click—reminding you who has the power in the situation.

"Just fucking do it here," he snaps.

That's how you ended up operating on your first patient. He lays flat against the stiff hospital bed while you tear through his blood-soaked shirt, cleaning his marred skin, finding the source of the wound—a gunshot. It sits right on his ribcage, but the point of entry doesn't look like it slices through any important organs or arteries.

Despite his form, he continues to point the gun at you. His hands are steadier, but his eyes waver with each probe and poke of your tools. Your breathing is scarce, and uneven as you try to focus on the task at hand—but you can't, given the constant reminder that one wrong touch, one wrong move, can yield a tinge of pain that leaves him clamping down on the trigger.

"You can drop your gun now." You say offhandedly, trying to keep your composure and wits as you operate. "I'm not going to do anything."

He huffs, suspicion creasing his brows. "Not a chance."

"I'm saying it'll be better for you." You instruct, voicing your reason from a place of logic rather than a plight of fear. "You need to relax."

"I'll relax once you get this bullet out of me," he rasps, gripping the weapon tighter, as a child with a stuffed animal would after a hellish nightmare. Your eyes glance down at the gun, how it's aimed directly at your heart, before dropping back to his chest.

"You're not going to kill me."

He doesn't answer immediately. A pinch of fear surges through your veins before he says, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm trying to save your life." You keep your voice steady, despite the low tremor rattling your chest. False confidence is the only thing keeping you going. "And I won't cause you harm. If I wanted to, I would've already."

Silence persists, and you take it as a chance to solidify your argument, from a humane perspective. "And I can't focus if you keep pointing that gun at me. I'll be more sloppy, and I don't want to take any chances when I barely have the right equipment as it is."

It sounds solid. At least, to your ears it does. But the man's grip on his gun doesn't waver under your advisement. You're almost certain he'll reject the idea, but when his hand slowly descends to the metal cart sitting beside him—the clank of metal-on-metal allows you to finally take a deep breath.

But before you can proceed, his now-free hand grabs your wrist. A yelp almost leaves you, but his bloodied nails dig into your skin. A warning gleams behind his gaze. "Just because I'm unarmed doesn't mean I can't kill you through other means."

You don't doubt it.

Nodding, you begin your operation. Heart thumping against your chest, you dig the forceps into the open wound, the squishing of flesh and blood fills the stillness of the room, and you navigate blindly through the gap till you graze a hard metal.

You inhale sharply, reminding yourself of your countless virtual practices, your shadowing of operations, your lucky days of standing beside certified surgeons as you hand them tools and witness the precise cut of their blade. All that training comes down to this very moment—to save yours and his life.

With a steady grip, you slowly exit, centimeter-by-centimeter, inch-by-inch, until the familiar glint of a metal gleans under the harsh operating light.

You drop the bullet, smeared with blood and a greenish hue, onto the plate next to the gun. Exhaling, you mechanically move to the next stage.

While you thread the needle through his delicate skin, closing the wound, your eyes glance down to his hands resting by his side. His knuckles are swollen and red, dried with dark blood. You can't stop yourself from asking, "What happened?"

His jaw tightens. "Why do you want to know?"

The words are sharp and harsh, a valiant attempt at shutting down any form of communication. But you persist. "I thought, since you're out of danger, you can at least explain—"

"I don't owe you shit," he barks, but this time, a hiss punctuates the end of his sentence, sending his head flying back against the bed as he grimaces through the pain and lack of anesthesia. His adrenaline must be wearing off.

Your jaw tenses, but not from his response but rather because of his reaction to his pain. Your sense of empathy has always been your weakness, especially since you're providing it to someone who held you at gunpoint and against your own will.

Deciding to redirect your focus, you're finishing the last thread of his stitching before he confesses, "Fight."

"Fight?" You echo wearily, refusing to lift your head and meet his gaze. You can already feel the heat of his stare. "Who won?"

He scoffs, but it comes out as a wheeze. "Don't be cute."

"I'm not trying to be—"

Your words are cut short by a sudden alarm blaring from the hallway. You jerk back, creating distance as you turn toward the small slanted window on the door, where flashes of men in uniforms run past.

Fear crashes into you as waves, and you turn back to the man as he turns to you—his dark blue eyes are hostile and cynical, and he regards you with the utmost suspicion.

"Who the fuck did you call?" He accuses.

Your eyes widen, "I didn't call anyone!"

"Liar."

With your erratic heartbeat in your ears, both of you glance down at the gun sitting idle on the cart. Before he even gets the chance to react, you snatch the weapon from the table, his nails grazing your hand a millisecond too late.

You push back against the opposite side of the room but because of the limited space, it does nothing to soothe the overwhelming adrenaline pulsing through your veins. Holding the gun with two hands, you direct it straight at his face.

Suspicion and doubt from both sides are at an all-time high.

He scoffs, unphased by your brave act. The gun between your hands is shaky, and your palms sweat against the heavy, smooth grip. The acknowledgment of holding something lethal between your fingertips. In his earnest attempt at getting you to give up the weapon, he mocks, "Can you even use that thing?"

You disengage the safety. "Try again."

His eyes widen, just a fraction, almost undetectable had you not been eyeing him carefully. His lips pressed together in a firm line, but almost as if you're imagining it—there's a look of intrigue.

The man pulls himself upright, shifting cautiously under the threat of your deadly aim, while his hand clutches the stitched wound. You didn't even get the chance to bandage him. It's a shame that your hard work could go to waste.

"Fucking liar."

"I didn't lie," you insist.

"The gun staring at me is making you look guilty."

"It isn't nice being on the receiving end, is it?"

His hardened features sharpen into a look of disdain, any imagination of curiosity disappears within seconds. Yet, you read into it. His eyes narrow, scrutinizing you as if you're prey to his predator, trying to gauge a formal assessment of your character. It isn't until he forces himself to look away, onto the door, that he contemplates his next plan of action.

It doesn't take a genius to decipher that the man is someone dangerous. Not just to you, but to the law. You regard his rigid posture, suggesting his uneasiness about the guards posted outside, barking orders to secure the grounds. He assumed you called the authorities, but that's far from the truth.

You didn't even have time to consider it.

Now, you're weighing all your options. If he disarms you, you'll be forced to submit to his will. That's not favorable. If he leaves without your help—which is unlikely—he'll be trotting through the halls, trying to build a cover and dodge the heightened security. That won't work either. And, if he escapes—there's no doubt he'll come back for vengeance. You can't have that either.

"The hospital is going into lockdown," you explain, keeping your gaze on his. "No one can come in and out that's not part of the staff."

He locks his jaw. One of your hands descends from the handle, moving to the pocket of your scrubs. "They're going to require a scan at each exit point, so you'll need a badge."

You remove the badge from your body, unraveling the clipper from the fabric. His darkened gaze follows while you slowly extend the tag—a peace offering of some sort.

His hand clenches by his side before his other hand reaches forward and snatches the badge from your grip. He takes his time examining the small plastic and the card inside, then lifts his head to meet your gaze with an unreadable expression. "Why?"

"I told you, I didn't call anyone," you say. "But I can tell you need to leave. I can get you out because I don't want any problems."

His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling in unsteady beats. He doesn't say anything for the longest time, chipping away at the escape, before he drops from the bed and stands to his fullest height.

"I can't go out looking like this."

He's right. You practically shredded his shirt as you were trying to save his life. If he walks out, half-naked, barely stitched together with a bandage, regardless of the classified badge, they're going to question him.

Glancing around the room, you find a lab coat on a hook and throw it at him. He slips his arms through the long, white sleeves and covers himself up—looking presentable. Almost. If not for the light bruising on the side of his face, the swelling on his bottom lip, the swollenness of his knuckles, and the dried blood staining his fingertips.

But they won't look closely.

You think.

You back up as he steps forward, closer to the door. Peeking outside the hallway, when the coast is clear, he departs, clutching the badge in one hand and his wounded chest in the other.

It takes a few moments for it to pass, for you to truly grasp the gravity of your situation. When you finally do, you lower your aching arms, drop the gun back onto the metal cart, and exhale the largest sigh of relief.

—

It's been a week since the hospital incident.

You received a new badge, under the false pretense that you misplaced the last one, and you've been returning to a routine. You refuse to do overtime without a familiar acquaintance tagging along, and you've been catching rides from your peers from the hospital.

