#drew this in my span notebook

[real-odark]

sorry for notnposting i slept super lonrg😭😭😭

[rabbitclown]

is this anything

[the-guilty-writer]

I'd Better Ask Emily

Request from anon: Hear me out😅 Spencer Reid x daughter!reader where the reader is a lesbian but is to scared to tell Spencer and Spencer someone find out by accidentally reading her diary or something?

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: When Spencer goes looking for your school notebook and accidentally reads your diary instead he goes to the BAU bisexual badass for help.

A/N: I really wanted to do this justice so there's angst and fluff and bisexual Emily Prentiss because she had more chemistry with women than any male love interest. I’m also a sucker for Reid and Prentiss friendship so there is a good chunk of it in here.

CW: reader is gay, Emily is bi, let’s be honest everyone on the team is a little fruity, suggestions that Emily wasn’t supported, coming out of the closet, reader goes to social justice march.

---

“And my math homework is on the table for you to check over!” It was a Friday morning and you were in a rush to get out the door. There was a social justice march beginning at the national mall in half an hour and your AP government teacher had convinced the principal to cancel classes so every student could participate. Plus you were getting extra credit.

“What about your reading summaries?” Your dad asked you. Spencer always proof-read your graded assignments, per your request. It helped to have his genius input, though sometimes you wondered if he went easy on you. Since you were a child, you’d never made a craft or drew a picture or wrote something that your dad didn’t love.

“In my notebook on my desk,” you said hastily. “Bye, love you!”

“Love you too. Don’t get-” The door slammed shut. Spencer sighed. “Arrested.”

He made his way to your room. For the most part you were tidy, but your desk was a mess. Colored pens and highlighters, loose leaf paper with to-do lists, a stack of books that was falling over onto the jumbled surface. Spencer began to sift through the clutter, fixing the stack of books, putting your writing utensils in a pile, looking around for your notebook- but of course you hadn’t clarified which notebook. By the time he was done sorting through the mess there were five of them total. He began to read through them, trying to identify which one you wrote your reading summaries in.

It was down to the last two. Spencer grabbed the next one in the stack and opened to a random page:

I’ve never been one for poetry, but I find myself wanting to write verses on how her eyes crinkle when she laughs and the way her hips sway as she walks.

That sounded English-y and promising. Spencer kept reading.

I imagine her skin is soft, like velveteen, and her hair like expensive silk. The smell of her perfume is that of vanilla and honey; it reminds me of summer.

The sound of her voice is like a siren’s music. When she calls my name I can’t help but get up from my spot in the cafeteria and-

Wait.

There weren’t cafeterias in the book you were reading for school.

Spencer read the passage back again and again. He couldn’t help himself- he flipped to the front page to start from the beginning and finished reading the entirety of your diary in two minutes. There were entries spanning over two years, but one thing stuck out to Spencer more than anything else:

You talked about girls.

You talked liking girls.

Of course the diary contained passages on other things, like the day you visited your dream school and a cute dog you had met at the park… but you were dreaming of cute girls. And you never told him.

Spencer closed the diary and put it on your desk. His only thought: I’d better ask Emily about this.

---

Emily added a small amount of creamer to her coffee and went to sit down at her desk, highly regretting that she’d put her paperwork until the last minute again. The stack of files on her desk was beginning to rival Hotch’s, and that was not a competition she wanted to win. She sat down at her desk and opened up a file, pen in hand ready to go when-

“Um, hey Emily. Can I ask you something?”

If it was anyone but Spencer, she probably would have told them to ask her during the lunch break she wasn’t going to take, but there was a hesitancy in his voice that made her stop. Emily knew she looked like she might bite someone if they bothered her- Morgan had already gotten a taste of her mood that morning- but Spencer never seemed to notice when her annoyance rose to the surface. If he was uncomfortable it was because he had his own problem. He needed her help.

And she needed his speed reading to get through all the files on her desk.

“Morning, Reid,” she said, her annoyance turning to concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Well, I- uh- I kind of saw something I shouldn’t have this morning and I wanted to ask you about it.” He rubbed his neck nervously.

Emily tried to keep a straight face as she thought of every embarrassing teenage incident captured on video or sin-to-win photograph that could possibly be out there for Spencer to come across.

“What is it?” Emily asked, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

“You like women romantically, right?”

Okay… that didn’t rule out embarrassing adolescent mistakes or weekends in Atlantic City.

“Yes.”

“Because I accidentally read (Y/N)’s diary this morning and she writes a lot about being attracted to girls but she hasn’t told me yet and-”

“You read your daughter’s diary?!” Emily wasn’t sure if she was more shocked that Reid would do such a thing, or relieved that her privacy was still intact. “Reid-”

“It was an accident!” he said. “I was looking for her reading summaries for school and she told me it was in the notebook on her desk and then I just saw it…”

Emily hoped the devastation on Spencer’s face was for the right reasons.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Yeah… it was for the right reasons.

Emily sighed, leaning her elbows on her desk. “I’m sure that you demonstrate your open-mindedness at home-”

“I do.”

“And I’m sure you tell (Y/N) that you love her no matter what-”

“All the time.”

“But that doesn’t make it any less scary.”

Spencer didn’t respond.

“Coming out isn’t easy. No matter how sure you are that you will be accepted there’s always a little bit of doubt. There’s always the fear that it’ll change the fundamental way a person loves you and that you’ll never treat them the same.” Emily pushed away memories- memories filled with pain and relief and anxiety and frustration. The only thing that eased the thoughts were that she knew you wouldn’t have to go through what she did; not with Spencer as your dad. “She’s probably feeling really afraid, even if she doesn’t show it.”

“How can I make it better?”

Spencer’s genuine love for you- a love that every child should get to experience- made Emily feel as though she was falling apart and being put back together again all at the same time.

“Just let her know you love her,” Emily said. “A little goes a long way.”

---

As you walked up to the door of the apartment you felt like you were floating on cloud nine; for two years you had been crushing on this girl you shared classes with. You knew she was openly and unapologetically gay- making it a point to post pictures of herself on social media with pride flags and holding hands with her now ex-girlfriend. They had broken up about eight months ago and ever since then you’d hope that she would notice you. For three months the two of you had hung out in group settings- getting to know one another with other people there as a buffer- but you’d gathered your courage today to ask her out on a date. And she said yes.

“So I guess the march was good?”

You were so distracted from the events of the day you hadn’t even noticed your dad was home.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, startled. “It was good. Really good. Lots of… social justice and things.” You cursed yourself for not having a better answer. You should have been good at faking feelings and answers by now, having been raised by a profiler. Even then, Spencer always saw right through you.

The high you were on came crashing down- your dad always saw right through you. There was no way you could go on a date, let alone your first date, without him catching on. Discomfort grappled with your stomach and anxiety bubbled in your chest. You tried to reach for the courage you had earlier, but it was gone.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Your dad walked over and put a gentle hand on your arm.

“Uh-” You swallowed. “Yeah- yeah, I’m fine.”

Your dad suddenly looked weary. It was the same look when he told you he was going to miss your tenth birthday because of a case, or when he got a call that your grandmother’s medication wasn’t working as well as they had hoped.

“(Y/N),” he started. “I love you. I really hope you know that. And I’m glad you had a good day.”

“I love you too, dad,” you said, waiting for him to break bad news. But it didn’t come. He just gave you his awkward tight-lipped smile before tucking your hair behind your ear and turning away.

There was something about the gesture and the words that called the courage back to you. Well, some of the courage.

“I’m going on a date,” you blurted. Spencer turned back to you. You tried to look for clues on his face or in his body language that would tell you what he was thinking or feeling, but you were too caught up in your own head to make sense of any of it. “I asked someone out on a date and they said yes.”

Your father smiled wide. “That’s great, honey! Is it anyone I know?”

“Oh- um-” Spencer didn’t know many of your friends in person, but he knew them from what you told him, and what Garcia could dig up on them. “Yeah. They’re in some of my classes.”

You waited for your dad to call you out on the vagueness of your language, but he didn’t. He only continued to smile and encourage you to go on- is it a study date or a real date? Real date. Weekend or after school? Weekend. Are you taking the metro or do you want him to drive you? Actually it was a walkable distance.

The more you talked, the more excited you got. You were still careful to control your language, but the bravery was beginning to grow. You thought about taking a deep breath, but you didn’t. Instead you just said, “And she’s a girl.”

The world stilled for just a moment- your heart which was beating fast with excitement was now racing with panic. Your stomach was in knots and you felt your hands begin to shake. “I’m gay, dad.”

Spencer placed a gentle hand over yours, stopping it from quivering. The look in his eyes couldn’t be described as happy, but it wasn’t sad. No… it was peace. It was content.

“I know,” he said.

“You- you do?” The weight began to lift off your shoulders, but it was replaced by a bit of shock.

“Yes.” Spencer smiled. “Next time you should clarify which of your notebooks you wrote your assignments in.” Both of you chuckled, and you felt your body unwind as tension left your muscles. “And if it’s any consolation, I think your poetry is great.”

You smiled. “You always love everything I write.”

Your dad pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Because I love you.”

There was no more tension now- no more fear and no more doubt- just you and your dad being excited about your first big crush and your first big date. And it didn’t matter that it was with a girl. Spencer would always love you no matter what.

"So," he said. "What are you going to wear?"

You thought about the clothes you had, but none of your outfits seemed just right.

"I think I might go shopping for something new," you said.

Spencer smiled. You had a shopping buddy- the same one since you were little.

"So I guess I'd better ask Emily."

[by-kilian]

I have to preface this post by saying that I am not a Dragon Ball Z fan, but in spite of that that, even *I* know of Akira Toriyama's influence.

Akira Toriyama was an industry giant. And I don't know if he ever intended to be one, as giants often don't, but there is no denying his influence. Without Dragon Ball Z, a lot of the animations and animes we all know and love today wouldn't exist.

It is rare that art spans genres, cultures, and time, but DBZ is among the few that have. It managed to do what so few art does, which is bleed into the cultural fabric. So much so that even as a non-fan, I can recognize a Dragon Ball Z character immediately upon seeing one due to its distinctive art style. I know what it means to go "super saiyan" because my friends in school constantly referenced it. I remember them going into DBZ fight stances, drawing Goku or Vegeta in their notebooks, and excitedly debating and talking about the show over lunch. I've seen it referenced throughout Western Animations, paid homage to with such great admiration and respect that you know it was done out of sheer love.

Dragon Ball Z is part of the cultural lexicon because it was a unique creation from the unique mind of its creator. I don't think Akira put his pencil to paper when he first drew Goku with the intention of making something so iconic. I don't think he wrote this story or these characters, thinking that he'd make something that would be a part of peoples' minds for generations to come. I think he made this story out of love, and it became what it is simply because he shared his heart in his art. It is evident that Dragon Ball Z was a labor of love, and AI couldn't attempt to make something this influential even if it tried.

