#how to draw stages of life in easy steps

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 12

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

To be security at a clinic like Nest, there were particular requirements. One of the main ones, was that you had to be a Beta. An Omega or an Alpha couldn’t be security at a clinic like Nest because stereotypically, both could be swayed by pheromones very easily.

One of the other main requirements, was that you could not allow yourself to be intimidated by an Alpha. You could not allow yourself to show fear in the face of a swayed Alpha, you had to be strong, had to be capable, and above all else, you had to have nerves of steel.

Funnily enough however, those requirements weren’t actually that commonly required at the clinic. Much to many outsiders surprise, their Alphas didn’t just go nuts in the presence of an Omega in heat, it was only the unfortunately loudly broadcasted instances of a few that took advantage of such vulnerable members of society, and thus... it was actually kind of terrifying when it DID happen.

When an Alpha turned up, especially one the size of Steve Harrington, chased by one of the reception Betas and the Beta in charge of the entire facility, it was easy to forget the second most important requirement of being security at a heat Clinic, and lose your nerve in the face of one of the largest and most prominent Alphas in the building.

Even if he were usually a giant teddy bear.

“STEVE!” There was Robin, running faster than the elder Beta struggling behind her, “Steve will you stop!”

Steve clearly wasn’t paying any attention to her, something had his focus locked on that door, leaving the two Betas guarding it wide eyed and frankly terrified. Sure Steve wasn’t known for fighting, he wasn’t known for being very proficient at fighting, in fact as far as pretty much everyone in Hawkins knew, Steve wasn’t a fighter in the slightest.

He’d won maybe one fight in his entire life, and that was against another Alpha at the mall who’d insulted the very Beta currently chasing him. It didn’t make him any less terrifying when they were guarding an Omega currently in the most vulnerable of heat stages.

“Move.” He was upon them before either of the two Beta’s could draw their weapons, taser like cattle prods that’d deliver just enough volts to knock an Alpha on their ass long enough for them to be subdued. Barbaric but deeply effective.

“We can’t!” The one on the left found just enough of his voice to squeak out. “You can’t go in the—”

“You don’t understand he needs me, he needs help.”

“Steve!” Robin came up the rear, hands on her knees, chest heaving as she panted her exhaustion “Steve for the love of Christ you can’t go in there!” Her arrival giving just enough of a distraction for both Betas to quickly pull their weapons, holding them defensively. “What exactly do you plan on doing?”

“I don’t KNOW I just—I know he needs me Robin, I cant just leave him like that and you shouldn’t ask me to!” Both guards looked at each other in confusion, Steve wasn’t… acting like an Alpha overcome by pheromones, he wasn’t acting out of his mind. He didn’t even seem that angry, just… determined, their stances faltered.

“Do you even know that it’s safe? That he won’t attack you if you go in? He attacked his uncle, he went for the guys throat and you think he’s just going to accept you into his space like that?”

“If he attacks me, then he attacks me, I have to TRY! I can’t—I can’t just leave him. I can’t. I won’t.” Steve made it all of two steps toward the two baffled Beta guards when he was bodily tackled by Robin, sending him to the floor with an impressive crash and a startled yelp.

Note to selves, don’t fuck with Robin Buckley, she’s a jock in disguise.

“Stop struggling and just—will you just—Steve STOP!” They knew they ought to help, but they were just rooted to the floor, staring in wide eyed bafflement.

“Get off! Robin I swear to God, get OFF me!” Yet no matter how loud Steve raised his voice, he never made any move to force her off. He could have, he could have so very easily hurt her, he was large, he was an alpha, Robin was a sturdy Beta who regularly took zero shit, but she was nowhere near as strong as Steve and he wasn’t in a state where Beta pheromones would stop him.

He was coherent. He was himself. He just pushed against her hold as if he couldn't harm her.

“Miss Buckley let him up!” Owens finally caught up, clearly out of breath.

“But—”

“Let him up, he’s not even fighting you.” They did look quite the sight, like two siblings play fighting without any intent to harm, like a sister had pounced on her brother to stop him from getting her diary, or answering the phone with some crazy embarrassing excuse as to why Robin couldn’t answer it. “He’s harmless.” The only thing missing was laughter. “He’s also right, Mr Munson cannot spend his heat like that, it could cause him irreparable psychological damage” undoubtedly it’d been how he’d always spent his heat.

It was a wonder he’d lasted as long as he had, at least at home he'd been in familiar settings.

“But Steve can’t be the one to go inside” Robin argued as she extracted herself from atop her best friend. “What if he—”

“Steve... you have to know that if anything happens to Eddie while you’re in there. I cannot help you.” Owens ignored Robin entirely as he reached down to help the Alpha up “if he’s harmed in any way, if he leaves this place afterwards and complains, if he pushes for charges to be pressed, I cannot help you. I will undoubtedly be removed from my position as well the moment it’s investigated. Do you understand?” There were rules in place, he’d have broken the rules, Steve would be prosecuted as a dangerous alpha, and Nest would be submerged in scandal.

It’d not only be career ending, but it’d also be life altering in the worst of ways.

“I won’t hurt him.” Steve knew the risks “but I understand” and he knew the consequences of taking those risks and having them blow up in his face.

“Steve...” Robin tried as she pushed herself to her feet “how much of this is your attraction to him? Think about it, would you have done this for anyone else?”

“...Nobody else has needed me to, Robs.” Even if he would have, nobody had needed him. They all seemed to work fine by instincts, they knew what they had to do and had almost no qualms with doing it first time or not.

Eddie wasn’t that. He wasn’t comfortable In the slightest, he didn’t feel right, he wanted a fairy tale, not an unfamiliar room, a weighted blanket, and a fake knot.

He wanted to be pampered, to be loved. So desperate for it that he’d put himself through hell waiting for it to happen.

“But would you if someone had?”

“Yes.” The worst part was, she knew that. She knew he would. He was just that kind of person, he’d always put others before himself. He’d always risk it all to save someone else, he’d take on the world, no matter if he’d known them for years or for mere minutes. If someone needed him, he’d be there, zero hesitation. “You know that though, don’t you?”

Her silence was telling. She knew him better than anyone.

Owens turned to the guards, who’d been silent throughout the interaction, their batons held lax, both curious but unmoving “stand down boys, hand over the key card” their attention snapped to him and his outstretched hand.

“But sir...” the one on the left started, looking between the three hesitantly, “I don’t thi—"

Only to be cut off by “You heard me, hand it over.” They couldn’t say no. Owens was in charge. The key card was deposited into his hand without further argument. “Alright, you’re both dismissed. Neither of you will be involved in this.” For their own good, it was likely that Owens would wind up on the chopping block too if something happened, there were cameras all over that facility for obvious reasons, all an investigative team needed to do was check the footage to see Owens letting Steve into that room. Sure they'd be disciplined for just handing over the card but... that'd be all.

It was a career ender for Steve and Owens. No matter. Owens was due to retire soon anyway.

The two Betas nodded and made their escape without further argument. Owens then turned and offered the card to Steve.

“...Are you really sure about this, Doc?” Robin asked, her voice quiet, full of concern and hesitance.

She knew Steve, knew he’d never hurt anyone, never take advantage, he’d never attack anyone, but... She’d also seen Alphas just snap. Alphas who’d never done anything wrong before, suddenly needing to be taken down by force. She didn’t want to see that happen to Steve, didn’t even want to risk it.

But even she had to admit that Eddie needed help.

“I’d stake my career on it. Steve, just to reiterate, you know the rules… whatever you do in there, if you break them, you’re liable for immediate dismissal and felony charges should it be taken further by the Omega in question and he will have every right to do so. Do you understand?”

“An you’ll be fired too?”

“Oh yeah I’ll be extremely fired.” He handed Steve the keycard “make good choices.”

Part 14

[baeshijima]

there’s an undeniable serenity which follows your voice. how it traverses within the room’s dome-like structure, reverberating through the surrounding space before ultimately touching the hearts and souls of those who hear your solo piece. it captivates and impassions, an underlying force woven beneath layers of harmonies forged under years of dedication holding one’s attention as they await in baited breath for the forthcoming emotions which swirl and soar at the mercy of your voice.

having never missed one of your performances to date, neuvillette believes he would know this best.

in his life, he has found there are many difficulties which arise when overseeing trials of various levels of severity — some being a life-defining case whereas others may delve into a more… menial aspect of things.

(“to bring some entertainment for once!” …is what he would usually hear in response to his unvoiced thoughts before having to reprimand a certain archon for levity in the court.)

but in spite of the blurred lines between professionalism and public entertainment, neuvillette finds himself at ease once he steps into the grand hall, finding his seat as stated on his ticket, waiting patiently as the chatters die down the moment the lights dim and the curtains draw, watching in content as vocals and instrumentals resound until the lights dim once more to signify the end of the opera.

amidst his day-to-day life, he has come to anticipate the dates which mark your performances.

ever since he first started attending, he has discovered that when sitting amongst the crowd enjoying your voice and performance, he is neither the iduex nor the chief justice of fontaine; he is simply neuvillette — a man who finds peace and respite in your presence, regardless of how near or far you may be from him.

he claps just as everyone else does, watching as you stoop into a bow on centre stage once the final note dissipates into the air where rounds of applause take over. there’s an ever-present smile stretching your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you wave to the crowd surrounding him.

neuvillette recognises this expression as one you’d wear after a performance you deem satisfactory and finds his heart fluttering at the glow in your expression. (your smile doesn’t reach your eyes if you think it is anything less, despite his internal thoughts believing otherwise.)

he remains seated as the orchestra begins to arise and gather their instruments, as the conductor steps down from their podium, as the singers line up and shuffle off stage, as you turn and take your leave in close pursuit.

he glances at the bouquet settled atop his lap. oddly enough, the colours he chose coordinate with your attire, and he cannot help but to think this is some twist of fate playing with his convictions.

no matter, he thinks to himself as he rises from his seat, the bouquet cradled within his hold. with brisk steps, he makes his way past the crowd. it’s easier once people step away the moment they identify him and opt to gawk at his presence, allowing an easy passage for a quick escape.

it is not much later when he finds himself walking down a familiar hallway, the bright lights illuminating the name plaques hanging on the dressing room doors. his feet naturally come to a stop in front of a dressing room six doors down, the words [name] [last name] neatly engraved into the stainless steel nailed to the door.

his eyes trace over your name a few times, the flowers in his hand seemingly heavier than they were mere moments prior.

perhaps this time…

neuvillette attempts to push back the lump lodged within his throat. there’s a slight trepidation which hangs overhead as he gently raises a fist to your dressing room door, one which is all-too familiar in the way he hesitates and rethinks his actions over and over when in regards to you.

he stops before his knuckles touch the door. before he knows it he falls back into his usual routine: place the bouquet in front of your dressing room door, gently knock three times, turn and walk down the hall, disappearing before you can see him loitering around and make the connection of him being the anonymous bouquet gifter after each performance.

rounding a corner, neuvillette comes to a halt. with a glance over his shoulder he watches you peek your head out the door, looking around the hall in search of who knocked. when you take note of the bouquet he left, he fights back a smile of his own when you beam and thumb at the petals as he wills himself to turn and resume his exit.

perhaps after your next performance he will finally gather the resolve to speak to you.

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[austinswife]

PRANKS DAY — Austin Butler

FROM SERIES — THE BUTLER FAMILY CHRONICLES

SYNOPSIS — Life with Austin Butler has been nothing short of adventurous. Married with a beautiful two-year-old daughter, Wren, you and Austin share a loving relationship built on playfulness, deep affection, and a lot of laughter. One afternoon, while preparing for a photoshoot, you decide to prank Austin by asking him to leave the room while you change. This simple request spirals into a hilarious back-and-forth filled with tender moments, teasing, and the deep love you both share. But when you slip off your wedding and engagement rings, Austin’s playful tone turns serious as he worries he’s done something wrong, setting the stage for an adorable and heartfelt resolution.

WARNING(S) — Fluff, mild nudity references, childbirth mentioned, playful tension.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION, REQUEST — TO AUSTINSWIFE

It was one of those lazy, warm afternoons where everything in the house moved just a little slower. Sunlight poured through the large bay windows of your bedroom, dappling across the floor in soft, golden patches. You stood in front of the mirror, shifting through a heap of clothes laid out on the bed, trying to decide on an outfit for an upcoming photoshoot. Meanwhile, your two-year-old daughter, Wren, was bouncing between playing with her stuffed bunny and babbling to herself—seemingly in her own little world.

Austin was on the bed behind you, lying on his back with one leg hanging off the edge, scrolling through his phone in his signature relaxed, slightly-too-cool-for-anything posture. His tousled blonde hair framed his face in soft waves, and every now and then, you’d catch him glancing up from his screen to look at you with that boyish grin he always had, the one that never failed to make your heart do a little flip.

You caught his eye in the mirror and smirked. The idea of stirring things up hit you, because, really, Austin was way too comfortable right now.

“Hey, babe,” you called out casually, holding a top up against yourself and pretending to examine it in the mirror. “Can you leave the room for a sec? I need to change.”

You could feel his gaze snap up, immediately puzzled by your odd request. Austin sat up slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion.

“Leave the room?” he repeated, voice dripping with disbelief. “Why would I leave? What, have you gotten shy all of a sudden?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, tossing the top onto the bed and picking up another. “I just need some privacy. No big deal.”

Austin’s eyes narrowed playfully as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, clearly intrigued by your sudden demand for privacy. He crossed the room slowly, that easy smile tugging at his lips.

“Babe, I’ve seen you naked, like… a million times,” he said, drawing out the words as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Privacy doesn’t exist between us anymore.”

You turned your back to him, pretending to concentrate on a dress you’d picked up, but really, you were trying not to laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I want some mystery back.”

“Mystery?” Austin echoed, incredulous. You could hear the smile in his voice as he stepped closer. “Pretty sure we left the mystery behind when we had a kid. I saw you give birth, babe. There is no mystery.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “That was different.”

Austin let out a soft chuckle as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Different? How is it different?”

You leaned back into his embrace, your body relaxing against his even as you tried to maintain the charade. “Because… that was a medical thing. This is just me changing.”

Austin nuzzled your neck, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite yourself. “You’re saying you’re shy now?” he teased, his lips brushing just below your ear. “With me?”

You could feel the laughter bubbling up in your chest, but you pushed it down. “Yep. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He pulled back, clearly delighted by this game, though you could sense he was becoming more curious by the second. “You know I’m not leaving, right? I love watching you change.”

You turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow as if his statement was the most absurd thing you’d heard all day. “You love watching me change? Really?”

Austin’s grin widened, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Absolutely. It’s one of the perks of the job.”

You tried to hold back a smile but failed miserably. “Wow, romantic.”

His hands slipped to your hips as he leaned down to kiss you softly, murmuring, “You knew that going in.”

You kissed him back, feeling warmth spread through you, but then decided to up the ante of your prank. Slowly, you pulled away, letting your hand fall casually to your side. Without making a big deal of it, you slipped your engagement ring and wedding band off and set them on the dresser next to you.

Austin’s brow furrowed immediately. His hands stilled on your waist as he caught the movement, his gaze flicking to your now bare finger. “Wait… what are you doing?”

You kept your expression neutral, pretending to be absorbed in sorting through the clothes again. “Oh, nothing,” you said breezily. “Just taking these off for now.”

Austin’s eyes narrowed further, the playfulness in his voice ebbing into something more cautious. “You never take your rings off, unless… Is something wrong?”

There it was—his vulnerability creeping in. You felt a tiny pang of guilt for messing with him, but it was just too funny to stop now.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong,” you replied nonchalantly, pulling a random top from the bed and holding it up in front of the mirror.

“Are you mad at me or something?” Austin asked, his voice quieter now. He reached for your hand, lifting it up as if to confirm that the rings were really gone. “I mean… you wouldn’t take these off for no reason.”

You fought back a grin, turning to face him with an exaggerated sigh. “I just… don’t know. Maybe I’m rethinking this whole marriage thing.”

His face paled slightly, and his fingers tightened around your hand. “Wait… what?” His voice cracked with a mix of confusion and panic. “What do you mean you’re rethinking it?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer—you burst out laughing. Austin’s face shifted from concern to utter disbelief as the sound of your laughter filled the room.