Afterward, the news disclosed a shootout that happened on the streets a couple blocks down from your workplace. Three people died, and the police are investigating the matter. It didn't take long for you to connect the dots of who shot who, and who walked out alive.

You've been busying yourself with life. From attending classes to producing research, to working late-night shifts at the hospital. It's been a ruthless cycle, that you've barely had time to breathe.

Walking home from one of the nearby cafes, where you're studying for your upcoming exams, you take a short stroll to your apartment. It's getting late; most of the street parking is taken, few people linger on the sidewalk, and the street lamps cast a soft glow against the brownstone of the apartment complexes.

This is a safer neighborhood, much more than your place of work. The crime rate is relatively lower, but that doesn't stop you from being on edge. Especially with your recent incident. You're cautious of your surroundings, checking every little shadow, and listening out for heavy footfalls. Your paranoia reaches its all-time high.

But nothing happens. Not today, not yesterday, and certainly not tomorrow. You turn the corner to your building, the familiar shade of your apartment allows you to catch a breath of fresh air.

Until you hear the familiar click, followed by the hard kiss of metal pressing against the base of your skull.

All the hair stands up. Your nerves are humming with fear. And you pray it's different, it's new, but your wishes are shattered the moment the gruff, harsh voice greets you, his mouth against your ear.

"Miss me?"

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dunmeshistash · 8 months ago

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Interview to celebrate the opening of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

About Delicious in Dungeon: Story making

Q1. Your first long-running series has lasted for about 9 and a half years. Has it been different from your previous experience drawing short stories?

A1. Compared to short stories, the series has been easier because the same characters appear each time. But I was surprised to find that I got tired of drawing the same characters too many times.

Q2. You have said before that the overall structure of the story was decided before serialization began, but how much of that had you communicated to your editor? Also, what kind of communication did you have during the series production?

A2. The goal was something we discussed and had decided on from the beginning. The goal itself was simple, but the path to get there was more difficult and took longer than imagined.

Q3. Regarding the overall story concept and development, did you write out or put anything down in writing (such as the plot)?

A3. I did, but it was simple.

Q4. Did you come up with the dishes based on the monsters you wanted in the story? Or did you come up with the monsters based on the dishes?

A4. It depended on the story, but usually the story came first followed by the monsters or food. I feel like that was most often the order.

Q5. As you progressed in drawing the series, what elements of the characters, story, or world expanded or grew in the most unexpected way?

A5. Nothing particularly unexpected perhaps. When I used to draw web manga, I tended to think up inconsequential settings. So, from the beginning I tried to restrain myself as much as possible and not expand too much. I was surprised when my editor said "Let's expand it more," in the second half of the series.

Q6. "Delicious in Dungeon" starts with a relatively simple setting, but as the series and the labyrinth exploration continues, the map slowly expands little by little in the readers' minds. It becomes more three-dimensional, revealing the secrets of the world, and taking on a multilayered structure. Are there any sources that you used as a reference, or which influenced you in creating this multilayered structure?

A6. A long time ago, when I was working on my personal web manga (fantasy), I drew it however I wanted, thinking that "Only people who can read this will read it," but I regularly received feedback that it was "unreadable", so I tried to make it as easily. accessible as possible.

Q7. The series combines many elements, including "fantasy", "gourmet", "battles", and "puzzle solving", but I think it's also important that it is a "comedy" which makes people laugh. Could you let us know if you have a creative commitment towards depicting humor?

A7. My hopes are that I can make it fun for people to read.

[page 5]

About Delicious in Dungeon: Drawing manga

Q1. Please tell us about the drawing tools you currently use, both digital and analogue.

A1. In terms of analogue tools, I use a light box, a G pen, a round pen, and a brush pen. And for digital, I use CLIP STUDIO PAINT and a Wacom LCD tablet. Screentone pasting is always done on the computer, so ultimately it all ends up as a digital manuscript.

Q2. Do you have any rules or reasons for using digital and analog separately?

A2. I'm always looking for ways to draw better and save time, so the exact approach is probably different for almost every chapter. Personally, I feel that analogue methods create more appealing lines, but I feel like digital saves time, so maybe I'll do a digital rough sketch and do the inking by hand… I might have been using a G pen, and maybe I'll try out a turnip pen, or this time I'm short on time so I'll draw it entirely digitally, but with digital I can redo it over and over, so maybe analogue is still faster, and so on and so forth. I'm indecisive in this way and so haven't developed a consistent process.

Q3. I understand that you prepare 3D data for your assistants to draw the backgrounds. What kind of data did you make for "Delicious in Dungeon" ?

A3. You could call it 3D, but it's not a proper model, just something to help with the rough sketching. I line up cubes to share the perspective and sense of scale, and they use it as a reference.

Q4. At the beginning of the series, the characters and backgrounds were somewhat simply drawn, and it seems like they became richly detailed over the progression of the story. What was your intention behind using these different styles?

A4. It's simply that my technique isn't stable. I thought I'd put a lot of effort in at the start. I remember being confused when my editor asked me to add more in to the drawing, and I wondered "Where…?"

Q5. Thinking about the food, were there any menu illustrations that you were particularly satisfied with, or which you struggled with?

A5. I've never liked my own food illustrations. But the times when I read other people's manga and thought "That looks delicious," I think it's been more an influence of the movement, the staging, and the situation than the drawings.

Q6. For the world maps and the terrain of each continent, did you refer to any maps of the real world? I feel like the shape of the 'island' is similar to the shape of Fukuoka Prefecture or Kyushu.

A6. I didn't reference any specific geography, but I did try to put thought into things like whether a developed city would be near a river or the sea, and what the coastline would look like. I'm pleased if it feels similar to a real place, because it means my interpretation was pretty accurate.

About Delicious in Dungeon: Other

Q1. Which is your favorite monster?

A1. Nightmare.

Q2. I'm sure you have received a lot of feedback from readers in countries and regions outside of Japan. Please tell us if there was anything from them that made you happy, was unexpected, or which made a lasting impression on you.

A2. When you play foreign games, there are times when you think "Why did they translate it into Japanese like that?" But having been on the side of having something translated, I've realized some things are unavoidable, or endless, and there are many things that don't matter either way from the author's perspective, so it was interesting.

About Ryoko Kui's short story collections and herself

Q1. Dragons are a consistent and important motif in your work. Was there any particular work or experience which inspired this? Also, are there points about drawing dragons which you find interesting or have had to work hard on?

A1. It's less about liking dragons, and more that I'm interested in the worlds in which dragons exist. When I draw dragons, the depiction in itself has a sweet feeling to it. I have never had a pet reptile, so I don't have a very good understanding of them.

Q2. Unomiya University in your story "The dragon's school is on top of the mountain" has a Faculty of Dragons, Department of Environmental Studies, and Department of Technology Studies, and a Faculty of Veterinary Medicine. If you were to enroll in the university, which department or faculty would you like to enter?

A2. I probably wouldn't be accepted….

Q3. The collection includes a short story staged as an essay manga. Are you a fan of essay manga? Please tell us about any genres of essay manga that you like.

A3. I love all kinds of essay manga. I read them often.

Q4. If you were to make your own game, what kind of game would you like to make?

A4. I prefer being a player when it comes to games.

Q5. When did you first start drawing illustrations (doodles)?

A5. I don't exactly remember when I first drew a picture, but I think I started drawing manga around the fourth or fifth grade of elementary school. in my notebooks and had my friends read them.

Q6. What is the most fun part about drawing manga?

A6. Every part is fun and hard in its own way.

Q7. Please tell us if there is anything you "just can't stop no matter what".

A7. My procrastination habit.

Q8. Could you please tell us if there's something you want to draw now?

A8. I've been working continuously since the serialization, so I'd like to take about 2 to 3 months to just draw whatever I want.

#Dungeon Meshi #qna #Ryoko Kui #longpost #long post #ryoko kui exhibition #delicious in dungeon exhibition #interview #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #exhibition

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 5 months ago

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Season 3 Official Trailer Breakdown

*Huge disclaimer that this show is so unpredictable that all of my guesses will probably be wrong. I know many of these shots are probably misdirections and missing important context.*

Lottie spotted alive and well and looking great (with a bodyguard? Or just a very well dressed man?)

