#i need to draw it actually it was so fucking cool and it’s so vivid in my mind

[sonic-adventure-3]

i just woke up and had a dream about nonexistent cutscenes to a nonexistent sonic game and i’m so mad it’s not real it was so cute. the cast was sonic, knuckles, rouge, and shadow, but there was also these two old human guys and one of their daughters, or both their daughter idk. the plot was the two old human guys were business partners and best friends but then they were going through a divorce era cause they each screwed each other over in business or something and hated each other so fucking much. and they built an absurdist non-euclidian abstract torture labyrinth as representation of their divorce. years later they’re for real trying to kill each other so the daughter asks sonic and co for help unraveling the secrets of the labyrinth.

idk why it was those 4 specific characters but knuckles and shadow both had dope outfits and were interacting way more than they ever have. shadow had a spiked leather jacket, shades, and platform combat boots. knuckles had his ova hat and a poncho, and his spines were pulled back into a ponytail. sonic and rouge were normal though. the artstyle of the game was like, pseudo low-poly, but they were textured like they were made of like clay or gummies and the lighting was really incredible, like rtx bullshit nice, subsurface scattering up the wazoo. but the humans were flat animated pngs in the 3d environments. like smile for me but like stock photo businessmen and teenage girl.

anyway the first area of the absurdist torture labyrinth was a airport lounge buffet that was entirely shades of beige. the window outside had no airplane or airport it was a perpetual sunset over water. the outside of the building they’re in can’t be seen from any angle. the buffet only served this one chocolate raspberry cream tart, but every time the camera looked away and looked back there was more of it. there was just one plate at first and then plates of the tart covered every single surface. sonic and rouge were talking about how all of this is definitely not normal in any way. the girl was just eating a slice of the tart the entire time

the scene cuts to one of the businessmen standing on some steps leading up to a nice apartment building carrying a briefcase and a bottle of wine. he speaks directly to the camera and says he’s bringing a bottle of wine made by the same company as the tart to the other guy’s apartment to smooth things over. then we follow him walking up like 6 flights of stairs and walking down hallways for like 3 minutes straight with no music no talking just the sounds of him walking and his clothes shuffling. he reaches a door and unlocks it, steps in and heads straight for the floor to ceiling window. immediately the the sound of the shower running is evident from when the apartment door was opened, and a woman’s voice coming from the shower says “hello?! who are you? why are you in my apartment? please leave. please leave” and etc. the guy ignores all this and from his briefcase he starts pulling out parts and setting up a sniper rifle.

about there i woke up

[sylenth-l]

Hi hello, I love your art so much LIKE MY BROTHER. IT'S SO YUMMY, THE SHADOWS THE EXPRESSIONS, I love how you draw Timur , Felwinter and Osiris together 🙏 little bird with his two funky adoptive parents. I stare at your art like , I'm always ready and hyped to give traditional art another try ✨

If I was to go back, any tips for which watercolours to pick? I so far got only aniline colours.

Aah, thank you so much!! 😳💙

Hmmm, the thing is, I use fountain pen inks almost always for painting. I don't use watercolour much, so I can't really suggest anything in particular… I have a selection of colours from different brands, of course, I know quite a lot about pigments, and I like using watercolour from time to time to add some special effects to my works. For sketching outdoors it's also the easiest to use among all other paints, probably. But painting a whole artwork with it……… I try doing it sometimes, but every single time I end up thinking "God, I wish I used inks instead, I hate this so much, why is it so BLEURGH". I guess watercolour just isn't my medium 😂 

I can share my thinking process when building up a palette though, I use it with all mixable mediums I use, be it inks, watercolour, gouache, etc. I found it to be the most effective (and money-saving, lol) approach for me.

So what I want for my main mixing palette is to have 3 sets of primary trios. All colours also must be as smooth as possible, with no surprises or unwanted colour separation. For watercolour - not granulating ones.

(my camera tends to make all colours brighter and also fails to see the subtle difference between some shades, but you can still get the idea)

The first trio is extremely vivid, consisting of bright cool colours - lemon yellow, cyan, magenta-leaning pink. It gives you access to all the bright, open colours.

Second is the classic they teach in all art schools (probably, from what I've heard, I never went into one alkjdshfk) - sunshine yellow, bright warm red and ultramarine blue. This gives you a huge selection of warmer, natural colours, like all shades of golds, eggplant purples, olive greens, etc. It also allows some nice selection of wood browns.

Third is my personal favorite, the muted trio. You kinda can get similar colours from the previous trio, but I prefer having these separately, because of how often I use them all. It consists of golden ochre-leaning yellow, dark bloody red and dark indanthrone blue. It gives you the most beautiful browns, beiges, blacks and other rich, deep colours.

On top of that I also like to have at least one decent black (in my case it's Quink Black ink, I cannot live without it).  And these 10 would be my essentials. Other colours I add to my mixing palette are basically shortcuts to the shades I find myself mixing the most - like a few browns and violets. There are also a few inks that I need for some very specific purposes - like, I have a very vivid cold magenta ink to mix a certain bright cold shade of the Void, and also a fluorescent orange for adding shiny Exo LED lights. And etc.

(Actually I'm currently in the process of re-organizing my main palette and also considering making a few small sets for painting some characters specifically)

I also have a separate selection of chromatographic inks, which can probably be compared to granulating watercolours… But not quite. A few examples:

Here I don't have any special notes or advices, just get the ink you like and enjoy it. Some of these I use so often that I always keep them in my main palette, and others I only get out for some special occasion. These are also mixable btw - I constantly add other ink in Quink Black to get different shades of it.

However, I must say that not all of the ~special effects~ inks are polite and well-behaved, some will agree to work only on some specific paper after a significant amount of coaxing, and others will straight out say "fuck you" at the most crucial moment, even if they worked perfectly just a moment ago.

Btw, when working with inks, I really recommend to put it into smaller bottles with a dropper, so you don't have to open the big bottle each time. It's both easier to use for you and much safer for inks! 

ANYWAY, I hope this post was of some use for you 🌈

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Dreams, You Say? ~Larissa Weems xFem teacher!Reader

Sexual dream and confession, leading to actuality. Fucking on the Bed, reader bottom… eventually…

Link to Part 2

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, smut, sexual dreams, kissing, implied sex, more smutty smut… etc.

Part 1 of a two-parter mini series

Enjoy (;

You woke up that morning with a very vivid dream ringing fresh in your mind.

She was on top of you. Fully nude. Fucking you deep and slow. And so elegantly, it made you moan in such a delicious way. You could practically feel ever slow, passionate thrust into your core. But it wasn’t rushed or angry; no, it was deep love and appreciation. Like she was taking care of you so godamn well.

You rattled back into reality, with the sound of your alarm clock. And you felt the full feeling in your core fade away. But the image was imprinted in your mind.

You went about your day teaching your classes as usual, except for one inconvenience… that goddamn dream.

The dream just seemed to float into your mind at every possible moment making it extremely hard to concentrate.

“Open your Legs to page 234... —Books!! Open your Books to page 234!”

No matter what you did, that vivid picture would not leave your brain.

During one of your off-times from classes, while you were grading papers, you received a knock on your door.

“Come in.” you instructed, expecting a student in need of something; but was pleasantly surprised to find Larissa at your classroom door.

The clear, intruding scene of your nights visions came back. It was her. Larissa had been the one in that dream and now she was in your classroom…

“Larissa! What’s up?” you asked, putting your grading pen down and trying to keep it cool.

Larissa came into the classroom fully, making her way over to you.

“Well… I heard from some of your students that you had been acting oddly today, so I wanted to check in to see if everything was alright.”

Well shit…

“I appreciate your concern, just didn’t sleep well, nothing to worry about.” you somewhat lied your way through.

“Are you sure? What has been causing the sleep disturbances?” Larissa asked, her face flooded with care and concern.

“Um… well, I dream quite vividly… so that keeps me up.” you responded.

“About what? Anything I can help with?” was her next question.

Fuck…

Yea, by maybe passionately fucking me…?

“Well… usually sexual…” your voice got quieter and meeker.

“Oh. Well that’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all have our bouts of sexual dreams. Do they usually revolve around the same topic?” Larissa continued, very much invested in the conversation.

You blushed.

Yeah, you.

“Yeah… they usually have the same person…” you embarrassingly admitted, this was torture.

“Doing the same thing?” She quickly quipped back.

“No…” you basically whispered.

“Well what did they do last night? That obviously effected you a great deal…” she continued.

You swallowed hard, “They… they fucked me and I was on the bottom as they filled me up…”

“Ah, I see… Can u elaborate a bit more?”

“It was passionate and loving. Deep and slow. We were both completely naked…”

Her response this time was a hum.

And then there was silence.

“Darling?” Larissa whispered.

You looked up at her, awkward and needy from where this conversation had gone.

“Would it be alright if I kiss you?” she gently asked.

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth ran dry.

“Yea…” you chocked out.

Larissa leaned over the desk and kiss you lightly. It was full of love and care. She was gentle yet directive. You stood up, leaning into the kiss even more.