Art that is this culturally impactful is often referred to as a magnum opus; a masterpiece. It transcends time, outlasts the artist, and is proof of their immortality. Leonardo da Vinci has the Mona Lisa, Mary Shelley has Frankenstein, and Akira Toriyama has Dragon Ball Z.

Rest well, friend. Thank you for sharing your works with all of us.

[a-tkrb-farewell]

dear touken ranbu

I started Touken Ranbu EN on its launch day. I didn't think much of it-- I was bored, I was curious. I didn't know anything about the franchise or Japanese swords. Johren's translations were a mess as I scrolled through the five starting swords but I eventually decided to go with Kasen Kanesada because I liked his gentle expression and thick eyebrows.

I'll probably stop playing this game within a week or two, I thought. Instead, I played the game from launch until today, a span of more than two years.

English TKRB launched together with Kasen's Special Investigation event and Hanjin's first smithing event. Unsurprisingly, I didn't bring Hanjin home, but I was okay with that. Kasen's SI was rough and I lost to the boss in the first map. I went back to the regular battle maps to level up some more. I persisted, and went on to finish the event two or three times. I know that many players don't like the dark tunnel section, but I thought it was so interesting. I drew maps in my notebook to estimate the best routes to take to the end. And I was so happy to learn more about my starter sword, his history, and his relationship with Kokindenjunotachi, Jizou Yukihira, Hosokawa Gracia, and the Hosokawa family. I felt like I had a duty to help him complete his personal quest.

By that time, I was already hooked. Every new event I came across was a joy (except for dango, haha). Every new sword I met was so exciting. I rushed to read fan explanations of their dialogues and histories. I did my best to fill out the recollections they had with each other. I think we all know that the actual gameplay is honestly quite bland; I would rather play something like Bloodborne or Final Fantasy. The thing that really shines are the sword characterizations. Somehow the developers took these historical blades and stories and made compelling, complex characters out of them. Then they convinced some very amazing artists and voice actors to breathe even more life into these characters.

When I found out Yuuki Kaji voiced one of the touken danshi, I was intrigued. I learned about this little tantou named Hyuuga Masamune who is always trying his best and wanting to help. I loved him immediately. The only problem was, he was a rare drop from the boss node in 8-2, and my account was only a few months old. I had only just begun to kiwame swords, but I spent all the time I could in game running 8-2 over and over again while being careful not to put any of my swords in real danger. My first kiwame team (Taikogane Sadamune, Gokotai, Taroutachi, Tsurumaru, Izuminokami Kanesada, Honebami Toushirou) went from level 40 to level 80 before Hyuuga finally came home. It was September 2021: I was having a hard time living by myself in a city where I didn't know anybody at the time, and it really felt like my son arrived to cheer me on. Among friends I am known for "camping" in 8-2 because I loved this tantou's attitude so much that I wanted to bring him to max ranbu. I recently raised him to ranbu level 5-- that's 26 Hyuugas-- on a two year old account!

This is part of why I cannot start over from zero on a Japanese account, at least not right now. I have maxed 17 kiwame swords. I have collected every sword except Oodenta and Nukemaru. I have so many memories invested in each of my swords, even from just a play period of two years.

As I say goodbye, I find myself thinking over those two years. English TKRB launched during a global pandemic, and it preciously allowed me to connect with strangers over a hobby while I was cooped up inside in America. I loved the characters so much I joined an online community of international fans to discuss the franchise. These fellow fans introduced me to the stage plays (sute), musicals (myu), anime, and movies. I jumped through hoops to buy streams and archives on DMM. I bought wanpaku, nendodroids, pins, artbooks, blurays. I wanted to someday visit Japan and take part in a stamp rally. I wanted to pay my respects to the physical swords and their history in person in museums. I bought expansions and items in game. I wanted my swords to live comfortably. I was happy to buy the English version of Touken Ranbu Warriors. Words cannot express how delighted I was to deliberately serve Kasen Kanesada some bad tea and see him frown. The gentle way Kasen took care of Hyuuga and everyone in Team 2 made me very happy. I loved to see everyone support each other.

I made some lasting friends among those international fans. I recently even got to meet one of them in person while I was on vacation, and I'm so happy to have them in my life. I can't wait to meet them again, as they've become more than just a fellow fan but a true close friend.

Besides connecting me with other people, Touken Ranbu also helped me to better understand myself. Despite the bland gameplay, the game was so comforting to me. I loved that there was less focus on the player character and no explicit romance elements. There was a big variety of sword character designs, and not all of them were sexy. In a world where romance elements are everywhere in RPG, or where any game marketed towards women was likely to have romance in it, Touken Ranbu was so refreshing. It was a lovely safe space I could have where in my personal Honmaru my saniwa was just friends with everyone. I appreciated that each player had the option to imagine their relationships, whether it was romantic or not. By examining why I loved the game so much, I slowly came to realize that I was aromantic and asexual. A lot of my past relationships and life events gained clarity, and I'm grateful to know myself better now.

As I say farewell to the game, I wonder where my swords will go. I hope that they find friendly Japanese citadels if they want to keep fighting. I hope that they retire and build happy lives if that's what they want. I regret not being able to bring closure to the swords I could not kiwame. I hope everyone can be happy and healthy, even without me.

Goodbye, Touken Ranbu. Thank you for what you gave me these past two years, even if it is a sudden farewell. I had my fair share of troubles with Johren's English version that partially stemmed from being an inconvenient afterthought to a game that was focused on its primary Japanese market. Despite all of this, I still loved the game. It's with a heavy heart that I say goodbye.

Saniwa sooshi of Bizen

[werewolfhooligan]

how embarrassing, to feel

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

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[sp00kworm]

Evo-23 (Part 2)

Part 2 - Blackberry Eyes

Pairing: Zombie/Infected Monster (Ji-woon) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Cannibalism, Graphic Gore and Wound descriptions, Death.

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PART 1 

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“Ji-woon!” You hollered as you battered at an infected's head with the small axe in your hand. You slashed at the creature before shoving it hard and watching it fall to the floor. In a moment you were on it, smashing it’s skull in with two heavy blows. The Other, your companion, clicked and gurgled behind you, his back meeting your own before he screeched behind the gag, black veins running out from his eyes and down his arms. You’d seen him do this many times now, but the unnatural shift in his muscles and the bulge made you shudder. His fingers flexed before he howled, spit flying from his mouth, dripping down his chin as he flung himself at an infected, throwing it to the floor before he caved in its head with his fists. Another stumbled behind him and the other grabbed it by the neck over his shoulder and pulled, dragging it’s head from its body as the rest of its corpse went flying into the bushes. Ji-woon span back to deal with another as another gun shot fired at the two of you. It would attract even more infected. You were sick of it already. With a growl you beat at another infected before shouting again.

“We need to get to that shooter in the trees!” You hollered.

 The Other gurgled as his reigns flew behind his head and he rushed forwards, his body unnaturally low to the floor like a big cat. You screeched as he outstretched his arms and grappled you, holding you against his body as the veins spread and he sprinted towards the trees, sliding in the dirt, spraying leaves and mud upwards in arcs as he dodged the bullets being fired. With a howl at the hunting perch, Ji-woon flung himself at the trees, claws scrabbling at the bark as he snapped at the other human’s feet, his gag and reigns stopping him from getting a mouthful of the man’s toes.

The man cried out and aimed the hunting rifle down, shooting a round through Ji-woon's shoulder. The bullet slammed through the Other, sending him flying to the floor, but you clung to the ladder tightly, climbing up to the perch before you slammed yourself into the man. A scream sounded as he was sent flying over the edge and towards the floor where Ji-woon was waiting with open arms, foaming at the mouth at the prospect of fresh meat.

“He’s all yours!” You screamed at the Other as he gave a delighted gurgle, his arm flopping at his side from where he took the high calibre round to his shoulder.

“NO, PLEASE!” The man screamed before Ji-woon flexed his hands and popped his temples inwards, smashing bone into his brain.

 You descended the ladder slowly, watching the Other prance around the body, heaving and gurgling with fresh blood and spit dripping down his chest. You sighed and carefully undid the gag and reigns, watching as Ji-woon screeched at the lingering infected, teeth clicking and snapping, before he dug his fingers into the man’s hips and dug his way to the bones he wanted to lick clean. You shimmied back up to the perch to get the gun and bullets, sitting in the little chair with a sigh as you tried to ignore the slick eating noises beneath you. The Other needed to eat just as much as you did. Humans were the best food source for him to be able to protect you, but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. Even if this man deserved what he was getting for trying to have you torn apart by zombies after you let him have water. You closed your eyes and clutched the rifle as you listened to the Other swat at infected and command them away. With one eye open you dared to look at the Other as he wrenched the femur from the man’s flesh and cracked the middle of it open, peering into the bloody, gooey mess inside of the hard cortical shell. With a gurgle, he pressed his lips to the end and swallowed the syrupy contents gladly. Your stomach churned and you looked away, fighting the retching that threatened to tighten your throat.

 So you sat in the hunters perch quietly, looking through the man’s back pack for anything useful aside from his rifle and bullets. He had a cleaning kit in his bag for the gun and you leafed through the things with a mild amount of confusion. You knew some things but others were beyond you. Hopefully you could learn. You shook the bag again and watched as a small journal fell out along with some old cereal bars and a compass. You pocketed the food at lightning speed before opening the notebook. The first three pages were illegible scrawl beyond the first sentence.

‘I deserve to die for killing him.’

It was repeated over and over again before the dates started to appear and the scrawl became messy writing. Most of it was mild observations about the days he had lived since killing his son. He was infected was written in a lot of the explanation but it didn’t seem to make him feel any better.

 ‘I wish we had let him die of the leukaemia so I didn’t have to put a bullet in his head and then my wife.’

 The reality of everything settled heavily in your stomach as you closed the man’s notebook. You only opened it again to tear out the pages about his gun maintenance. The diagrams were crude but would serve you well later on. You shoved the pages into your bag after folding them tightly. The rest of the journal you put away in his bag before you swallowed your tears and moved to the ladder. Ji-woon was finished with his meal, his belly slightly rounded and very little left of the man beyond pieces of grizzle and empty bones. His head was untouched and you felt bile burn your throat before you took it and a small trowel from your bag. The Other watched wordlessly as you dug a shallow grave for the man’s remains, burying them with his backpack before you dusted the blood away with plenty of dirt and a dip of your hands into the algae ridden fountain. Still, the Other followed you quietly, waiting for you to replace the gag and reigns like you usually did after he’d eaten.