“Oh my God, babe!” you gasped, doubling over. “You should’ve seen your face! You looked so freaked out!”

Austin blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You were… messing with me?” His voice rose in exasperation. “You were messing with me the whole time?”

You nodded, wiping a tear from your eye as you tried to catch your breath. “I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen how worried you looked! It was priceless.”

Austin shook his head, a mix of relief and frustration crossing his features. “I seriously thought I did something. You had me thinking I was gonna have to, like, apologize for something I didn’t even know I did.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you said, still giggling. “But now I know how easy it is to freak you out.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not letting this one go,” he muttered, though his lips were twitching with a reluctant smile.

Just as the playful banter settled between you, Wren decided to make her presence known. “Mama! Dada! Look!” she chirped, toddling over with her bunny raised high above her head like a trophy.

Austin’s expression softened instantly, and he bent down, scooping Wren into his arms with ease. She giggled as he swung her up into the air, her little face lighting up with delight.

“Look at you, Wrennie!” he cooed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she squealed in response. “Such a big girl with your bunny.”

You watched them with a smile, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of your husband and daughter together. Austin held her close, planting kisses all over her cheeks, and Wren dissolved into fits of giggles.

“She saved me,” Austin teased, giving you a pointed look. “If it weren’t for this little one, I’d be in pieces.”

You laughed and stepped closer, wrapping your arms around both of them. “Okay, okay, I promise not to prank you for a while. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Austin quirked a brow. “You know, payback’s gonna be sweet.”

“I’m not scared,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue playfully.

“Oh, you should be,” he whispered, leaning in close with that playful glint in his eyes. “You should be very scared.”

Before you could respond, Wren wriggled between you two, demanding attention. “Mama, kiss!” she babbled, pointing at Austin’s cheek.

You grinned, leaning in to plant a kiss where Wren had directed. Then Austin turned, giving you a quick peck on the lips, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“See?” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Our little family. No one’s going anywhere.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder, your hand gently running down Wren’s back as she snuggled between you. “No one’s going anywhere,” you repeated softly.

The three of you stood there for a moment, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, the playful prank long forgotten as the afternoon sun bathed the room in a golden glow.

And as you looked at Austin, holding your daughter close, you couldn’t help but feel that this—this beautiful, messy, love-filled life—was everything you’d ever dreamed of.

[82mitsu]

{18Trip} <CHAPTER 001 SIDE-A: Sun will R1ze!> 001-A01 Inauguration of the 0th Ward Mayor

A translation of 18TRIP's CHAPTER 001 SIDE-A by 82mitsu. ENG proofreading by sasaranurude.

Opening note:

I am playing with the male player character, canon name Kaede Hamasaki, and will be simply referred to as Kaede in the translation. It’s a choice made due to the characters referring to the player character in their own ways (switching between first & last name, using honorifics) and I don’t want to make it sound clunky by using “player” or “MC”, or alter when first or last name is used (due to the importance of it in the JPN language). However, the gender of the player character has 0 impact on the story, and the experience is the same regardless of male or female main character.

The morning comes.

No matter how painful the days you live through are. Even when you can’t see ahead within the darkness.

The sun is born anew every day and shines a light upon you as you are without pretense.

However, basking in the bright sunshine sometimes brings hope to our hearts, too.

Try to look ahead and walk.

If you can walk ahead with just one step, it will feel as if you can start the long journey that we call life.

Which makes today, without a doubt, a new beginning in my life.

TV station announcer: Here we are at the venue for the inauguration of HAMA’s 0th Ward Mayor. After being unable to meet the quota of tourists for two years in a row, HAMA is now drawing attention to the question of whether it can remain a special tourism ward or not.  

TV station announcer: Please look at this! There’s crowds of people at the venue and surrounding area—expectations for today's inauguration of the 0th Ward Mayor can be heard from all over! We will continue to report onsite! 

Kaede: (Even national TV stations are reporting on the inauguration… It’s a bigger deal than I imagined. It's a given when you think about it more thoroughly. Whether HAMA can remain a special tourism ward or not has caught the attention of each and every region.)

Kaede: (Kafka replacing his father, who served as the 0th Ward Mayor up until now, on such a big stage… I wonder if he isn’t nervous about it. Uweh, I feel the stress in my stomach.)

Kaede: (But! That difficult surgery was an easy success, and the rehabilitation also went great. If it’s Kafka we’re talking about… I’m sure it’ll be okay!)

Host: Uuuh, all ward residents of HAMA, the inauguration will commence shortly. To open the ceremony, the current 0th Ward Mayor Oguro Rihito and HAMA’s auditor, the 8th Mayor Ward of Tokyo, Shigematsu Hakkei will be taking the podium.

HAMA ward resident A: The change really is happening. Well… the current Ward Mayor wasn’t reliable, to be honest…

HAMA ward resident B: But look at that, his replacement is his son, no? I heard that he’s only 20 years old. Will this be okay?

HAMA ward resident C: My place keeps on bleeding customers since last year… If the special tourism ward status is revoked this year, then HAMA’s done for. Just ask yourself how many restaurants have gone outta business this year. 

HAMA ward resident A: Financial support from the capital is as minimal as it can get… Makes you wonder if swapping out the Ward Mayor will do any good. 

HAMA ward resident D: The special tourism ward collapses… taxes rise up to the heavens… companies stoop to bankruptcy… the end of life……  ruination destruction eradication extinction…

Kaede: (Uuuh… all this negativity left and right… But, I do understand everyone’s worries.)

Kaede: (Kafka’s dad… he’s a good person, but he honestly, genuinely doesn’t have the capability to be in charge. He’s the type to get deceived because he’s too nice for his own good…) 

Kaede: (Kafka is the one that’s more fit for this role than his dad, I think… Even then, we only have a year left in terms of time. Just how does Kafka intend to get over such a high hurdle?)

Kaede: (Still, it’s already set in stone that Kafka and I will restore HAMA together. Today’s inauguration has gotta make us understand what Kafka’s thinking. Let’s hear him out!)

Host: Thank you for waiting! The one who will assume the new role as Ward Mayor, Oguro Kafka, will take the podium!

Kafka: It’s a pleasure to meet you all, ward residents. As he said, I am Oguro Kafka. From now on I will be conducting the succession ceremony for the 0th Ward Mayor.

HAMA ward resident C: Seriously man, that guy really is just a lil’ kid. Look at that guy, Tokyo’s 8th Ward Mayor’s face. Disapproval is written all over it. 

HAMA ward resident B: It is said that supervisor Shigematsu-san is relentless. The special tourism ward will be gone with the wind if that man’s tourism reviews are low…

HAMA ward resident D: An explosion from Tokyo’s 8th Ward Mayor’s glare… An explosion from the disdain for the 0th Ward Mayor… An explosion of the unlivable city of HAMA…. An explosion for the special tourism ward to fall…  An explosion to end all that lives…

Kaede: (Uwawah… the worst of worst impressions…! I wonder if Kafka’s holding up.)

Kafka: Ahem. I am hearing concerns being voiced from all over. And of course there would be, since everyone has to be wondering what a little boy ignorant of the world can even do on his own.

Rihito: Ka- Kafka…!? The script says here that we succession should go peacefully. W-what’s the matter….!?

Kafka: Aaah, it’ll be okay, dad. Don’t let the sweat start forming obvious drops on your face.

Hakkei: Hmph, it seems that your son has no intention to properly put the effort in to begin with, Rihito. Are you truly going to pass your position as the 0th Ward Mayor to him?

Kafka: No need to be concerned. Esteemed 8th Ward Mayor of Tokyo. My father and I have discussed between ourselves that, if my surgery were a success, I would inherit his role as Ward Mayor. I ask if you could please refrain from suddenly interfering in decisions made between a parent and their child.   

Hakkei: Decisions made between family? This is a concern that will influence HAMA in its entirety—that I happen to have no say in the matter leaves me astonished.

Hakkei: Looks like someone has forgotten that the one who makes the final decision on how the financial support from the capital is distributed is no other than me. 

Kafka: Financial support… hmm.

HAMA ward resident A: Hey hey, aren’t they kinda fighting on stage? Tension’s been rough since the beginning…

HAMA ward resident D: Current Ward Mayor shaking… New Ward Mayor glaring… Tokyo’s Ward Mayor unrelenting… A sign of HAMA’s ending… 

Host: W-we’re moving on to the succession ceremony now! By your leave I, the host, will recite the statement of succession!

Host: Current 0th Ward Mayor, Oguro Rihito, will pass the torch of his authority over leading the tourism industry in all of HAMA’s 18 wards to the new 0th Ward Mayor Oguro Kafka—  

Host: Oguro Kafka takes the role of the new 0th Ward Mayor, and under the fair Law of Tourism, will engage in HAMA’s tourism industry, and lead all Ward Mayors of each ward. Can each party involved take the pledge? 

Rihito: Ah, h-have to follow the script… Yes! I pledge to transfer all authority to the new 0th Mayor Ward.

Kafka: It is an utmost honor that I will gladly accept.

Host: 8th Ward Mayor of Tokyo, Shigematsu Hakkei, in accordance with Law of Tourism, auditor of HAMA as supervisor of the special tourism ward, will give guidance and submit appropriate reviews of tourism to the state. Can the individual party involved take the pledge?

Hakkei: It is most likely that this function will be terminated by the end of this year. Be as that may, it is my assignment. As supervisor, I pledge to my role as a fair auditor.

Kafka: You’re retiring this year? So that means we’ll have a different supervisor next year~

Hakkei: Such impudence… 

Kaede: (T-the mood in the room is in the ditches…! Even though we can hear everything both of them are saying—don’t fight in front of the public…)

Host: N-now then, the insignia from the current Ward Mayor will be entrusted to the new 0th Ward Mayor!

HAMA ward resident B: Thought he was a kid too big for his britches, but… he’s a kid with more guts than we thought, right?

HAMA ward resident A: He might do things more properly than Rihito-san did…

HAMA ward resident B: That reminds me, their mother who passed away was a genius scientist… His appearance resembles hers quite well.

Kafka: Eeeh, I’m Oguro Kafka who has taken up the position of 0th Mayor Ward. To everyone in attendance, I will be discussing matters concerning the management of HAMA going forward. First of all…

Kafka: HAMA will fully cease accepting special financial support from the prefecture of Tokyo!

Kaede: (….Eeeeh!? What’s your aim here, Kafka—-!)

next chapter>>

chapter 001 side A directory: TBA upon completion

[multiplicity-positivity]

Unmasking 101

This is our own post covering unmasking as a system, something that we have been able to accomplish to an extent that we are quite comfortable with. We hope that it will prove useful to some of y’all!

Disclaimer: we are one system with DID, and we can only provide our own perspective at this time. What has worked for us may or may not work for you, so use your best discretion when following the advice listed here!

What is masking?

Masking is the concept of hiding, disguising, and/or suppressing neurodiversity in an attempt to appear neurotypical. Neurodiverse people may mask for a wide variety of reasons, including to help keep themselves safe, to fit in and make friends, to avoid drawing unwanted attention, to be taken seriously by others, and more. While masking most often refers specifically to autistic experience, anyone with any sort of neurodiversity can mask.

Masking vs. Covertness

Quite often, complex dissociative disorders like DID are covert, meaning their symptoms may not be easily noticed or recognized by outsiders. Having covert symptoms is not the same as masking! It is possible to live a happy, healthy life with a covert disorder, without ever needing to “unmask” or trying to make your symptoms more noticeable.

What’s most important is learning how to live an authentic life that helps you and your system feel safe, comfortable, and happy as you are! In fact, attempting to unmask when in actuality your disorder is just covert, this could have negative, harmful, or otherwise adverse affects on your system. It’s never good to try and force yourself or your headmates to be something you’re not, and this goes for systems with covert symptoms and presentations!

What does masking look like?

In systems, masking can look like:

- other headmates acting like the host when they front

- the whole system adopting similar mannerisms in order to appear as a singlet

- acting like memories, events, and things around you are cohesive and make sense to you when they really aren’t

- pretending to recognize others or recall information that you simply cannot remember

- attempting to quell or silence internal communication and dialogues between other system members

- consciously or unconsciously ignoring signs or plurality in your own life

- copying or mirroring the actions and behaviors of the singlets you meet and interact with

And so much more! Every system is different, so masking can look very different from system to system.

How can we unmask?

Unmasking is a process that may take lots of time, patience, and effort to achieve. But it most certainly can be done! Here are a few steps you may take while undergoing this transition from masking to unmasking:

1) Recognize when you are masking.

Try to notice when you or your system members are attempting to hide, disguise, or otherwise conceal your plurality. What actions do you take to mask? What situations do you find it easier or more difficult to mask? Do certain headmates tend to mask more than others? Do you tend to mask more around certain people and places?

At this stage there’s no need to try and stop masking immediately. Just try to take it slowly and start noticing masking behaviors as they arise. If you have a system journal or some other place where you all keep thoughts organized, perhaps make a list of the masking behaviors you all are noticing in your system. Recognizing behaviors is a solid first step towards changing them!

2) Understand why you are masking.

Quite often systems mask as a self-defense mechanism. Are you in a safe environment? Do you still live, work, or associate with abusers or others who would not understand your plurality? Who benefits from your system masking? Who is harmed? Is masking easy and second-nature for your system, or is it difficult and exhausting? These sorts of questions can help answer whether or not it will be safe to mask, and whether or not you actually are masking or just have a covert/less noticeable presentation for your system.

3) Have internal conversations.

To better understand yourself, your system, why you mask, and when you mask, internal communication is key. You may have headmates who are purposefully masking in order to protect themselves and your whole system. You may have in-system roles and functions that are specifically dedicated to masking. You may have headmates who were masking without even being aware that they were doing so. Having lots of safe, open, and welcoming discussions with your headmates can help you better understand masking in your own system, and how best to formulate a plan to unmask in your daily life.

You may ultimately come to the conclusion that masking is what’s best for your system at this time, and that’s okay! Please prioritize your own health and safety over your desire to be your authentic selves. Sometimes it just isn’t safe to attempt unmasking. You know yourself, your system, and your situation best, so try to work together with your headmates to come up with a plan that works well for everyone!

4) Encourage internal and external authenticity.

Once you have a good idea of when, why, and how your system masks, you can start taking steps to change these actions and behaviors (granted, that you are in a safe place to do so!). In our experience, this can be achieved by encouraging headmates to branch off in their own ways as they have the desire to do so. Creating a safe space inside where headmates can feel secure in exploring their identities is crucial for unmasking!

It may happen slowly, but it starts by encouraging small actions and desires that headmates have which differ from each other. A headmate wants to use a specific tonal inflection that’s different from fellow members? Go for it! A headmate wants to engage in an activity that is uncharacteristic for their system as a whole? As long as it’s safe, do it! Creating an internal environment of acceptance and then encouraging each other to embrace small moments of authenticity can help chip away at that mask.

5) (if possible) Build an outside safe space.

If your system has another person in your life who knows about your plurality and is willing to accept you all unconditionally, this can be incredibly healing and work wonderfully to help unmask. Just existing around our therapist and our partner system have helped us to embrace our individuality and accept our unique features when fronting. If there is a loved one in your life who knows about your system, maybe try explaining the concept of masking to them, and ask them to help support you through this unmasking process.

If there is no one in your life who you can safely unmask around, you can still try to practice unmasking by doing so when you are alone. But please, try to center your system’s safety as you go about this process! Don’t attempt to unmask if masking is what’s keeping your system safe, healthy, and alive.

6) Don’t compare yourselves to others.

It may be tempting to compare how your system functions to others. Some systems might have never had to mask. Some might find unmasking to be a quick and easy process. Just because it may be difficult for you doesn’t mean that it’s impossible! Please try to avoid comparing yourselves to other systems, and even other headmates in your own system. Some headmates may be able to unmask more easily than others, and that’s okay! Respect each headmate’s individual needs and abilities, and go at your own pace.

What if we go back to masking after unmasking for a while?