A series of scenes that imply Nat is definitely in some hot water this season. It seems that she might have known where Coach Ben was but didn’t tell the group to protect him, which pisses the rest of the group off enough to question her leadership. Unlike Lottie, Nat wasn’t chosen by the group to lead them, which will likely result in tension and resentment from those who feel like she didn’t earn her new title. The group is shifting towards ferocity and darker morals, so maybe Nat can't meet the group’s needs or take them down the path they want to go on. Maybe the trial we saw in the first trailer was actually related to Nat? But why would Coach Ben be there in the background for that?

With the way Nat looks on her knees in the middle of the group and the vitriol she seems to be facing, I am so interested to see how she makes it out of this alive. However, I do think it’s important to note that, in the close up shot we get of her with blood on her face, there are no actual wounds visible. It could be someone else’s blood!

And related to that, we see the group setting up what appears to be a makeshift table. As we saw with Javi, I wonder if this table is being set up to butcher something (or someone) on. Or just to have a nice innocent family feast on.

I think it’s interesting to note that the clip immediately following this is Nat in what appears to be an apron with her hair pulled back. To me this looks like Nat is going to be the one doing the butchering in this scene (the apron and her hair being pulled back implies that she’s trying not to get blood on her clothes and hair). Could Nat be relegated to Shauna’s role as the butcher after Shauna becomes the new leader? Or is she just filling in for the moment?

It looks like Travis might be getting bit here (by Shauna?) while Lottie laughs. I really have no guesses as to what’s going on here. Maybe Travis stood up for Nat and therefore was attacked? I have a feeling Travis is going to be very conflicted as to where his loyalties lie this season, which might make him a target. The first image could actually be Mari getting the chomp, though, as we have already seen a clip of Shauna biting her hand in the previous trailer.

It looks like Tai is attacking Van here (!!), which I'm willing to bet is Other Tai taking over, and we also see Tai screaming and crying (which I'm guessing is related to her attacking Van?). I'm wondering if this could be some kind of nightmare Taissa is having of losing control and hurting Van, which reflects how she is afraid of herself and her lack of control over her darker alternate. Or it could be her actually attacking Van. And is it just me or does it look like they are wearing the same outfits in the attacking scene and the scene where they're running through the street?

It looks like Shauna (and likely the other survivors) will be receiving some threatening letters and tape recordings from an unknown source (Shauna says that someone is trying to kill them for what they did in the wilderness). It looks like Shauna received both a letter (notably addressed to Shauna Shipman, not Sadecki, which could be a way of hinting that this person knows her past) and a tape? And then it looks like she is trying to secretly play the tape in her bathroom (trying to hide it from Callie and Jeff?).

There's another clip of Mari running from the group again and hiding behind a tree, very reminiscent of when Nat hid behind the tree after drawing the Queen card in S2. Even though Mari does look genuinely scared here, the second clip of Mari laughing with Van in what appears to be the same scene makes me wonder if this is actually not Mari running for her life and rather just a fun game the YJs are playing. Maybe they're literally playing tag or something? Or maybe they were playing a harmless game which quickly devolved into something darker.

A closer shot of Tai holding the gun. This time, we can see she is not as stoic as she appeared in the promotional images we saw before. She's crying, and I feel like that combined with the following clip of blood splattered on some leaves nearby confirms that Tai put to the task of shooting someone in this scene. Mari is in the background, so its not her, so is it Coach Ben? Why is Tai the one chosen to carry it out?

We see more of that scene where Shauna is being pulled down into the lake by someone/something. I truly have no idea what is going on in this scene. I am kind of hoping that its Nat taking revenge and trying to threaten her/drown her but I am 90% sure that's not going to happen. Who do we think would try to drown Shauna?

Pretty sure this is Mari spraying Shauna with some kind of mace! And by the looks of it, Shauna probably deserves it (sorry). Maybe this is following the scene where Shauna is trying to bite Mari's hand and then Mari sprays her with whatever this is to defend herself?

A shot of a hooded figure holding the rifle, with some other hooded figures following behind. To me this looks like some kind of search party, like they are hunting someone down who ran away and hid. I wonder if they're looking for Nat? Especially after Shauna's "We'll give the wilderness what it wants" line. They could also be searching for Coach Ben or Mari.

Tai and Misty about to smother someone to death in a hospital?? I would think this person must know too much about what they did in the wilderness and therefore they have to kill him. Another part of me is really just hoping they're smothering Lottie's dad to death because I know he's going to be in this season and I really hate that guy, but I am also pretty sure that's just wishful thinking on my part.

Things aren't looking too good for Akilah. The expression on her face and the way she's being held up by someone make it seem like she just got shot or stabbed/is actively dying. But not sure if they would be bold enough to show that in the trailer. Whatever is happening to Akilah here, she definitely doesn't look like she's doing too great.

I'll say it: I think we're getting a Pit Girl reveal this season! Or at least we will get up to the point in the storyline right before Pit Girl. These are the same outfits we see the group donning in the opening scene of the pilot episode. We can clearly see the skunk head (referred to as The Hunter in the script) who was standing over the pit trap looking down at Pit Girl's body. It is still pretty impossible to tell who's who. But I think this tells us that Season 3 will go through spring, summer, and into the beginning of the second winter (or we could just be getting flash-forwards to winter). Looks like they've gone full feral at this point, they've got spears and they are definitely hunting someone down. I wonder if this is actually the Pit Girl scene itself, just from the perspective of the hunters now instead of the prey.

This is pretty much confirmed to be Lottie given that we have behind the scenes photos of Simone Kessell wearing this exact dress and heels. Lottie, I am so scared for you, please be okay. hoping she's just passed out or something. Or maybe she just got tired and she's taking a nap...on a dark mysterious concrete floor surrounded by candles.

And last but absolutely not least we have Lottie eating the fuck out of someone with blood all over her face. The cannibalism in this season has been turned up to 11 for sure.

There are some shots that I left out because I ran out of room! There are just so many details in this trailer that I want to unpack, but I tried to pick out the ones I found most important. Some other important shots not mentioned were the arrow in the tree trunk (I'm guessing this is actually the adult timeline since I'm really not sure where the girls would get an arrow like that in the wilderness, unless it belongs to someone outside of the group👀), a Queen card being picked up off the street in the adult timeline, the floating lantern scene we have seen in promotional photos, the girls having a feast, Travis walking with the rifle, and the girls running around their makeshift huts having fun (wholesome).

#sorry if i missed anything!#I will be wrong about all of this mark my words #and i fully expect all of you to pretend you never saw this when that happens #yellowjackets #yellowjackets season 3 #yj #natalie scatorccio #lottie matthews #misty quigley #taissa turner #shauna shipman #van palmer

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smallmariofindings · 9 months ago

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In Super Mario 64 DS, Wario can swim underneath Shifting Sand Land. Wario has an obscure ability to defeat Tox Boxes by punching them from inside, which causes them to fly off the stone path and land in the sand.

If a Tox Box lands in a precise position near the oasis, Wario can clip underneath it as shown in the footage, after which he will enter a swimming state that will extend indefinitely until he either surfaces or dies. This allows Wario to reach any part of the level by swimming underneath it.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: radmcbad1576

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ponyosmom35 · 7 months ago

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they know

simon ghost riley x reader

synopsis: the team learns that reader is being followed by enemies and they rush to save her.

Link to master list:https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She spent the day wandering Simon's hometown, immersing herself in every story and memory he'd shared with her. It was a quiet village, the kind of place where everyone seemed to know one another, and she could easily picture Simon here, growing up among these familiar streets and rolling hills.

Her first stop was the pub he'd talked about—the one where he'd had his first drink. The smell of aged wood and faint traces of ale filled the air as she stepped inside. She ordered a pint of the local brew he'd always said was "decent enough" and found a small table in the corner. As she sat sipping her drink, she could almost see him as a lanky teenager, sitting in this very spot, laughing with friends, his deep voice carrying over the din.

From there, she wandered to the corner shop he'd often mentioned. It was small but charming, with shelves packed tightly with everything from groceries to trinkets. She bought a pack of biscuits he'd once claimed were the best in the world. Opening them right outside, she tried one and laughed softly to herself—it tasted like plain shortbread. She imagined teasing him about his questionable tastes.

Her next destination was the park he'd described as his thinking spot. The air was crisp, and the ground was soft with winter's lingering dampness. She walked along the worn paths, passing skeletal trees and the occasional bird flitting through the branches. Finally, she found the bench he'd told her about, nestled near the top of a small hill.