 You sat on the edge of the fountain and sobbed softly. A gurgle drew your attention away from your feet and you peered at the Other crouched by your knees, his sticky hands patting your knees in some semblance of a comforting gesture. If he was human, maybe it would have said that it was going to be okay, but the cold hands only reminded you that you had condemned a man to death for the sake of maybe finding out some truths. It made you feel sick again and you reached for the Other’s hands before realising that the sticky hands were coated in blood and other bodily fluids. You tried not to cringe as Ji-woon reached upwards, his sticky fingers stroking over your cheek, moving along the flesh in a downwards motion towards your chin. His cold fingers tilted your chin upwards so you had to look at his bruised face. His black vein infested cheeks twitched before his lips parted and he smiled wide, exposing his pointed, clot covered teeth.

“Smile.” The Other gurgled as he watched you snort at his ridiculous looking face. It was silly. A mutated superhuman bleeding from his nose, smiling at you like it was some comfort. To a sick part of your brain, it was. Ji-woon wasn’t just one of the Others, he was something more than that. Part of him was still human or fighting to remember how to be.

 “I’ll try.” You whimpered as the Other reached and tugged at your cheeks, pulling the flesh taut before he let it go and patted them awkwardly, his cold fingers twitching against your warm flesh. With a heave and a shuddering sob, you finally found the strength in your knees to stand up. Ji-woon tilted his head to peer up at you, grinding his teeth and drooling as the black veins over his bruised skin receded back up his neck and into his eyes. His chest bowed outwards with a heavy breath, as though he was about to scream, but Ji-woon simply let out a long, shuddering sigh as he pulled his hands away from your skin and reached for the reigns in your hands. Gently, he tugged them free, and reached backwards to fasten the gag and attach the reigns back in place. Drool dripped through the gag, despite him just eating, but you carefully looked at his arm. The bullet wound was long gone, leaving only a dark bruise behind, and his arm was back in perfect working order. He flexed the muscles and twisted his fingers as he listened to the surroundings, his black eyes quivering back and forth, focusing on a million different things at once. He waited, patiently, like a well-trained hound, as you shouldered your backpack again and brushed off the dirt from your bottoms.

 The Other watched quietly as you headed over and grabbed at the leather reigns, tugging them gently before you started back along the path towards where the blackberries were growing.

“I guess we can go and get what we came here for now…” You whispered as Ji-woon followed behind you, gurgling quietly as you both kept a watchful eye out for any lingering infected. The blackberries you wanted grew along the bramble infested outskirts of the former city park, growing up the old iron fences. There was a lot. You pulled out a box from your backpack and smiled at Ji-woon as you plucked on of the berries free and chewed the sweet flesh. It tasted amazing in comparison to the bland, plain food items you could get your hands on normally. So, for a minute, you chewed as many as you could fit into your mouth, giggling as juice dripped over your chin before you pilled at many as you could into the container. With some gelatine you could make jams. You filled the container to the brim before pulling a few more off the brambles for yourself. Ji-woon watched from the edge of the bramble patch, his black eyes following the rivulets of juice as they dripped over your neck.

 “Can you eat human food?” You wondered out loud to the Other.

Ji-woon tilted his head as he moved through the brambles, the thorns catching his skin. The cuts healed as fast as they opened and you swallowed your mouthful as he took hold of your fingers, gurgling behind the gag as he looked at the stained pinky coloured juice over your skin.

“Can you?” You asked again.

Ji-woon rolled his shoulders and shook his head violently, as though he was trying to dislodge the gag and you scowled, remembering that he was probably eyeing up your hand as a food source. You snatched your hand away and clipped the box shut, leaving Ji-woon in the brambles as you scampered back to your bag. The Other gurgled and followed on your heels again.

“I don’t know why I asked. You only want to eat me anyway. After we find out what happened to you, you’ll just eat me and leave the outside of my bones for the crows.”

The Other stopped, holding you in place by refusing to walk on the reigns, his black eyes looking you up and down before he surged forwards and caught you by the arm.

 Ji-woon forgot his own strength, clasping his hand tight enough around your bicep to bruise.

“What?” You asked with a small quiver to your voice, “You can’t even talk to tell me I’m wrong! You’ll devour me just like that man as soon as you get the chance, with or without knowing you were once human!” You screeched, tugging away from his grasp.

Ji-woon’s hairless eyebrows dipped again as he grabbed you by the shoulders this time. He dragged the fingers of one hand down the side of his cheek, tugging at the leather straps of the gag before you dared to reach up and undo it for him. The buckle jingled as you let the gag and reigns fall away, dripping in bloodied spit. The Other clicked his jaw sharply, his teeth snapping together with a harsh grind.

“Look after…until…human.” The Other gurgled before he touched the space over the top of your heart, “F-F-Find.” He chirped before opening his mouth and leaning over in order for you to muzzle him like a dog again. He chewed against the gag as you replaced it, fingers shaking as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“Until we find about what happened. I know buddy.” You whispered before Ji-woon pressed his cold fingers to your chest again and reached upwards, dragging you towards him by the shoulder. He grumbled, spit dripping from his mouth before he blinked more bloody tears down his cheeks and clasped you tightly in a hug.

 The flood gates opened again, and you sobbed into the Other’s shoulder, wailing like a child as you clutched his torn shirt and grasped at his powerful shoulders. Fat tears streaked your cheeks as you sobbed into the bloodied material, listening to the rattling breaths of Ji-woon as he chewed against the gag and gently petted your back and hair, running his fingers over your scalp softly before he cupped the base of your back and squeezed again. The touch was comforting in the loneliest way. You hadn’t been held like this since the whole event started, and now you relished the cold arms around your body as you sniffled and hiccupped into Ji-woon’s embrace.

“Protect.” He promised against the gag with a hiss of spit, and you nodded, not saying a word as you let his cold fingers soothe the worries from your spine.

“One day you might not be able to…” You whispered under your breath before you pulled away from him and smiled gently, “Come on then. Let’s go home, huh?”

Ji-woon nodded slowly, his hands twitching by his sides as he watched you turn away from him, dragging the length of reign behind you. With a click and a gurgle, he followed in your footsteps, his head tilting towards the sides, listening for danger.

 The park was not far from the local hospital and you shuddered as you looked up at the building, the windows smashed and rotten, sun bleached skeletons hanging from the windows and laid on the tarmac. When everything had broken out, it was the first place in chaos, and you pitied the doctors who had been turned into meals for the Others and infected on that day. You remembered the bodies hanging from the window rotting that first year, dripping stinking flesh down onto the tarmac where starving infected licked the surface clean. Even the thought now made your stomach churn. You walked past quickly, with Ji-woon mimicking your speed, following close behind you.

“They used to claim that this place was where the first of your kind came from.” You told the Other, “It was the original test subject who got loose in the hospital and started the whole event on a mass scale. There was some top-secret research place attached apparently.” You spat on the tarmac, “I hope they were all eaten for making this mess.”

 The Other's eyes wandered from the tarmac, looking around at the empty bones before his eyes fixed on the bodies hanging from the windows and I’m the suicide nets between the two large hospital towers. They had died being torn apart and the zombies that had eaten them were long rotten, hanging through the nets in strewn piles of limbs and jelly. Ji-woon peered at the buildings individually before he planted his feet and stopped in his tracks.

“No way. Not today, mister.” You cursed at him as he tugged on the reigns, “We can’t go in there. It’s full of infected!”

Ji-woon reared back again and took hold of the reigns and gag, tugging it insistently, pushing himself closer so you had to look into his eyes. His mouth dripped with spit and blood as he loomed over you, his shoulders twitching. His eyes begged you even if he could not say the words. He wanted to go in there, with or without you.

Your hands shook as you looked at the building and you sighed, reaching for his gag, “One quick look. That’s it!” You insisted as Ji-woon babbled to himself and took your hand in his own, dragging you to the barricaded front doors.

 The doors had been piled with rubbish bins, wooden benches, and heavy dumpsters, preventing a hoard of most of the patients from escaping. You didn’t doubt that most of them had probably rotted away in the hallways, but you had seen even the slimiest rotten bodies still crawl. Ji-woon clicked before he heaved the dumpsters away, black veins crawling up his arms as he pulled. They swam up to his fingers where he clenched his hands and howled, tearing away the two dumpsters and letting them clatter down the steps to the building. In response to the groans both inside and outside, the Other hissed sharply, demanding no help as he dug at the planks boarding the automatic doors shut. The electricity was long gone so once the planks were gone, Ji-woon had to heave the doors open himself. You only watched as he did so and cringed, gagging as the smell from inside the hospital was released. It burned your nose it was so foul. The smell of hundreds of rotting bodies rushed out, and you reached for your scarf to cover your nose before pausing and rummaging in your bag for the filter mask you had. It would be better for cutting out any spores from rotting bodies as well. You found it quickly and pulled it over your head with a grumble before you dared to follow Ji-woon into the festering hospital.  

  The hallways by the doors were littered with bones. Corpses were laid over the remains of others, and you could only assume those were the remains of the infected who had eventually faded from existence too as their brains leaked from their ears and their bodies gave in. Ji-woon lifted a bone to his nose under the reigns, the black strap over his nose wiggling as he sniffed at it and dropped it to the floor again like a used toy. He rummaged through the bodies before tugging at the reigns and gag again. You had forgotten to remove them the first time, and so you carefully pulled them free, letting his mouth free. The Other gurgled, cracking his neck and jaw in his hands before he flexed his fingers and arms in a wave, clenching the muscles tight as the black veins spread over his bruised skin. The muscles twitched as his eyes blinked before they rolled backwards and be bent over backwards to look at you, clicking in a long groan from the back of his throat. His mouth opened in a giant, spit dripping grin, before he snapped back over and rushed forwards, disappearing down the hallways. With a gasp, you rushed after him, listening to the screeching of infected as Ji-woon smashed them against the concrete walls. You had to run quick, following the blood trails down the linoleum floors. With a screech you slipped in the guts of one infected and went flying, tumbling to your knees as you slid through the mess on the floor, staining your hands and knees. The fabric of your combat bottoms was stained a brown tinged red.

 As you fought against the tangle of intestines, you heard the buck fire of a shotgun. The snap of pellets against the wall was followed by the blood curdling scream of Ji-woon. It came from the stairs. You rushed to catch up with him as infected lumbered up from the floors and piled towards the doorway as well. They had no interest in you, covered in zombie blood and guts, and so they cajoled you along in their group as they crawled and hobbled into the opening of the stairs.

“Fuck!” Someone cursed from the stairway as the zombies started to pile together, climbing the stairs slowly. It gave Ji-woon an opportunity to heal enough to launch himself at one of them, screaming as blood dripped from his mouth and eyes. His fingers met the woman’s eye sockets and he pressed her against the wall before shoving his thumbs in as far as they would go. She screamed, her legs kicking out at the Other, and you tried not to watch as Ji-woon leaned over to lick the blood and juice from her cheeks, purring happily as his blackened tongue swiped at the snack. He twisted his thumbs with a violent jerk and pulled out the ruined mess of her eyeballs before popping them into his mouth with a happy purr. The shotgun fired again, and you cried out as Ji-woon’s ear and half of his neck was sent flying against the window behind him.