This is only natural! After habits have been built up and practiced for so long, it can be difficult to change them in a permanent way. Masking after unmasking for a while is nothing to be ashamed of, and doesn’t mean your system has lost any progress! Many systems may find that their unmasking process happens in waves or cycles, with each cycle of unmasking followed by a masking period. The more and longer you’re able to unmask, the shorter your next masking cycle may be!

Don’t give up! If you find that your system has reverted to old ways, simply start at the beginning, show yourselves patience and understanding, and start recognizing when you mask once again.

In Conclusion

A TLDR might be: masking, or hiding/concealing neurodivergent traits, is common in neurodivergent people. Masking is not the same as having covert symptoms, so please try and understand the differences before attempting to unmask. Masking can look incredibly different and have a wide range of presentations. By learning about yourself, understanding when, why, and how you mask, having internal conversations about masking, encouraging authenticity, building internal and external safe spaces, and having patience with yourselves, you can start trying to unmask. Having a safe person to be open with about your plurality may help with this process, and avoiding comparing yourselves to others can help too! If you regress, backslide, or go back to masking after a while, that does not invalidate your progress - keep going and don’t give up! In all of this, center your system’s safety and security, and don’t attempt to unmask if it could be dangerous for your system.

We’re sorry this got so long (this is actually a very complex topic!) but we hope this helps! If anyone has any further questions regarding masking or unmasking as a system, don’t hesitate to reach out. And of course, we are just one system providing our perspective, so don’t be alarmed if what we’ve said here isn’t all that applicable to your system.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read! We’re wishing you and your system the very best of luck in your unmasking endeavors. Take care, and have a wonderful day!

[obriengf]

Empatheia ✽ Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: The trio investigate the meaning behind Scott’s dream, while Y/N searches for her own answers from Derek Hale.  Words: 9.8k Warnings: swearing, awkwardness, not proof read ✽  Series masterlist  ✽  

Chapter Three: 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 /Part 1

Exhausted was beyond an understatement when it came to the way you were curled up against the pillows of your bed; textbooks were found discarded by your feet and the soft glow of your bedside lamp created a gentle yellow haze over your face. You were lacking peacefulness in your slumber, as seen in the way your heavy eyes clung with scrunched edges and your pursed lips that quivered every so often in time with a disrupting element of your dream. Your new life didn’t account for worriless sleep and easy days, neither did it give room for you to take a deep breath and embrace somewhat of an eventless few hours. No, your life was now branded by a thick fog and clouded by shadows, everything of which you knew was now questionable, and the people that you once assumed had since been altered by new elements and revelations. This life was difficult and sceptical, and maybe that’s why you just simply couldn’t get enough. Valerie was more observant that you were giving her credit for - always watching, always paying attention to how you’ve changed so dramatically over the past couple of weeks. She took notice in your new company and how conversations were now hushed when she was near, even how you took more frequent journeys in the neighbour’s old blue Jeep rather than her car when it was offered to you instead. She saw the more prevalent darkened circles that tore down your eyes more and more each day, and how your face refused to settle when you managed to sleep. But what she especially discerned the most, was the way you flinched at any present emotion that was, at first, not of your own. She couldn’t quite tear her gaze away as it settled with discomfort over your sleeping stature – reminded of the nightmares that would plague your dreams and how they twisted their way into a scar that she hoped you would never have to bear. History repeating itself, she thought.

The only sound that could be heard between the walls of your house was the gentle creak of a door closing behind an anxious Aunt. She wandered with soft steps downstairs, hiding herself in the furthest corner of the kitchen. You were out like a light, but she couldn’t risk being overheard as she flicked through her phone, selecting a contact that she hoped she wouldn’t need to call upon. Valerie took a deep breath as it rang through, repeated tones sounding against her ear that built uneasiness with every loop.

“Hello?”  The voice was rough, raspy as if interrupted from a sleep stage. Valerie nearly felt bad for calling at such an hour, until she remembered the reason.

She drew a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily as her head lent back against the fridge door, “You told me to call you when it was happening again.”

“Who-? Valerie?” A sigh was released in reply, shuffling through the receiver following next. The voice stilled for a second or two before it returned, “I’m guessing you’ve noticed it too.”

“Noticed it? It’s hard not to notice! It’s starting to control her life!” Worry got the better of her as your Aunt snapped, mentally cursing at herself at the volume she didn’t intended on amplifying.

“- Val, calm down.” She didn’t how the other voice remained so steady, but it prompted her to draw a deep breath and lull her head back once more. The voice was losing its roughness; becoming more alert, more awake, “We’ll figure it out, we’ll help her… she won’t reach the same fate, I promise.”

“Is that a promise you really can keep, Derek? From what I know, she’s just like her mother, and you know damn well more than anyone else how that played out…”  Valerie was growing protective – more so than usual. It didn’t help in the slightest that you are the spitting image of your mother, and every time your Aunt closed her eyes, all that she can picture is you in that hospital stretcher instead, covered in blood and grasping at the thin thread of life that happened to slip through your mother’s fingers. Destiny had a funny way of making things happen, but she would sell her soul if it meant that you didn’t have to end on that same fate.

Derek sighed once more, agitated at his inability to guarantee safety and happiness. That’s all he wanted for you, but the chance was growing slimmer by the second. “I’ll look again, alright? My mom’s journal has to be here somewhere.” The man glanced around the charred remains of his family home, flickers of candlelight creating shadows among the dilapidated structure, “She would’ve hidden it, the fire… it would have been safe from the flames. That’s something I can promise.”

“Just look out for her, please, Derek.”

He wouldn’t find that difficult – you were nearly glued to Scott McCall’s hip now and that young wolf was tying with you for first place on his list of things to stress about most. Kill two birds with one stone. Derek chuckled lightly, “Won’t be an issue.”

You would hardly deem yourself as ready when you heard three loud rasps of knuckles against the wood of your front door. Slightly charred toast half hung from your filled mouth, hands busily working to tie the laces of your sneakers, and you were glad that you weren’t hardly uncoordinated enough that you couldn’t multitask. Valerie snorted in amusement as she watched you; the same expression she wore when you were bumbling down the stairs not even twenty minutes ago, cursing about how you nearly missed your alarm. Not that she could blame you, really – your Aunt heard the softened whines from the nightmare you were having last night, but knew better than to wake you. Some things just need to be sought through instead of interrupted.

The knocks were heard again, and it made you groan, peering to your Aunt as she coddled the coffee mug against her smiling lips. Your eyebrows rose, voice muffled, “Drrr.”

“What was that?” She questioned, fake obliviousness in her tone.

“Drrr. Kh new get uh drrr?”

She nodded as she snickered at your reply, “Ah, would you like me to get the door?” And your eyeroll was enough of a confirmation before she sauntered to the front of the house, smiling as she shortly became face to face with the neighbour’s kid.

“Mornin’ Valerie.” Stiles chirped, hand straight as it pulled away from his forehead in a welcoming salute.

Your Aunt simply copied his gesture before moving to the side, allowing a space just large enough for Stiles’ frame to fit through. “Hello, Stiles. C’mon in”. The dainty steam from her mug continued to dance over her face, prompting her to blow gently for it to waft into the hallway. She peered over her shoulder at the boy, lips curling at the corners, “You might as well just have your own key at this rate, seeming you’re here every day.”

“Oh, I already have one.” The boy let slip, his tone quiet as it absentmindedly fell in a mumble. It was loud enough, however, for Valerie to stop and twist her torso just enough to nearly face him. Her eyebrow rose in question and Stiles couldn’t hold back the awkward chuckle that he released, “Ya know, for emergencies!”

Valerie hummed, seemingly not convinced, but found the subject better to leave as it was. She always knew that Stiles Stilinski was an odd kid – he was too smart for his own good, but he exercised it in ways that made her wonder how Noah was still clinging to threads of sanity. His attention deficit disorder made him very vigorous, and she was used to seeing him as a young boy ride his bicycle up and down the street for hours, just to release said energy. He was constantly on the move and never seemed to slow down, using his intelligence to cause harmless mischief and drive his parents completely crazy. Valerie had also always known that Stiles Stilinski was a good kid. He was thankful for his parents, polite when his mother used to strike up conversations with Valerie in the driveway, helpful when asked for assistance, and overall kind-hearted. Your Aunt saw this more after your mother died – when you moved into the bedroom across the fence from Stiles’, he became an instant friend. She saw him care for you and pick up pieces that continuously shattered. He was your rock, your comfort, and he eventually became your light.

So, in truth, Valerie would always view Stiles as that weird kid next door, but she also held him highly for the large heart he carried so well.

 “I’m ready, let’s go.” Your voice interjected from the living room, bag slung over your shoulder and just enough concealer to cover the purple rings that pulled down from your eyes. The attempt to cover your exhaustion and lack of peaceful sleep was good enough to the unknowing – but Valerie and Stiles’ smiles fell just slightly, the truth clear as a sunny day, as they briefly scanned over your face.

It was your cue to shift your gaze to your scuffed sneakers before a cough cleared your throat and you pushed between them both. You knew that they provided you with looks of concern, and somewhat even surprise, but the last thing you wanted was the be the centre of some very unwanted attention. It was best to escape the awkwardness before it settled. With an arm effortlessly linking with your neighbour’s, you pulled him toward the front door with a goodbye call over your shoulder to your amused Aunt.

Slight anxiousness bubbled in Valerie’s chest, and you could’ve sworn you tasted it briefly on your tongue. She called after you, “Have a good day, and be safe!”

It wasn’t too long until you had crawled into the backseat of the Jeep, Scott slipping haphazardly into the passenger side you nursed for a mere ten minutes beforehand. He immediately dropped his head to the window, a guttural groan easily filling the space around you all and creating weak condensation against the glass. Stiles’ thick brows rose to his hairline in question as his eyes caught yours through the rear-view mirror – all you could do was shrug in response.

“You, ah…” Stiles started, reversing out of the McCall driveway, “You all good there, Scotty boy?” He was met with muffled speech, the glass once again fogging due to the inaudible response. Stiles pursed his lips, “Can you repeat that? Away from the window?”

Another groan was exhaled, “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Stiles hummed, his head dropping into a nod of acknowledgement, voice quieting as he flicked on the indicator and peered down the street for morning traffic, “Seems to be a common thing around here.”

It was difficult to not conjure a bit of remorse for your werewolf friend. Sleeping wasn’t something that you could call a prize possession during these times; your eyes, even now, still fluttering from lack of slumber as you tried to hold back a yawn. You sighed, leaning in between the two front seats, “What happened Scott? Did’ya have a bad dream?”

His head lulled to the side, rolling over the headrest so lazily until his gentle gaze peered into yours, “I-I don’t know… it felt so real, whatever it was…”

Silence enveloped the Jeep for a brief moment; aside from the clutch grating whenever Stiles changed gears, and the morning tunes of the radio murmuring weakly. You could see the stress stem so easily from Scott’s eyes and it made you worry, trauma peeking through due to whatever horrors he saw.

Your lips curled in as your face softened, an attempt at holding back your sympathy was made so that it wasn’t mistaken for pity, “Well, how about you start with what your dream was about?”

“I was with Allison, we were… looking for somewhere private –“The boy started, his view tipping to look out the windshield as the Jeep navigated Beacon Hills’ suburbia.

He was interrupted, however, as you held up your hand and scoffed “I swear, Scott, if this is some kind of wet dream, I will hit you - “

Scott jumped, the accusation prompting his body to jolt awake before his jaw was dropping and his tone spiked highly, “-NO! No, let me finish” The young wolf’s head shook with incredulity, ignoring Stiles as he chuckled beside him. Scott’s breath drew deep, “We were at the school, just hanging out… and maybe making out, b-but that’s not the point!”

Stiles’ sounds of amusement died quickly, his eyes rolling, silently mocking his friend until he caught Scott’s judgemental glare beside him, “What? I didn’t say anything!” He muttered as the Jeep edged closer to Beacon Hills High. The sunlight was sharp; beams of gold flickering through the windows, filling the cabin of the Jeep with the Californian warmth, whilst also creating sparkles of mischief within Stiles’ delinquent wink into the rear-view mirror. You always wondered why his middle name wasn’t troublesome.

“Anyway…” Scott dragged, “We were both on the bus, and everything was great… so great, but then I just – “ His lips pursed as discomfort clouded his gaze, “I started to turn. I tried to control it but I couldn’t. I yelled at her to get away, but it wouldn’t stop!”

You could sense the anxiety. It was a common occurrence with Scott now – the uncertainty, the worry, the panic. He was bathed in it, and that’s how you knew that whatever went on within those night terrors of his must’ve been the worst case of bad. You looked up in time to see Scott’s head in his hands as was slipping lethargically from the Jeep, surrounded by fellow students as they made their way across the carpark. Stiles was next before he flung his seat forward for you to vacate.

As you swung your bag over your shoulder, Stiles turned to the side as feet directed him to the School’s entrance, his hands warming in his jacket’s pockets with a once furrowed brow now rising in question, “So, what? You bite her, or something?” He was wearing obliviousness like a new trend, completely unheeding to the trauma clawing into Scott’s mind until he saw the despair dragging down his friend’s usual lopsided grin, “Or… hang on, did you kill her?”

The two boys pushed open the large doors; your now intrigued senses heightening as Scott exasperatedly shrugged his shoulders alongside rounded worried eyes, “I don't know! I just woke up… and I was sweating like crazy, and-and I couldn't breathe!” He visibly shuddered and it provoked a chill to run down your spine at the small crack within the boy’s voice, “I've never had a dream where I woke up like that before.”

You wanted to reassure him – you’ve woken up like that, plenty of times. It started when your mother died and had reoccurred recently much to your dismay. It sucked, and it physically hurt, and it got to the point where you couldn’t recall what was real or fake anymore. Dreams were bleeding into nightmares, and they were determined to make themselves known whilst you were awake. You desired to reach out to Scott and tell him that he’s not alone, but any seriousness was so easily removed from the situation as Stiles stopped in front of you both, back to the remainder of the corridor.

“Really? I have.” Stiles replied for you, and for a miniscule moment you considered that he would be earnest and thoughtful toward Scott. But instead, his hands fumbled into strange gestures until he was making his point very cringe, and very clear, “Except it usually ends, uh… a little differently.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes rolled quite distinctly as you pushed past Stiles, words muttered with incredulousness. The boy snorted, rascality etching deeply across his features as he watched you venture forward with Scott hot on your heels.

Scott groaned, new images flashing through his mind, and they were beyond not wanted, “A… I meant, I’ve never had a dream that felt that real…” He began, turning to look at Stiles with utter disgust contorting his expression, “And B… never give me that much detail about you in bed again!”

With a nod of his head and whispered affirmation on the edge of his breath, Stiles managed to take a deep breath, the corners of his mouth dropping as he worried about how Scott will react next, “Let me take a guess here – “

“No, I know. You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow… like I’m gonna lose control and rip her throat out.” An accusatory finger was directed in Stiles’ direction, Scott sneering at the offence his friend was wearing too well.

Stiles’ mouth gaped, lashes fluttering uncontrollably against the sharpness of his cheekbone. The boy stuttered, “N-no, of course not!” He exclaimed, hands held in front of him. Your lips curled slightly at the twitch of his eyes as Scott stared intensely at him, scepticism also driving the jump of the young wolf’s brow. Stiles conceded, too easily, “Okay, yeah. That’s totally it.”

Stiles peered to the other side of Scott as the wolf sunk his head in glumness, managing to catch your sympathetic eyes. You weren’t sure how to help besides providing a few words laced with wannabe optimism, simply hoping that Scott can’t see past how hard you were trying to appease him, “Hey, come on, Scott. It’s gonna be fine, alright?” You smiled as you lent in closer to him, softly nudging his side with your elbow before ducking to catch his view. Your voice quietened into a whisper, “And personally, I think you’re handling this pretty freakin’ amazingly.”

“You know she’s right, Scotty.” Stiles chimed in, his arm leaning on Scott’s shoulder, “And it's not like there's a Lycanthropy for Beginners class you can take.”