Larissa stuck her tongue inside your mouth, eliciting a whimper from your lips. She then proceeded to tongue fuck you nice and slow. It made your head swirl. Her right hand was cupping you chin, and her left was drawing your body closer to her and over the desk more.

Eventually, both of you were desperate for a breath. You both pulled back reluctantly. Larissa, with a small grin and red lipstick sneered around her mouth. You, with a deep blush and puffy lips tinted Larissa lipstick red.

“How about we make that little dream of yours into actuality?” Larissa inquisitively purred.

Your knees wobbled at the thought. You bit your lip. All you could do was nod.

“I’ll need words, darling.”

“Yes, please.” you basically begged.

Part 2… here 😏

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Twenty-Six

Chosen Prompt: Nightmare

CW: robot whump, previous captivity; previous torture

“Please record identifying marker,” says model R200, the first words it has ever spoken. It does not know where it is, does not recognise the darkness surrounding it.

And yet it has been here before.

In the nightmare, it happens again. Both in binary and in abstract this time, in ones and zeros and in visions stuttering through the planes of its unconsciousness — a night sky of unbearable anguish beneath the rhythmic ticking of its internal mechanisms. It’s dread in all its most vivid colours. It’s the cool metal table against the flesh they designed to mimic humanness. It feels human to R200, able to gauge temperature, capable of pain and pleasure both. And it feels human to its makers, soft and pliant and easily bruised.

In the nightmare, its body is not a body but there are hands on it all the same. It is made of the most exquisite plasticine their factory could manufacture. It flickers to consciousness with a sense of its purpose — a first responder of sorts; awaiting further programming but predisposed to be a force of unbiased good in the world. It is not human, is not alive, and it is okay with this.

“Please record identifying marker…” it tries again. No one responds.

In the nightmare, his wrists are cinched tight against the metal. The door creaks open, light spilling into the basement around him. It’s there and then gone, the shadows dank and stifling as the presence in his nightmare approaches him. They took R200 from the storeroom, from the post-production line area. Somewhere above it, meetings are held between city bureaucrats and the people who made R200. Its counterparts are assigned their departments — their specific and deliberate purposes — but R200 is kept under the storeroom.

“The company owes us,” its captor says simply, scalpel in hand, a different kind of metal glinting in the half light.

“Are you my creator?” R200 asks. Its captor simply sneers.

“I’m your worst nightmare, actually,” the man replies, voice a low and satisfied draw. Your lot might destroy mankind one day. I figure we’re entitled to fuck at least one of you up first.

“Please record identifying marker.” R200 replies, its tone impacted by the data available to it. Something here is incorrect. Its voice, however, doesn’t shake until long after the cutting begins, the scalpel lowering to the bare flesh of its chest, the tip digging through forged flesh and into the metal beneath.

“Let’s see how much it takes,” says its attacker, “to make you short circuit forever.”

He cuts deeper then, always deeper. The pain shoots wildly through R200’s structure — a tidal wave, a roaring sea of screams and misfiring programs. Wires spark and burst, liquid as black as onyx pouring over it, pulsing from its cables and out over its skin. Its voice grows higher and higher, its pain receptors detecting emergency. It hasn’t been fully programmed yet. It doesn’t know how to respond. “Please record identifying marker! Please record identifying marker! Please!”

”Alan,” replied the first of its many attackers, the scalpel scraping loudly through its abdomen as the man snarled with vindication above him. “Your name, you worthless piece of shit, is Alan. And you’re mine.”

Alan wakes up screaming.

He’s tied up until he isn’t, until he thrashes against his restraints and all that gives way is bedsheets. He kicks them off of his overheating body, electricity spiking hotly under his skin. His metal heart pounds upwards into overdrive, and he sits up so quickly to assess the threat that the world tilts dangerously around him.

“Hey,” comes a desperate whispers. Alan searches the shadows in frenzy. He gasps for breaths he does not need, touches his hand to his sternum and peers down at his unbloodied fingertips afterwards. No one has cut him. Nothing is damaged, and there’s no one watching from the shadows. The mattress creaks beneath the weight of another, and Alan startles until he remembers.

It’s Rowan, only Rowan. Alan’s emergency system falls quiet, threat assessment overruled by Rowan’s brown eyes staring back at him, wide, pinprick pupils, scared for nothing but Alan himself. Alan’s throat aches, a touch of humanness he was immune to before that basement. He was designed to be perfect, flawless, forever poised and ready to serve. And then his attackers tore him apart and Alan learned how to feel terror and helplessness. They are feelings he has never liked, and they threaten to choke him now. He stares down helplessly into his lap, and wishes he’d never learned how to cry.

“Shhh,” Rowan whispers, easing closer towards him. Alan’s tears run black as night, like ink trickling down over his sculpted cheeks, marring the set of his deliberately designed visage in the night. Rowan draws Alan closer, until Alan reaches out in turn and their bodies rise and fall together, a type of symbiosis, Alan’s breathing matched to Rowan’s own, almost like the accidental absorption of an accent. He wonders if their hears sound the same when they beat, their lungs when they expand and contract. Alan cries ink into the white shoulder of Rowan’s sleep tee. Rowan rubs his back, human and sweet. He whispers that it’s okay, promises him over and over until Alan loses partial vision in his eyes from crying, his tears so black that they temporarily stain him — his irises, his corneas.

“No one can hurt you here,” Rowan tells him. “They’re all dead, baby. All the people who ever hurt you are dead.”

“I’m not alive either,” Alan reminds him, “and it hurts all the same.”

“You’re alive,” Rowan protests. “You exist in the world and they don’t anymore. You’re with me, and they’re in the ground. What was left of them, anyway.”

“I suppose,” Alan concedes, miserable and exhausted and halfway to collapse.

“I suppose,” Rowan echoes, rubbing his back as he eases him back down to the mattress. “Lie down and sleep, Al. No matter what happens in your nightmares, I promise you’ll wake up right here, and I will be beside you.”

“Beside me,” Alan whispers. He shuts his eyes when Rowan smiles. It’s too much sometimes, the way he makes it all sound so simple. The truth is Alan needs more information to understand this. Androids were never supposed to be like this — feeling, connected, traumatised. What was forged in that basement was something different. He lives in hiding to protect his fellow androids. If anyone learned that torture could do this, that stripping their wires from their bodies while they wailed was a way to shock emotions into action…

Alan dreads to think of such a world where that notion was common knowledge.

Rowan holds him close and Alan is not supposed to feel. He is designed for perfect objectivity, but the scalpel carved that out of his chest. Rowan kisses his feverish forehead, and smoothes down the mess of his hair. Rowan hums until sleep swirls around him, ready to pull him once again under its waves. He leans into the touch and he identifies the lullaby. Part of him wishes they’d never turned him human in that basement. Another part, the part that falls asleep tracking the gentle beats of Rowan’s heart, thinks it might have been worth it after all.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[as-i-watch]

Straw Hats as Fashion Trends that makes me go insane*

*you can wear whatever want to express yourself or whatever you like idc. What i hate if when brands™ overprice shit bc is "trendy" or set stupid trends like these. Seriously, dont look up the price of some of these

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Enjoy!

Detachable Shorts

Of course this feature was a need in the trouser world, think about the people with hot knees

I think it would be funny if Luffy wore this and undo the buckles to get into fight mode. The trouser equivalent of putting down the straps in your crocs.

Tits Out. [period]

Your arms are always cold? Hate vests? Well this is for you!

Still, i think this is so fitting for Zoro, we respect our tits out king and adds a little bit of himbo energy i appreciate.

Oda draws weird shit like this all the time

Yes this item was for sale and not on etsy. Why? beats me but here we are

I think its a nice refference to pre timeskip Nami outfits, but it actually fits into the post timeskip fanservice theme. I seriously see Nami wearing that.

Cool but why

Its a cool recycling project but im not even going to talk why brands selling these upset me.

I think i would be a fitting addition to Usopp's funky hats collection. Not only he would pull it off, he would steal the desing and make one himself like the king he is.

Pretty but WHYYY

I really like the effect and sawing this fabric is hard af but is more of a texture thing for me. Also my little practical self is screaming at this gloves but i see the aesthetic pleasing side i guess

So naturally i gave the gay gloves to Sanji. Tell you you cant picture him wearing these with his WCI white suit, come on do it, lie to me.

A classic we love to hate

Not you Chopper you are a delight. Im talking about the clear plastic backpacks. In case you missed thia trend, the issues with this are as clear as the bag itself.

So naturally, bc he always carries one, i gave the backpack to Chopper. Hope he fills it with colorful candy

I have vivid memories of this being a thing at some point

This are more of a pre timeskip item since they are from mis 2000's but yeah. They are useless, impractical and they offend me

Yet, i think Robin could've feature a look in a filler or something with these...anklets? I guess? Not the most far fetched imo

Cut and pin.

Not an issue of looks but of pricing. This are cute little tops but overpriced af, they just cut it and pin it.

Nevertheless, they scream Franky to me. They even kinda follow Franky's own stiches on his chest lmao

At a lost for words

I just dont get it. This is not a price thing, just a ok but why? thing.