Sitting down, she gazed out over the quiet expanse of countryside, the rolling hills stretching into the distance. A faint smile touched her lips as she pictured Simon here, lost in thought, his sharp mind working through whatever weighed on him at the time. She could hear his voice in her head, teasing her about how she'd probably get mud on her boots but assuring her he'd clean them for her later.

For the first time in months, she felt a bittersweet sense of peace. This was his world, and though he wasn't with her, being here made her feel closer to him. She allowed herself to imagine what it would've been like if things had turned out differently—if he'd been here with her, showing her around, his hand in hers as they made their way through the places he loved.

When the sun dipped low, and the chill deepened, she finally left the park. Walking back to her hotel, she carried the day's memories with her, a quiet ache in her chest but also a small, flickering warmth. She'd had a good day, and for that, she was grateful.

At the same time, Simon sat in a dim, makeshift office at the safehouse, his laptop open in front of him. The mission was a nightmare—Makarov's men were always one step ahead, their network far more extensive than anticipated. Despite the chaos, his thoughts constantly drifted back to her. He knew she was in London; he'd been monitoring her flights, ensuring she stayed away from their current operations.

His phone buzzed on the desk, the secure line lighting up. He snatched it immediately. "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end was clipped, urgent. "We've got a problem. Two of Makarov's men were spotted tailing her."

Simon froze, the air seeming to drain from the room. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. They're keeping a low profile, but it's her they're watching."

Simon's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Where is she now?"

"Still in the village. But if they're following her, it's only a matter of time before they make a move."

Simon didn't waste a second. He stormed out of the room, his voice ringing out in the quiet safehouse. "Soap! Price! Gaz!"

Within minutes, the four of them were packed into a truck, speeding down the motorway. Price was behind the wheel, his face set in grim determination. Simon sat in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing restlessly as his mind raced.

"How the hell did they know she was here?" Simon demanded, his voice sharp with fear and anger.

"They've probably got eyes everywhere," Price replied, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "If she's on their list, it wouldn't take long for someone to spot her."

Simon swore under his breath, raking a hand down his face. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered panic that was unlike him.

In the backseat, Soap leaned forward, concern etched across his face. "Simno, we'll get to her in time. Don't—"

"Drive faster!" Simon barked, cutting him off. His voice cracked slightly, and he slammed his fist against the dashboard. "She doesn't know she's being followed. She has no idea—" His words choked off, and he took a shaky breath before glancing at Price. "Please, just drive faster."

Price pressed harder on the accelerator, the truck roaring as it tore down the road.

Soap exchanged a worried glance with Gaz, who had remained silent but tense beside him. None of them had ever seen Simon like this—shaken, frantic, and desperate. It was unnerving to witness.

Soap leaned closer to Gaz and whispered, "I've never seen him like this before."

"Love will do that to you," Gaz responded.

Simon ignored them, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white. Every second that passed felt like a lifetime.

In his mind, he could see her smile, hear her laugh, feel her warmth against him. He'd given up everything to keep her safe, and now, it was all unraveling. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever.

The city lights blurred past as they sped toward her, the tension in the truck thick enough to choke on. Simon's heart pounded rapidly as he tried to keep the dark thoughts about what could happen to her away.

"We'll get there, kid. Nobody here would ever let anything happen to her. You know that."

Simon nodded and gripped the butt of his rifle as he closed his eyes and attempted to calm down.

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monstrifex-art · 2 years ago

Text

Howls in the Heights

Art and story by me, for the TF anthology Shifts from the Shelves.

Story:

Smoke hung in the air like an unanswered question. Between the blotchy wallpaper and the liquor-stained floorboards, the poker room couldn’t accurately be described as “nice.” But Donovan owed me a favor, so for the time being this space in the back of his bar was mine. The faint music of a jazz combo leaked under the door, distant and a little sad. I stretched, twine running through my fingers as I looped it around the tack pinning a balding man’s mug-shot to the wall.

“That one’s kind of handsome,” Rita mused from behind me.

I scoffed and shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita stood close enough that I could smell her perfume. She was watching me map my thoughts on the wall with casual amusement, her dark eyes skimming lightly over the collection of newspaper clippings and photographs.

“Maybe he was. But he’s not looking so good anymore.” I uncapped a pen and drew a large red X over his face. “Handyman Wharton was a real piece of work. But no one deserves to die like that. These murders… in all my years of investigating, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Mmm, sounds to me like he had it coming,” she breathed as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Rita was beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight. She had wavy hair that fell like a black curtain on one side of her face, eyelids and lips done up in a matching smoky coal. Tonight she wore a cocktail dress that poured smoothly down her curves. The thin fabric left very little to the imagination.

Rita and I had crossed paths in a couple chance encounters over the last couple weeks. She had a habit of turning up just as things were getting interesting, and making just about everything a little more complicated. For some reason she seemed to take a shine to me. We’d started spending nights together, and she proved as enthusiastic between the sheets as she was on the dance floor. Maybe more so.

“I’m getting close,” I murmured softly. “All these bodies—there’s a pattern here. Crime barons, crooked cops… someone is making a power play for this city’s underworld. Whoever they are, they can’t hide from the truth.”

Rita slid off my back and glided over to the card table where she’d left her lighter. She sat, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long drag from the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder.

“I like watching you think, Detective. It’s like watching an old car struggle up a steep road.”

“This car still has some miles left in it,” I chuckled. “See here—Wharton was a regular at the Glass Eye. You remember, where we met at the craps table. And here, if my sources are right, Wharton was smuggling ammo for the Pinstripe gang. They’re based out of Turnstile, where you took me to see that boxing match. Hell, if I didn’t know any better Rita I’d say…”

Something cold ran down my spine. Old instincts flared to life, telling me I’d just stumbled into something big. My eyes flitted from headline to headshot, arcs of twine adding up in an intricate equation. My thoughts clicked like a typewriter, checking hunch against evidence, step-by-step. It was impossible but… the data points aligned. How could…

“Ahhh… starting to put the pieces together, are we, darling?” Rita’s voice found me from far away, as if I was at the bottom of a well. I turned to face her, limbs numb.

“You…”

She smiled, white teeth flashing in the smoky gloom. “Of course it was me, dear. It was all me. All along.”

“But… the bodies. They were torn apart. How did you…”

She laughed in that pitying little way she did when she knew something I didn’t. The melodic sound of it almost made me want to laugh with her.

“Mhmhmm aww, you still look so confused! Don’t worry sweet thing, this one is above your pay grade.” She stood with a little flourish, like a magician’s assistant. “Here. Perhaps a demonstration will make you understand.”

A part of my mind, not sure which, suddenly sounded alarm bells. An instinct to run pumped through me, made my heart beat fast and my perception sharpen. Rita was just standing there, but some awareness deep in my hindbrain was screaming danger. Predator. Flee.

I gritted my teeth. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the answer.

A shiver ran across Rita’s pale skin, starting at her back and working out to her limbs. I could see her hair stand on end. She stretched, luxuriating in the movement. Her lips parted, and a long sigh streamed from her throat like a release of pressurized air. “Hahhhh… You’re about to see who I really am, dearest.”

A quiet snapping noise, then another. Dozens of meaty clicks inside her like the sound of dislocating joints. Rita pitched forward, bending double in a violent motion that knocked the card table behind her slamming to the floor. She gasped, lurching upright with an ecstatic grin on her face. Her eyes! They had changed, darker around the edges and brighter in the middle. Her pupils reflected light like burning headlights. I couldn’t look away.

“All the rest, it’s an… affectation. Like a favorite dress that I wear around town.”

Her elbow-length gloves were starting to tear. I could see dark fur through the rips, black claws cutting neatly through the satin fingertips. She groaned, and I could hear the timbre of her voice roughening. Something cracked in her legs. Her feet shifted, pushing her taller inch by inch as they extended into long sinewy paws.

Her dress clung tightly to her curves as her frame broadened. The cloth strained, her collar line deepening as the flesh of her shoulders and chest rippled with new bulk. I could see her nipples pressing through the black cloth, erect with sensation.

She gestured to the dress, to her glittering necklace and sheer stockings. “This, all these pretty things. It used to be me… Gruuhh.” Her voice faltered as an involuntary growl rattled through her. She smiled sweetly, regaining her composure. “But not anymore.”