The atypical sarcasm prompted Scott to raise his hands, the dark brown of his irises squinting, showing a forlorn expression in his frown. He appeared pitiful before a sudden change made his head raise, his eyes widening as if a metaphorical lightbulb lit up behind them, “Yeah, not a class… but maybe a teacher…”

Stiles scoffs almost immediately, “Who, Derek?” His words didn’t hold much meaning until he properly looked at Scott, all seriousness remaining in the young wolf’s face. Stiles spluttered nonsense, baffled by what he had heard before his hand whacked the side of Scott’s head. You cringed, trying to ignore the strange looks from your classmates before you heard Stiles’ voice pipe up again in exasperation, “You’re forgetting the part where he got him tossed in jail.”

Scott’s tone matched Stiles, of not with more urgency, as small cracks settled in the base of his words, “Yeah, dude, I know. But chasing her… dragging her to the back of the bus…” He sighed, a hand rubbing tiredly at his face, “It felt so real.”

You pursed your lips as the three of you continued walking the halls of Beacon Hills High, a heavy heart weighing down your chest as sympathy began to flood your system – an emotion, that for once, was purely from your own conviction. You looked to Scott, “How real?”

He drew a deep breath and shrugged, “Like it actually happened.”

Stiles reached out in time with you as you both pushed open the large doors at the end of the hallway, exposing the rear of the school, and greeted unexpectedly with crime scene tape and sirens. The three of you froze in time with the students pushing out from behind you, shocked and slack jawed as you looked at the horror scene that plagued the bus bay. One of the yellow school buses was tainted with a thick red spray and the back door just barely hanging from its hinge after being torn off. There were deputies ushing away growing crowds, and a well-dressed member from the Sherriff’s station taking crime scene photos of a torn back seat, with white cushioned stuffing spilling to the floor.

It was straight off the set of a Hitchcock film, and much to your despair, a perfect description of the nightmares that plagued Scott only a few hours ago.

Stiles gulped, “… I think it might have.”

You almost didn’t feel Scott’s hand as it secured around your bicep until the nausea began to light in your gut, the bubbling of acid and fear rising to your throat. Slowly, you peered to the side, and although your friend wasn’t looking back, you knew that this was Scott needing you to feel how he felt.

“She’s probably fine…” None of you truly knew at this point – initially unsure after Scott expressed his nightmare, and even more after the scene you’d just witnessed outside. Stiles’ words rang clear enough to hear, but Scott was far from listening as he pushed anxiously through the crowded halls, his thumbs racing as he sent multiple messages to Allison.

His teeth were clenched and knuckles white from the grip he had on the small device, “She’s not answering my texts, Stiles.” Scott stood as high as he could, attempting to look over the other students in case he spotted Allison. His features contorted frantically, heart hammering in panic, frustrations expressed through small grunts.

Stiles sighed as he tried to reassure his friend, “Look, it could just be a coincidence, alright?”

“A seriously amazing coincidence.” You muttered, not realising that you voiced your thoughts, and the defeated sarcastic tone that came out with them. You stopped, guilty as you passed over Scott and focused on Stiles and his lack of amusement. His bow raised, and you shrugged, “What? I’m just saying.”

“Guys! Just help me find her, okay?” Scott intercepted, evidently exasperated to the point where you swear he nearly reached for the pocket that once housed his asthma puffer. You all turned and scanned the hallway, beginning to make your way past students as you tried not to veer too far from one another. Class hadn’t started yet, and you were only feet away from her locker, but the girl was nowhere to be found. You pulled out your own phone and sent off a brief text, one to say good morning and ask if she wanted to meet for lunch – surely, much more toned down than what you imagined Scott’s anxious messages to read.

“Do you see her?” He eventually asked after the crowd was recycled, bringing in a new lot of students as they gathered their books and moved toward their first period.

You sighed in time with the slumping of Stiles’ shoulders, your voices in unison as they relayed the bad news, “No”.

Fingers dragged through shaggy brunette locks with jittery movements, and soon, Scott’s feet were moving just as fast. He was on autopilot and the spontaneous need to bolt made it hard for you and Stiles to follow him. He ducked and weaved, using his enhanced speed to escape the ruckus of the situation. It had only been mere seconds before he had disappeared from your sight.

You could feel Stiles grasp onto your shoulder, digits digging into the soft material of your jacket, their strength tense as his own state of worry started to increase. He didn’t ease the further you two moved but it was too late to catch a glimpse of Scott – the halls were too congested. He groaned as he pressed his chest to the back of your shoulder, “Where is he?”

“He might just need time to chill, Stiles.” You replied, trying to lead the boy to a space that was much more capacious.

He grumbled against your ear, “Chill? Do you remember the last time he freaked out like this? He nearly ripped our faces off with his little wolfy teeth.” Which was much more real than you’d like to admit, but instead you just huffed, a deep exhale, remembering the events clearly as they happened in the room just down the hall. It was absentminded as you reached to your shoulder to take hold of Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly as you pulled him through the doors of the girl’s locker room. The boy made a small sound of awe, “How is this nicer than the boy’s one? Mm it smells nice.”

Nearing first period usually meant that nobody would be in here for hours – a space baron, vacant, and especially private. Thoughts ran wild in your mind on whether what you had planned would work, you could feel from near, but could you do it from afar? It made your chest fill with your own anxiety now, a thickness that was heavy in your throat and a throbbing in your head. Turning slowly, you glanced up at Stiles, who had finished examining the foreign room and whose large brown eyes had already settled on you with much curiosity.

Your lips pursed hesitantly, “I’m going to try something, okay? But I need you to just… trust the process.”

Stiles’ thick brow rose, perplexed by the process you were referring to. He didn’t get the chance to ask as you dragged him to a bench that sat between two rows of lockers, sitting in time with you as he watched a deep shaky breath being drawn. He could see the way your eyes creased with a lack of assurance and how your hands were rung the same way his did when he fidgeted out of uneasiness. He smiled softly, sympathetically, before he took your hands in his and held them gently in your lap.

This pulled you further to him as the apprehensive flutter in your chest began to die down. You drew another deep breath, this time, much steadier as you began to calm from Stiles’ hold. You sighed, “Scott can hear things, right? Far away. He can do this thing where he cuts through everything else and just zones in on a particular voice or sound. Like on the lacrosse field last week.” Stiles nodded, understanding what you were saying but not where it was leading. It prompted his head to tilt slightly to the left after he twisted his frame, now directly facing you front on with his legs either side of the bench. Your tongue darted out quickly to lap at your lips, “Well, what If I can do that too… but with emotions. What if I can feel Scott?”

“You’ve never done something like that before, how do you know if it’ll work?”  The boy questioned, eyes never leaving yours as he observed the desperation to try. His shoulders slumped, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing against your hands as they remained within his grasp. He could see your concern, as bright as day.

“You said it yourself, Stiles. Last time he was this worked up, he wolfed out on us. We don’t know where he is but I can at least try and see if he’s okay.”

Stiles agreed immediately – the line of his lips steady and straight as he nodded his head again. He wanted to help Scott, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t the tiniest bit curious just how far your new quirks can go.

You smiled as you pulled your hands away from his, sitting them flat on your knees, “I need you to be the lookout, and wake me if anything goes wrong.” When you had the go ahead from Stiles, you breathed in through your nose and fluttered your eyes closed.

You didn’t know if this was possible, or how to start it off, but you tried to focus purely on Scott. You thought about the distress he felt only moments earlier and how upset he was in the Jeep this morning. You thought about when you felt his anger on the Lacrosse field, and even more so when he held Stiles up against the wall in his room – how you voice made him stop.

Scott.

Stiles jumped when you opened your eyes, only to be met with that familiar white glow. It terrified him but he couldn’t look away, mesmerised by their tone and ethereal qualities that made you appear so oddly celestial. He waved one of his large hands in front of you but elicited no reaction, and it made him wonder just how this was truly working.

“He’s turning.” You said softly, brows furrowing, feeling the red-hot course of adrenaline that settled in your chest whenever you felt Scott turn before. It was as if he was clenching your own teeth as your jaw began to ache, worried that fangs were going to protrude. The inability to see just what you were focused on only made the feelings stronger. It wasn’t until your fist flew back and the muscles strained with such force that you knew it was getting too much, like Scott hit something, hard. You could barely hear as Stiles asked if you were okay, nor did you notice how he was quick to hold your still balled-up fist and inspect your knuckles. With a shaky tone, you whispered, “Scott, stop, come on… take a deep breath, snap out of it.”

It was a relief when your heartbeat began to drop as instant calmness loosened your tense muscles and relaxed the thumping in your head. You closed your eyes and smiled, sitting in disbelief that it worked, and that your friend was okay.

“Y/N?”

Stiles’ voice rang clearly, a soothing sound as it coaxed you back to consciousness. Your lashes danced over your cheeks for a moment as you gathered yourself, gentle as they opened to see Stiles shaking his head with a wide toothy grin.

He chuckled, “I can’t… you just did that, I mean… you’re amazing –“

“Attention students, this is your principal.” The PA system suddenly sounded, shaking you two out of your bubble as your gazes focused on the speaker. The announcement continued, muffled and crackly from years of going without a system update. You both furrowed your brows as you tried to listen, “I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as usual.”

You turned to Stiles in perfect unison, a look of disappointment dragging down your features as your bottom lip jutted out, “I can’t believe they’re still making us go to class.”

Stiles hummed, slapping his thighs as he stood from the bench before throwing a hand in your direction. His fingers wiggled, an invitation as he insisted on helping you up, “Yeah well, I wish that was the least of our worries.”

“You’ve got first period with Scott, right?” You asked, to which he nodded as he offered enough strength to pull you into a standing position. “Make sure he’s okay. It’s crazy just how much his body goes through when… it happens. Poor guy – “

“– your eyes glowed again.”

“What?” Your bag slid onto your shoulder, body twisting as you looked over your shoulder at Stiles. You pushed out your lips, voice hinting at tones of disappointment, “My eyes were closed; all I saw was darkness the whole time.”

“No, they glowed. They were bright… shining. Just like the other night at the Hale house.” He replied with so much excitement, hands moving in explanation. “It was actually pretty awesome.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The more you use your abilities, the less you seem to understand. The unknowing was a never-ending fog and when you tried to decipher an explanation for the things that you could do, it only ended in getting lost even further – unlike Scott, he has a label, he was a werewolf. There was lore and expectations, books after books with detailed descriptions. But you always came up short, and the optimism that Stiles carried so well on finding an answer was just ever so tiring.

A huff passed your lips, “Can we talk about this later? We have homeroom.”

“Uh, yeah?” The boy replied, deflating immediately as you brushed him off. He didn’t look away as you made your way from the room; eyes wide as they followed you, trying to contain the pity he felt so strongly in case you could sense it. Stiles knew this was hard on you – whatever this truly was – but his determination would never falter. Never for you.

Leaning against the metal doors of some lockers on the first floor, you continued to stare at your phone screen – the text conversations fuelling the thoughts that run over again in your mind. You were in a daze; inattentive, distracted, engrossed in contemplations that you simply couldn’t control. It was the reason that you haven’t been sleeping and now it was taking over your daily life too. There was futility in focusing on one thing at a time. But how could you, with the added dramas from this morning.

You made an excuse to leave your class early when Stiles told you that they recovered a body from the bus. The ambulance rolled him out, and he was believed dead by your friends until the man jumped up in fear. Stiles told you that Scott was even more shaken than before and that second-nature feeling of dread had returned to the pit of your stomach. It was the softened call of your name that broke you from your pondering, to which you glanced up to be met with the two boys – one with a smile of sympathy, and the other with all of the devastation in the world sitting upon his shoulders.

“This probably isn’t going to help, but at least he isn’t dead.” You spoke quietly, your hand sitting upon Scott’s shoulder as you ducked to catch his eyes. You could see Stiles shrugging, hands sinking deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he claimed that he tried that, too. You moved until you could properly see Scott’s large brown eyes and a sigh pushed passed your lips, “Okay, at least it wasn’t Allison.”

“No, but someone got hurt, because of me!” Scott groaned, his face falling into his hands as you began to gently rub at his back.

Stiles piped up as he began to guide you all toward the cafeteria, attempting to bring some sort of contentment to his best friend, “We don’t know for sure that it even was you.”

“This is why I need Derek’s help. I need to know about this dream, what I did last night... I need to know what the hell is going on.”

You were first to the lunch line, trying to muster a smile as you accepted the assortment of food for the day. Looking to your side, you could see Stiles trying to push Scott along as he began to wallow once again in his distress. This was too much for him to handle, for anyone to handle, and you were starting to wonder if Derek really would have the answers for Scott after all.

“But dreams aren’t memories.” Stiles spoke again as you all were huddled together, locating an empty table. Stiles took his place first as you sat opposite him, Scott slipping into the seat next to you.

The wolf sighed and placed his backpack in the chair on his other side, “Then this wasn’t a dream.” He rubbed at his face again, anxious movements as he let out his frustrations, his voice cracking in what you could tell was plain exhaustion, “Something happened last night, guys, and I can’t remember what”.

Taking a bite of your apple you watched as your two friends spoke back and forth, a tennis match between scepticism and rationalising. It would be more amusing to watch if the topic of conversation wasn’t literally revolved around life and death. Stiles rolled his eyes, his body leaning back in his seat as arms crossed over his chest, “Uh huh, and what make you think Derek even has all the answers?”

“BECAUSE –“Scott began, already overwhelmed as his voice rose in anguish before the silent scolding from Stiles prompted him to settle down. He looked around bashfully, hoping that nobody could hear as he continued with a hushed tone, “because… during the full moon he wasn’t changed. He was in total control, while I was running around in the middle of the night… attacking some totally innocent guy!”

A coo pushed through your lips, a sort of sigh, as you lent slightly on the table to face Scott, “You don’t know that.”

But he shook his head, putting his metaphorical foot down, “I don’t not know it.” He stopped; eyes moving in thoughts as he bit roughly at his bottom lip, tugging before breathing out in defeat, “I can’t go out with Allison. I have to cancel.”

“What? No, you’re not cancelling, okay?” Stiles shifted forward in his chair, his crossed arms now settling on the tabletop. With a serious gaze, he looked at Scott, voice beginning to nag, “You can’t just cancel your entire life!”

You intercepted, a hand thrown in Stiles direction to agree with his sentiment, “He’s right, we’ll figure it out.”

“ – Figure out what?” Her voice was one that you didn’t expect, especially as it was followed by her sitting next to Stiles on the other side of your table. Lydia smiled brightly as she saw you, her fingers lifting into a small flutter of a wave, and you were happy to smile warmly back at her. You just hoped that she didn’t hear anything else before she made herself known.

Your greeting with your friend was interrupted by odd noises, fractured syllables and stammering sounds as Stiles grew nervous from being so close to his crush. He was at a literal loss for words as his mouth gaped and he smiled with bashful rosy cheeks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Just, uh…” Scott jumped in, trying to fill the void that Stiles left when answering Lydia’s question, “Just homework.”

She took that as a good enough answer before looking to the other students that began to sit around the table with you, starting small friendly conversations that you and the two boys felt out of place within. It prompted Stiles to incline across the table, close enough so only you both could hear, his brows furrowed and tongue lapping at his lips, “Why is she sitting with us?” It was a question that you didn’t have an answer to as you shrugged in reply, side-eying Scott that did the same thing.

You smiled at Danny when he sat on Stiles’ other side, his greeting followed by a reciprocated grin and small nod of his head, and when you looked around nearly every seat was occupied by students that you didn’t have very much to do with. Harley slipped into the spot on your right as Allison settled next to Scott. It was a strange experience, and you managed to share your expressions of confusion with Stiles as he pouted from your conversation being interrupted.

“Get up.” Jackson scowled at the head of the table to a poor student, and you were close to banging your head on the surface in front of you just by the sound of his infuriating voice. Today just wasn’t your day, or Scott’s, or Stiles’.

“How come you never ask Danny to get up?” The kid argued, only maiming his case to stay.

Danny smirked as he bit into his apple, “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coin slot.” He spoke, matter-of-factly, and most of the table chuckled as the kid left in embarrassment and Jackson took ownership of the seat. You wished that your table has just been left alone.

You were looking between Scott and Stiles, thinking of an excuse for you all to leave, until Danny began a conversation about the morning events, “So, I hear they’re saying it’s some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar.”