If someone can do weird shit and get away with it is Brook and i love him for it. He could show up one day at Sunny wearing his coat backward and i wouldnt question it. I imagine him wearing that as a fancy look in a movie. He already wears high heels on the reg, and idk why but i know he has a pair of fishnets.

This fuck me up to this day

I dont mind the ilusion drawing idea, but seeing a whole rack of these in a sleep deprived state kinda fucks up your mind. I dont think it was a clever trend for clothes tho and im glad it died away.

I dont think Jinbe would wear the shirt, but hear me out. His kimono but in that stile, custom made. One day Usopp, Chopper and Luffy will paint it in and is going to be hilarious to see Jinbe walking around like a Father that let his kids do his hair and nails.

You can find more idiot post like this in my tag #straw hats as i make no promise of quality but i have fun

[ladyravenjadethe2nd]

Pokémon and Hunter x Hunter

So on Ao3 their are about 3 decent fics about this crossover, but none of them have made Pokémon into a Nen power and I think that's a waste.

In greed island Ging and his friends make NPCs and magic monsters that have powers. Like you could just replace Greed Island with Pokémon island and say that whoever becomes the champion gets to take a team of 6 Pokémon out of the game. Some Pokémon have healing powers so you could do everything the same from how you get into the game to that rich dude trying to save his lover.

You get a pokedex instead of a ring. The island is now Kanto. The gym leaders are the NPCs. Boom easy story.

But it isn't the story I think would be the most fun to write. I think it's a perfect power for an Isekai into Hunter X Hunter.

Huge Pokémon fan from our world dies and is reborn in a place where your nen ability is strongest when it's something that's important to you or you have a lot of experience with.

Interestingly enough I think the best way to make this person OP without being a Mary Sue is to make then be reborn as Neon.

She has the perfect backstory. Become a very powerful specialist because of an interest of hers and has a very indulgent father that is smart enough to turn her talent into wealth.

So you could make the power in a lot of different ways, but since this person knows Pokémon and would miss it. I'll go with they are around 5 when they have a vivid dream of being a Pokémon trainer and holding their own pokedex.

They wake up with the feeling of the pokedex in still in their hand and find that their nen has in fact created one.

When they turn it on however their is only a blank pokedex entry. Naturally they fill the entry with everything they can remember about the first pokemon Bulbasaur. Maybe they have to get everything exactly right. Maybe this only works because they could draw the pokemon correctly, and had the correct weight/height and remembered word for word information about the pokemon, but regardless once the entry is done a light shines from the pokedex as if trying to scan something and from that light appears a Bulbasaur.

Now you could make so that either your entry has to be that exact, or you can scan a plant bulb and then the plant turns into a Bulbasaur. I think it's fair that if you can find the real world equivalent of a Pokémon just basic information about them should be fine.

Now that we have a good reason to randomly get a specialist ability let's make you super rich, by using sleep powder, poison powder, and stun spore into boxes so your dad can sell these cool new drugs.

Nice. So I'd say the pokemon wouldn't listen to you at first. You will have to befriend it or create a pokeball which would be harder to do, but your 5 when you get the starting ability so a few years to learn it won't matter much.

Also your dad be giving you anything you want so Nen teacher? Why not?

You could go into tech and make actual Pokémon games and shows to sell which could become a big thing and realistically Milluki would be into it so you could use that connection if you wanted.

You could be on a journey to fill your pokedex meaning you want to scan things to make more pokemon. When it comes to ghost and dark types your gonna need stuff like corpses that had a violent end. Hey there Kurapika let's go to that auction shall we?

You could decide that you want an island to make a safe environment for your pokemon and your dad who is rich as fuck after your housecat turned into a meowth that can use pay day buys you one or better yet rents out half of Whale island for your use. Sup Gon?

You could decide that Greed Island needs some competition so you out bid that guy for one of the games so you can go into it and learn how to make your own. Kurapika could come as your body guard and you could befriend Gon and Killua on your way.

There's like a dozens of fanfics that could be made with this kind of thing. Feel free to use these ideas if you want. I'm too busy with my Wip to write any of them properly.

[vynnysvalley]

My Favorite Upgraded Card Art for Every PJSekai Character

I’m bored 

Uhhh spoilers for pjsekai trained card art below

VIRTUAL SINGERS

Hatsune Miku

Nightcord Miku has the prettiest cards 

Idk I like anything winter-themed 

Very cozy with a pretty color scheme 

Kagamine Rin 

Ahhh the sunflowers suit her so well 

Flower girl Rin real 

Her outfit is adorable 

Kagamine Len 

I used to listen to Servant of Evil on repeat 

Angsty art is always a W 

The yellow roses are a really nice touch 

Megurine Luka

You know how hard it was to pick a favorite all of her cards are gorgeous 

I didn’t know I needed gothic Luka until now

I want this aesthetic 

MEIKO 

MEIKO FINALLY GETTING THE JUSTICE SHE DESERVES 

God this card, idk how to describe how it makes me feel other than “warm”?? 

 She knows she’s killing it 

KAITO 

It’s giving angel 

God the lighting /pos 

He looks so ethereal here and it’s so pretty sdfljk I love KAITO 

Leo/need 

Hoshino Ichika 

Serious Ichika >>> 

I’m loving the outfit 

Idk what else to say other than I love this card and Ichika supremacy 

Tenma Saki

I’m gonna be honest I just really like cards with desserts idk why 

I love the little stars on the chair and umbrella 

Saki looks so cute awee 

Mochizuki Honami

HONAMI UNDERRATED 

I love the frame(?) of this card it’s just a really cool touch 

Very pleasing on the eye 

Mochizuki Honami

The megaphone and loudspeakers are so good

The color scheme is very Shiho 

All the instruments around her lsdf genius 

MORE MORE JUMP!

Hanasato Minori 

VERY Minori 

This card feels like it’s telling a story and I love it 

Super addicting to look at 

Kiritani Haruka 

She rlly said “aesthetic Pinterest board” 

I like how it’s tilted a little I think that looks neat 

Her outfit is pretty 

Momoi Airi 

HER HAIR IN THIS CARD AAA

Super cute and def suits Airi 

Again, desserts 

Hinomori Shizuku 

Who gave her the right to have some of the prettiest cards in the game

This card is kinda bright ngl but idc it’s perfect I love the ballroom theme

This outfit >>> 

Vivid BAD SQUAD

Azusawa Kohane 

Kohane cottagecore lesbian real???

Like Rin she looks so pretty with all the sunflowers 

Look at her she’s just taking a stroll and having a good time 

Shiraishi An 

I actually screamed when I saw this card 

Like what the fuck it is so pretty and that DRESS???? 

The angle too everything about this card is [chefs kiss] 

Shinonome Akito 

God the art for this one is amazing 

Idk is he doing a fucking backflip or something I mean go off 

That ribbon thing on his mic makes him look cooler 

Aoyagi Touya

ANGSTTT AHA

Gosh the lighting on this one is perfect 

It’s simple but beautiful 

Wonderland x Showtime!

Tenma Tsukasa 

This event man :(( 

I love him sm the skrunkly he looks so pretty here 

I like how he’s on top of a book and the book is like coming to life 

Otori Emu 

Look at her she’s so silly 

Emu with a giant paint roller is horrifying /lh 

The silly drawings and animal friends aaa cute 

Kusanagi Nene 

It’s giving Mary Poppins 

Her outfit suits her so well sldfkj 

Again I like the tilted angle it’s cool 

Kamishiro Rui 

Steampunk alchemist Rui underrated 

He’s so gender wtf like hand it over 

Cool hat 

Nightcord @ 25:00

Yoisaki Kanade 

It reminds me of Tangled and that’s one of my favorite Disney movies 

Kanade’s dress looks gorgeous also her bangs 

I liked how it’s zoomed out 

Asahina Mafuyu

I LOVE MAFUYU MY #1 KIN 

I have a soft spot for black and white or like discolored(?) cards 

I care her,,, 

Shinonome Ena 

THE COLORING??? /pos 

I love how they tried to make this card look like a painting 

Who needs the Mona Lisa when there’s Ena /j

Akiyama Mizuki 

Idk if there will ever be another Mizuki card that beats this one

This card is just so,,, Mizuki, I mean the aesthetic, the pose, the outfit 

I love them 

[neyliaart]

Random but I remembered (and might do it cause it would be SO COOL)

I have (apparently) developed the tendency to start an animation whenever life fucks me hard. I have no idea why. Life just goes "Ha! I make you feel shit!" and like a spiteful little bitch I go: "Ha! You fool! I can do it BETTER!" and start an animation.

So now I do have this very graphic tid-bit of animation to the lines

"So tell me who's in control. Is it you? I dont know. Tell me who's in control now." from that one song in my mind. For two ocs of mine. Which are about the hardest ocs for me to draw.

Yall do not understand.

1. I have drawn neither of the two without a base before!

2. I dont know how to animate.

3. I can not animate that length in the program I have so I need to do it in tiny bits and get a second program to edit them together

4. ANATOMY

5. I will now be haunted until I finish this.

Also I could actually animate the entire playlist of that oc for him. Like its five songs and I have vivid daydreams about him about all five that would suffice enough material for a whole ass animation music video style if I had the skin and time.