 The Other screeched, flying backwards into the wall before the only sound he could make was a pathetic whistling noise. The small hoard he had summoned were quick to slow and the remaining survivors seemed to deal with them quickly, smashing open their skulls before they grabbed you out of the mess, kicking and screaming. Ji-woon gurgled, blood bubbling in his open trachea before it flopped back and the cartilage started to heal, his hands flying out to grab at your bottoms as a male and a young girl dragged you in front of the man with the shotgun. They didn’t dare go near the healing Other but they were quick to drag their friend’s corpse away from him to delay his recovery. Ji-woon gargled violently and slammed his fist into the concrete in an attempt to grab at the foot before it slid away from him. He missed and swooned before thudding against the first step, his nose cracking and bleeding, broken, from the impact. The survivors only then dared to tie him up, grappling his arms and legs, hog tying them behind his back before they dragged him up the stairs away from you. You didn’t shout for him, you looked at the floor as you were put before their leader and the gas mask was torn from your face.

 “Now what is someone, alone, doing with an Other on a leash, hm?” He asked as he cocked the shotgun, “You know what they do…so why have you got one as a pet? Couldn’t bare to kill your lover? Pretty fucked up to let it loose on people.”

You didn’t reply, just looked at the floor. You couldn’t afford to tell these people anything.

“Fine. Be that way. We’ll see what the Doctor has to say about an Other listening to a human.” He dismissed you and turned, the shotgun perched on his shoulder. They were all dressed similarly, in old, tattered looking military clothing, and you made sure to make yourself a bit of a dead weight as two of them grabbed hold of you and heaved you to your feet. You followed willingly enough as they chatted quietly among themselves, heading up six floors before they dragged you into the floor and relocked and barricaded the doors behind them. You caught sight of Ji-woon only briefly before they carted him into an examination room, their hands full of heavy dog chains and cuffs. Fear churned in your guts as they dragged you into the side room to the examination room and sat you in a chair. They were quick to cuff you to it, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to escape, and you felt your eyes and throat burn with tears as you looked through the glass and saw Ji-woon, naked, delirious, unhealed and chained to a hospital bed.

 You whispered his name but said nothing else as the Other’s blood dripped down the hospital bed and his neck sealed itself back shut. Still, he was loopy, delirious and upset, throwing his head left and right in an attempt to clear imaginary fog from in front of his eyes. As you watched the Other come around, the door opened quietly behind you, revealing a man in a lab coat, the sleeves rolled up his aging arms revealing puckered scars. The man was tall and thin, almost gaunt, as though his work consumed all of his waking hours. His greying hair was tied back at the back of his neck and a cigarette was perched between his lips. Dark brown eyes looked you over twice, head to toe, before he removed the cigarette from between his lips and blew a great cloud of smoke out over towards you.

“I’ve never heard of an Other listening to a human, never mind a human that takes their pet out to snack on other survivors.” he drawled as he puffed on his cigarette and looked you up and down again.

 “He doesn’t listen to me.” You whispered, “He just uses me.”

“A likely story. My entire group heard you shouting for it. It has a name, which I never thought the Others could remember. Whatever this little thing the two of you have, it’s something I’m interested in looking at.” he confessed as he looked over at the large machinery Ji-woon was being pushed inside, “But first I need him to heal that brain of his fully.”

“What do you really want out of this?” You asked, looking the Doctor in hi dark eyes. You were shocked by the lack of depth. They were cold and uncaring.

The Doctor laughed at you as he reached into his pocket and slammed down a notebook on the table in front of you before he followed it up with a bulging folder. The front was labelled with a ‘top secret’ stamp, but he opened the folder and flicked to a blue coloured tab.

“Does this answer your question?”

 You leaned forwards as best as you could, straining against the ties around your arms to get a good look at the images and writing. There was an image of Ji-woon, not unlike the image on his teacher ID, and then there was a more gruesome one of him pinned to a table, his eyes peeled open with needles piercing the pupil, back into the optic nerve.

“Your little pet was one of the originals.” The Doctor droned from behind you, “He was kept here after his first escape and then escaped again before causing all of the problems. The outbreak in the city was all his fault. This hospital was the breeding ground, and he was the catalyst.”

It was like you had swallowed a heavy rock. Your stomach clenched as you realised just why the zombies had listened to Ji-woon's call. He was their master. Most of the infected in the city were his doing. Even the Others might be his doing. You felt sick. You reached quietly as the Doctor only laughed and stubbed his cigarette out in a full ashtray.

 “Did you think he was innocent? It’s one of the Others now. He’s killed more people than any of them combined.” The Doctor gloated before he leaned over the controls in the corner of the room, looking at the heart monitor they had attached to Ji-woon. The beep was quiet and there were long pauses between them.

“Even the fact his heart works is a miracle.” The Doctor continued, “All because of some little human he couldn’t bring himself to kill.”

“If he’s the original, what do you want with him?” You asked meekly as the Other stirred in the other room. The MRI whirled to life, the magnets letting out a high pitch whine as they span.

“To study him. He might be the cure to the this, and I want my people to be able to live with the knowledge that if they put a foot wrong, they won’t be turned into monsters.” The Doctor droned as he turned to the small control panel and flicked a switch. The magnets hummed and you leaned towards the glass as Ji-woon stirred, his black eyes opening as his wounds finally closed.

 The magnets span and the MRI scanner hummed to life. You held your breath, watching the Other thrash against the dog chains. His shoulder clicked back into place only to be popped back out of its socket as he dragged at his chains, pulling them taught as the scanner started. He was quickly snapped back into place as the outside pully system went tight, keeping his head back and his shoulders pressed to the bed. You gasped as the scan started and Ji-woon let out a horrific howl. It went on for an age, the magnets spinning as his lungs roared until he couldn’t anymore, and he spat blood, whining as his eyes rolled and more blood dripped from his eyes and nose. The chains only went slack when he fell back against the bed, his mouth open as spit dripped from his mouth, mixing with the blood he had splashed all over the bedding from his thrashing. The Doctor tutted at the images and started another, initiating another round of howling from Ji-woon, his arms bulging as black veins swam down his face and shoulders then invaded his arms. The chains were drawn tight again, and you cringed at the unholy howl that left the Other as they scanned his brain again. The third scan had Ji-woon pass out, his nose pouring blood as his eyes rolled back and his teeth chattered in his mouth.

 The Doctor looked at the scans, ignoring his creature in the other room and you in favour of focusing in on one area of Ji-woon’s brain. The brain stem was enlarged at the back, with a strange looking organ attached beneath the main area. It almost looked like a tumour. You wondered if he had once been a patient, given the experimental therapy to help with a disease of some sort.

“Amazing.” The Doctor commented, “So not only has his brain enlarged but there’s a whole new area.”

“It looks like a tumour to me.” You commented bitterly.

“That’s precisely what it is. A tumour growth turned into a new centre of control. The brain stem controls all basic functions down to breathing, but this centre seems to be responsible for the Other’s abilities. Like the ungodly strength and speed, you’ve seen him have. This is the reason.” He sparked his cigarette again and hummed, “Its sad I’ve got to cut it out of him.”

 Your blood ran cold, “You’re going to do what?”

“A live brain surgery. We can’t kill an Other but removing the organ in his brain might do the trick.” The Doctor snorted, “It isn’t human anymore. Why do you think it is? That thing would eat you if I threw you into there right now.” A smile curled his lips upwards at the thought, “In fact, let’s see what he does, hm? A little live experiment never hurt anyone.” he took hold of the back of the wooden chair and tipped you backwards before dragging you to the door, laughing and wheezing as he puffed on the cigarette. His people looked on in confusion before he demanded for the door to the scanning room to be opened.

“Please don’t do this!” You begged as fear churned your guts and hammered at your heart.

“I thought you trusted your little pet?” The Doctor mocked as he slid you inside the room, your back to the thick glass viewing window, “Let’s see how much he repays you!”

You tugged against the bindings to no avail as the door slammed closed behind you and the Doctor’s wheezing laughter bounced down the corridor.

 The room was silent as Ji-woon’s mouth dripped spit and blood back against the hospital bed, his eyes closed and wiggling behind his eyelids. He was alive. His chest moved rhythmically up and down, breathing wheezily as he recovered from the MRI. What it had actually done to the Other, you didn’t know. He was dazed and sleepy, tossing his head with occasional twitches as the veins in his arms pulsed with a black light. It was something you had never seen him do before, and it worried you as you looked at the tied rope and cuffs which bound you to the wooden chair.

“Ji-woon?” You whispered softly as the Other twitched violently against the bed, his shoulders bending as his back and hips bucked forwards.

The Other gurgled again as his head rolled towards you, his ears twitching as black veins burned under his skin. His bruised face was covered with them like lines of tattoos, and they were quickly spreading down his chest. His arms were already covered, and you watched them pulse as Ji-woon tugged on the chains lightly. They were slack. Like a chain reaction, his arms bulged, and his eyes shot open as blood dripped down over his cheeks, painting him like a horror as he let out a screech and pulled the chains as taut as they could go.

 There was a commotion outside before a gravelly laugh sounded and the chains holding Ji-woon dragged against the holes, completely slack. The metal slammed against the MRI scanner as Ji-woon tore himself free and flew towards you. His mouth opened wide, exposing the black insides of his cheeks and his slick black tongue. The Other launched himself at your chair, sending you both flying back against the viewing wall. His mouth dripped spit over your shoulder before his tongue dipped out of his mouth to taste your hot skin. He purred at the taste, gurgling just like the first night you met him. Hungry. Feral. Insane.

“Ji-woon, please, it’s me.” You begged softly as his teeth pressed against your skin. He’d already torn your sleeve away and it laid down at the bottom of your wrist.

The Other gurgled before black goo dripped from his mouth and he heaved over your back, letting the spit, blood and black bile dripped over your shirt.

“J-J-Ji...woon...” He gurgled before he screeched again.

 You flinched, moving to cover your ears, and Ji-woon wrenched himself backwards, clutching his head as he let out a shriek and another howl. You watched in horror from the floor as his back rippled and cracked, the veins spreading like a web over his shoulders and down to the base of his spine. The muscles contorted in painful spirals before he let out a piercing human shout and spasmed violently. He clutched at his hair, fingers tearing scratches into the shaved sides as he tore at the pain.

“Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!” You shouted at him. Ji-woon only flinched away from the noise and collapsed, holding his head against the floor as his back bowed and a great black appendage tore from his shoulder blade. The mucus covered limb spread itself before the pointed tip slammed down against the linoleum, tearing a giant hole, revealing the solid concrete underneath. Another shriek left the Other as he slammed his feet against the floor and scrambled to hold onto something as another black, pointed, mucus covered limb burst from his skin, tearing a wound in his back. It was followed by four more in quick succession, and you tried not to cry as they slammed close to your face.