The fabric gave with a loud tearing noise as a large tail, black and shaggy, thrust out behind her. She took a few balancing steps forward, then reached up to brush the hair out of her face with one clawed hand. Her breathing was coming deep and heavy now, hot fog mingling with smoke in curls around her smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling. I do love our little song-and-dances. Being the stunning vision on your arm is a treat! But the real me can’t dazzle a cocktail party in quite the same way.”

She grimaced, and I could see her teeth lengthening into interlocking fangs. Fur crept down her face, pressing in at the edges of her cheeks and trailing down her nose.

She blinked and stared deep into me with those burning eyes. “I clean up pretty nice, wouldn’t you say? I certainly had you fooled!” She cackled with a wild abandon that approached madness.

Her shaking laughter choked off into gasps as she convulsed with another surge of growth. The wet sounds of her bones rearranging were almost drowned out by the noise of her widening hips and shoulders finally tearing her dress to ribbons. I could just see her face masked in shadow, distorting and stretching as her mouth extended into a snout full of pointed lupine teeth. Rivulets of saliva dripped from her black lips.

I stumbled away instinctively, felt the pins of my map wall dig into my back. Stray clues drifted to the floor like leaves. I could feel my cheeks burning hot as I tried to look away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from her nakedness as it was torn free before me.

Between gasping breaths, she laughed violently. “YOUR FACE!” she snarled, muzzle curling into a feral grin. “You weren’t this SHY when we MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!”

She was right, of course. I had seen every inch of her in our evenings together. But there was something about seeing her this way—it was rawer, deeper, more intimate and carnal. I was enraptured with a fascination that had never possessed me during our previous dalliances. I couldn’t understand it. I was hopelessly lost in the rhythm of her shifting flesh. Why? The scene before me was horrific, so why was I feeling this way?

“You’re… I just… I…” I stammered, struggling to put words in order.

“You still WANT me, DON’T YOU?” She was shouting now. “I can smell your desire… What is it you always say? YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE TRUTH, DETECTIVE!”

That was it. I was more attracted to her now than I ever had been before. What was wrong with me? Why did my heart feel like it was about to pound its way out of my chest? I shut my eyes, turning away with a strangled cry.

“I don’t understand! Please… I can’t, I don’t…”

“LOOK AT ME, DARLING.”

I blinked toward her, seeing only blurred glimpses. I saw the fur bristling from muscle-laden thighs, the tattered sweat-soaked remnants of her dress stretched over her rippling abdominals. God, parts of her were still so human. She wasn’t an animal or a person - she was something monstrous in-between. She was a terrifying beast, but she was still recognizably… her.

“LOOK AT ME!” she roared, and the room shook. I cried out, and opened my eyes to behold her entirely.

She was beautiful.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

I stepped toward her, and fell into her arms as she embraced me. We fell together to a gasping heap on the floor. We began anew, pressing ourselves into one another with bestial fervor.

The case would have to go on a little while longer.

#art #monster #Rita #werewolf #transformation #story

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soothinglee · 1 year ago

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what would i do? (without someone like you) ──★ ˙🌱 ̟ ¡!

bangchan x ninth member! reader | 1.6k words✔︎

my notes⎯ i re-wrote this thing so many times i've lost count lol. i don't know if i'm satisfied with this because i couldn't convey the feeling as well as i wanted but i still like it! hope you enjoy! (also #bangchantakecareofyourself) warnings⎯ self neglect, reader taking care of bangchan. genre⎯ ninth member! au, angst, comfort, (heavily implied) self-neglect, platonic. songs⎯ what would i do?; strawberry guy

⎯catalog for skz✰ | ⎯ navigation✰ [requests are open]

"are you okay chan?"

the question lingers in the air for a hot second. it floats around until it hits the distracted ear of chan, who sits with his face resting on his chin, unmoving from his seat at the desk.

he blinks after a second, the fog slowly clearing from his eyes.

"huh?" his voice sounds distant as he resumes fiddling with the unfinished track.

you could tell that something was off in his demeanor. his postured was slouched, arms weak in their positions as he tries to fight off the sleep to continue working. you figured it had been a while since he had rest. you all were pre-paring for a comeback and with that comes a lot of work. new concepts, new looks, new songs. a high expectation bangchan finds himself fretting over due to the preconceived notions stays has on the upcoming album.

you've seen bangchan re-write a song 15 times because he thought stays wouldn't like one lyric. everyone, including you, has told him that he could only remove that one line, and keep the rest but he had the idea that everything has to flow together. which is why he's on take #16.

you give him a once over, your brows creasing. "i said are you okay?" he gives you a quick glance, his head bouncing as he goes back to his laptop, "how about you take a break?"

"can't."

a quiet sigh leaves your lips as you get up from the couch. the sky had darken as more time was spent in the studio, the only light source was the small table lamp in the far corner in the room. even then you could see just how much all of this was affecting him.

his eyes were sunken in, big purple-red like bruises encase them. he lifts up his hand to rub at the irritated skin. anyone could tell that he was exhausted.

your hands come up to rub out the kinks in his shoulders, "you're exhausted."

his body is defiant in letting him relax into your soothing touch, he hesitates for a second, letting the final moments of the massage sit in before he lightly shakes you off. "no time for sleep. i took a nap earlier, and i had a cup of coffee." he goes back to the track he was clipping.

an eyebrow raise, "how much earlier?"

this time he sighs and drops both hands. "y/n..."

"i'm just looking out for you. as the leader you have to take care of yourself, because if you aren't, then how do you expect to take care of us?" you know the question hits hard when you feel his body freeze underneath your hands. you stare at the back of his head, in the corner of your eye you see his shadow move a fraction and then his head drops. "you know that you don't have to be so hard on yourself," you take a moment to gauge his reaction, then a soft, "right?"

he releases a shaky breath, muttering.

you let your hands find the base of his neck, letting them go down to follow the path of his shoulder, willing the words from his throat. when you first joined stray kids, you were extremely nervous to the point where you couldn't speak, bangchan found that the movement worked well. you hoped it would work as well in your favor.

"i" he starts, his voice broken under the amount of stress resting on his chest, "yeah...i know."

you nod to yourself, a prideful smile on your lips, "okay then, why don't you take a break, let han or changbin finish it up in the morning," he goes to interject but you're quick to cut in, "and don't worry about putting this on them," taking the words from his mouth, "i'm sure they won't mind.

for the first time since he entered the studio, it's been almost 5 hours, he looks up at you and you can just see how much it's all affecting him, even down to the glassy look rising in his eyes.

he doesn't say anything but stare. he still looks hesitant. like at any moment he'll run off with the laptop and lock himself in a closet.

you stare back.

30 seconds, maybe a minute passes before a defeated look crosses over his face, letting his head drop onto your outstretched arm. wordlessly, he gives you one last look, then turns around to save the file, exit out of the software, and shuts down his computer.

"okay."

"okay?" you can't help the happiness that laces your tone.

"okay, i'll take a break, get some rest."

a squeal escapes your throat as you hold yourself back from celebrating, you honestly didn't think it was going to be as easy as it was. "i'm glad you're doing this, you need to give yourself some time to repair." you step back as he rises from the chair, holding on to his arm as he tries to return the feeling back to his legs, "how about you let me take care of you tonight? we can stop by the convenience store on the way home and pick up some snacks?"

chan immediately shakes his head, "i can't let you do that."

you bend down to retrieve your bag from the couch, making a pit stop by the lamp to turn it off, "why not?" you question, meeting him at the door. he leans on it for support. "you do it for me all the time."

"exactly," he holds open the door for you as you make your way out into the hallway, as you walk several offices are lit up by the occupants inside, you can only hope that they are not in the same situation as the man next to you. "as your elder, i'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."

you scoff, rolling your eyes, "please, you know how many times i have had to take care of changbin after he gets sick because he ate too much? this is nothing new."

for the first time in 3 days a sound embodying the phrase ha ha ha escapes his lips. it's so hearty and abrupt that he has to stop walking. it brings a little smile to your face.

"what?" you groan, playing into it. "it's not funny! it was so annoying, i'm serious!" you latch onto his arm to continue dragging him out and into the lobby, nodding at the lady at the front desk as you pass, "he sounded like a baby with the way he was complaining."