[dzpenumbra]

4/27/23

Okay so... I got to bed at around 2:30. And I struggled to get to sleep pretty bad. Like, tossing and turning and not able to actually fall asleep. I got there eventually, but was woken up by the sound of some really loud appliance, I still have no idea what it was or where it was coming from. This sound was at 5:50 AM. And I was supposed to be up for my apartment inspection at 9. I had an alarm set and everything.

I laid there for - no exaggeration - 2.5 hours trying to fall asleep again. No phone, no apps, just laying in bed with my eyes closed, trying to fall asleep. Doing breathing exercises, doing body relaxation techniques, visualization techniques, you name it. Everything I've learned over like 15 years of studying sleep hygiene techniques. And I just gave up and got up at like 8:30.

The guy showed up for the inspection at like 9:30, it was super quick, just an electrical inspection or something. He even gave me compliments about how clean my place was, which blew my mind. I started on a new abstract drawing, I'm gonna work on it more and I'll post it when it's done.

I went to take a nap around... fuck man, I don't even know. The whole day has been a huge blur, unfortunately. Temporally, at least. I put in the earbuds and put on some binaural beat thing for a 90 minute nap and... same problem. I "forgot" how to fall asleep. I've gotten this before, and it's like... it's a fucking torturous feeling. Being absolutely utterly exhausted... and not being able to fall asleep. And not knowing why, not knowing what you're doing wrong.

I napped successfully, though, and had some of the most intense dreams I've had in a long fuckin time. It was surreally like... norse-age, with these weird mutated people that were cutting off a water supply or something? I have no clue and that probably sounds ridiculous, but this dream was legit one of the most vivid I've had in ages. The colors, the sounds, the imagery; so memorable. I might try fucking with that binaural stuff to see if I can amplify how vivid my dreams get. You know... intentionally... like when I want it to happen.

I woke up at like... 2, I think? My car reservation was at 1, but was until 5. I made sure to book a big window just in case something like this happened, I just didn't expect it to be... like 4 hours of sleep total.

And I looked up like... more sleep techniques and the shit I was doing was literally what they train for people in the military who need to sleep while sitting up and shit. And it didn't fucking work. And it said on there, this might not work with people who have ADHD and/or anxiety issues. Welp, there ya go...

I showered and said fuck it and went. The walk to the car alone had my shins fuckin throbbing. I speed-walk a bit too much when I walk around the city, I'm just... 1). not used to urban environments and they still make me feel unsafe, and 2). not used to walking in shoes, tbh.

But that was remedied (and reminded, which is why I even noticed the speed-walking) by finally getting back into nature.

A quick stop at Walgreens first, to get the steroid cream the doctor prescribed me... a month ago... And they had to redo it, because of how long it took me to get there. XD So I sat there nodding off for like... 20 minutes...

But then I went to the park. And I got to hike barefoot again, and it was such an at-home feeling. I was out there until like 6. I think it was a total of about 3 miles of walking? I explored a bunch, they had some cool constructions like staircases and bridges and shit, very well-made stuff. There was even a beach right on the lake, it was very pretty and peaceful. I found some rocks that I brought home, I'm going to try to clean them up and see how they come out. There was a decent amount of sandstone there, which is actually pretty cool because it's super soft, so it's easy to carve. I'm going to see what working with it is like and then go from there, if I feel like trying to source more. It's cool how different the types of stone are around here.

For real, just being out in the woods alone, no music, no distractions, just me and nature, bare feet on the ground, wind on the skin, it was great. I missed it a lot. It's like... the polar opposite of how I feel when I'm in the city... XD

Driving wasn't as nerve-wracking as I thought. It was fine. Got the car back half an hour early, ordered a pizza. The car did cost a total of $50 for it being mine from 1-7... (I added 2 hours and I'm glad I did) which is like... ugh... But when you consider I never actually drive anywhere and compare that to buying a car, or paying lease payments? It ain't bad, especially when I don't even pay for gas.

So yeah, those earplugs I ordered were delivered this afternoon. Talk about fucking timing... -_- I'm gonna try them tonight. Like I said a few nights ago, I don't have to listen out for pets anymore, so... fuck it. Hope they work for me, I think if I can sleep with AirPods in, I should be able to sleep with earplugs in okay.

Definitely bed time. I can barely keep my eyes open.

[dirt-grub]

why do i work so hard on complicated art pieces that 15 at most will like....... why does god torment me with such sexy artistic hubris

[sunnyoldbear]

Luca Headcanons Part 3!

I can’t fucking stop please someone help me

Luca:

All seamonsters have a lot of fish qualities and different sea monsters take on different fish qualities, even within a family.

While Luca isn’t as equipped to handle the deep as his uncle is, his father does have some traits that would help him out. Luca doesn’t know this, but he can survive deeper pressure than most others can. Like, significantly deeper, but not to the point of the Deep. He’s have to get accustomed to it and he might not have even survived.

His species can also echolocate! He also doesn’t know he can do this even though it’s from his mom’s side. He just thinks he clicks and squeaks when he’s happy, he doesn’t know he can also echolocate. Since, again, he hasn’t been to the Deep, the ability is very diluted and he can’t locate things very far but… he can, if he tries hard enough. He won’t, though, cause he just thinks his clicks and squeaks are just that.

He loses his shit when he finds out about dinosaurs. He loves them.

If you even mention a museum he will practically beg to go and he will be in there from opening to closing and still come back for more. He takes in every bit of information he possibly can

He doesn’t flip people off, he just sticks his tongue out

Cloud watches! He thinks it’s cute :)

Is cold blooded. They found this out when he passed out in the middle of class one day during the winter. Winter months are very hard for him at school because of it, so he treasures the break and stays under a bunch of warm blankets.

Talks with his hands a lot

One day when he was swimming to the surface after seeing his family, a fisherman who wasn’t too approving of sea monsters tossed their harpoon at him. It grazed his arm and it hurt like hell, but he still tried to hide it. Of course, since he was clutching his arm and there was blood between his fingers, the Marcovaldos panicked and healed him tot he best of their ability, but Luca simply smiled, turned to Alberto, and said “look, we match now!” (If you see Alberto standing beside Luca so that their scarred arms touch since they’re on opposite arms, no you didn’t)

He finds out about bubble wands and thinks they’re the coolest thing!

Avoids every kid named “Bruno” at school like the plague because he doesn’t want them to think he hates them

Whenever something cool happens he instinctively turns to tell Alberto and his face drops when he doesn’t see him

Definitely the kid to accidentally say “mom” (and)or “I love you” to a teacher and then stare in horror

Grabs Alberto’s arm, wrist, or hand when they’re doing something together if he’s not grabbed first just so they don’t lose each other. It’s just instinct.

Once sobbed for an hour because he saw a dead frog in a pool

Falls asleep if his hair is played with

Still gets made fun of for smelling like fish but due to being a fish he can’t really bathe so Giulia and her mom just spray him with perfume. It makes him feel better.

Forgives Guido and Ciccio with no hesitation, will never forgive Ercole. In fact, he’s terrified of Ercole.

Technically canon, but he is the biggest mama’s boy. She learns from her mistakes and fixes her relationship with him and he becomes super close to her

Only lets those close to him call him “Bubble” like his grandma does

Loses his mind when he sees fireflies

He keeps his hair pretty short

Refuses to eat fish

Is more of a prey fish

That being said, he develops a few survival markings, such as a spot on one of his fins to look like eyes

For some reason I feel like he’d be like clownfish and be able to swim through anemone without getting zapped

Was never good at making friends. The Branzino kid often tried to befriend him but he was too scared of disappointing his parents since Daniela and Mrs. Branzino don’t get along

Wears a seashell anklet

His grandma taught him to read secretly when he was little

Never stops talking. Never.

In class, he’s always the kid raising his hand, even if he doesn’t know the answers, just because of his eagerness

Calls Alberto all the time, more than he calls his family

Carries Alberto’s drawing with him everywhere. Used to be in his pockets and then transferred to his wallet.

Is definitely more of a writer than an artist! With his vivid imagination he can write for days, and Alberto is more than happy to draw them out for him

Lets his hair grow out a bit towards the end of his final school year. The stress of school means he doesn’t quite care for his appearance

Can’t sit still. When he’s at school he’s always fiddling with something but when he’s in Portorosso he just grabs Alberto’s hand and plays with his fingers

Definitely a teacher’s pet

Gets bullied a lot. You can’t expect the world to just be okay with sea monsters overnight. A lot of the world will never accept him. There are kids that make his life a living hell at school.

As much as he loves school, he aches to be free sometimes

Gets super flustered super fast

Sits at Alberto’s side and talks about anything and everything and Alberto will sketch it

His scales are more like a duck’s water-resistant feathers. Water rolls right off.

Loves taking Nerone for walks

Definitely wears skirts and dresses in secret! He just thinks they’re neat :)

Loves romance movies but will never admit it

Literally bites his tongue to hold back from rambling. Giulia and Alberto constantly have to tell him it’s okay and he can talk all he wants, but he’s bullied so often for talking too much that he still holds back if he catches himself

Alberto:

Similar to a Betta Fish! His kind of sea monster aren’t known for bonding well and tend to fight.