“I heard mountain lion.” Jackson added, poking at his food with a disapproving glare.

You wanted to correct them both, but a disgruntled Lydia beat you to it with an annoyed tone of voice as she kept her eyes downcast, “A cougar is a mountain lion.” Your space was quiet as others observed her oddly, Jackson looking to her with a blank stare, and it provoked the redhead to tilt her head and speak once more with an airy high-pitched voice, “… Isn’t it?”

Her boyfriend scoffed and you started to imagine what it would look like if you just knocked him off his chair with a well-thrown water bottle aimed straight between the eyes. If only.  Jackson groaned, his voice uninterested, “Who cares? The guy’s probably some homeless tweaker who’s gonna die anyway.”

“Actually…” You flicked your focus to Stiles as he peered down to his phone, turning the device around for everybody to see, “I just found out who it is. Check this out.”

It was coverage from a local news outlet, the reporter seen speaking before the screen flashed to video footage taken this morning at the school, “The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Myers, did survive the attack. Myers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition.”

“Wait, I-I-I know this guy…” Scott shuffled in his seat, gasping at the recollection of the name, “When I used to take the bus, back when I lived with my dad, he was the driver.”

Everybody faded away as you, Scott and Stiles shared a pointed look between each other. With every new article of information, the tension would grow stronger, and it meant that it was gradually getting more difficult to piece together the puzzle.

Your sombre expressions were ignored as Lydia sighed loudly, indicating her boredom in the conversation as she examined her perfectly manicured nails, “Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please?” You watched as she jumped, gasping loudly as she looked across to Scott and Allison before sitting her chin atop her now folded hands, “Like, where are we going tomorrow night?” Their lack of reply made you wonder if they were on the same page as Lydia, so she took a deep breath, and spoke slower to clarify, “You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow, right?”

Your throat felt tight, and you knew that it certainly belonged to someone else. Leaning forward you could see Allison’s worried eyes, and as if on cue, the fluttering started in your chest as she grew nervous. You could noticed as her hands rung under the table, and Scott wasn’t any better as his shoulders tensed alongside the clenching of his jaw.

Allison coughed gently, a clear of her throat before chuckling nervously, “Um, well, we were still thinking of what we were gonna do…”

You recognised the way Lydia’s eyes lit up – how they glinted with eagerness, rascality, good intentions with a twist of trouble. She was eying off Allison and Scott and you knew that it wouldn’t end as ideally as they’d like. Stiles seemed to be thinking the same thing as he caught your focus, a joint wide-eyed look expressed between you both, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he caught sight of Scott’s apprehension of being put in the spotlight.

“Well, I am not sitting at home again watching lacrosse videos, so… if the four of us are hanging out, we are doing something fun.” Lydia’s tone was frank, the flow of her words spoken so candidly and confident with no room for dismissal. It was the total opposite to Scott’s ambivalence as he sat there, stunned, and slack jawed. Your space silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“H-h-hanging out? Like… the four of us?” He stammered, immediately turning to Allison and watching as she covered up her disappointment with a large drink from her water bottle. Scott lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow in question, “Do you wanna hang out? Like, us, and… them?”

A small, choked sound from Stiles forced your eyes away from the trainwreck in front of you to watch him cover his mouth, clearly taken aback by the scene you were both agonising over as mere spectators. He looked at you once more with those wide caramel eyes as you both shared a silent conversation – consisting mostly of ‘what the actual hell is going on right now’.

Allison chuckled in discomfort, but shone a lovely smile nonetheless, “Yeah, I guess. Sounds fun…”

“You know what else sounds fun?” Jackson interrupted, annoyance exuding from his voice and his features contorted into an unimpressed expression. He held his fork in the air, shaking it with his words, “Stabbing myself in the face with this fork.”

You thought that Stiles was moments away from spitting out his water as he took a large gulp; hoping it would stop him from interfering in whatever was going on in front of you, his eyes rolling dramatically and hand motioning wildly. Lydia, completely unaware of the interaction between you and Stiles, reached for the fork clutched in Jackson’s hand as she sent him a scowl at his rudeness.

She huffed, a manicured finger pointing in her boyfriend’s direction, “Well, how about bowling? You love to bowl.”

Stiles shook his head violently as he tried to gain Scott’s attention, but the werewolf simply just shrugged as he felt helpless in the situation. This made you drop your head to your hand, groaning softly under your breath. You changed your mind – this alone was way more dramatic than the events this morning brought you all.

“Pft, yeah. With actual competition.” Jackson continued his tirade of needing to be the best with a loud huff, his tone purposeful to deride the others.

What you didn’t expect to come next was Allison to speak with such enthusiasm, confident to hide the offence that the jock left them with. “How do you know we’re not actual competition?” The girl sat up straighter, causing her brunette curls to dangle over the back of the seat as she turned to Scott, hope sparkling in her eyes, “You can bowl, right?”

Scott shrugs, uneasiness dripping from his words, “Sort of…”

“ – Is it a sort of, or is it a yes?”

“Yes.” Your friend was quick to reply to Jackson’s patronising tone, his frame matching Allison’s as he sat tall and courageous with a smile curling his lips, “In fact, I’m a great bowler.”

You have never facepalmed so fast in your life.

Your afternoon classes went smoother than you expected. It seemed that everything that could be deemed eventful happened before the end of lunch, and the rest of the day went past as if everything was, dare to say, normal. You managed to filter out the background chatter about Mister Myers as you moved around the school halls in between your classes; only hearing the odd pieces of gossip speculating different predatory animals and scenarios that led to his attack. It was hard to pay attention to the different opinions when you knew the truth, or the somewhat truth, as you wholeheartedly believed that Scott was innocent in this matter.

You didn’t realise you were so distracted – staring out the window of your math class with such obliviousness – until you felt a tap on your shoulder. It provoked a small jump from you as your arm dropped to the table and your eyes growing wide and alert. As you turned, a concerned-looking Scott McCall was leaning toward you with his grip slipping to your bicep, squeezing with reassurance.

“You good?” He quietly spoke to avoid detection from your teacher, and you were glad that you both decided to sit toward the back of the classroom today. You replied with a soft nod of your head, unconvincingly, but your friend let it slide as he offered a thin-lipped smile. You could see from your peripherals that he seemed to be in an internal battle as he sat back into his seat, deep thoughts scrunching his brows and slack-jawed as if he was trying to think of what to say. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it somewhat amusing until he turned around to face you, his lips pursed in question, and momentary awkwardness in his eyes.

“So, uh… I think you were in my head earlier. Ya know, this morning…”

You hummed in reply, pen inattentively tapping against your page, “I honestly didn’t know how far I could go with it, but yeah, I guess so.”

Scott nodded as his focus flickered toward the front of the room and back to you when you were clear to continue talking, “It was weird. Like, I knew you were there and I could hear you, kinda… it was quiet but I knew it was you. I knew you were trying to calm me down.” Scott sighed under his breath, his hand running through his hair, “Reminded me of the first full moon, and you – “

“ – I thought the same.” It was a night that still made you uncomfortable; the first time you saw pure anger exude from Scott, how his eyes grew dark with harmful intentions despite the immense struggle he faced to keep them at bay. You remembered how he was trying to stop the anger and hold onto his humanity, but the moment he held Stiles against that wall… when he threw that chair at you… you realised that what Scott McCall had become was something way beyond what you could properly fathom at that time. Even still during this time.

Scott understood your choice to cut that memory, his head nodding again as he offered a sympathetic smile that was intertwined with all things apologetic and sweet. It hurt him more than it did you that night, and you could never stay mad at such a kind soul, always forgiving for what Scott does unintendedly.

“Another thing…” He began once more, only this time his voice wavered as if he was testing the waters. It made you wonder just why he was holding such hesitancy. Your friend cleared his throat, “How, ah… how are you feeling after doing all that? Your eyes glowed, you’re getting more into whatever abilities you have. Kind make you wanna find out what else, is uh... what else you can do… right…?”

The fractured sentencing was an indicator, but the way his eyes suddenly couldn’t focus on you and how he was uncertain with his speech – you knew that these words weren’t those of Scott’s.

“Did Stiles put you up to this?” You asked, point blank. Theories were proven correct when Scott’s eyes grew wide and his jaw slammed shut. As if he was caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar, a deer in headlights. He wasn’t very subtle. “Scott… I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear to Stiles that I don’t really want to get into that right now.”

“But he worries about you. We both do.” His voice strained, and you tried to not feed into his physical emotion by taking a deep breath and closing your eyes for a mere moment. You weren’t ready to know what you were, or how you could do these things, because what if you didn’t like what the truth held? You can’t go back to an image of normalcy once it is all out in the open.

Your stare held notes of solace, a comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone; and that even though you sometimes felt as if you wanted to give up, the two unlikely friends that wondered so effortlessly into your life wouldn’t dare let you slip, not even in the slightest. You smiled at Scott in perfect timing to the last bell of the day, and he continued to smile back.

“So? Are we going to talk about earlier?” Stiles started immediately as you and Scott met him at the staircase, ushered along with the other students that were preparing to leave school for the day. You both provided a questioning look, and it provoked him to throw his hands up, still appalled by the scene in the cafeteria, “You know, the fact that you’re a terrible bowler!”

Scott turned to see Stiles glaring at him with all of the incredulity he could muster, and it caused a low groan as he remembered the bright white lie he presented so confidently, “I know! I’m such an idiot.”

Stiles continued ranting as he ignored the discomfort etched deeply on Scott’s face, “God, it was like watching a car wreck. I mean… first it turned into the whole group-date thing, and out of nowhere comes… that phrase – “ 

“Hang-out?” You chimed in, finger lazily pointing in his direction, and Stiles reciprocated your gesture and a complementing wide grin.

“Yes! You don’t hang-out with hot girls, okay? It’s like death.”

“Wait –“ You stopped him from proceeding, your body standing still in the middle of the hall as feet planted themselves still. Your brows were furrowed, contemplating the boy’s words, Scott looking between you both in the utmost confusion. You pushed out your lips, ready to press a query, “But we hang out all the time.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as his head fell into an impatient shake, dumbfounded by your statement as he lacked the social cues to understand where this was going, “So?”

“SO… Does that make me not hot?” Your facial features contorted into a grumpy pout as you glared pointedly at Stiles. He immediately stammered, disconcerted with your words as Scott simply just stood to the side in immensely amused shock. It was a well-needed break from his own stresses as he instead observed Stiles making a fool of himself.

Stiles’ pitch increased as he jumped on the defence, hands held high and waving wildly, “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

“So, you do think I’m hot?”

He was a blubbering mess – caramel eyes large and doe-like when they looked to you in nervousness, words heavy on his tongue as he tried to shake them out. Stiles was digging himself a hole, a deep hole. “Uh… just, let me finish… what I was trying to say is that once it’s hanging-out, you might as well be her gay best friend.” Lengthy fingers wrapped around each other before he shot his hold toward Scott, his attention span providing a clean getaway from the mess he was creating by shifting the conversation from you to his best friend instead, “Hey, maybe you and Danny can start hanging out.”

With squinted eyes you continued to watch Stiles and how he purposely avoided your attention. There was lack of offence on your behalf, it was just funny to watch him squirm. But a small part of you did wonder if you were viewed in this three-way relationship as simply just ‘one of the guys’ – and if you were, is that something you were completely content with.

Scott’s loud groan broke you from your thoughts as his head fell back, eyes closed and hands cupping his face, “How is this happening? I either killed a guy, or I didn’t…”

You were ready to console the young wolf but was cut off by Stiles’ own tangent, his overly-energetic mind already moving way past your previous topic as he began to mumble to himself, his own eyes unfocused as he peered into the distance, “I don’t think Danny likes me.”

“ – I ask Allison on a date, and now we’re… hanging-out…”

“Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

“ – I make first line, and the team captain wants to destroy me…”

“Surely I’m attractive to gay guys.”

You moved yourself so that you were standing before the two boys, your hands held in front of you as you raised a stern voice, “Okay, stop! You’re driving me freaking crazy.” Their heads perked up – like meerkats, cute and sweet and unknowing, bobbing around until they found the source of the noise before settling under your frustrated gaze. You released a softened groan as you rubbed at your temples, firstly looking to Scott with your hands now settling on your hips, “Scott, you need to breathe. Calm down. You’ll get yourself into a panic again.”

You could see as his shoulders slumped, tension slipping away and dropping to the floor. He glanced absentmindedly at his phone before doing a double take, the anxiety back as quick as it left, “Shit, now I’m gonna be late for work.”

A positive from gaining werewolf movement would be his ability to dodge with pure flawlessness. You usually saw it on the Lacrosse field, but now twice in one day as he bolted down the hallway to make it to work on time. You huffed, standing on your toes to see over the crowd as if it would magically help your projection as you called to him, “Don’t forget to breathe!”

“Wait, Scott! You didn’t say…” Stiles called exasperatedly after you, but his friend was already gone. “Am I, am I attractive to gay guys, I just… you didn’t answer my question.” His arms raised on either side of his frame, a deep sigh slipping in annoyance with muttered words. Stiles turned in frustration before seeing you, his face lighting up, “Y’N! Am I attractive to – “

“Nuh uh. You never answered my question from before.” Mischief glinted in your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Stiles’ jaw slammed shut instantly. “Do you think I’m hot? Or not?”

You had never seen Stiles Stilinski so quiet before. He started at you with a now dropped jaw, unsure of which direction he should take in replying to you. You could feel the restless fluttering, however, in his chest. Or maybe that was just your own butterflies, teetering on the edge as you awaited his answer. Either way, it was affecting you both much more different than you anticipated.

Whether you were joking around or not, you didn’t expect him to take this long to answer – perhaps, he was thinking of a way to let you down easy. Yeah, that must be it. With a loud clearing of your throat, you plastered on a smile, trying to chuckle away the awkward silence.

“I was joking. Come on, weirdo, you’re my ride home.”

[writingchalamet]

Ross had me going feral at my show so here’s an after show sex with Ross 💀😛 pretty much porn with a plot sorry not sorry.

Warnings: oral ( m receiving) semi rough sex p in v, no contraception because these people are horny

You could tell he was rilled up from the way he kept staring off into the distance, and the harsh plucking of the bass strings. Before he had gone on stage he knew he was done for, seeing you in your tiny black mini skirt and an oversized button down of his, left him feeling nothing more but primal. Seeing the full length of your legs shine under the light with every step you took towards him, and how you scented his shirt with your fragrance drove him crazy. He couldn’t wait to finish the tour to spend months plowing you into your mattress.

Now you stood at the side of the stage jumping around with Gabbriette, skirt inching up every time you bounced, steering Ross’s attention away from what should be an easy task for him. He could feel himself growing more frustrated as the night progressed, watching you have so much fun and look so good, he wanted nothing more than to pull you out onto the stage and show you off for all to see. Maybe even take you on the fucking sofa and have the camera man filming project it to the big screen for the thousands in the back to get a clear enough view. Ross had never been more relived to finish a gig in his entire life, the sprint back from B stage should have been enough to wear him down a little, but it seemed to only fuel his fire.

You were waiting, unknowing of his current state, with a huge smile on your face, already hugging and congratulating Polly on a great show, when he appeared. His brooding figure drew closer, pulling away from Polly, you skipped towards him leaping into his arms, laying your head onto his chest. His own arms encase your waist pulling you in tight. "You were amazing babe, as always" You beam up at him, standing on your tippy toes, to reach his lips, softly pushing against his own. "And you were a complete distraction missy, jumping around in that tiny skirt, I could hardly concentrate" Ross whispered as he bushed his lips against your own, your nose twitched shaking your head side to side slowly. One of his hands dragged down your body making its home on your bum, giving it a gentle squeeze, his lips move to brush along the shell of your ear speaking in hushed tones “I want you back in my dressing room for me, on your knees like a good girl” he felt your breath gasp against his neck, your body going rigid. His hand leaving you for a split second to lay a smack on your backside once more, “go” he nods his head, cocky smirk plastered on his face as he watches you stumble away from him.