 Ji-woon clicked like a possessed child, groaning as the limbs lifted him like a spider and slammed against the sides of the room. His face was almost completely black, and you shuddered as chitin plates moved underneath his bruised skin and burst from underneath covering his face like a grotesque, insect like helmet. The slit along the middle left room for his eyes, but there was no recognition as the black limbs clicked along the walls and grabbed you by the rope that tied you to the chair, lifting you close to the Other’s face. The plates shifted and revealed his mouth, open, hungry, and filled with black pointed teeth. They snapped near your face before the Other sniffed you. He reared back slightly with a gurgle and flinched as the MRI whirled to life. A great, wet laugh sounded as the plates of his helmet shifted and clasped over his ears, protecting him from the noise as his black tongue licked at your hot skin, tasting the sweat that drenched you.

 His teeth tore open your shoulder a moment later.

 Agony laced your veins as you looked down as where the Other was suckling on the gouge. He pulled back and you watched your blood drip from his mouth. A great purr sounded as he hoisted you high with one limb dripping blood over the chair and his body as you felt the area burn with unimaginable heat. It would take you an hour to die and then three more to turn. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t wake up as an infected, but as one of the Others. At least then it wouldn’t be such torture living inside your own head. You’d remember nothing, or at least you hoped. You hung from the appendage as Ji-woon peered up at you, licking his fingers as he held you aloft, admiring the bite mark on your shoulder. The Other purred at the taste of your blood until the door slammed open. The helmet pieces snapped back into place, covering his face as the appendages whirled and slammed into the door frame. A shotgun kicked and the pellets sprayed against the hardened tentacles as Ji-woon’s arms grew again, the veins pulsing before his arms turned black completely. Thorns shot out of the skin as he howled and lowered himself, walking on four limbs as the others deflected the gun shots. You were hoisted high above the carnage, woozily swinging back and forth as you bled and the pain around the bite mark seared down to your fingers. As Ji-woon advanced on the people, you felt tears drip from your eyes, down onto his wild hair. He ignored the salty tears as he tore open a woman by her throat, the trachea held fast between his jaws. His maw opened again to tear more meat from her arms, the monstrous tentacles whipping around and piercing the other humans, leaving them with gaping holes, bleeding against the linoleum.

 “Ji-woon. Please.” You wheeze above him as he jumped on another person, tearing open their stomachs before he popped the rib cage open and crunched the bones in his mouth. The tentacles thrashed harder growing as the thorns on his arms became tough scales and his helmet moulded to the back of his head, holding his hair high over his head in a crazy spikey updo. You wept softly as he lowered you down to his eyes, black orbs shining inside the helmet before he opened his jaws, the plates parting, now part of his face, to reveal his black mouth, full of blood clots and bone shards. He clicked before reaching out a cold hand and running it up your thigh. He stopped above your knee and then smiled. Blood dripped from between his pointed teeth and ran down his chin, and he whipped his head back and forth like a dog. His hand came away from your thigh to touch the bite mark. He licked away the blood on his fingers before he touched his cool fingertips to your chest, pressing hard over your heart before he pressed them to his own chest.

“We can’t be together like this!” You sobbed, “I wanted to help you, not become one of your thrall.”

Ji-woon’s eyes blinked away blood, and it dripped over the plates over his face, “Together.” He promised you as he held you away from danger again.

 The Doctor appeared in the hall, and you watched in horror as Ji-woon slammed one sharp tentacle through the man’s stomach, pinning him to the wall with a slam and a great splash of blood. Ji-woon followed his appendage, growling as he met the man against the wall, cracking his black fingers as the ends shifted into points. With a snarl he slammed his hand through the man’s chest, enjoying the blood with a feral madness. He wailed again, the black covering his skin spreading, the plates and scales growing as he let the man fall to the floor. Spit slicked his chin at the thought of the marrow, but with a bite, he was upset. Ji-woon spat the blood and meat after the Doctor’s cries of pain.

“Stupid thing. I’ve been dying from the cancer for three years. My body will only make you ill.” He laughed as he reached into his pocket, pulling free a syringe, “But you might want this.”

You didn’t catch sight of it before a tentacle snatched it from the Doctor. Ji-woon inspected the liquid before the Doctor laughed and snatched something from his lab coat. He slumped forwards, slamming the syringe into Ji-woon’s leg. The serum seemed to have no effect, and Ji-woon swatted him away with a smash of a tentacle, sending him sprawling down the hall, his head twisted grotesquely.

 You sobbed above the Other as your arms burned in agony and your chest went viciously tight. You coughed, tasting blood in your mouth as you were lowered again. Ji-woon twitched violently as he presented you with the vial. You read the side and sniffled again. A lethal injection. The poison had already been ejected from Ji-woon’s body, and the clear fluid leaked down his bare leg before it too was covered with insect like plates.

“Please.” You begged softly.

The Other eyed you, his eyes twitching left and right, before he placed you on the floor and held the needle and syringe in front of your eyes. With one violent movement, he crushed it, and let the millilitres of drug drip from his clawed fingers.

“Together.” he stuttered again as he linked his fingers and took hold of the back of the chair, tugging you along behind him as he lumbered along the hospital corridors, groaning the word ‘together’ repeatedly like a ghost.

 When you woke again, you were laid in your small apartment. You wheezed as you looked up at the ceiling, feeling your limbs burn as you dragged them against the floor, attempting to touch your head. A cold hand grasped yours as you blinked away the red in your eyes. An armour clad Other peered at you with warm black eyes. Blood leaked from his eyes and mouth, between the creases of the plates of the helmet covering his face.

“Ji…woon.” You wheezed as your chest burned. Agony seared at every nerve as you shivered and coughed blood over his armoured thighs. A tentacle swept over your thighs, tucking you back against the mattress before it dragged your blankets over you.

“Together.” Ji-woon wheezed at you with a purr before his sharp teeth snapped and he gave you another bite on your hip. He said it again and bit your arm. The pain was already intense. You didn’t really register the bites as you raised your other hand and touched his head.

“So much for finding yourself, hm? I s-should have known… that you were a monster all along.” You heaved at him as you dragged your hand over his hair and cupped his cheek, “You’re still Ji-woon at least.” You whispered as your chest burned and you gasped and hiccupped violently.

 Ji-woon’s arms went slack as the tentacles around him waved gently. His mouth parted, dripping your own and his blood over the mattress as he leaned over your body.

“Together…Ji-woon a-a-a…” The Other gurgled as he reached for your body and touched your skin. You were cold. Freezing cold. Dead. It was as though it all came rushing back, and the Other wailed as he clutched at your body, looking for the veins that should be weaving over your neck and arms. Nothing moved under your skin. You were not going to turn into one like him. He howled, his tentacles thrashing, lashing blood and mucus over the walls as he desperately touched your face and pressed against your throat. He clicked, softly, louder and then screeched near your ears, calling for an Other who wasn’t there. Violently, he shook your body, crying for you as he cried black and red tears over your body. There was nothing. The Other wailed, throwing himself on top of your corpse as he heard his thrall thunder through the hall.

 Dead.

 He cried over your body again before he tore open his arms, spreading his blood over your lips before he took his teeth to your neck, spitting and bleeding into your mouth and the wounds to try and get you to wake back up. Your chest compressed with a breath before your eyes opened, red rimmed and burning with an orange glint around the pupils. You were not an Other. A gurgle sounded from your throat, and Ji-woon reached to cradle your head as you slumped into him. His blood dripped over the both of you as he stroked your hair like a doll, combing his fingers through the mess. Your eyes drooped shut again and your chest stilled before your body convulsed against him. Ji-woon knew what it was, and you were close to being with him, forever, if only he could get you to eat. He reached for his own leg and gouged his nails against the flesh. It hurt, but he continued, peeling open his calf underneath the plating. Blood and gore stuck under his fingernails as he plucked free a piece of muscle, fat and skin, dangling it in front of your mouth. Your eyes shot open, the veins in your eyes pulsing with black as your lips wrapped around the treat. Ji-woon let you have it, purring as you chewed and swallowed. It was then that he chirped and slid his nail under the back of your skull, straight into your spinal column.

 The scream that tore from your throat made him flinch, but he held you fast as his skin twisted and a black appendage grew from his pointed black nail, weaselling under your vertebrae before it shot upwards into your brain stem and poked the small tumour growing at the back. Ji-woon focused as his form broke off and wrapped around the tumour, stimulating the centre with new black veins, filled with the mutating virus. Your eyes rolled back as the veins webbed over the back of your neck, and Ji-woon waited for your eyes to go black before he purred and leaned forwards, kissing your dead lips. You only came to when his tongue pressed into the back of your mouth, tasting of your combined bloods and the faintest hint of blackberries. Maybe that was thanks to your last meal? You didn’t know but the veins in your neck pulsed and wormed their way down your chest, bucking you forwards, into the kiss with the Other. Your brain throbbed with the taste of food, and you reached up your cold hands to tug at the Other’s hair for a further taste of what would be your forever. Together, forever with the Other.

[cupidsintern]

shot thru the heart, pt 4

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3

-

Billy was obviously in a pretty foul mood when Steve saw him at school the next day. He didn’t throw Steve a little “hey” of a nod like he’d started doing recently. Didn’t even really look up when Steve sat down. Steve figured Billy probably noticed someone stole his notebook which may or may not have had part of a love letter in the back of it and probably wanted to murder and or never again speak to whoever did it, but then again, maybe he just thought it had been lost?

Steve pulled shit out of his backpack in silence, even as their classmates talked around them, and Steve realized that recently, he and Billy had mostly only been talking to each other. Steve would have to go back to passing full days of school in next to silence if Billy found out about the notebook, and just when things were getting good

The classroom door opened.

A girl- Ellen something? was standing in the doorway in a red pleated skirt and one of those headbands with the hearts on springs. She was holding a basket of roses and a couple teddy bears- Oh my god.

“Valentine grams-” She was explaining to the teacher. As if Steve’s day could not get worse.

The test was going to be postponed for the three excruciating minutes it would take for her to compare notes with the seating chart and one by one hand out Valentines and Steve would just have to sit there wallowing in jealousy and misery.

Steve realized too late that the girl- Ellen… crap, Ellen Studebacker? He thinks?- little headband hearts bobbing, was walking over to him.

“Hi Steve,” Ellen smiled at him, tugging a red rose from her basket and handing it to him like she had probably done a hundred times this week. But he was special, everyone knew him.

The class chattered a little more- someone whistled, someone else laughed- Steve might as well have been deaf to all of it. He wasn't expecting a Valentine gram, only managed a “uh, thanks.” to the girl before she bobbed off on her merry way, and the teacher told them all to quiet down.