When healthy, his scales are long and gorgeous just like a Betta’s! (Giulia is mesmerized by them)

You know how dolphins get high with puffer fish? It’s not just dolphins.

His teeth are a little sharper than most other sea monsters. Yes, he bares them at Ercole every time they see each other. No, he won’t stop

Definitely the “he ask for no pickles” friend

No one knows what he’s talking about half the time except for Luca, Giulia, and (sometimes) Massimo. They just kinda go with it.

Has his own words for everything. Only Luca and Giulia know what he means.

He’s actually super, duper close to Giulia, but they do fight pretty often. They’re siblings.

Likes to put his hat on Luca

Everyone thinks he’d be a bad flirt/get flustered super easily but the opposite is true! He’s a big flirt! He just knows what to say to make others fluster around him! Even if he’s not into you, if your his age or he’s trying to charm you, he’ll flirt up a storm. Living on your own from such a young age means you need to pick up survival tactics, and charm and streetsmarts were the ones he picked up.

Sometimes he faces small boats he sees just for the fun of it

He also sometimes grabs a rope or a net from Massimo’s boat when they’re fishing and just zooms to land to get them there quicker

Loves playing games with the kids when he’s on lifeguard duty, even if it can get him in trouble with his boss

You better bet he makes fun of those school uniforms. He laughs his ass off. He thinks they’re the funniest things.

If he sees or hears even a hint of danger, he is shoving his loved ones behind him and will protect them with his life.

Prefers to be barefoot

Heals surprisingly fast. Something about them fish genes.

When he’s fifteen he jokingly tells Luca he should become a teacher and then Luca’s eyes get all big and excited and Alberto regrets opening his mouth. But he still supports him every step of the way.

Whenever he hears Luca click or chirp, he calls out for him if he’s a distance away or grabs his hand since he recognizes it as echolocation before Luca does

More of a predator fish

Keeps his hair long and growing

I think he’d probably grow a mustache. Giulia hates it so much which is why he keeps it. Okay, he kept it to annoy her, but then he actually started to like it. But when Luca said he liked it, that solidified it

He’s so strong it’s kinda scary. Definitely stronger than the average fisherman, but was stronger even beforehand.

Sometimes just eats fish live and terrifies those around him

He’s super fast! Since he’s based on a tuna or swordfish, he’s pretty quick

Unlike Luca, he’s warm blooded. So when he heard Luca has to keep really warm during winters, he offers most of his clothes

His father abandoning him may seem cruel, but for his kind of sea monsters, it was what had to happen. Still, Alberto is a child and it shouldn’t happen.

Mainly a night eater

Can see further than most of his fishy friends

Good night vision too!

Was taught to read and write as a kid by his father but it’s not perfect so he asks Massimo to do it

Loves playing cards

Fins are sharper than average

Squishes Luca’s cheeks

Sword fights with Giulia except they’re sticks

Whenever Luca falls asleep on him (often), he just stays still and refuses to move

Scoops Luca up sometimes

Grabs Luca’s face and blows raspberries instead of kissing it. (Can be interpreted as platonic or romantic!! Italians kiss on cheeks as greetings)

Protectively wraps his tail around those he loves

Water clings to him a bit more since his built-for-speed scales are less water repellent

Every year he gets scared Luca won’t return

Paints the Hideout to look like Luca’s dream fish-stars after he’s told about it. The ceiling, anyway. Don’t ask how he did it, no one knows.

Changes his last name to Marcovaldo

Thinks pet fish and aquariums are hilarious and will poke fun at the fish (“haha, losers! No freedom!” “Alberto!” “What?!”)

LOVES DINOSAURS

He and Luca share a bed when Luca comes over!

The Vespa poster hangs in his room on his door

Calls Luca’s nightlights “light fish” as a nod to stars

Has Giulia and Luca’s names tattooed onto him because they’re his best friends

Tried to take Caligola and Machiavelli on walks… yeah that goes as well as you think

Giulia:

Is a fast reader

Isn’t a massive poetry fan but does have a few favorites

Also keeps a few drawings from Alberto in her folders

Also scoops Luca up randomly

Can and will bite you

Wears dresses as much as she does shorts

Ties her hair up when serious

Rubs her nose against her family’s as a sign of love. It’s just something she did as a kid, so sometimes she’ll just rub her nose against Alberto’s and he gets really confused

Is low key a little jealous of her brother and best friend being sea monsters

Is a bit of a builder! She makes a bridge from her room to the treehouse

Rarely starts fights with Alberto, but she’ll sure finish them

Half regrets teaching Alberto to swear

Though she seems pretty calm, she’s gotten into her fair share of fights at school. Mainly punches kids who bully her and/or Luca. Also sexists.

Although this is 1950/60s Italy, I imagine she’d be very accepting of homosexuality and not hide it, even if rumors of her being one start spreading and she gets hurt. She has a strong sense of justice and she doesn’t care about consequences.

She’s the only person allowed to make fun of Alberto. No one else is. She’ll quite literally attack anyone who dares.

Her parents were surprised she didn’t take after them in fishing or painting

Honestly I can see her mentoring the kids for the race every summer! Once she hits 18 and is no longer able to compete, she holds practice sessions and loves seeing the kids have fun

She definitely runs the race when she’s older. She moves to Portorosso since her marine biology career is helped by her sea monster brother and the town’s closeness to water

Teaches the boys to make sandcastles

Holds such strong resentment for Alberto’s father and Daniela. Lorenzo and Luca’s grandmother she’s fine with, but Alberto’s biological father abandoning him pisses her off more than she can put into words, and Daniela manipulating her son and sending him away makes her want to break something.

Her “santa (cheese)!” comments slowly change into “Santa (fish)!” exclamations. Like, “Santa Goby!” for example. 

Is more close to Alberto than he wants to let people know. She can read him like a book. He’s honestly her best friend. She tells him everything, they go to each other after nightmares, they share everything, all the fun cute stuff that Alberto would rather die than admit.

Still has no idea what “Silenzio Bruno” and “Piacere, girolamo trombetta” mean and at this point she’s too afraid to ask

Though she loves the Portorosso kids, she’d rather die than be a mother. Her parents understand, but secretly hope she changes her mind so they can spoil a grandbaby. 

Begs Massimo to coverup his sea monster tattoo, which he does

Also a “he ask no pickles” friend!

Is super patient with Luca and Alberto’s adaption to the human world (though she doesn’t like it when Alberto shoves his feet on her-which he loves to do because it pisses her off)

Secretly saves money up for the boys to get a Vespa

While she isn’t the best cook, her pasta meals are pretty damn good! 

Has the trophy from the Cup in her room next to a picture of the three of them on the Vespa

[lesetoilesfous]

sensory overload with fenders for the bad things bingo? (specifically fenris, if you’re up for it)

Godddd I had too much fun with this and I very much hope you enjoy it. Also I hate with a burning passion the fact that Hawke can give Fenris back to Danarius. I hate it so, so much.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Sensory Overload

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Sensory Overload, Slavery, Panic Attack, Vomiting

Pairing: Fenders (pre-relationship)

Characters: Evil/Red Marian Hawke, Fenris, Anders, Varric Tethras, Isabela, Danarius

Additional Tags: Hawke tries to give Fenris back and the KWC says no thank you, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 1,503

“Take him.”

Fenris feels as if he’s been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. “What?”

Danarius smiles: a slow, creeping sort of smile that Fenris has seen him wear a thousand times. “Interesting. I’ll make it worth your while, of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal.”

Feeling dizzy, Fenris stares at Hawke. Her pale features are set and rigid with cold disdain. “Don’t do this, Hawke. I need you.” The words fall out of his mouth like pulled teeth, dragging at his insides with a sharp ache.

Hawke's lips curl back in a sneer. “You’re on your own, Fenris.”

Everything inside of Fenris collapses. It reminds him of something he’d read, recently - a book by a Qunari philosopher about the stars - a woman who hypothesised that sometimes, when a star died, it collapsed into an inverse of itself, dragging everything around it into darkness. Behind him, Danarius’ voice sounds both far, far too close and impossibly far away.

“What shall it be, Fenris? Will you throw your life away?”

Fenris can’t breathe. He feels is if the floor is swaying beneath him, shaking like a ship at sea. He remembers dancing on these floorboards, with Isabela...Fenris looks up, but the gold and brown and cream of the Hanged Man’s interior is a spinning kaleidoscope of colour. His mouth moves, and his tongue feels numb and fuzzy with static. “No, I will go with you.”

One of the guards moves, and the clanking scrape of their armour sounds painfully loud. Fenris sways away from them as they drop a purse heavy with coins into Hawke’s hand. Danarius speaks again, his voice cutting through the fog of sound and colour, weaving through Fenris’ ears like a thread pulled through his brain. “Lovely! Here’s a token of my appreciation, Champion. I’m sure I can arrange to have something more...appropriate sent along soon.”