"trust," he starts, regaining his breath, "i've had to deal with that before." he huffs and looks at you, then the giggles come back and you can't help but join him. it lasts until you get to the front doors of eMart.

before you can pass through the threshold a hand yanks you back. you look up to find chan already staring at you, an indescribable glint in his eyes. "yeah?"

it takes him a second to gather his thoughts, mouth opening and closing undecidedly. after a moment he finally finds his voice, hand gripping onto the sleeve of your jacket. "...thank you." he blinks and a stray tear falls, "it means a lot."

you can't help the watery smile that graces itself on your lips, the sudden affection throwing you off guard. you reach up and brush the tears from his face, using two fingers to turn the corner of his mouth upwards, "don't thank me. you always take care of us, someone has to take care of you."

you pull him towards the automatic doors, listening as the chime of the robotic voice welcomes you in. the sight of the noodles you were craving makes your stomach growl. "c'mon! i know what i want to get!"

even though this was supposed to be a break from making music, chan can't help the melody that repeats in his head as he watches you, still gripping onto his hand, drag him through the isles.

he knew he had to make something for you, as a token of appreciation.

A WEEK LATER⎯

it had been sometime since you had last been in the studio. all of the songs and planning for the comeback were completed and now you all were in the final stages, preparing for the promotions.

thankfully, today was your day off.

it had been raining nonstop, the water covering the streets and sidewalks like a blanket. even though it was 4 o'clock in the evening, clouds covered the sun making it seem more like 6.

it was perfect for a nap.

as you were getting into your bed your phone on the dresser vibrates and you grudgingly get up to retrieve it. you tap it once and the notification center pops up;

chanツ now

what would i do?.mp4

as soon as you open the message, a little confused, another text roles in.

a couple weeks ago i was going through a rough patch of overworking myself to the brink of exhaustion. i hadn't ate, bathe, or slept properly in days before. then you came and convinced me to take a break, to take care of myself. before you joined the group i was always worried about taking care of the others that i never took care of myself. you helped me realize that. i'm not trying to belittle the others for their self-awareness skills but you are the first in a long time to take care of me like that. and it had me thinking. what would i do without someone like you? and despite you telling me to take a break this came to mind and i couldn't stop myself. so y/n, this goes to you. thank you for taking care of me that night. i hope you know that i will always take care of you too.

love, bangchan.

and as you listen to the track you can't help the tears that follow.

thank you for reading <3

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nahisummerhold · 13 days ago

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DWC May 2025 Day 2 - Placate/Graceful (This ended up way longer than I thought it would) The afternoon sun cast warm light over the freshly turned earth of the Summerhold estate’s newly planted garden. Nahilvi Summerhold knelt among young shoots barely breaking through the soil, her gloves caked with damp dirt, sleeves pushed back and streaked with mud. The scent of rich earth and new beginnings filled the air. She was on a short break from her classes and wanted to take some time to come out and help with getting the garden back into shape.

Soft footsteps on the gravel path drew her attention. “Lady Summerhold,” came a cool clipped greeting.

Nahilvi looked up to see Lady Sunspell approaching, her crimson robes pristine and her gaze sweeping over Nahi, seeing curls that had escaped where they had been gathered at the nape of her neck and the dirty clothes and leather working gloves. “Lady Sunspell,” Nahilvi greeted with a warm smile, rising and brushing soil from her sleeves.

The noblewoman’s eyes drifted over Nahi’s muddy clothes, escaped curls, and worn gloves.. “I’ve heard troubling rumors, Lady Summerhold, whispers that you are building a brothel here on Summerhold estate.”

Nahilvi blinked at the older woman and shook her head, “You heard what?”

“You are not deaf Lady Summerhold, there are rumors that you displaced your family so you could build a brothel here.” Sunspell’s gaze sharpened. “I want you to know that I will not stand for such a thing, it is despicable that you would even consider it.”

Nahi folded her hands with practiced calm, drawing on the patience she had once reserved for her mother’s darker moods. “May I ask who you heard this from?” The golden haired woman sniffed disdainfully, “I got it from the source, your uncle, Lord Hoovanil. He believes the Summerhold estate should not be in your hands at all after you deserted it for so many years, and that you would even think to pervert it is a shame to the Court.” “I can see why you might be bothered by such rumors,” Nahi decided to lead this dance, not be spun out of control. She gestured to the pathway away from where the other noble had approached, deeper into the areas that had been planted already. “I hope you do not mind if I address these rumors independently. I did not completely desert the estate, it is true that my mother and I did not return here after the Prince’s court fell. We barely made it out and The Diva was injured as the attack came in the middle of the night’s performance.” It was a bit of a dramatic emphasis on the last, it had not been her mother performing at the time, but reminding this woman who her mother was and the weight her mother had held in court was easy enough to emphasize.

“With her injury I felt it best that she be attended to by a physician we were comfortable with and his home was in Dalaran,” she looked to the sky as if she could see the ghost of the city in the sky now. “My father was lost and I hired people to search for him as seeing to my parents' well being was my first priority.” Again, she stretched the truth slightly, she had done all of that, but the search for her father was not something she had engaged in right away, his loss did bother her still and she made no effort to hide that, her eyes trailing to the house. The path led them steadily toward the modest manor, its weathered facade impossible to miss. Nahilvi said nothing, guiding Lady Sunspell to the veranda where fresh plaster veiled old cracks. She paused there, meeting the noblewoman’s gaze. The Sunspell family had once been frequent guests here, there was no chance she wouldn’t notice how far the estate had fallen.

“All the taxes and expenses for the estate were handled by me through solicitors. My mother’s decline had me focused on her and when the realization that an attack on Dalaran was imminent I moved her back to the estate where I knew she would be safe. She now resides in the Dowager’s home with full time medical care.” There was no way that she would mention Iren being her step-father, not with claims out there that she did not have a right to the estate. The woman had followed along with Nahi; Lady Sunspell wanted to talk she had no real choice but to continue to move. “Your mother is here?”

It had been a gambit that may not pay off but Nahi was stalling, “She is, sadly she is not expected to last too much longer. I am having to pay for nursing staff for her. I chose the best available, of course, she deserves nothing less.”

“Would you care for tea?” Without waiting, she led them through the front hall and into the dining room. The signs of decay were gentler here, scuffed floors, aging trim, but still present.The kitchen, by contrast, gleamed. The only room she’d managed to begin to restore. “Hot or cold? I also have lemonade.”

“Lemonade will do.”

Nahi poured two glasses, her gloves off, her smile effortless. “The gardens are my focus now, trying to get them back to the beauty my grandmother enjoyed.”

“I remember her garden,” Sunspell murmured. “Her tea parties.”

“I hope to hold them again. In time.”

Lady Sunspell sipped at her drink and looked around more, not focusing on Nahilvi at all, “Your grandmother would spend hours talking about her garden. I remember all the tea parties she held out on the patio.”

“I am hoping to have more, but I need to get things around here in order first,” Nahilvi gestured out in the direction of the gardens, though they couldn’t see them. Taking a long drink, she watched the other woman’s face carefully, reading how the tale she was spinning was taking hold. “It has been too long.”

Nahi had expected her uncle would do something to try and take the estate back, but this? A brothel? Light… luckily Lady Sunspell had come to her, maybe she could outpace this now that the woman was caught in her weaving.

“As to the notion of running a brothel,” she said and let a pause hang there, “I would never dishonor my Grandmother’s memory in such a way. All I know about running the estate came from her, she was so gracious.”

Now, Lady Sunspell’s focus landed on Nahi again, taking in the state of her appearance, “What is your plan then?”

That was up in the air in Nahi’s mind, releasing the estate back to the House of Nobles was certainly high up on her list, but not with her mother being cared for there. She looked into carving that part of the estate away and selling the rest, but her solicitor’s said that might not be possible, so for the time being she was working on the property with the plan that it was hers for at least the near future. The plan was to get the gardens ready and start using them as a small venue, but telling Sunspell that seemed like a bad idea now.

“There’s still much to do,” Nahi admitted. “Contractors are adding seating to the orchard. If we’re lucky, we’ll get some fruit this year for cider.” A soft chuckle followed. “It will be good to share the fruits of our labor.” The pun landed gently, and Lady Sunspell’s mouth twitched.