Steve got a Valentine gram. He had, a lot going on in his head right now. Way more than there usually was. He stayed up to an ungodly hour last night, later than he had since… you know. But he just couldn’t sleep, he’d felt like someone coated him in slime and he kept getting up to brush his teeth or pace and try hard as he could not to give in a jerk off-

But now he has this. A little heart shaped piece of paper with glitter and lace glued to it to let him know, some girl out there still thinks about him enough to send him a cheesy valentine. What was that thing Billy had said?

Plenty of bitches in the sea.

God he sounded like such a scumbag. Come to find out the guy writes sappy love letters, Steve could almost laugh. He opened up the little Valentine, carefully sliding the rose upright into his backpack before turning back to read:

To: Steve Harrington

2nd Period Class: Room 48

From:

Last category empty, instead of a name, or a “your secret admirer,” the sender had drawn a heart, with an arrow through it. Cartoonish blood dripped off the arrow’s tip.

The swerve of the uppercase S. The line on the H. The tail on the G.

And that stupid shot-through heart.

Steve’s own heart rate reached a yet-to-be-possible BPM he’d know that stupid perfect handwriting anywhere. It was Billy’s handwriting.

Billy sent this.

For a full couple of seconds, Steve drew a complete blank. Nothing happened, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, his heart didn’t beat, he wasn't even sure he breathed.

Then a million different thoughts came crashing down around his ears- almost made him flinch.

Oh my god Billy sent this. To him.

Was this for real? Was this some kind of sick fucked-up-Billy joke? He was just doing it to fuck with Steve’s head- but no. Then he probably would have signed it. Or written some random girl’s name. Not- not drawn a heart. Like the ones he drew in the margins of his notes,

And if Billy was… you know. That would actually make a lot of sense as to why he was such a fucking douchebag.

But what if he wasn't! God but what if he was.

Did he know about Steve?

But god, there wasn't anything to know was there. Steve didn’t- he had never-

Shit, they had a test in class right now, and Steve was sitting with an arrow through his chest and little fucking cartoon hearts around his head.

-

It was just like the universe to make Billy’s main notebook go missing the day before a big fucking test. It was even more like it to set him up to be running on no hours of sleep and sit down in second period to find those stupid fucking Valentine grams being handed out.

In the split seconds before Steve’s name got called, Billy sort of hoped the gram he bought had been lost. They were pretty anonymous to buy, that’s what he’d said to himself when he filled one out, folded it up more times than necessary and jammed it in the little heart shaped box. But now, faced with the consequences of his moment of weakness, he could not be filled with more regret.

Harrington just sat there too, looking dumbstruck turning the Valentine over and over before the test started. Like he wasn’t a bombshell on the worst of hair days- he didn’t even have bad hair days.

Billy was determined to not look, not stare at the back of Steve’s head like he had every other day this year. But for the split second he looked up, Steve was turned ever so slightly to the side, his perfect nose and perfect forelock illuminated by the sunshine pouring in from dusty classroom windows. He was smelling the rose.

Billy left class as quick as he could, the test was pretty easy, but no doubt Harrington would still be in there struggling for at least ten minutes, which gave Billy more than enough time to cool his nerves before steve inevitably cae to find him at lunch like he’d done for the past couple days, just to say hi.

But he didn’t see Steve at lunch. Probably should be a relief, but Billy couldn’t help but feel his heart sinking a little. And then kicking himself for caring at all when really he shouldn't. This was nothing, just like all the other times.

Billy went to switch textbooks at his locker, more of a nerd move than he would usually allow himself but he wanted to at the very least have an okay school day.

But when he went to open his backpack, there was his notebook. He did a double take. He could have sworn the thing was missing. He had dumped his backpack out and turned it inside out on his bedroom floor, got pencil shavings all over the place in the process, and it wasn't there.

But now here it was. Billy opened it.

A note fell out.

“I took your notebook- sorry. Here’s it and the notes back. Probably be easier to study together sometime anyway. If you’re still down.

Thanks for the rose.”

Billy probably had six separate heart attacks in the span of the couple seconds it took to read the note over again. Then he laughed out loud, in the heart-splattered hallway right in front of his locker, didn't care if anyone looked at him weird.

“Thanks for the rose.”

-

this was gonna be the last part but honestly i might write one more just cause i want them to kiss. lmk what u think lads :3

[adarlingwrites]

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working. 

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

[vargaslovinghours]

“...pretty sure I’m most of the way out of Vargas brainspace...”

Well, huh. Second verse, same as the first!

Was thinking quite a lot about their “first kiss” from Parent-Teacher Night - I realized afterwards that Edgar would almost certainly be wearing something much more suited to the occasion! If it’s going to be perfect, it’s gotta be ✨Perfect✨ 

Oh yeah, he can just do that. I actually had a lot of Hunchback-themed doodles, spanning probably a full page between my main and alt. notebook. I only realized very very recently looking back that I initially set it up to be a movie they see After but then doodled a bunch of stuff as if they could still share dreams, that’s not how that works at all!

I’ve gotten surprisingly good at drawing him just with my index finger lol. Sometimes a bad mood is best channeled through a judgmental Scriabin

I wanted to try out a bunch of different sitting and laying poses on the couch and made this for a base. They’ve got such long legs, it’d be all too easy to squish the other if one of them decided to stretch out hehe

Another Pearlcatcher Scriabin, as a test for my new notebook. Notebook did not make the grade, but he did turn out cute ♥ What a polite sit, folded wings and all. Wonder what element he’d breathe, hmm

More paper testing, ended up with a couple Edgar comparisons. I miss my old paper!! It’s hard to tell since I drew in the upper margin for the tests lol, false unlined

I might finish the present exchange minicomic yet, but if I don’t I’d hate to just leave it hanging! This is how I make doodle notes lol, the order is a bit all over the place. Edgar’s gift was a double scarf! It actually unbuttons into two matching scarves but it’s not immediately obvious so it just looks like a super-long scarf, made to be shared whether separate or together :) Plus a couple bonuses of Scriabin wearing his very terrible mask and the two of them sharing the scarf :D

Ambidextrous practice and an older idea of Scriabin being able to pronounce keysmashes lol, it’s good letter practice! Edgar is very disturbed, how are you making those noises with your mouth

King Edgar! Was feeling a bit saccharine, but could just as easily be about competing royalty, guess he won the battle for the crown. For now...

Pot calling the kettle black, there. Unjustified egoism? Unheard of!

The original-original sketch of this WIP, I don’t need a lot to go on for my brain to remember what I meant lol. I actually still rather like how the skeleton of his fingers are shaped, it’s a nice wide, stressed expression

I edit out most of my notes ‘cause they’re either this or memery lol. Puffed out cheeks are too cute!

I like Lady!Edgar quite a lot, obviously lol. I wanted to draw her in the cardigan because Edgar was cute in it and wouldn’t you know, that carries over! Edgar’s cute throughout his iterations haha. I feel the same about Lady!Scriabin as well, in one of my sketches I described her as “puckish” lol

Playful closeness, Edgar is not interested lol. I was mostly thinking about hip posing at the time, like meeting at one point and separating out from there. Tied at the hip!

Back to what I was doing before, nbd. The amount of unfinished kiss doodles I have....look, okay- I also think it’s funny that with unfinished blushes their faces end up darker than their hair lol

Speaking of - back when I was first practicing drawing kisses, the alignment was probably the hardest part. Convincingly making it look like the lips meet is hard! But then the reality of the situation occurred to me, Edgar’s not particularly practiced at kissing so maybe the combination our inexperiences would result in such a situation lol

Probably my favourite frame from Where are you now, he looks so intense even though he’s immediately going to pop into panic, ahh the contrast. I also originally used hard-edge vectors at a much smaller scale, but I intended soft and shined eyes from the beginning

Just pick him up and carry him like a teddy bear lol. Just wait til he kicks out his leg and they fall on each other lol

Spacefiller fluffy Scriabin. I keep wanting to draw flowers but I keep forgetting about flower crowns! I just like pinned back hair too much I guess

Oh no not a hug trap! Insidious, however will he escape

Someone gently touching Edgar’s face - I ended up liking how the sketch looked too much to want to finish it lol. Who could it be?

Brief return to the TGWDLM crossover, it hits randomly. I never drew the Apotheosis meeting Edgar, and it’s still not exactly how I’d imagine it happening (or what I’ve written) but I thought it was interesting anyway. Edgar’s always gotta be crying, that’s a requirement

A!Edgar is so cloyingggg, it’s never not weird

Definitely not

Fighting over symbolism. It took me a while to think it over fully, but I think the scariest part about Apotheosized!Edgar is that he’s not afraid to hurt Scriabin at first. He’s much closer to a stranger with Edgar’s face, but that’s kind of a big deal lol

Finally a lack of glasses that makes sense lol. Easier to just grab his face than point him in the right direction and hope he sees

Some Convalescence Scriabin mouth shape practice for funsies. My mouth expressions tend to be rather subdued and since he was both already on my mind and more prone to big expressions, he seemed perfect for it. I really like “E” lol, he looks so proud

Eye, or lack thereof practice, a bit torn at the outer edge. Kinda reminds me of Invader ZiM in a bad way lol, I might return to the spiral-looking socket instead if I draw them again, I like the weird smooth texture but it’s hard for me to pin down with pencils

A silly little idea of Scriabin flying into him and falling over lol. “Hey Ron. Hey Billy” lol. Edgar’s just given up entirely

So that’s September through mid February! I honestly didn’t expect to still be doodling them so often lol

[ito-itonomen]

OH MY GOD

GUYS

SO, way back when I was in highschool, I had this habit of drawing in my notebooks during math instead of writing notes. mostly I drew people and monsters and generally fantasy themed stuff.

During my junior year, I started drawing one character in particular over and over again in the margins of test papers, homework sheets, note pages, etc. I didn't really know why, but she was just so much fun to draw.

Later during my junior year, I took a graphic design class and this time when I drew this character over and over again on an ancient version of Photoshop with an equally outdated drawing tablet it was at least for a grade.

Today, I was poking around a bunch of old junk I've had laying around since longer than I can remember, when I came across an old notebook, like, super old, for a notebooks general life span, anyways. And lo and behold, I found a familiar face in the back pages.

Actually, I think you might find her familiar too.

[tamuramachi]

Top 10 Manga Picks: the Origins of Manga-Loving Yumi Tamura!

Loosely translated from the Da Vinci Magazine August 2020 issue.

"Tamura has been creating works that span mystery, horror, fictional warfare, action, and fantasy genres. What kind of manga has she been reading up to now? We asked her to introduce the 10 works that inspired her to start drawing manga, as well as what she considers her heart's bible. Includes comments from Tamura herself!"