The wooden floorboards beneath Fenris tilt, and he finds himself stumbling forwards toward his master and the red-headed elvhen woman, Varania, his sister. Fenris stares at his feet, which seem far too far away from him, and tries to remember how to breathe. His face feels hot, and his lungs are aching, desperate for more air. Danarius smiles, and the hairs on the back of Fenris’ arms and neck lift. “Come along, everyone! The boat leaves for Minrathous within the hour.”

The group begins to move, and Fenris feels as if the entire tavern is folding around him like a Rivaini paper flower. His vision tunnels, surrounded by darkness, but everything is still too loud and too bright and too hot and how had he never noticed the smell in here? Every time he breathes he feels as if he’s inhaling a thick stew of sweat and leather and steel polish and sex and alcohol and piss. He gags, falling forward. Behind him, Hawke doesn’t even move. Beside her, Fenris can’t make out Anders, Isabela and Varric in the blur of colour and noise. He still can’t breathe. The past ten years feel unreal, rapidly fading from his memory like a dwindling dream.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Varric’s drawl is immediately preceded by the familiar thunking of his crossbow, and Fenris thinks for a moment with relief that the rogue is going to shoot him in the head and end this nightmare before it begins. But the bolt doesn’t hit him, or Danarius, and he turns - slowly, too slowly, as if he’s moving in treacle - to see Hawke’s eyes rolling up into the back of her head as she collapses like a sack of potatoes.

Isabela draws her knives. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

Anders swings his staff from behind his back, twirling it in a wreath of blue fire that leaves burning imprints on Fenris’ irises. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Fenris turns back, forcing himself to lift his head despite the ten tonne weight that feels as if it’s resting on him, and sees Danarius’ face twist into a mask of fury. He sees Danarius’ hands claw, and the mercenaries charge, and shades bleed up from between the floorboards of the tavern like oil dragged from the earth. Then everything shatters into a swirling kaleidoscope of shattered stained glass and colour. Fenris can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear. Everything is too much: too loud, too bright, every movement feels like a needle in his eyes, every sound like a knife stabbed into his ears. His tongue feels heavy and burning with the overload of spice and salt in the air, and his nose is thick and choking on smoke and sulphur. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest, Fenris thinks he must be trembling with it. Blindly, he moves towards what he thinks might be the door, and doesn’t care if someone stabs him in the back for it.

Fenris makes it three feet into the cool Kirkwall night before he crumples to his knees and vomits, retching again and again until his stomach is spasming and his eyes are burning with useless, burning tears as if he’d pressed his face into a chimney full of smoke. Arms shaking, dripping with cold sweat, he kneels on the cold white sandstone of the street, washed silver by the moon, and shudders until the world stops spinning. It stops slowly, the brightness in his eyes turned unnaturally light, every colour too saturated and too vivid, even out here in the dark. The barking of Fereldan mabari, normally a strange kind of comfort, punches his skull every time they break the night, leaving Fenris shuddering with recollections of Hawke and her mabari and every time he’d saved her life, every time she’d saved his. He’d trusted her.

The sea breeze is too salty on Fenris’ tongue, which feels as if it’s been coated with grease and spices. He spits until his mouth is dry and his throat is sore, and doesn’t know how long it takes before he can breathe easily again.

When, at last, the world is no longer a Fade-saturated parody of itself, Fenris realises two things. First: the sounds of combat from inside the tavern have long since faded. Second: he is not alone.

Slowly, he forces himself to look up from the familiar sets of black and brown boots to Anders and Isabela. Isabela looks uncharacteristically sincere, and Anders’ wrinkled features are creased with worry. Twenty feet away, Varric is talking to a small huddle of Carta dwarves next to a cart with Hawke’s unconscious body. Fenris nearly throws up again, and Anders starts forward, totally ignoring the puddle of bile and vomit on the stone in front of him. Fenris flinches back, violently, and Anders freezes.

Finally, Fenris finds his voice. “Danarius?”

Anders’ jaw tenses, and some of the worry clears from his features. “Unconscious, in chains, supervised by Merrill and Aveline. We drugged him with magebane, too.” Anders hesitates, and glances at Isabela before going on. “We thought - we wanted you to have the final say. On what we do with him.”

Fenris nods, and breathes, pushing himself further away from the sick to sit on the stone. He glances towards Varric and the carta. “Hawke?”

Isabela’s lips purse into a thin line. “Varric drugged her. I say we slit her throat. Varric’s keeping her drugged in a safehouse until we come to a group decision.”

Fenris nods again. The breeze pulls across the open stone courtyard, tugging at Anders’ and Isabela’s hair, and cooling the sweat on the back of his neck. He looks at the pirate, and then the mage. Varric is walking over to them, now, too, Bianca loose in his arms. “Why?”

Isabela’s features flicker, briefly. Anders’ expression crumples. “Andraste, Fenris, because we love you.” He says it so easily. As if it’s something they’ve said to each other before. And then he keeps talking, because it’s Anders, and he always has more to say. “Also, I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me at all for the past ten years but, "the right of every man, woman and child to freedom in Thedas" does, in fact, include slaves. I know, I know, a manifesto about freedom being anti-slavery, it’s improbable right? You’d think I was healing all those elvhen slaves over the past decade with my own sweat and blood and tears for some secret evil agenda. But no, it’s actually pretty simple. Slavery’s one of the foulest, most cursed, pus-infected tumorous boils on the Maker’s taint, and so’s anyone who fucking supports it.”

Fenris thinks it’s a strange world, indeed, that he finds himself comforted by the mage’s rambling. Varric steps forward and reaches out, offering a hand. “What Blondie’s trying to say, Fenris, is that we’ve got your back.”

Fenris hesitates, staring at Varric’s hand, his mind full of Hawke’s bright blue eyes and strong jaw. Isabela unfolds her arms from where they’d been tightening across her chest. “No slaves, no masters.”

Fenris takes Varric’s hand.

[freebooter4ever]

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

[aweecrush]

Prologue

Tuesday, October 16th 2007

“Jesus, I can’t believe you’re actually in the fucking plane - took you long enough! If I had known it took a wedding to get your arse back home, I would have had a couple by now, for God’s sake .”

“Michelle, you promised you wouldn’t start! ” Clare’s reproachful voice rose.

“Aye, first, I didn’t promise shit, and second, I told you, she’s not chickening out so chill out - right Erin?”

Despite the culpability and shame pricking at her skin, her heart warmed at their traditional bickering she wished she’d hear more often. At their voices. And, most of all, at knowing that in a few hours, she’d get to hear them for real.

Feck, she’d missed these eejits.

“Well, I’m not actually in the plane yet, we’re waiting to board. And then I still have that stupid long flight, and then the stupid long wait at stupid London, so don’t wait up - but yes, I’m definitely on my way,” she promised, earning herself an earful of high pitched cackles and happy swears.

Her heart welled up.

“So, how is the bride doing? She wasn’t home when I called earlier, and all Mammy could talk about was how the caterer was driving her crazy and how aunt Sarah almost set her own hair on fire trying a new hairdo she’d like to nail for the ceremony.”

Michelle snorted. “ Yeah, hilarious so it was. You should have seen your dad’s face, mental. ”

“It was terrifying,” Clare corrected, apparently still shaken.

Then, perked up. “Orla’s going to look so cute though - I can’t wait for you to see the dress!” Erin tried to ignore the sting of not having been there for such an important moment.

“We’re still trying to convince her out of drawing anything on it, but I’m not sure we’ll win this one, to be honest. Also, we’ve got everything almost ready to go for the bachelorette party, although I do need you to help me stop Michelle from bringing the tons of drugs she wants to, because - ”

“For feck’s sake Clare, Orla would love it! The girl is tying the knot, she deserves to get properly shit faced.”

“She said she wanted something small!”

“She said she would have liked to have a little something with just the five of us the night before. She never said anything about the actual bachelorette party being small - or fucking boring for that matter!”

“Just the five of us?”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, stupid that she was. At the other end of the line, the girls went uncharastically silent, and Erin cursed herself.

Feck.

“I mean, that’s grand. It’s cool, I thought it was just going to be one big night for the bachelorette party before the big day, but - I mean, that’s even better! Grand - cool.”

Christ on a bike, that was pathetic. She was.

“Yeah...The thing is, Orla wanted a wee night with just us Derry girls the night before the bachelorette party, hanging at the bar and stuff you know, because - Well, just because.” Poor Clare was rambling now, in a typical panicked Clare kind of way. “And we thought - Well, then we thought about it, and it turns out it’s not going to work, just timing-wise and stuff, so - “

“So the point is we dropped it.”

“Right. Yep.”

Again, silence, only betrayed by the hammering in her chest that she hoped her friends wouldn’t hear over her cellphone.

“Oh okay, well - that’s a shame.” Her casual slash over the top fake disappointment tone did nothing to help convince anyone, of course, herself included. She winced.

She promised herself it wasn’t going to be like this, though. She wasn’t going to ruin this for anyone - not a chance.

For God’s sake, catch yourself on Erin.

Pushing all dangerous thoughts aside, Erin took a deep breath. “In any case, I’m sure it’ll all be fine - really fine.”