That was unlikely, she thought the orchard was a loss but once they had been worked it was nice to see that a number of the trees had just grown wild. “I am looking forward to sitting out there with friends in the evening sharing the fruits of our labor,” she chuckled as she made the pun, inviting the older woman to relax in her company more.

Lady Sunspell drained her glass and set it down. “I see. Well, Lady Summerhold, I’ll be watching with interest. Good day.”

Nahi led her to the front door, sparing her the garden path this time. She couldn’t tell if her performance had taken root, but the seeds were planted. She watched the woman depart, then turned back toward the house.

Time to call on The Courier. And perhaps send a bottle of something memorable, something that said, ‘Delighted by your visit’, and ‘Don’t believe everything you hear’ in equal measure. (Small mentions of @fio-renze and @safrona-shadowsun ) (Ooops @daily-writing-challenge )

#maydwc2025 #mayday22025

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botanicaxu · 5 months ago

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Hello Botanica I admire your art so much ❤️ do you mind giving tips on how you improved your art over the years? I would also be delighted if you could show us what your drawing process is like a little bit, if not thats cool too🤗 have a great day!!✨

Hey there! (*waves*) Thank you so much for the love <3 I'd be happy to share some insights on the topics you mentioned! (Sorry that it took a while.)

I think I’ve been drawing for almost 20 years now (Whoa!). Honestly, I don’t even know how I made it through, but ever since I was a kid, I knew art was a necessary part of my life. Looking back now, I’m just glad I stuck with it!

This piece is like a visual timeline of my art evolution. It’s wild to think I went from those super basic kid doodles to the style I have now. Growth is real, y’all!

So the tips! (They are mainly for those hobbyist artists, since I don’t have the luck to make it as my career.)

Keep your eyes and mind open to learn from different fields. It’ll spark fresh ideas and enrich your art, but always double-check when diving into unfamiliar territory.

Find tutorials that vibe with you, and collect references IRL.

Use primary sources to avoid distorted or AI-altered refs.

Take your own photos as ref.

Use 3D websites like Sketchfab, Blender for 3D assistance, and posing apps or manikins to help with your art.

Practice consistently. Balance your time between quick sketches and more polished pieces.

Accept where you are now and improve from there. Don't let others' opinions or other artists’ activities throw you off your path.

If art’s your hobby, the goal is to have fun! No pressure to push boundaries unless you’re feeling it.

Let’s move to drawing process. I’ve been doing hand-drawn art for more than a decade, but had to fully switch to digital media after 2016. Now I usually use Procreate for sketches and lines, then use Clip Studio Paint and Photoshop for colors and adjustments.

I’m gonna share two sets of process. One is for generic character art, and the other one is for pieces influenced by environment.

So character art is like:

(More under the break.)

Do some (very) rough sketch to locate the characters → Line art

Define coloring section → Do flat basic colors, adjust the tone via gradient map, change line color

Add more details, use airbrush to shape the volume → Rendering (layer mode: multiply, linear burn)

More rendering (layer mode: screen, overlay, soft light) → Post effects

Done!

The next is art influenced by environment:

Make a color sketch to set the general tone → Line art

Flat basic colors (background & characters) → Darken the art (layer mode: multiply), add more details

Add more details and begin rendering → More rendering, lighten some parts (layer mode: screen)

More rendering, use gradient map to adjust the tone → Post effects

Done!

Wow, this turned into a long post! Hope you found something useful here! Thanks for sticking around till the end! 🙌✨

#non-art post #art process #ask #art ideas

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bigcowboydyke · 2 years ago

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about your disability pride month post: is there anything important/significant you think people should take notes on when writing a character with an upper arm prosthetic? (like starting from the elbow if i phrased correctly)?

Yeah! I think the biggest is that you ought to consider first, esp if its an OC, your reasoning for making the character disabled- you wanna make sure you're not fetishizing or exploiting their disability to prop up abled characters. I've got a list of questions for authors to ask themselves along those lines that I can post or dm

Secondly, you have to consider what level of realism you wanna go with. If you have a character where, in universe, the prosthesis functions in exactly the way an arm does, you could just go with that if you want - it's the path of least resistance, right? BUT you ought to consider that most prostheses in media exist in that way AT THE EXPENSE of good representation of disability. Erasing disability or "curing" it with magical prostheses IS a form of ableism that is so pervasive it just goes unnoticed by most. I believe personally that disabled bodies are worth portraying well even when the creators of the source material did not do that. SO if you want to go with real well thought our representation, here are some common things I think authors and artists often miss (specifically as it pertains to upper limb prostheses):

1) I already said this, but seriously, I cannot emphasize enough that upper limb prosthetics ain't cheap and are usually uncomfortable. Your character, if they are poor, or even like middle class, won't have access to multiple high tech popular mechanics cover story type robo arms. Even if they did ...

2) Not all limb different folks use prosthetics! I personally have used multiple and I disliked them. I tried very hard to learn, but there are multiple requirements to be able to use each model and sometimes, a lot of times actually, limb different people - especially people without a hand or an arm function Better without prosthetics. Be aware in your art that limb different people are Whole. How you ask can somebody without an arm, say, do all that stuff?

3) Consider the idea of adaptation in your writing and art instead of relying only on magicking disability away with prosthetics. Disabled People live in a world full of barriers and tend to be Very creative about navigating it, adapting to our environment through just being a little clever about how we do things is the biggest way i see other people with upper limb differences interact with the world. There are three main ways that we go about this without prosthetics: Using adaptive equipment, Finding an alternate method, or as a last resort, asking for help.

Example 1: I have like 1.5 arms ok so obviously only 1 hand, and I need to clip my fingernails every once in a while. The obvious solution to me, while it may seem gross, is just to bite them off. Bad habit, but efficient. I could use those horrible little nail clippers, with my remaining stump and a little finagling but it takes forever. I could also get some adaptive nail clippers - they make great big handled ones for ppl that can't grab the little ones. Or, I could ask my partner to trim them, but I'm usually too proud to do that. Let disabled people have their flaws too lol!

Example 2: I love to rock climb. This is where adaptive equipment comes in. I could slip off a rock climbing wall pretty easily right? So bouldering (rock climbing without harnesses) is totally inaccessible to me. But if I go to a gym that has harnesses, then that's fine - they catch me if I fall and that's adaptive for me.

Adaptive equipment comes in many shapes and sizes and can be regular items repurposed.

3. If after all that you Must create art or write about an OC or preexisting character that uses upper limb prosthetics, consider that in general, limb different people's prosthetics are not equivalent to having two arms. Prosthetics are only practical for limb different people if they enhance your life or are useful in some way, however, getting one high tech enough to do that is unlikely because they are expensive. There are different groups, clinics, and charities that make lower cost options but they tend to be much lower tech than is depicted (and often are clunky). My first prosthetic was a long flat piece of metal, similar to a doctors tongue depressor, attached to a plaster cuff velcroed around my stump. The idea was that since I had a little bit of stump poking out, I could pin objects against the metal and it would work like a crab's pincers. It was okay, but I did accidentally smack many. Many. Things with it, including my own face and since it was metal, that was unpleasant. Obviously hindered more than helped. Also it did not look even remotely like a hand.

4. Which prosthetics you can get generally depend on what you got on you. Literally. Bodily. With upper limb prostheses, If you don't have an elbow or wrist, your options are almost exclusively limited to the pricier electric options that are both super futuristic, unavailable to many, and also like new car priced. Many of the manual, non-electric models depend on the ability to flex a wrist or elbow, so if you have those things are a little more accessible overall. It also matters whether you are born limb different like me, or if you are an amputee. Amputees are more likely to be candidates for prostheses than people like me because they have all those preexisting muscles and nerves for prosthetics that are higher tech and require surgical attachment Also prosthetics might be an easier learning curve, and more useful for somebody who has been abled bodied than it would be for somebody who never had that limb in the first place.