Yumi Tamura's Comments:

1. Cyborg 009 by Shotaro Ishinomori

"When I was little, I watched the anime first and loved it, and then I read the manga around the time I was entering junior high school. I wanted to be 003 and go into battle with friends in the same way. I feel like it was my emotional support during the period of my 2nd year in junior high when I was having a hard time and ran away from it all."

2. Lolly no Seishun by Kimiko Uehara

"When I was in the 3rd or 4th grade of elementary school, Uehara drew a lot of one-shots in Betsucomi ('Lolly' was a weekly comic), and they were so interesting and moving every time that I was constantly in a state of emotion. I think because of that, I began drawing manga in my notebook, splitting up the pages into panels. Dramatic & rich with emotion, the depicted characters by Uehara, whether men or women, are full of charm & utterly brilliant. The energy and willpower of the female characters is really wonderful."

3. Thomas no Shinzou by Moto Hagio

"Of course I love 'Poe no Ichizoku' & '11-nin Iru!' too. Needless to say, Hagio is the greatest treasure. When I was in the 1st year of junior high, my friend & I were crazy about 'Thomas'. I liked Juri and my friend liked Oskar... we talked about going to Germany someday. It links together my own happy memories. I'm sure I didn't understand everything Hagio was trying to draw, but in the end, even now I cry at the image of Juri smiling faintly in a small panel."

4. Hamidashikko by Jun Mihara

"To me, this work is like the bible. It relentlessly strikes the deepest part of the heart and brings forth a flood of pain and tears. It wraps you up in a warmth that's helplessly miserable, sorrowful. Sincere gazes and intense dialogues. The power of the dialogues is truly unbelievable. The way the dialogues are presented along with the drawings make the best use of that power. Mihara's careful thoughts are at the root of all this. Even though I'm already this grateful, I will never get used to it. It's just amazing."

5. Kyoufu Shinbun by Jirou Tsunoda

"This is the most terrifying manga I've ever read. It's so captivating, & even decades later, it's still ingrained in me. There are various scenes that I'll recall whenever something happens. My younger sister & I would look at each other & go like ‘it's that’ or ‘that one scene, right?!’ & it would send shivers down our spines. We're already at a level of trauma. It's uncommon for a main story line to be most interesting while introducing all sorts of horrors."

6. Hyouryuu Kyoushitsu by Kazuo Umezu

"If I was told to read a manga now that would make me cry right away, then I would choose this one. Particularly the last scene of the mother crying. This work is unbelievably fierce, grand, rich in ideas, & just too fascinating. And the themes are so broad & deep that it makes you think about many things. It's a rare transcendental masterpiece that will, in the end, leave you feeling comforted & positive, thinking ‘it was a good ending,’ even though the journey is extremely scary & painful. Also, my contempt for Sekiya is strong.”

7. Macaroni Hourensou by Tsubame Kamogawa

"This is explosively entertaining. Fun. Cute. Cool. I love it! 25-year old Toshi-chan is the best! He's so cool. I don't know how many times I've read this. I still say the lines out loud even now. This is a very popular work that I can only describe as fun. There are not many other gag manga that make me burst out laughing quite like this one. I love it!”

8. Akaaka Maru by Minako Uchida

"I just can't stop admiring this work in general. The drawings, the rhythm, the stunning midpoint [?], the ability to think in a scientific way. And the proficiency of observing people. I admired it so much that I tried drawing contours of people & handwriting with permanent markers & brushes, but my drawing skills were so different that I ended up with nothing but doodles. ‘BOOMTOWN’ & the short stories are also very interesting & fun!”

9. Genji by Yun Kouga

"Innovative, I thought. I could clearly understand it. Kouga seems to be the kind of person who has a lot of sense. I've always thought it was amazing how her work & she herself had leadership qualities of the time to pull others along. I would very much love to know what kind of ideas Kouga has in mind for the rest of this work, since it hasn't been completed yet.”

10. Nodame Cantabile by Tomoko Ninomiya

"There was a period when I was having a very tough time, & it got to the point where I was having unhealthy thoughts like, ‘Is manga even enjoyable?’ But then this work came along & I was like ‘Aah, manga is fun after all! Thank goodness, I'm okay!’ So, this is a super popular & famous work to which I owe a debt of gratitude for making me realize & genuinely feel this way. I think it would be the greatest if I could portray the world in a similar way with such thoroughness. I envy that power of Ninomiya's! It's magnificent!”

Additional side comment from Tamura (in the speech bubble):

“I wanted to include the Bijohime series (Hana no Bijohime) & PARTNER by Tomoko Naka too! (I think it's obvious that these have an influence on my characters.) Other works that also left a strong impact on me are Ryouko Yamagishi's Arabesque; Yuko Kishi's Tamasaburou series and short stories; Rising! (Saeko Himuro/Author, Kazuko Fujita/Artist); the Palm series (Yasei Kemonogi); Astro Kyuudan (Shirou Toozaki/Author, Norihiro Nakajima/Artist); & Dark Green by Junko Sasaki. Makoto Kobayashi's Judo-bu Monogatari & Nanae Haruno's PaPa told me are also excellent! There’re also many other works that I'll never forget, such as those by Shinji Wada & Udou Shinohara, which have all influenced me in some way. I've always loved TONO's Karubania Monogatari too.”

[rosepetalmark]

flowers in your hair

↬ Johnny Suh x Reader ↬1.8k Words ↬Your allergies and creating art are two things Johnny holds dear to his heart

You hated the outdoors. Anything to do with bugs, dirt, and even plants made you itch and sneeze and scared that you’ll get some rare unknown disease and die because the innocent looking flower you picked by the bench turned out to be poisonous. 

Johnny on the other hand, enjoyed nature and embraced it to its fullest. Every day he’d make time to bask in the grass, and soak up all the sun while working on his latest art inspiration. 

Today, he decided that sitting in a field full of sunflowers would be ideal for his newest project, and what would make it more worthwhile and perfect was if you, his girlfriend  were with him to occupy his time and add further enjoyment to his favourite hobby. 

Horrible idea on his part because you’re allergic to flowers, and tall fields of grass would most likely break you out into hives and have you coughing up a lung. Johnny wouldn’t bat an eye though, because despite loving you with all his heart, he had a knack for making fun of you and the simplest inconveniences that occurred within your life. 

He always says you’re over dramatic when it comes to your “spring allergies” and that nothing like some water and the fresh air will clear your mind and nasal passages. 

He’s a dumbass, and he really will be the reason you die one day. 

But Johnny didn’t care, because as long he had you, a bottle of allergy medicine for your sneezing and itching, and his paintbrushes, he was content, even if you spent a great amount of your time in this damn sunflower field teary eyed and stuffy nosed. 

“Johnny, please tell me we can leave soon, I'm itching way more now than I did when i had the chickenpox as a kid,” you whine, rubbing your hands across your bare arms to provide you with any relief as you watched the bees swarm past you in their search for some nectar in the flowers nearby.  

“Mhm,” he whispers, continuing to stroke the paintbrush across the now detailed page, completely oblivious to the words that just left your mouth. 

This always happened. Whenever he took you somewhere new, he’d completely block out the world, yourself included, in order to capture the essence of life whether it be through his camera or canvas. 

Of course there was silence, why wouldn’t there be. Every time Johnny asks you to accompany him anywhere outdoors, you always think you’re going to explore and embrace nature, and every single time you are wrong, because the second you find something beautiful to look at, he sets his small backpack down and busts out either his camera or painting utensils to capture it. 

You’d say it pissed you off at times, but art is his passion, and you’d never do anything to get in the way he feels so alive and free whenever he consumes himself with something as minuscule and simple as a paperclip. He finds the beauty in anything and everything, never ceasing to amaze you with the wonderful creations he illustrates. 

“Johnny,” you say a little louder, unamused with the silence you receive, and the continuous strokes he continues to make on the page. 

You call his name again, and again, and again, and it’s only the third time when you yell out his full name, that he finally drops the brush on his palette and focuses his attention on you. 

“Were you not listening to me?” You question, seriously surprised that out of all the times you’ve called his name, he either completely ignored you or has gone def within his 25 years of life. 

“Oh, I was listening,” he hums, raising his eyebrows whilst providing you with his staple cheeky grin, one he always does when he wants to get on your nerves. 

Always a cocky one that guy, and how you manage to stay dating him truly blows your mind. 

Sighing, you focus your gaze away from the way he picks up his paintbrush again and gently strokes baby blue across the page, looking towards the tall stocks of sunflowers gently breezing in the wind a few feet away from you.

“You’re such a crappy boyfriend,” you chuckle, picking up one of the untouched pastel crayons and examining its fluorescent blue hue.  “You never pay attention to me.” 

“I never pay attention to you, hm?” He asks, causing you to stare back at his now stoic stature, face still focusing on his notebook and nowhere on you, but more contoured and rigid this time.

“Well, you’re speaking to me now yet your attention is never on me, always on whatever you’re painting or drawing,” your tone slightly angered. 

Obviously you were lying. Johnny was the most attentive boyfriend you could ever ask for, always checking in on you and ensuring your day goes smoothly, always hanging out with you when he’d rather be napping or out painting or doing photography, and almost always is down to make out with you whenever the opportunity arises. 

You just like to pull his leg most of the time because it’s funny seeing how riled up he gets when he believes that you think he’d rather focus on his hobbies over having conversations with you. 

“Here,” he signals, shoving his book in your direction, encouraging you to look through the worn out leather book he kept hidden for months, wanting you to see what he has been working on secretly whenever you were together.

Confused, you run your fingers along the enclosed ribbon on the cover of the sketchbook, hesitant to allow yourself in the work he’s immersed himself in for hours whenever the beauty in nature took over his attention span away from you.

Raising his eyebrows, he nods in a manner that demands you open the book. “If I don’t pay any attention to you, look through the book.”

Untying the string , you decide that whatever is in this book isn’t a secret anymore, because it wouldn’t even be in your hands if Johnny didn’t practically throw it at you to shut you and your curiosity up. 

The first few pages are beautiful, really. He has a way with his sketches, always seeming so simple yet so realistic you’d think they were actual pictures edited just to appear more striking to the eye. 

“Nature really is what inspires you hm?,” you ask, more of a rhetorical question because you already know the answer that’ll come from his mouth.

Chuckling, he brings his body closer to yours so his chin is resting on your shoulder, watching as you delicately turn the pages of his book. “Yeah, but there’s something more encapsulating that ends up being my muse, just keeping looking through.”

Golden sunflowers, vibrant pink sunsets, the giant pumpkin you both visited at the fall fair last year, everything you two experienced together when hanging out was documented in this book and reinvented through his drawings or paintings of them. 

And then you saw a sketch of yourself. At first you thought it was cute, because he’d always draw you and all your other friends whenever he got bored. But four pages later all you found were several pages filled with you, ranging from when when he placed different coloured tulips in your hair that one time you went on a walk in the new community garden not far from your favourite ice cream shop, or when you experimented with makeup and put glitter all over your eyebrows. 