When Ross eventually finds his way to the dressing room, albeit 15 minutes after he sent you on your way, he wanted to build up your anticipation so made sure pat each member of production giving them a ‘well done’ on his journey. Stopping to have a brief chat with George and John before finally landing at his dressing room door. When he entered the room was dimly lit. And there you were, kneeling in the middle of the room, half the buttons of his shirt unbuttoned exposing the lace of your bra and the delicate R necklace that always hung around your neck. Your skirt had ridden up sitting around the very top of your thighs no doubtably where you had been shuffling around in discomfort. He stood in the doorway just admiring you for a moment before stalking towards you, when he reached you he noticed how you instinctively straightened your back, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. One of his hands gently caressed the side of your face, scratching backwards through your hair, pulling it away from your face, you gasp at the harshness of the tug, looking up at the man you knew you would give everything to. “Beautiful” his words are barely audible but you hear them nonetheless.

The hand tangled in your hair slowly but harshly balls the hair and draws your neck backwards as far as it goes, his other hand warps protectively around your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw as you look up at him with hazy eyes. He leans down brushing his lips across your own in a teasing manner, never fully pressing a kiss upon them. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours, I want you to be a good girl and take it” you can’t help but nod instantly, the thought of having his cock inside you has your mouth watering. “Now open up” almost like a second nature your mouth opens at his command, you hear the swill of spit he’s conjuring inside his mouth as you lay your tongue out flat in front of him. Ross leans down close to you and spits on your tongue, lubricating it for you, before returning to his full height. He doesn’t play around any longer as he unbuckles his belt, and unbuttons his trousers, it’s now you notice the bulge laying straight in front of your face. You gently place your hands over his, placing a kiss above the button of his trousers before letting them fall down his legs, you snap the band of his boxers looking up at him giving him a wink just to be cheeky, palming him through the soft fabric, you can feel the predicament he’s been in, he’s throbbing in your hand, you give him a few squeezes before releasing him from his cotton confinements. As soon as he’s free, one hand wraps around himself and the other finds its way to the base of your neck. He pumps himself a few times biting on his bottom lip, making unwavering eye contact with you, he can’t help but love the way you lick your lips as you watch him throb in front of your face, he would never find anyone half as perfect as you, that much he was sure of. He lines up his member at your mouth sighing as he watches you swallow him inch by inch like a pro. “Fuck y/n” he pulls back slowly, allowing you a second to take a breath before shoving himself back in, more forcefully this time, enjoying the little squeak your throat let out muffled by his dick.

Your hands made their home on his hips, steadying yourself, you bobbed your head trying to keep up with his ever growing pace, fingernails piercing the flesh of his hipbones when his thrusts become more vigorous. One of Ross’s hands stroke along your face a jaw, a sign for you that you were doing a good job, although he was picking up pace, you could tell he was holding back, the sight of concentration on his face, brow lowered and eyes screwed shut, you wanted him to reach his full potential, you always loved it when he completely let go. Pulling back away from him with a pop, his eyes snap open, both hands caressing your cheeks afraid he’s done something to hurt you. “What’s the matter baby, are you okay?” Ross rambled words falling over each other. “I’m fine, more than okay, I want you to use me Ross, just let go” you pressed kisses along pubic bone stopping to look up at him before taking him back into your mouth again, “Christ I love you” he mumbles, head facing the ceiling, his fingers tangle in your hair again as he sets a new bruising pace.

Anyone walking past the room would be sure to know what was going on with how loud Ross was moaning and wet sloshing sounds coming from your mouth. You tried your best to breathe through your nose as he plowed into your throat making sure to bruise your oesophagus, your eyes streaming as you looked up at him with admiration. The ache in your throat being numbed out by the sounds coming from Ross, you loved it when he was vocal, it lit a certain fire within you, something you just couldn’t hold off any longer, your own hand slipped from his hip down the front of your body and under your skirt, only able to relieve the pressure for a mere moment before Ross caught wind of what you were doing. You felt the sting of his hand clapping against your cheek, before he pulled ripped himself out of your mouth, pulling you to your feet. You stumble from being on your knees for so long, Ross’s arms secure themselves around your waist and hoist you up off the ground, walking backwards until you are perched on his dressing table. He stands back a few steps, admiring the way your legs stay spread and the way your underwear were soaked through. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” His voice rough, demanding. You shook your head slowly, his fingers reaching to lift your head so you met his eyeline. “Words” leaving his touch there. “No sir” your voice was hoarse and sore to use, a true testament to his power. He steps forwards once more, standing between your legs spreading them further. Your head lulls back resting on the mirror as his lips brush the base of your neck, littering the skin with light kisses. Small gasps escape your lips as his fingers drift their way across your torso, finishing your work of unbuttoning the shirt adorning you, pads of his fingers trailing down your stomach, slipping over the fabric of your skirt, bunching it up further until it sat around your waist like a belt.

His hands land on the back of your thighs, pulling you in until you’re flush with his own chest. “Now tell me, what happens to girls who break my rules” his words were hot in your ear as he continued peppering kisses along your neck and chest, fingers tickling your skin, riling you up even more. “They get punished” he nods, hand moving from your thigh, hovering over the place you needed him the most. “That’s right angel, now tell me, if I fuck you’re pretty little brains out, because I don’t think I can hold out much longer, are you gonna do everything I say?” You practically mewl at his words, leaning into his touch. The rough pad of his thumb draws circles on your clit, finally touching you. His fingers dip into the side of your underwear, pulling them away from your centre, he watches the sex glitter under the light for a moment before a dipping two fingers inside, enjoying the warm and welcoming feeling of you drawing him closer. Your eyes meet and you can feel the intensity in Ross’s eyes, his pupils blown out, looking all over your face. Your lips meet in a feverish kiss, tongue practically prying your mouth open feeling every crevice, and receiving all your gasps and pleas as his fingers continue to penetrate their way inside you. “Ross I need you now” you pant into his mouth. He hums in return, reaching for his cock, fisting it a few times before running it through your folds letting the tip become slick with your wetness. A groan passes his lips as he pushes himself in inch by inch until he’s fully seated in your warmth. You moan leaning your head back against the mirror once more, relaxing into him. Ross gives you a moment, pulling out fully before pounding back in. He sets a ruthless pace, hands coming to hold the backs of your knees spreading your legs wider for him to fuck into you deeper. Your hands clasp around his shoulders coaxing him closer to you, planting your lips on his, the combined sensation of his lips on yours and him pounding deep inside you has you dizzy, you clench around him, walls fluttering at his incessant pace, Ross’s lips leave yours to plant kisses along your neckline, teeth nipping at the skin, he licked the sweat as it formed along your neck and chest.

His pace increasing hitting that perfect spot inside you again and again, one thing about Ross was that he never tires, his hips smack into your own chasing the high he was so close to mere moments ago. He looks down peering to where the two of you were connected, enjoying the view of your wet hole enticing him inside, his brow furrows in concentration, thrusting upwards sharply making sure to hit the sweet spongy spot that makes your head spin continuously, “come on sweetheart, I need you to be a good girl for me right now” your legs wrap around his middle, entrapping him with your entire being, you moan his name for all to hear when his calloused finger starts caressing your clit once more, begging for your release. You move your hips in tandem with his own, the melodic sound of your moans and skin slapping filling the room. He perfected his movements on the small bud eliciting a squeak from your mouth, feeling the build up of your high, you kissed along his chest and pulled the hairs at the nape of his neck while he pounded away at you, feeling your walls constricting around his length, your breathe grew tight as he fucked into you at a ruthless pace, your entire body feeling like it had been set alight, “that’s right sweet girl, cum for me” he kissed under your ear as he spoke the words. Hand wrapping around your throat cutting off your supply to oxygen making the feeling even more euphoric. As the band snapped his thrusts grow more sloppy, eventually going rigid, releasing his load all over your walls, feeling warm and full.

He stayed still inside you smile plastering his face, as you giggle, clinging to him some more, you trace his back with your fingers feeling the shirt stick to his sweaty skin. “Fuck I love you so much” he smiles leaning in for another kiss, more sensual this time, taking his time to kiss both your top and bottom lip. “I love you too Ross” you hum back relishing in the feeling of his soft touches, one of his hands places a light smack on your thigh as he pulls out slowly, “right missy let’s get you cleaned up”

[pervcoded]

one flew over starring mitsuya takashi

content warning(s) domineering and controlling behavior. inappropriate behavior towards strangers/non-consensual touching. sexual discussions. mentions of human trafficking. stalking (minor). mitsuya is a bird hybrid. gn!reader

He notices you at the mall.

Harpy's eyes see all, and you’re too busy looking nervous, showing your less interesting friends how cute your ass looks, that you don't perceive him at all.

Ones who are as doe-eyed, pathetic, and as precious as you.

Mitsuya reckons it's jealousy. It’s not like humans are all bad.

He can concede that your people are weaker than him - hell, he could probably tear your pillowy flesh to ribbons with a flex of his talons, flap a wing and send you colliding to the ground with the force of the gale, but you humans have your own uses, individual purposes.

He's worked with humans as a fashion designer. Mostly assistants; coffee picker-uppers and donut deliverers and chauffeurs. Models of your kind aren't common.

But it's not impossible- sometimes a flower blooms from the concrete, and he's seen beautiful humans before. He's seen them naked, clothed, bouncing on his cock, but none of them were worth stopping and staring at.

None of them were worth more than a polite nod or a 'Thank you, sweetheart,' - perhaps a 'good pet' if they squeeze down on him just right.

The thought of them didn't roost, slinking out of the grooves of his mind. He normally wouldn't be caught dead yearning for some human.

Good thing nobody's minding him now, then.

After seeing you, the thought of keeping you feels a little more romantic. Pleasant to the ear. A gift to the self - wholly indulgent in every sense of the world because

You, against the backdrop of the world, are a sky full of shimmering gold - the muse that’s eluded him all his natural life. Remarkable figure, this natural charm about your aura. You're demure, sweet even, fussing about your friend's outfits even if you've tragically outshined them.

You have star potential. He can imagine you in his latest sets, a permanent fixture in his private studio - even outfitted with your own little stage.

He quickly makes up his mind about it, and steps into your bubble. He’s as quiet as a wink ‘cause you don’t notice him until you mind his shadow eclipsing you, stepping back in abject horror as you turn to behold him. Terrifyingly beautiful.

Buying humans is usually easy - when they have handlers.

You’re stood; stuck and stupid and gaping and gawking and he thinks it's something he should charge your owner more for, before he notices the lack of identification tag on you. Your friends fade into background and shadow as he makes you do a few turns.

You’re clumsy! Adorable, but inexperienced. Can’t even look at him without sweating - pupils dilating, desperate for something to land on that isn’t his face. He cups your chin as delicately; a collector examining fine china.  Feathers cling to his elbows and arms; frame an alien face.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, human?” He chats too casually. Your lips quiver in place, his eyes narrowing derisively. “Speak when you’re spoken to, yeah? It’ll be good for you to learn to respect your betters.” He touches the top of your head, extremely comfortable for a man you’ve met less than a minute ago.

Forgive you for being a little stunned, you suppose. “O-okay,” The way he smiles down at you makes you feel even more uncertain. You’re a quick learner, that’s great. He straightens up, applies light pressure to your head. “And?”

You nearly draw your eyes down in confusion but try to remain neutral faced as you ponder what he could possibly want. The pressure grows as you take your time, your legs trembling ever so slightly under the weight of his claw. You’re teary by the time you’re pushing out a petrified, “...thank you?” and he laughs genuinely, bending down to your height. It dawns on you in this very moment how tall he is. His smile twists his face, would look more at home on a cat.

“Are you asking me? Or ya telling me?”

“T-telling, sir.” He coos affectionately at the honorific, talons skimming along the fat of your cheek. Something damp trickles down your face. 

“Good.” 

He’ll work on fixing your stutter later.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀TOKREV/BANNER ART by @/KenWakui

all content written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

[azaracyy]

to the next stage of our adventure! digimon survive week 2024 day 7: post-game / future personal thoughts under the cut - less about the artwork and more about shuuji and lopmon themselves. a long rambling containing major spoilers and heavy topics. will cause whiplash. proceed with caution.

other than the fact this may be boring and long-winded, cw and tw: there will be mentions of self-harm and suicide. if these topics make you uncomfortable, please step back. if you're sure, then alright. i'm aware this is a weird place to ramble about shuuji and lopmon considering the notorious highlight of their story would match the themes of day 5 (villains) and day 6 (dark & loss) better. unfortunately (ironically?) i never planned to feature them for those days, so... pretty sure i'm not the only one feeling this, but when i discovered that a good part of the fandom seems to loathe shuuji with utmost passion, even after they claimed to have completed the game, i was confused. the way his death happened and (understanding) the cause made me uncomfortable for a while, but never drove me to the point of hate... once i recovered from the initial shock, what i felt towards him was more pity, then respect (on truthful route). i feel shuuji should have been one of the most appreciated characters in survive. yet it was the opposite that happened. (between you and me though, knowing there was this discourse with the fact digimon survive is a visual novel, i'm not that surprised it turned out this way...) from my point of view, lopmon evolving into wendimon then killing shuuji symbolizes suicide, the act of taking one's own life. it was the climax of shuuji's mental breakdown, leading him to basically self-destruct, causing damage to everyone around him and ultimately himself. lopmon evolved, just like he hoped. but failed to do it like other kemonogami partners (maintaining control of themselves and fending off enemies). the next and final outcome was death, through his own partner actually eating him alive too. it reminds me how when someone thought they have prepared well for something important yet it failed spectacularly, the devastation and frustration would eat them in the same way from inside. and they probably would for one second think, "i'm better off dead". the more i pondered about it, the more it hit home, so of course, the last thing i could do is hate him, when his struggles sound similar to my own - having to rely on consistent achievements to prove your value, to feel you are worth living and not a waste of resources. the part where shuuji went all abusive on lopmon felt like the equivalent of pushing yourself to the extreme to reach your goal, to the point of neglecting your own needs. it's like a student so absorbed in their study, sacrificing food and sleep, until their body eventually snaps and shuts down for good (...this in fact happened to one of the students at my previous workplace. she was in her last year of high school. life was just about to truly start for her when her classmate informed us of her sudden death). even in truthful route where shuuji and lopmon survive that point, things aren't immediately nice and easy for him. you can see that he still has self-doubts, and what i think is impostor's syndrome. he could be making a great contribution to the team and still put himself down for having done "nothing". i have found it interesting that artists and writers tend to be especially fond of shuuji. so perhaps it's not just the matter of one's upbringing - whether you were raised in a harsh, competitive environment and/or with family with (unreasonably) high standards so you can relate more easily to him - but also whether one can see just what every struggle shuuji and lopmon went through symbolizes shuuji's mental state. out of all survive characters, i think shuuji and lopmon pulled off this thing called "surviving" the hardest, no joke. which is why i almost always gravitate to drawing them happy because that's what they deserve :') after all this, what i also would like to say is, it's okay if a character makes you uncomfortable. it's okay if you hate a character. but never, ever bring down the character to people who like them or even consider them their favorite or comfort character. if you must, do it in your own space and only with like-minded people.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

I’ve kinda already written about this before with the college AU I started a while ago but I have a mighty need for a life drawing workshop with Ghost and Soap.

Like maybe Soap runs some classes in a local bar venue space or something and he puts out ads every so often for models. Ghost meanwhile is discharged from the army with a shitty shoulder injury and no where to go. After going for a pint with Gaz to commiserate, and drown their shared sorrows of having to leave army life, Gaz tells Ghost about a new side hustle he has going ever since he’d had to leave months prior.

Ghost snorts out a laugh at first “are you bloody joking? You. A life model?”

Gaz pretends not to get too offended, but rolls his eyes and take a drink.

“It’s not as weird as you think. You stand in a couple different poses-“

“With your kit off,” Ghost chuckles.

“Yes, with your kit off,” Gaz huffs. “You get told how to stand and what props to use and then a bunch of people draw you for a couple hours. It’s totally painless and you get decent dosh for it. I do Soap’s class twice a month and Alex’s class three times - it’s easy money, plus it’s cash in hand so HMRC don’t have to be any the wiser bout it.”