5. This is a little thing and ... Not to get too medical with it ( and neither should yall) but limb different people often have physical changes associated with lack of or loss of limb. If you do not have a limb, you are not going to be developing the muscles that are surrounding it in the way an a nondisabled person would. Again for example I have 1.5ish arms which means I've got plenty of stump on my "affected" limb. Even when I did Varsity sports and everything, I was never able to get beefy on that side. It is a pet peeve of mine that many people do not seem to get this - Most art I see of vash the stampede has him with two super beefy shoulders and like yeah i get it that's hot, but if hes got roughly the same amount of stump as me, he probably shouldn'tlook like that. Another thing in this vein is chronic pain is associated with limb loss and limb difference- I have it and its reasonable that any prosthetic user or nonprosthetic using limb different person is more likely to have it. Again these are little things but if you're looking to do good representation you need to consider that limb difference is not just a cool little stylistic choice to make a character look tough or what have you - limb loss and limb difference mean that that character will not only think differently than abled bodied people, but move differently, pose differently, have different routines and preferences than are ever represented in most media. Disability is not a style, and it's not a diagnosis, it's an identity. It's important above all to be respectful of that by letting go of centering able-bodied expectations and aesthetic in your art and writing. Hard to do but i believe in y'all!

Hope that helps! I've also got a bunch of links to go along with these points, if you want them lmk! I'm always happy to take asks about this stuff!

Tl;dr please consider making characters that don't use prosthetics, or don't use them excessively because it's more realistic, better representation, and makes me, a disabled dyke on the internet, really happy.

Lastly if y'all liked my advice and appreciate my time you are always welcome to tip me for it - my c*sh*pp is $neptunedrive

#cripple your art #disabled characters #vash the stampede #trigun #character design #disability justice

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torturedtypewritersdept · 1 month ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/torturedtypewritersdept/782292128610107393/i-really-cant-wait-for-your-next-work-about-our?source=share

ohh actually i have one!! dr rafe taking care of reader when she suddenly gets a nosebleed while cooking dinner with him and she feels quilty that he has to take care of her on his free day and he comforts her <33

The bleeding had stopped — at least, the visible kind. But something in the air still pulsed red and raw.

The towel lay limp in your lap, freckled with blood that had dried to rust at the edges. You could feel the stickiness beneath your nose, the faint pulse behind your eyes still beating like a drum in a storm. And Rafe — he hadn’t moved far. He hovered the way only a man with a surgeon’s hands and a grieving heart could. Reverent. Haunted. Certain that if he let go for even a second, the earth might slip out from under both of you.

“I’m calling Jenni,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it — a kind of trembling rage at the world for touching you in this way.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words withered in your throat. He had already risen from his crouch, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the living room — backlit by the low amber glow of the floor lamp, like a sentinel.

“She needs to run labs,” he muttered to himself as he reached for his phone. “Check your hemoglobin. Your platelets. Your vitals. Everything.”

He paused — just for a second — thumb hovering over the call button as his eyes flicked down to you. He looked at you like you were something fragile in a museum case, glass already cracked, and he was the last one allowed to hold you before you shattered completely.

“You should’ve told me about the headache,” he said, quieter now. “You didn’t have to bear that alone.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered, voice raw. “You’ve done so much.”

He scoffed softly. Not in mockery — but disbelief. As if the very thought that you considered your pain a burden gutted him.

Then he dialed.

“Jenni? It’s Rafe.” His tone shifted into something colder, clipped and clinical — all surgeon now, no softness, just precision. “It’s for her. Sudden epistaxis, ongoing headache, pallor, hand tremor. No fever. No trauma. But it came on fast. I need eyes on her. Tonight.”

You sat there, small and still, watching his profile — the sharp line of his jaw, the way he clenched it like he was trying to bite down on panic. The way his other hand remained braced on the arm of the couch, as if to steady himself on you.

“She’ll come,” he said after hanging up. “She’s on her way.”

“Rafe…” You swallowed thickly, throat raw from blood and unshed tears. “You don’t have to worry this much. I’m okay now.”

But he dropped to his knees again, cupped your cheeks with both hands, and tilted your head toward him so you couldn’t look anywhere but into the ocean-storm of his eyes.

“I don’t do halfway when it comes to you,” he said, voice breaking open like thunder beneath your ribs. “You’re not just someone I treated. You’re not just my patient. You’re—” he stopped himself, breathing hard. “You’re mine to protect. If something’s wrong, I need to know. I need to fix it.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, silent and hot, carving a path through the dried blood near your jaw. He caught it with his thumb before it fell — always catching, always careful.

“I hate this,” you whispered. “I hate that you have to see me like this again.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I’d rather see you broken than not see you at all.”

You didn’t even realize how badly you were trembling until he pulled you forward into his arms, pressing you into the curve of his chest, and the world stopped spinning. His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you there like a secret, like a prayer. And for a long time, you just breathed together.

In.

Out.

In.

His chest rose beneath your cheek — warm, solid, dependable. The scent of him — cedar soap, clean laundry, something faintly antiseptic from the hospital — grounded you in the now.

“You scare me,” he murmured into your hair. “Not because you’re fragile. But because I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t save you.”

The doorbell echoed moments later, but he didn’t rise right away. He held you for another breath — one last heartbeat — before gently lifting you from the couch, as if your bones were made of spun glass and sanctity.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “Always.”

#rafe cameron x reader #blue eyes + bruises <3 #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #doctor!rafe cameron #doctor!rafe x reader #doctor!rafe

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 1 year ago

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AN ANGEL READING ; PICK A PILE. GO SLOW!

PILE 1 ~ 'LOOK BEYOND'

If you picked this pile, you have to go with source on this one. Your path isn't linear, and neither are you. Protection is granted whichever path you choose to walk. Gifts will start to show itself more soon for people who picked this one. These gifts could be known but you've kept them hidden, or they are starting to grow and you can feel and see them much better. Boldness is a theme for this group because it helps you shine bright like a light bulb, you'll stick out like a green thumb and the soul mates and partnerships connected to your life path/ hearts desires will become a growing opportunity. Work on this, and by the spring/summer months you'll see a noticeable difference in your income and your way of life as a whole.

Themes: Bunnies, River banks, Walks at the park, Cool outfits, Divine ephiphanies.

Numbers: 333, 211, 316, 411, 414, 666, 999

PILE 2 - PAST LIFE MEETING

If you picked this pile, you'll be having a soul mate connection of a life time. This isn't no ordinary love, this person has known you from many different worlds besides this one. It's an opening of the heart for this group. It's asking you to take a leap of faith as there is a sense of newness coming around the corner with this partner. Enjoy the experience with bonding with a soul just as deep as you. There is nothing to be ashamed of or afraid of. Bliss is an ethereal feeling that makes the high feel worthwhile. This is a strong partnership ready to overgo intense feelings of the path they've chosen in order to grow on a deeper soul level.

Themes : Lovers, Channeler, Divine Timing, Peace of Mind, Glory, Special Occasions, Romantic

Numbers: 444, 212, 222, 333, 555, 999

PILE 3 - EMPTY CLIPS

Going outside and getting some fresh air. Bonding with nature and the tides. Exploring the open zones in your area. There's so much to see if you look around. Traveler. Take that train or that bus, where will you go next? Seek for more. The journey is in the pineal gland (third eye), you have to want this. You have to focus and just go for it. Be bold and be righteous. In times of traveling, you will have protection around your aura. Mystical experiences could be noted during this time as the veil is insightly thin right now.

Taking a trip can help cut off old ends and dying partnerships will seize to exist in the next few months. You have to go within and just go with the flow my love. Take the chance, it'll be worth it in the end.

Themes : Adventure, Travel, Oceans, Beaches, 'Narley dude', Making a move, Going slow, Captivating energy.

Numbers: 616, 555, 777, 888, 909

PILE 4 - 'UNWANTED ENERGY, STAYING STILL

If you picked this pile, it is necessary for you to lay low for a while. Your vibration is a little more sensitive than usual. If you picked this group you could possibly be an empath. Also take note that you should consider doing any energy cleanses as needed for your energy to get a boost. Just stay out of drama, gossip and focus on journaling any emotions that make you feel stagnant, sad, depressed, angry, etc. Working on your shadow and inner needs will be substantial for your growth in the later years. So being more secretive on this type of work will be the best choice. You could be a light for other people and could be called into the spotlight for healing. Sensual energy is in your aura waiting to be fully tapped in. You are gracious, please remember. Venus energy is surrounding your being. Look at the stars, and look back at yourself. Remember you are your worst enemy at times, but you can always be better than today.

Themes: 'Shhh, I heard she's got problems', gossip, hear say, crying out loud, making space for yourself and for others, being insane.'

Numbers: 808, 222, 111, 777, 711, 303, 313

#pick a pile #pick a character #angel reading #channeler #intuitive #tarot reading #oracle #oracles #witch #mystic

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