There were another few seconds of silence, and she could just picture the worried look they were sharing - probably very similar to the one they had that particular, fateful day. To the one they had again when she told them she was moving away. Then -

“You bet it’ll be fine - feck, it will be absolutely brilliant is what it is! Wait til you see my dress, Erin - my tits look amazing in it.”

*

As it turned out, running all over the city for work for the past ten days and dangerously flirting with the limits of sleep deprivation did have a perk: her whole, eight hours flight, Erin slept like a log.

(Truth was, she could have done without the look of contempt and the ‘Miss? You have drool on your face’ from that stupid flight attendant who woke her up when they landed, but still - all in all, it went well.)

The wait at Stansted airport, however, was pure hell.

Because of the jitters, mostly.

Growing up, despite how much she loved to complain about them, Erin had never actually considered living away from her family. Well, not that far, at least - she’d always known she would leave Derry after high school, which they did, and it was glorious. War or not, she had a pretty nice life as a child and then a teenager, but those college years and the first ones that had followed - they were the best of her life.

Still, it was only Belfast at the time, and Belfast was a two hours drive from home. Erin knew that at some point, she wanted to go out in the world, maybe live abroad for a while, but this - New-York, all on her own, away for so long? She hadn’t planned that. Didn’t, really - it all went so fast, in the end.

It was a good thing too, because if she had stopped and thought about it for too long, she wasn’t sure she would have gone through with it.

(Then again, what else could she have done?)

Despite her dreams, and her need for independence, and her eagerness to see the world, Erin had never thought that she’d leave her family for that far, for that long. Orla had come to see her once, thank goodness, but Jesus -

On the last picture her Ma had sent her, Anna had grown so much, she almost looked like a wee woman. She’d forgotten the exact colour of that lipstick aunt Sarah wore all the time, she couldn’t remember each wrinkle on Granda’s beautiful face like she used to, and sometimes, she was afraid she was forgetting her Da’s smell and what her Ma’s voice sounded like in real life. She’d missed them so much, it hurt (a lot, often).

She just couldn’t wait any longer to get back to that crazy bunch, and those last, endless few hours? Torture so it was.

She was half considering starting to work on her next article to pass the time when across from her, Erin spotted a young couple bickering, their luggages next to their seats. She was a beautiful thing, red hair tied in a messy bun, and his brown curls fell above his forehead, all messed up.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could make out their accents. He looked like he was trying to make her smile, leaning over so he could kiss her, and she was doing everything she could not to laugh, weakly trying to escape his arms around hers, her pretense wavering with every second.

They were probably in their early twenties, just out of uni or something. They looked happy.

Her chest tightened, and suddenly, Erin felt the urge to cry.

Well, that was quick.

Shite. Shite shite shite.

It was okay, though - it was all fine. She knew herself by now - she was emotional as heck most days of the year (crazy, her Ma would say), but the day of her returning back home, with accumulated fatigue and an Atlantic crossing flight in her feet? Of course she'd get misty eyed at the first occasion. At anything, this just happened to be what, because they were very cute and - it was a coincidence, nothing more.

It was nothing.

The girl laughed, though, giving him a small slap over the head before she let him nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck. She brushed his forehead with her lips, a soft smile on them, and kept talking.

It was difficult, then, not to think about another time, another long wait, at the Bali airport this time. It was difficult, not to think about another English fella with wild, brown curls.

It was impossible, really, not to think about him.

Memories of a perfect trip came flooding back, of burnt skin and drunken smiles, of blue waters and green eyes. The tickles of the sun, the softness of his fingers over her exposed neck, her naked arms. Sweaty bodies pressed together during hot nights, slow breathes, so many new sights discovered, fingers intertwined.

Sometimes, the memory of his face hidden against her neck was so vivid, she could almost feel it. Just like she did now.

Her breath caught.

Sweet suffering Jesus.

Experience had taught her that she had to stop now - needed to, really, before her mind wandered to anything more. To everything else, every little thing that could, and would, make her heart ache even more than it already did.

(That’s another thing she’d found out: as it happened, the expression “heartbreak” wasn’t, in fact, an overly dramatic turn of words. Quite accurately descriptive it was, actually.

She often wondered when hers would stop feeling like it had been ripped into a million little pieces, but she was starting to lose faith that it ever would.)

Of course, she should have seen it coming, she knew that. She had, in fact. True to herself, she’d tried to ignore it, but she knew full well that with her coming back home, it would come back.

This painful, sneaky way every little thing seemed to remind her of before - of a life that felt so far away now.

Over the months, the many months since she’d been gone, she’d gotten it almost under control. Everyday life brought its distractions, particularly in a city like New-York: running between brunches and dinners, partying with her cool American friends, writing for a newspaper in the Big Apple, it was easy, forgetting what you wanted to, if only for so long. She was becoming a real life city girl, a full time one, and that was exactly what her busy brain - her treacherous heart - needed.

With time, every sight, every sound, every smell no longer reminded her of home - the place, the person. With time, she’d moved on.

Yes, sometimes - often - she’d wavered, but that was normal: having been close to someone meant that they lived with you forever, she couldn’t help that. At some point, it would just die down enough that she’d just be able to call it the past without her insides hurting.

(She thought it would, with Matt. Maybe not with the others before him, they were just passing through - but with him, she thought it would. She couldn’t really explain how it all made the permanent weight on her chest even heavier instead, somehow.)

But it hadn’t died down yet, and even though it was normal and okay and to be expected, six weeks ago, Erin had booked her tickets, and six weeks ago, she had lost the grip over the carefully built barriers she’d made sure to rise in the meantime for - well, self-preservation, really.

It started small. The song that had played this one special night, resonating through Starbucks as she waited for her drink. That sweatshirt her colleague bought one day that reminded her of another one. That scarf in the store that looked so much like Doctor Who’s.

But then...Then, it was every day, every damn day, just like the beginning - even worse, if she was being honest. Up until yesterday, when she boarded that damn plane.

Up until now, in this stupid airport where she didn’t want to cry.

Arms tightened around her own chest, Erin willed herself not to, even though it was becoming evident that there was no ignoring the memories and the aching now. Even though, just like she feared, it was becoming perfectly clear that there was no escaping anymore, no pretending that she wasn’t the worst person in this Goddamn country, that the worst hadn’t happened.

Even though she could feel the fear mixed with longing and excitement and dread and a million other emotions that had painfully, permanently taken residence in her stomach now that she was home.

(That had taken roots there ever since the day she left, so it did.)

Shite.

Sitting back up, Erin shook herself. No, no, no, no - she could do this.

She’d grown, she’d prepared herself. She’d even planned what to say if...She was ready. Responsable, mature, and ready. And she won’t have to face this alone.

In a few hours, she was going to see the people who raised her. In a couple of days, wee Orla was getting married. She’d come up with excuses after excuses not to come home, even for Christmas - babbling something about being overloaded with work even though it made her heart ache to know she’ll be alone for the holidays for the first time in her life. Even though she knew full well her Ma didn’t buy a single word, very aware of the real reason she was staying away. She didn’t say a single word, though, and Erin was grateful.

No more, though.

For months and months, Erin had found reasons to stay away for the exact reasons that were chipping away at her heart more and more by the second, but now her baby cousin was getting married, and she’d see her family, and they’ll hold her close, and she’ll find a way to bury all the stuff that was so, so much more difficult to ignore now that she was coming home.

Maybe - maybe it will be difficult, but they’ll be here to help her through it. She’ll be there for her family, and they’ll be here for her.

Fighting the urge to reach out for the folded photograph in her wallet (the one that brought so much comfort and so much else she’d rather avoid at the same time, the one she clinged to but pretended she didn’t), Erin just breathed, and moved to change seats.

Everything would be fine, in the end. It will be grand.

*

Except her family didn’t come.

No one did.

It was eight thirty in the morning, and, her cellphone penibly stuck between her ear and shoulder as she struggled to zip her jacket to protect herself from the freezing cold, Erin tried to swallow her disappointment.

“Aye I’m sorry love, it looks like you’re going to have to get a cab,” her Ma announced before yelling something at her Granda in the distance.

Erin couldn’t help but notice the fact that she didn’t seem that sorry, not at all in fact. “Your Da was going to come get you, but there’s a problem of some kind where the reception is, and he had to take Orla.”

Erin nodded, even though her Ma couldn’t see her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just - ”

“We’ll give you the money back for the cab when you arrive. Alright, I gotta go love, we’re checking the hair accessories for the big day - see you in a bit.” And with that, she hung up.

Well.

Here went her big welcome home, eh.

Again, it was nothing, though, she reasoned. She was a grown up now, of course she understood that something had come up, and that this all delayed their big reunion from only an hour, tops. So really, there was no reason to get upset.

None.

She wished she wasn’t getting upset.

From what she told her, Clare would be putting together gift bags now, and there was absolutely no doubt that Michelle was still snoring. Pocketing her cell as best as she could, Erin bit the inside of her cheek and started looking for the only plan B she had left, ignoring the burning in her eyes. It really was nothing - she’ll be fine.

It didn’t matter that she took forever to get a cab, for some reason, or that her luggage fell over her foot when they tried to put it in the truck, or that her handbag crashed on the floor and spilled everywhere.