“Hang on a minute, Soap?” Ghost says, shaking his head. “What kind of a name is Soap? He gives you props as well? What next, does he ask you to dance for him too? Give ‘im the old dazzle dazzle, do you?”

“Fuck off Ghost.”

“Aw, im only messing. ‘Sides even if I wanted to do little poses for your art class, I wouldn’t be able to. My shoulder’s buggered remember? I wouldn’t be able to hold a lot of positions for long.”

“Soap’s pretty understanding. He can pick poses that suit your body and he can adjust the times so that you don’t have to stay still too long if you can’t take it. You just have to tell him about your injury and he’ll be understanding.”

Ghost shook his head again and took another gulp.

“Fuckin’ Soap.”

“He’s an eccentric guy, but he’s cool,” Gaz shrugs. “Do you want me to speak to him for you? He’s usually on the lookout for new models.”

Ghost would say he’d need to take some time to think about it, but Gaz would take that as a yes. So a few days roll by and soon enough Ghost gets a text through telling him that Soap would be ‘well up’ for meeting him and said he should come by the next evening before class.

Ghost - I told you I’d think about it, you twat. Not to go on ahead and tell him I wanna join his little cult.

Gaz - show up or don’t, you can think about it all you like between now and then. You’ll thank me later 🤪

After that last text Gaz then sent him a picture of a wad of cash and few coins spread out over a blotted bar top. Ghost would sigh, but as soon as he saw that money he knew his decision was made. He needed something until he was able to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, something to tide him over till he received payments for his injury.

He’d turn up for Soap’s class with a flustered air around him and would step through the shadowy doorway to the bar with soft unsure steps. It was still early, there wouldn’t be many people inside. He’d ask the barman where the function room was and sullenly walk through the curtain, raising his brows when he’d finally lay eyes on Soap.

Ghost wouldn’t know what to expect but it’s not the mohawked barrel of a man that’s lugging chairs around the room and running around like a little worker ant. His eyes would linger on the muscles that were exposed from Soap’s paint and charcoal stained tank top and he’d watch on wordlessly, widening his eyes when Soap would finally notice him. He’d dig his nails into his palms to try to stop himself from blushing in embarrassment.

“You’re a bit early for the class’ mate,” Soap would huff, settling another chair around the raised stage. “Looking to join?”

“Uh sort of,” Ghost would say, frowning as he struggled to find words around the bodybuilder/artist. “My friend Gaz, uh Kyle you probably know him as - he said you were looking for more models and that I should come by…”

Soap’s eyes would light in recognition and he’d smile warmly, striding over to greet Ghost properly. Ghost wouldn’t be prepared for the warm grip in Ghost’s handshake and he especiallly wasn’t prepared for those big blue crystalline eyes to be roaming over him as if they were mentally taking him apart.

“Simon right?” Soap would say, revealing a perfect white grin. “I’m Soap, John’s my name, but I prefer Soap so you can go with that, yeah? Kyle mentioned you had a shoulder injury and that you weren’t sure you could hold certain poses.”

Ghost would straighten up then and nod, pointing out which one it was. From then Soap would take him through a few positions and would discuss the technicalities with him, were Ghost to join. Apparently it was easy to make accommodations for him, and Soap would be more than pleased to have him as a model, and like Kyle had already mentioned, the pay was pretty good.

Ghost would grow interested the more he would hear and eventually Soap would wear him down enough into taking him through a few practice ones. They would be relatively easy, and Ghost would find himself realising that Gaz was right - it was easy money. Plus Soap was no bad company either.

He’d be convinced into watching the class that night and getting to have a little taster of what he would be doing. The model that night would be a tiny little thing, a dancer, and would hold the most intricate stances for the eager artists to draw, contorting themselves into pretzel like shapes that Ghost couldn’t possibly hold. They’d capture his attention for a minute, but Ghost would always find himself staring at Soap right after.

He’d watch the way he directed the model, stroking the air to dictate how he wanted them and guiding them gently into form all without physically touching. He’d encourage the artists, complimenting a few people, and helping anyone that needed guidance. His favourite would be when the others would fall silent and Soap would take to gathering himself a pencil and paper and drawing for a little bit. The immense concentration, the way he’d clench his jaw and narrow his eyes would be so captivating and there was nothing that could stop Ghost looking away. Nothing that could stop him from wondering what it would be like having Soap’s eyes on him like that.

As it turns out it would almost steal all the breath from his lungs. Ghost would be sitting on that same stage the next week, stone faced and gritting his teeth through the slight chill in the air. He’d be used to resisting the cold, though he wouldn’t be used to all the eyes on his naked body, most of all Soap’s as his furrowed brow stayed glued to him. Ghost would swear that Soap could read his thoughts, could strip his mind just as easily as his body and he would know that Ghost was developing a stupid obsession with him (he’d refuse to think of it as a crush).

He’d look purposely look away on the next pose and would still feel Soap’s eyes on him still. They’d warm a path from the bones at his collar, all the way down the ridges of his pecs and right down to the pit of his belly. Butterflies would dance where his empty stomach should have been.

He’d love and hate it in equal measure, barely feeling the eyes of Soap’s gaggle of students because of the intensity of their teacher, but he would still show up again the next week and the next after that. Just hoping that maybe one night it wouldn’t be his own hands pulling the cord on his robe, perhaps he could embrace a pair covered in charcoal and graphite and entice them to touch instead of trace the air. He’d want to break through Soap’s page and show him new colours, tear the world as he knew it apart in only the way that Ghost could.

[traumei]

Irene x Male Reader

genre: Fluff

Irene was already mid-ramble when she glanced across the room, noticing the gentle, attentive expression on the man's face as he sat on the edge of their bed. The soft evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a serene glow over the bedroom that had become their shared sanctuary. Her words tumbled out in a steady stream, detailing the grueling dance practices and the relentless pace of her schedule.

“It was just one thing after another, you know? And then the stylist had to redo my hair three times because it just wouldn’t sit right," Irene explained, her voice a mix of frustration and exhaustion as she kicked off her shoes and sank beside him on the bed.

She paused, suddenly conscious of how much she'd been talking, her eyes flickering with a trace of worry. “. . . sorry, I talked too much,” she muttered, looking away slightly.

He turned towards her, his hand finding hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No, no, no, not at all. Keep talking. I like hearing about your day, no matter how tough it gets,” he encouraged warmly, drawing a relieved laugh from her.

Encouraged, she scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “And then, during the live performance, my mic almost slipped off. I had to catch it mid-song without anyone noticing. It was like a stealth mission in one of those spy movies you love,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, imagining the scene. “You’re my superhero, you know that? Always saving the day, even on stage.” His words were light, but the admiration in his eyes was earnest, making her smile soften.

Comfortable in the familiarity of their room and the quiet understanding between them, Irene felt the weight of the day lift slightly. She continued to share, her voice steadier now, recounting both the trials and the trivial moments that peppered her day. As she spoke, it wasn’t just about unloading her burdens anymore; it was about sharing her world with him, knowing he cherished these insights into her life as much as she valued his presence.

“Sometimes, I just wonder if I’m doing everything right. It’s all so overwhelming at times,” she confessed quietly, her voice nearly a whisper as she leaned into him more.

“And every time, you’ll find you’re doing better than ‘right’, you’re doing amazingly. But remember, you don’t have to carry it all alone,” he murmured back, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. He then stand up and close the curtain.

The night get dimmer, the room was soft with shadows as he returned from the window, a blanket in hand which he gently wrapped around them both. Irene nestled closer to him, her eyes reflecting a mix of weariness and relief.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m just going through the motions, you know? Like I’m on stage but not really present,” Irene confessed, her voice a whisper as she found comfort in his closeness.

He nodded, understanding her struggle. “I can only imagine how tough that must be. But here, you don’t have to perform or pretend. Just be Joohyun, the one I love, not the idol everyone else sees.”

She smiled at his words, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. “I love that I can just be me with you. No cameras, no expectations. Just us.”

“Exactly, just us,” he echoed, his thumb gently tracing circles on her hand. “Tell me more about what’s on your mind. Whatever you need to share, I’m here.”

Irene took a deep breath, comforted by his invitation to open up further. “During Yesterday practice, I kept messing up the steps. Everyone thinks I handle pressure well, but today, I felt like I was crumbling under it. It’s so frustrating.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “You’re human, Joohyun-nah. It’s okay to have off days. They don’t define you or your incredible talent.”

Hearing his reassuring words, Irene felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you for reminding me of that. It’s easy to forget when you feel like you’re under a microscope.”

“That’s what I’m here for—to remind you that you’re amazing, just the way you are,” he said with a warm smile.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind filled with mutual understanding and affection. Irene then broke the silence, her voice soft but filled with sincerity. “Do you know how much these nights mean to me? How they help me recharge and face another day?”

“I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

“They do. More than you can imagine,” Irene assured him, leaning in to kiss his cheek gently. “Being here with you, it’s my favorite part of the day.”

As they settled deeper into the night, their conversation flowed naturally, each moment building the foundation of their bond. It wasn’t just about sharing the highlights and low points of her day, but about sharing life itself—raw, unedited, and real. With each word, each shared laughter and consoling whisper, Irene felt her spirits lift, fortified by the love and understanding that filled their small, sacred space.

[marc0wave]

Fic丨Xavier Thorpe x Reader

I just finished watching Wednesday! This is a request about the overly obsessed Xavier Thorpe x reader. A quick one shot, if there are any grammatical errors please just leave a comment and let me know, I'll correct them, and more requests are welcome!

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

- Swear to God, Xavier must not be one of those highly emotional geniuses who can read minds. To say where he has spent his greatest talent in his life, look at his private studio, his secluded room piled with sketches and other paintings, which is his stage.

- Of course, he is not yet so skilled at controlling his work, and usually the more emotionally charged the work is, the more likely it is to surprise him with something unexpected. He paints your eyes in an aimless drawing, so intent is he that he doesn't take a step back until those eyes blink in front of his eyes, as if in a dream. At that moment, Xavier realized that when he talked to you, even just passed by you, he felt a burgeoning, stormy anxiety from the bottom of his heart.

- The last time he felt this anxiety was when he realized the fact that his special abilities might not be completely under his own control for a while.

- You are so indefinable that any adjective or metaphor can only come infinitely close to you, but cannot perfectly describe any of your qualities. So, yes, you are not easy to speculate about, you remind him of his dreams and his special abilities, and of every moment he spent unaccompanied at night, painting in his studio full of doubt and pain.

- Xavier doesn't like the uncertainty, too much randomness makes him feel like he doesn't know where to go, but he can't deny that it's this dangerous randomness that makes him willing and eager to be close to you. There is a subtle voice in his heart, as subtle as the ripples caused by falling leaves on the surface of a lake, a voice that prompts him to believe that you are different from those students who fawn and inherit human inferiority. You are kind, pure as the first snowflakes of winter, and most importantly, you will not judge him, you will not pressure him, and you will not hurt him. How can he restrain the desire to get close to you?

- Xavier is not the kind of person who can easily surrender his trust. Perhaps it is because of his family environment, or perhaps because he has been in a seemingly harmonious but in fact contradictory environment like Nevermore for so long that he has become a good observer and not a good participant. He can keep his head on the sidelines, but can't make sure his every word is so wise when confronted with you. When he sees your eyebrows raise slightly at some silly expression of his, he mentally reprimands himself. But to be honest, he also enjoys seeing your puzzled look once in a while. You are so different from those people that he wants to observe you with the respectful attitude of an observing muse and cherish your presence.

- So there are times when Xavier can be a bit of a humble companion. He never thinks about going further immediately, but he shows vague jealousy when he sees you getting along well with others. Instead of embarrassing you, he will only secretly embarrass himself, turning his thoughts and mood swings into jumbled lines. Soon, he will accumulate a whole sketchbook about you.

- For his ability, a sketchbook is of great use, isn't it? He can't hold your hand, but he can spend sleepless nights gazing at the drawing of your hand awakened by his magic, dancing before his eyes, recreating the moment you were writing notes in class. Your eyelashes twitched vividly in the wind, your lips would purse tightly when you encountered a difficult subject, your lovely cheeks and your bobbing tresses, any detail that belonged to you, slept in Xavier's sketchbook. Everyone has a secret that they hate to keep until it rots, and for the current Xavier, it's this sketchbook. He doesn't want to be treated like a stalker just yet.

- The sweetest moment for him is when he stands in his chair drawing the graffiti on the wall and you stop and watch him draw. For just a moment, he is a straw man, a fleeting bubble, a feather in the dark, a memory that can easily be replaced, a paintbrush, but he doesn't mind. The fact that your footsteps stop for the colors born under his brush is enough to satisfy him.

- An amazing fact, it was not until the day he got up the courage to give you a painting that you exchanged cell phone numbers. He dared not imagine what kind of reason made him actually forget to use this excuse to get close to you in the beginning, but he felt that it was a special honor. You don't text, you don't use video calls, but it's surprising that he felt so connected to you in such a detached way from modern technology.

- It's kind of hard, isn't it? He's dealing with roommates who have become increasingly eccentric in recent months, as well as his own emotions and the recurring dreams and opposing realities of your presence, but the good thing is that you're his anchor point, and where once he might have needed a beacon like you to be enough, now, Xavier is willing to tell himself this, it's probably you he needs, only you, not anyone else like you. He is attracted to your sincerity, your sanity, your character traits that can bring peace and hope to anyone, and your wisdom, which will not wear out any of his expectations, even if there is no response beyond friendship for the time being.

- Nothing bad is good, he said in his mind. Everything is still going on, and before he fills his next sketchbook with your sketches about you, he will surely find a way to ask you out.

[elitehanitje]

Astonishingly, a lot of people are freaking out that Christian hooked up with Shayna. I predicted this after what happened to them, so lemme tell everyone that Christian and Shayna don't care about one another. But they need to be together because revenge is soapy and delish. Shayna and Nick are the pawns for Christian, and we'll see what happens in the next stage.

Christian Cage craves a family. That is clear as day.

Especially after his divorce when he lost his family, moved out to an island, trained like crazy, changed his body, no longer retired, and was given another opportunity to start a new life in a new company.

But he needs a family that he can control.

Isla Reso was never interested in the wrestling world, and how dare she want to touch his TNT belt. Denise probably wouldn't want her daughter to follow in her father's footsteps, especially after he almost died and couldn't wrestle anymore.

Jack Perry was someone he couldn't control in the end, so he needed to get rid of him. As Luke Perry's son (the man Christian was in love with back then), Jack wanted more. Christian would not let him overshadow him - he already had a partner in the past who overshadowed him. So he tried to kill him.

He is keeping Luchasaurus because the lizard is super loyal, and Christian definitely controls him with substance abuse, or something like kinky sex - but he would definitely throw him away the second he shows a sign of betrayal and weakness. And it seems his loyalty wavered nowadays.

He dislikes Darby Allin because, in a way, Darby reminds him of himself. Darby is a reckless, vampire goth who is an adrenaline junkie. The reason Christian hates Darby is that the younger man can see right through him. Christian is an insecure veteran who has self-sabotaged every relationship and sabotaged every match to be on top, and Darby knows it.

It was when he saw Nick Wayne; Darby's protégé. At first, it was more of a revenge against Darby. Christian's plan was to steal Nick and turn him into a younger version of himself, as a form of revenge against Darby. Nick is fast, bright, smart, young, and easy to manipulate, which makes him the perfect candidate for Christian's scheme. However, when Nick got angry at Darby for abandoning him after being attacked by the Mogul Embassy, Christian saw an opportunity to draw him closer to himself.

Nick's patience was up to his neck when Darby for the second time abandoned him and even forgave AR Fox after almost killing him. To him, Darby betrayed him and his mother. Nick made a decision after All-In (when Lucha kidnapped him during the match between Christian/Swerve vs Sting/Darby) to join Christian.

In his eyes, Darby failed to become a superior figure, and Christian stepped up. Nick betrayed Darby and joined Christian, and for the first time in his life, he felt appreciated. Christian also found someone he could leave a legacy to. Nick is really the son he wanted.

When he flirted with Shayna, and she rejected Christian, it didn't bother him much. Sure, she's her type: BLONDE. Trish was blonde, Denise was blonde, Gangrel was blond, Jericho was blond, Adam was blond... But Shayna was too bland for his taste. He needed a raging fiery bitch to complete his family collection.