Every moment you deemed minuscule and fun was captured so deeply in Johnny’s eyes, that he decided to relive it all again through the many strokes and colours that seamlessly came together to create something so beautiful. 

Your breath was absolutely taken away.

You always thought nature is what captured Johnny’s attention the most, but turns out it’s always been you. 

“I’m. Wait Johnny this is so-,” you begin to say, but your words become jumbled and your emotions a tangled mess, leaving you with tears in your eyes and so much more love for him in your heart than you’d ever had before, all because he drew some pictures of you. 

“Do you like them?” he questions, raising his eyebrows, awaiting your answer of approval, his question only promoting the waterworks to begin and your head to aggressively nod. 

You place the notebook gently on the blanket you two were sitting on, and crawl into his lap, pressing your body closer to his as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

They were absolutely perfect. He was perfect. 

Everything Johnny Suh says and does is absolutely incredible and you’re so incredibly lucky to be dating the cheesiest, most loving goofball the earth has to offer. Even if he’s a giant pain in your ass 97% of the time. 

Pecking his cheek, you stare into his gleaming brown orbs. “I absolutely love them, Mr. Johnny Suh, and I love you a million times more.”

Tightening your arms around his neck, you couldn’t help but embrace this moment for much longer. You don’t care that you’re five seconds away from bursting into hives and that your throat feels like it’s closing up. Holding on to your very sweet, thoughtful boyfriend for as long as you could right in this moment was all that mattered to you. 

“I was joking by the way, I know you care about me alot and pay more attention than most boyfriends would and I appreciate you tremendously.” You could start to feel the tears well up in the corners of your eyes, because you honestly don’t know what you’d do without Johnny. 

He was your best friend, and has been such an uplifting, inspiring person ever since he entered your life your freshman year of college, the thought of him not being in your life one day was a scary thought you never wanted to come true. 

“I love you always.”

“I know babe”, he whispered, kissing your cheek and running his fingers delicately through your hair, trying to calm you down as he could sense you were feeling rather overwhelmed. 

“I wouldn’t keep dragging you to places you hated if I knew you didn’t love me,” he exclaimed, bursting out into a loud, body shaking laugh that provided you with the comfort to let your tears go, and laugh in unison with him. 

Lifting you off his lap, Johnny grabs his art supplies and gently places them in his bag, grabbing your hand and pulling you up from the dry, matted grass you were both sitting on. 

“Where are you dragging me?” 

“Back to my place.” He winks, quickly pecking your lips before intertwining his fingers with yours, pulling you into the direction of his car. 

“It wouldn’t be romantic to be making out with my girlfriend that I love very much in a sunflower field if she kept sneezing in my face, wouldn’t it?”

[baby-grayson]

if you write one with 374 in it (even just the concept not the exact wording) I would simply ✨die✨

“Come to bed. I can’t sleep without your hips pressed to mine.” 

--

Thanks for suggesting this one lynds!  You know better than most of us just how stressful the end of the semester can be: especially when you’re finishing the toughest classes you’ve ever had and obsessively writing your thesis. It’s a time of year that’s all encompassing, when your study schedule dictates your eating and sleeping schedule. Hell, even your showers are optimized to fit into the time it takes your oven to preheat for dinner. As much as you hate to admit it, your time with Grayson has significantly decreased in the past few weeks. 

For a while, you pretended that it wasn’t. You lied to yourself, saying that it was just that day you had to work in the corner of the living room while a movie played. During the lull in the action, he stares at you with puppy dog eyes: both missing the feeling of having you in his arms and admiring your work ethic. 

Grayson would be the first to admit that he would never survive in a college classroom. Between his dyslexia, short attention span, and visceral need to pursue his own projects: college was not for Grayson Dolan. The fact only added to his deep admiration and respect for you, the woman he loved who could do things he never dreamed of. 

Because of this deep rooted respect for your dedication to education, he would never dream of complaining about you being perched on the edge of the couch, frantically typing away, while he was left to watch the Charlie Brown Halloween special without your melodious laugh sounding when Charlie pulls a rock out of his trick or treat bag.

This pattern continues for most of the second half of the semester. Around Thanksgiving, you broke. You nearly fell into sobs while apologizing to Grayson for not spending as much time with him. You felt guilty for not investing the time and energy necessary to maintain a happy relationship. He was nothing but perfect when he drew an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, and telling you that although he would never know exactly what you were going through, he understood enough to support you while you prioritized your future. He even went as far as to admit his own guilt for not knowing how to best be there for you in your crescendo of stress and nerves.

After Thanksgiving weekend passed, both of you felt much more comfortable with the hectic nature of your relationship for the time being. Grayson soon became preoccupied with his own business, as Wakeheart seemed to take up more and more of his time while he pushed to launch their holiday collection. Movie nights consisted of you in one corner of the room, proof reading and adding citations to your project, while he read and responded to a never faltering onslaught of emails. The open dialogue did not stop you from dreaming of January: with your diploma in one hand and Grayson’s in the other.

One night, the stress reached a peak after Grayson had gone to bed, but you furiously worked at the dining table. He had gone to lay down at 9PM. You told you that you would be right there. You looked at the clock and bargained with yourself: you’d be in bed before 11PM.  

That was before you had found a mistake in your paper. Cursing under your breath, you went fix it when you found a few more. Slowly, they started to pile on top of each other as you were forced to face the consequences of working under such tense conditions.

You looked at the clock: 11:43PM.

You sighed and kept working, decided that you had enough mental steam to keep going. Grayson was already asleep, you assumed, he wouldn’t know if you were there are not.

12:13AM

1:34AM

2:31AM

You were running a race against time and losing miserably. Exhausted and angry, you decided to work until the first light of morning as to not lose momentum. You hated yourself for coming to this point: where 6AM represented the chance to sleep until 11AM. In this hard moment, you questioned why you ever went to school in the first place. Especially questioning why, you picked such an intensive course of study. You tired brain bounced from your own self doubt to the topic of your paper and back again.

“Have you moved since I left you?” You nearly jumped at his voice. Grayson leaned against the door frame of the dining room, his hair a fluffy mess that pointed in every direction. His arms were crossed over his shirtless chest and his briefs tightly lined the edges of his thighs.

It took you more than a moment to register what he said. “No-well-I had my methods wrong. The methods section? I was supposed to write about Copperfield and Hannigan but I got my citations mixed up and I had to look up my old notebook and I-“ Grayson raised an eyebrow when your eyes landed on him “-I got carried away,” you admitted.

“Yeah you did,” Grayson’s voice was husky and graveling, teasing his own exhaustion. He gracefully moved to your side of the table, leaning over to place a precise kiss on the top of your head, “Come to bed. I can’t sleep without your hips pressed to mine.”

You closed your eyes: you were so tired that the act nearly lulled you to sleep in the dining chair. “Give me another fifteen minutes,” your voice wavered over your words.

Grayson groaned softly, “No,” he insisted. He rolled an arm around your shoulders. “It’s late, whatever you’re doing,” he waved a hand in front of your computer, “you can do it in the morning.”

“Baabe,” you pleaded, “let me finish, this is- you know how important this is for me.”

“And you know how important you are to me,” although sleepy, his words were direct. “We’ve lost so much time together this month,” he sighed, “And that’s okay,” he hedged, “But don’t make me lose getting to hold you in your sleep.”

[sifl-senpai]

Author Tag Game!

I was tagged by the incredible and thoughtful @embyrinitalics!! The rules are to share something you’ve written that you look back on and makes you think “I’m such a good writer,” and then tag three more authors. (Honestly though, I’m with you in that I don’t think I’m that great of a writer per se!! So instead, here’s a snippet of the most recent BNHA BKDK story I’m trying to bang out.)

“What the hell are you doing here?! Huh? You stupid-!”

“I thought you hit your head!” whined Izuku, clutching the board and his eye, his notebook scattered open-leafed across the ground like a crushed flower spreading its warped petals.

“You’re a fucking civilian, Deku! This is an off-limits area! Are you trying to rupture a hidden Scub pustule and get yourself killed? Huh?!”

Anything Izuku might have said was a stupid idea at best, and he knew it, but some lessons he could never bring himself to learn.

“B-but what about you?” asked Izuku. “Kacchan, if you’d fallen and disturbed something beneath the ground, you--!”

Katsuki snatched his board from Izuku, and then grabbed the boy by the collar. His barrage of insults came next in an anger-fueled onslaught, each passionately emphasized with a furious shake of Izuku’s collar.

“Are you saying I can’t handle myself? Is that why you came after me? Is that why you’ve been watching me? Wanted to rush in and save me from some kind of emergency so people’d give you a second look? You thought you’d capitalize on whenever I screwed up?!”

“No!” cried Izuku, his fingers wrapping around the fist currently balled in his jacket. “Not at all!”

“God, you are so full of shit!!” Katsuki bit out, all but tossing Izuku towards the fence.

“B-but my note--!”

Katsuki shook him again before he could get a solid grip, and then dragged him towards the chain-link fence. Behind him, the pages of Izuku’s notebook fluttered in the wind, abandoned and forlorn.

“I told you to get the fuck out of here!” screamed Katsuki, jerking like he might kick Izuku, or perhaps slam the board against his head.

Izuku flinched.

The moment drew to an awful still, like the two of them were encased in amber, neither able to move forward nor back down. Only when a gentle breeze swept through the field and brushed the stifling dust away did Izuku look back to Katsuki’s face.

Katsuki loomed over him, panting, his brow covered in sweat from his ride, lips parted in teeth-gnashing fury, and his unbuttoned uniform jacket gaping open at his chest. The midday sun above his head made him appear a great and terrible being crowned by an ancient, massive halo, and Izuku only a mouse beneath him. They stared at each other, seething, cowering, waiting, lost.

“Leave!” Katsuki finally barked, his voice strangled between anger and desperation, straightening himself up and stepping back from Izuku. “Get out of here, Deku, or I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

“Kacchan,” murmured Izuku, unmoving, his sneakered feet stupidly splayed with his dirtied pants bunched up above his exposed ankles as he watched Katsuki turn his back and make a running start into the trapar.

“Go home, Deku!” repeated Katsuki, lowering the board and jumping onto it in one smooth motion. The airborne lines of trapar gently glowed under the board’s influence and carried him into the sky.

In the span of a few seconds, Katsuki went back to being by himself in the air and Izuku was left alone on the ground, watching him move farther and farther out of reach with bruised, watery eyes. They were as they always were: alone, together.

....and that’s that for an excerpt from my BNHA Eureka Seven AU! If you liked it, you can read more on Ao3.

I tag @lawliyeeeet, @rironomind, and @systermatic as well as anyone else who so chooses to participate!!!!!