And speaking of a blond bitch... Adam Copeland suddenly appeared in AEW. Adam interrupted him when he was in the middle of murdering Sting and Darby. Adam, whom he didn't talk to for almost 3 years, basically after COVID-19 and the birth of the company. When Christian joined AEW, Adam was on top of the world in WWE and he was going to retire. I don't need to rehash my opinion about Adam coming to AEW, but I was so excited and scared at the same time.

Shayna hates Adam more than she likes Christian. The man almost murdered Nick. That's the reason why she joined his group and is by his side. The best place to be with her son is to be with his Father figure. If she has to...be Christian's waifu or something, blech, then so be it. Nothing more than that. So what she almost got murdered herself by Christian and Nick? It didn't matter. IT MADE SENSE from a PoV of a mother.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

(Personally, I don't see any chemistry between Shayna and Christian. I think because deep down inside she's a good woman or a bit bland. She's not a bitch like Trish who can go toe to toe with Christian. The way Christian smiles at her is more like a respectful smile, not really a lusty one or even love, and he is just happy to have the mother of his son around).

This storyline is good if you like slow-burn soap. Not everything has to be quick and then move on to the next plot. This is the equivalent of 22 episodes of drama, which I enjoy so much.

[alymccart]

Hello! Could you possibly give a humble peasant like me some anatomy advice? The way you draw bodies and hands is just *chef's kiss* ;w;

I wish I had an easy answer for this... but for me what helped a ton was drawing A LOT. I've been working on this skill seriously for probably 25 years at this point. I am my own worst critic and know I have so much I can improve upon. VERY IMPORTANT, drawing from life (or photographs/video stills/screenshots/etc, *not tracing, photography distorts shapes*) has got to be my number 1 suggestion for how to get better with anatomy and drawing in general. Since it's hard to get out and do that a lot, my back up is photos. I particularly like finding photos and videos of athletes mid-motion because they are far more dynamic than staged photography). The studio classes I attended in college where we spent 6 hours just drawing models over and over again were a slog to get through, but the skills honed in them were invaluable.

I've gotten to the point where I can sorta fake it and come up with anatomy from my head, but I always try to find some kind of reference to back up my mental creation. REFERENCE is KEY. It is so so so important. There is no shame in using it, and I don't see the point in making a huge deal about *not* using it. That was a pervasive thing floating around back when I was active on deviantART a long time ago and it was not good.

Another thing to consider paying close attention to with regards to reference is drawing what you see, not what you THINK you see. Brains form biases that will interfere with what you're trying to draw. I've flipped references upside down to force my brain to recalculate as I go for this reason.

Any step, no matter how tiny, is a step toward improvement. Even just going out to a park or something and sketching whatever crosses your path is great. Or you could do the same thing on the computer while you watch videos or look at photos. Animals, people, trees, plants, whatever. It'll all help you improve. And don't worry about accuracy at first! Just draw whatever gestures come to mind. Like 99% of it will look like scribbly garbage (it did for me and a lot of my peers) but it does help. Hands, in particular, are really hard. Very early on in my artistic path I realized this and kind of became obsessive about drawing them properly, so I drew a *lot* of hands. Whole sketch pages of just hands. The great thing about hands is that you've got your own! You can just draw the hand in front of you, or take a picture of the gesture you need and use that as reference. Many places will have studios open to the public where you can do model/life drawings (some nude, so if that's a concern, be sure to check first). Some will be free, or you'll have to pay some kind of fee (they need to pay the models). One free online resource that's good is Posemaniacs.com. I highly recommend the 30 second drawing tool, wherein you only have 30 seconds to sketch out the reference before it cycles to a new, random one. The extreme time limit forces your brain into overdrive and it is shocking how quickly you can improve as a result. We did this in school, as well, with live models. They'd just switch up poses every time a timer rang. I could probably go on for hours about this, there's a lot of jumbled thoughts coming to mind, but I think this is a good starting point. Persevere, don't seek perfection, and treat yourself kindly because this is a skill that requires a lot (mentally and physically) to hone and it isn't easy. Every artist has their ups and downs, but I think it's worth the struggle to be able to create. I really hope this helps! Thanks for the ask! A little bonus snippet: Back in high school I was *terrified* of drawing people because I sucked ass at it. I was garbage. Absolutely refused to do it. I drew animals and dragons and gryphons and stuff and when I started angling toward my career I had assumed I would continue in that direction. Nope! Now I'm drawing pretty much nothing but people/humanoids and I love it.

[messydiabolical]

@dandenbo asked me for the art asks: 🎠What is a typical 'workflow' for a piece from idea to finished? It turns out to be a long answer so here's its own post, under the cut to save your dash! How I go from screenshot to painting: (This is not intended to be a 'this is how you do it!' kind of guide. I absolutely don't do an optimal route, this is just how I go about painting and what works for me! I've done a workflow for a screenshot to painting as I do a few different things but this is one I could explain somewhat coherently. My comics tend to be created pretty chaotically lol)

1) I take an ungodly amount of screenshots while playing. Also pester friends for their screenshots or stalk the group discord for interesting shots.

2) Go through all those screenshots cursing why I took so many, looking for those great moments that I want to paint. I’m particularly looking for nice poses/captivating moments, dynamic lighting or interesting expressions, and they don’t need to have all 3 as we can fix some of that in the next step. Here’s the screenshot I chose for my Keahi x Thane piece:

It was a cute, soft moment between them and I liked the highlight at the edge of their profiles. 3) Refine the screenshot. I don’t use anything fancy for this. I game on windows PC, so I open up the screenshot with windows photo editor. I crop the image, play around with saturation, exposure, contrast, just basic editing until it looks tastier. For this piece I wanted it to be hyper colourful and vibrant, leaning towards warmer tones.

4) Decide what I will change, then gather references for those changes. In this case I was fortunate that not a lot needed changing. I knew I wanted to move Thane’s eye position to looking at Keahi rather than the way he is slightly off focus, do a more realistic ear with earrings for Keahi, make Thane a little more smiley and lower his eyelid and give Keahi nicer eyelashes. I keep a whole bunch of art guides and tutorials on my PC so I grabbed the necessary ones and sent them to my ipad ready to have on hand for the sketch stage. I have Thane’s character model in XNApose, so I can check things like his eyelid specifically in that (this is actually for a different project but shows you what I mean)

If I was going to change up the lighting/shading I would also gather references for that. For example sometimes i’ll take screenshots of lighting schemes I love from films/tv shows (think the strong teal and orange scheme in Mad Max or the neons of Blade Runner). Or for precise shadows, I can again use XNApose. I also have a little 3d printed Thane head I can shine a torch at and take photos of to get shadow ideas. For humans there’s lots of reference to be found with online searches, I find pinterest more useful than google for this. For specific expressions or body parts, i’ll just take photos of myself (hand poses, smiling from the right angle etc.) My camera roll is an interesting place. I have drawn drell frills on my neck and on my chest before to see how the lines would fold at certain angles. 5) Setting up a canvas I work in procreate. For a piece like this I try to go pretty big, say 5000 x 4000 pixels, then i’ll crop down later as needed. 300 DPI. As I work, I’ll make duplicates and continue on the copy each fresh session. When i’m finished I make a backup save of the PNG and .procreate files on an SSD. I immediately turn the background colour down to a more muted colour to not burn my retinas. If i’m using a textured background like an oil board i’ll insert it, and any overlays like canvas effects. Set up my layers from the start basically for easy toggling throughout. I try to be good and label things to make life easier, it doesn’t always happen though. I don't wear a digital glove or use paper effect screens but I do have a bottle of screen cleaner and a microfibre cloth handy at all times. 6) Sketch. I’m still very much learning to draw. I tried for a long time to do the classic ‘ball for a head, draw the planes/lines etc. It was a constant struggle and never clicked for me, the ball especially always made things much worse, turning a circle into a 3d image in my head just does not happen. I find it better to just start drawing and work things out as I go (I use procreates reference window to see my screenshot). So I’ll have my sketch in one canvas, and i’ll also have a second canvas with the photo ref on it at the same size, and if I feel like something is really wonky and off i’ll test my lines over the photo to see what’s gone wrong, then go back to the sketch and correct the areas that revealed. Sometimes I’ll use the grid feature if i’m getting stuck.  Here's a few of the sketch stages:

Here I tried out the lines on the photo and noticed that Thane’s frills were a little too far to the left, and Keahi’s eyebrow needed to arch down towards the nose.In the next pass I correct these:

Also, and I know i’m gonna get side eye from some people for this but I really could not care less to be honest. On some pieces i’ll just trace the screenshot. Sometime I just want to get to painting, am not in the mood or mindspace for a learning experience, and this is a hobby. It’s my screenshot, no one is getting ripped off. My latest Javik piece was done this way 🤷‍♂️ 6) Painting. I’ll start by blocking in the background and the portrait flats, usually on separate layers. I try to have an idea of the background colour from the start as this can effect the whole piece overall, but sometimes you just gotta change it as you go so having it on a different layer makes this much easier.

The painting itself I’ll lay down wider areas of colours, then start going in and refining bit by bit, I tend to work on one area at a time, and sometimes I’ll get pretty well rendered on a small area before moving on, other times work on a wider area. It really depends on my mood and what i’m vibing with that day. Like you can see here I’ve done some general messy colouring all over Keahi, but done a lot of refinement on the eyeball:

7) Finshing the piece, uploading and testing: When I’m sick of rendering the painting and don’t think I can add anything more to it without gnawing my own wrist off, it is time to finish up! I make sure I toggle all the layers I want on, add a top signature layer (lol I lie I forget this all the damn time). Then i’ll upload the piece to my google drive and open it up on my big 4k monitor on my PC, and on my phone, and see how it looks (my ipad is a 9.7inch air). I find that once off my ipad, it often looks a little less saturated and contrasting as it does in procreate. So I might go back and change the levels if it’s too big a difference until it looks decent across devices (it’ll never look perfect on them all though, just gotta find that happy medium).

8) Posting online I really don’t have any strict steps for this. I know some people go for optimal posting times, and will make multiple copies of their pieces in different sizes to fit better on different sites (damn you instagram and your need for everything to be square). I… do not do any of this lol. I post when I’m done whatever time or day that is. I do tend to reblog/retweet etc before I go to bed, as I live in the UK and that will at least be getting into evening time in US. I reblog my own stuff a fair bit.

[steddiebang]

The Rainbow Connection

Author: @hellfireloserclub l Artist: @_sweatypeaches l Artist: @hellfireloserclub Posting on Thursday, November 16

When Rainbow Graveyard made it big, performing as their alter egos Knocks and Munster, it should have been everything Eddie had ever wanted - sold out gigs, number one platinum selling albums, and a band made up of people he had fought through hell with at his side. The upside down might not have killed him, but Eddie never imagined that being on stage with Steve every night would be the thing that finally finished him. Eddie is not a person that was built to be loved, he has no idea what to do with the feelings that threaten to tear him apart. Since they dragged each other from the brink of death, he and Steve have been doing a dance to which neither knows the steps, building a life out of the trauma that follows them like a shadow, seeping into each and every crack it can find. Being a rockstar hadn't been in Steve's future plans, but it was impossible for him to deny Eddie anything, full stop. He’d helped Steve put himself back together when the upside down literally pulled him apart, and now he was pretty sure that Eddie had kept a piece of his heart and held it hostage. Steve was too much, loved too fast and too hard and destroyed everyone and everything he touched. But when he got on stage, Knocks took the wheel, and what Knocks wanted was Munster. They say that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes you don't know what you've got till it's gone. But how much of you is left when you're living as the personified version of your worst self?

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Eddie looked good, and he knew he wasn’t the only one that thought so. Wherever they went these days Eddie turned heads, it was hard not to notice when it was happening right in front of you. 

Charm and charisma were always going to draw people into him, and now without the stigma he had back in Hawkins Eddie was thriving. 

Steve tried not to think about The Thing. The Thing with a capital T, that grabbed his heart and squeezed whenever Eddie was approached by someone in a bar or the service staff smiled a little too enthusiastically in Eddie's direction. 

Steve was just a good friend who ensured his people were safe. He had always been protective, forever the babysitter. Yet he didn’t feel the need to storm out of the bar and throw up when he caught Robin kissing the bartender. But when he caught Eddie a week later doing the same? It hurt, and it hurt in a way that hadn’t happened since Nancy had ripped his heart out and stomped on it. 

“Is Ed picking you up?” Wayne asked as they loaded the last of the tools onto the flatbed, having finally escaped Mrs Fitzgerald. 

Steve was about to say he wasn’t when Eddie’s van came around the corner, music blaring and windows rolled down. It came to a skidding halt not far behind Wayne's work truck, and Eddie was soon leaning out the window. Wayfarer's almost falling off his nose in his enthusiasm. 

“Get in Stevie, we’re going shopping.”  

“Who are you, Regina George?” 

Steve waved to Wayne as he climbed into the passenger seat, trying his hardest to not let his eyes rake over Eddies exposed arms, or the way the black tank top he wore stretched across his chest as he reached out to grab his lighter and ignite the end of the two cigarettes hanging from his lip, passing one over to Steve. 

It was becoming too easy to be around Eddie, he had slid into Steve’s life and now he was lighting his cigarette and walking around his apartment in the nude like he had been sent by a higher power to push all of Steve’s buttons. 

“Do I look like I would look good in pink?” 

Eddie waved to his uncle as he backed the van out of the street, ignoring the amused knowing look on Wayne’s face as they rounded the corner. Steve ignored the question, turning the station to something they could both agree on. Eddie nervously tapped his fingers against the beat during their favorite song.

Something was bothering the other man and Steve knew it was only going to be moments before he found out if it was going to be good or bad, Eddie only got this fidgety when something was playing on his mind. 

They  drove to the coast, the others would probably join them later, gather on the cliffs and talk till the sun dipped below the horizon. There would be no bars and no bartenders tonight, no need for the thing in his chest to show its ugly head, it could stay safe in the Eddie shaped hole. 

Parking up they clambered onto the roof of the van, both with overalls tied around their waists and their arms out catching the last of the sun. 

In this light, it was easy to make out Eddie’s freckles where they had started to form in clusters.

Steve was grateful for his sunglasses, they hid the way his eyes trailed the scars on Eddie's arms. His tattoos were multiplying at an alarming rate now Eddie had a stable income and hush money to fall back on. 

They were sitting close, they always were, it was like they fused at the hip most days. Eddie was almost in his lap where their knees overlapped leaning in as he threw his arms about as he talked. Always moving. A constant hypnotic presence that drew Steve closer each time. 

“So… hypothetically, if we were going to form a band…” Eddie seemed to chew the words over. “Argyle said he would be able to get us some gigs. His dad owns, like, a whole bunch of venues and bars, turns out the dude is like, mega rich. His dad owns a whole chain of hotels or something, and we were talking – over pizza, obviously –”

Steve let Eddie ramble, for all people that said Steve and Robin were the same, not many people got to witness one of Eddie’s full-scale verbal dumps, they often went on as long as Robin’s. 

Steve was happy to ride both of them out, nodding in what he hoped were the right places, enjoying the happy look on their faces when they were giving him new information.

Helping himself to a bottle of water from the bag between them, Steve listened to the twelve-point presentation Eddie seemed to have been working on since Argyle had put the idea in his head.

Steve already knew he was going to say yes, there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do if it made Eddie this happy.

“So what do you think?” Eddie was practically nose to nose with him now, he could feel his breath on his skin.

“Oh, I get to speak now? The mighty dungeon master deems the fallen King an audience?” Joking when Eddie was this close always felt a little too much like flirting. Steve shouldn’t have enjoyed the way Eddie’s cheeks coloured quite as much as he did.

“We all know I’m nothing if not your humble servant, sire. But yes, you may speak.”

“As long as we don’t call ourselves something stupid like zombie monkey spider brain, I don’t see why not?”

"Are you for real?" 

"Yeah I'm for real" 

Eddie threw his arms around him pulling him into a bone-breaking hug. Steve found he didn't want to let go. 

Read more on November 16!