Erin did know she tended to be over dramatic - and yes, maybe borderline crazy, Ma wasn't completely wrong - but she was more mature now, so instead of getting riled up, instead of being crushed by the fact that her family didn’t seem to have missed her as much as she did them, and that the land she grew up on was sending her sign after sign that she wasn’t welcomed back, Erin breathed.

Instead of being violently overwhelmed by memories at every corner of the place she’d grown up in, the place where they met and it all began, she did - she tried to breathe, slowly, carefully, squeezing her scarf in her hand a little too tight.

(That was another thing about your close ones not coming to get you at the airport after you left your country to run away: there wasn’t much to distract you from the memories you were running away from.)

She wouldn’t cry. She was just tired, and being stupid, and she wasn’t coming home with puffy red eyes - no way.

They passed the mall they all used to hang out at, and her throat tightened so much, it felt like the air had left the inside of the car. She saw the movie theater he was always so eager to bring her to in the distance, and a familiar pang of missing shot through her chest. Her heart twisted that particular way when they drove by the hiding spot of their early days, but even though she wondered how she was still holding her tears, she did.

After what felt like an eternity, the car finally pulled up her street, and Erin hadn’t shed one silly tear. She’d done it. She could do it.

By the time she pushed their small barrier and started for the couple of stairs, all Erin wanted was to collapse into bed and black out. Orla and Da wouldn’t be home, Ana would probably still be asleep, and given the day and time, Grandda would have gone for his walk. She’d give a big hug to Ma and Aunt Sarah, pretext a headache, and go lie down.

As she struggled to get her bags through the door while keeping the damn thing open, Erin shouted, cursing herself at how strangled her voice sounded. “I’m home!”

Finally managing to get everything and herself inside, she collapsed on the wall behind her, only now taking in the wallpaper, the coat hangers, the shoes by the entry.

Damn - she was home.

The emotion was so striking, she didn’t quite have the time to stop the tears from welling up in her yes, taken by surprise.

She moved before it all became too much and shrugged off her coat, feeling her insides warm at the familiar surroundings, and yet her heart ache at not having the usual voices that went with it, the faces that she wanted so much to see. She shouted again, but there was still no response.

Ma and aunt Sarah must have had something to do, then. It was fine, she thought as she pushed the living door open. It was, she’d just grab a glass of water and -

“SURPRISE!”

And just like that, Saturday Night started playing from somewhere, overcoming the shouting and the party whistles that had broken the silence so suddenly, Erin had jumped out, her back hitting doorframe behind her. There was colours and and noise and arms waving in every direction, and Erin vaguely realized that she was covered in confetti that matched the balloons and the hats.

Somehow, she noticed that they all had one: Michelle, up on the sofa, Clare, jumping in place at the other side of the room, Orla and the giant teddy bear she was holding. Anna, her pink one stuck on top of her mass of blond hair. Aunt Sarah and Grandda, both holding hands and arboring the same green one. Her Ma, her Da, tears in their eyes, huge grins on their faces, red and yellow ones falling over.

Her brain had stopped functionning, so she couldn't be sure, but Erin thought that her legs were giving out.

Before they did, though, both her parents closed the distance and hugged her close, whispering things she couldn't quite make sense of just yet. Their voices in her ear, their smell surrounding her, Erin broke her promise to herself, and finally let the tears come flooding as she held them back as close as she could.

She was home.

[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 8

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia AU

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Chapter

Sehun's POV

Sehun could feel it the moment somebody had started following him. He didn't know how, but he assumed it was because of his prior training. He was already on edge thanks to his suicidal mission to help EXO, and he definitely did not need another person following him. He barely managed to get rid of the Baem member that had been following him.

Was it a coincidence that just minutes after he drops off his note to EXO someone had started following him? Could it be a member of EXO? Or did the Baem send more than one person to watch him?

He glances behind him to see who it was that was setting off his alarms. He saw workers, families, kids... and a girl running full force toward him. It couldn't be her though, could it? Why would a girl be following him, and why would she make it that obvious?

Still, the closer you got to him, the more his hackles raised. Something wasn't right.

He ducks around the next corner, which thankfully leads him to a nearly empty street, and comes to a stop. He readies himself for you to come around the corner, and it wasn't long until you did.

You came around the corner so fast, if he hadn't been prepared, you would've both been on the ground. Instead, you run directly into him and then step back with wide eyes. You clearly hadn't been expecting him.

He takes advantage of your disorientation and quickly wraps his hand around your throat. Surprise swept through your face before confusion and fear followed. It took only a couple of seconds for you to reach for his hand and attempt to pull him off of you.

"Who are you?" Sehun growls out.

He could tell you were trying to answer him or maybe trying to breathe because you looked like a gaping fish. A part of him felt bad for doing this, but he needed to find out who you were and fast. There was no time for games.

You were stronger than you looked, and his hand on you started to loosen, so he quickly throws you up against the brick wall next to him and brings his other hand up to your throat.

"Why are you following me?"

The fear on your face grows as your hands claw desperately at his. Sehun pushed away the guilt and worry he was beginning to feel and focuses on your hand reaching for his. There was something... oddly familiar about them...

His hold loosens minutely, as he stares at them, almost mesmerized. That annoying alarm in his head begins going off, just like it did when he remembered those numbers and the P.O. box... Something wasn't right...

"Sehun..."

You gasp out his name and startle him for a second. He looks back at your eyes, and he can tell you're beginning to lose consciousness. The fight your hands held was dimming, and your actions were slowing. His eyes are unwillingly drawn back to your hands, and suddenly he's transported to a different time and space.

He was standing at a sink... terrified thoughts about losing someone ran through his head... His hands were covered in blood that wasn't his... Someone was gently washing that blood away from his hands... He was feeling whatever had happened was all his fault, and he was barely holding on to his cool.

The memory became even more vivid as he could hear the worried voices of his brothers behind him, murmuring about Jongin. He remembered staring at the hands that washed the blood from his, and with a jolt, he realizes that those exact hands were weakly grabbing at his right now.

He slams back into the present and looks up at your face wildly. It was you. You were the one washing the blood from his hands in that memory... He knew you.

He let's go of you in shock and then dazedly watches as you drop to the ground like a doll. You immediately begin drawing in deep breaths and coughing as the air passes through your slightly damaged throat but even as you struggle to catch your breath, you attempt to stand back up.

Sehun drops down to your level and pushes down on your shoulders gently. "Don't try to stand up yet. You need a minute to recuperate."

You slowly nod as your rub your hands along your sore neck. You cautiously meet his gaze and search his face in confusion. Sehun avoids your scrutiny and glances down at his hands on your shoulder. With a shiver, he removes his touch from you and stares at his hands. He had just tried to kill you with them. He shouldn't be touching you in an attempt to comfort you with them.

Once you're able to breathe normally, you attempt to say his name, but he quickly shakes his head. It sounded like your throat was full of rocks, and it sounded very painful.

A wave of sadness overcomes him at the sound. He did this to you. He caused someone, that clearly cared for him, pain.

"It's me..." You cough out, even though Sehun tries to get you to stop. "It's Y/N."

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and while everything in him told him he could trust you, he still couldn't remember who you were.

It all clicked a moment later when he recalled the memory he had just had. Something had happened to Jongin... a member of EXO... and in those thoughts, he referred to EXO as his brothers... A moment later, your name ran through his head, and it dawned on him that you were the leader's sister.

"Y/N..." He quietly says, testing the name out like it's a new word.

What did all this mean? Why was he with EXO? Why was the leader's sister washing blood from his hands? Why did he care about something happening to Jongin?

Unless...

No... It was too far-fetched, wasn't it? Then again, with everything he was beginning to remember and what he had overheard the Baem leaders talking about... Maybe it wasn't...

Had the Baem been lying to him all this time?

Was he actually a member of their rival group? Was he a member of EXO?

He's brought back to the present by your panicked voice as you speak his name over and over again. He looks down at you as you get into a kneeling position across from him, almost like you're about to plead with him.

"Where have you been, Sehun?"

He watches your reaction closely as he responds. "I've been with the Baem..."

You close your eyes as a look of pain crosses your face, but then you open them again and meet his gaze. "Have they hurt you? Are you okay?"

He meets your questions with a look of confusion. He wouldn't even know how to begin to describe his thoughts to you.

"But if the Baem have you, how are you outside and alone right now?" You ask him in clear confusion as you look over his body for what he would assume were marks or wounds.

"I'm not alone... There are others here."

Panic washes over your face as you look over your shoulder and at the surrounding area. You quickly get up to your feet, pulling Sehun up with you. "We've got to go."

"I can't," he says as he stops you from pulling him back around the corner.

You stop and turn around to face him with an incredulous look. "What do you mean you can't?"

You stare at him like he's lost his damn mind... and he has.

"What are you talking about? You have to come home! To EXO. To Chanyeol. He's a fucking wreck without you, Sehun. He needs you to come back. We all do."

He can hear the sincerity in your words, and he knows you're telling him the truth, but he was so goddamned confused by everything. He didn't know what way was up or down at this point.

"When was the last time you saw me?" He curiously asks.

You meet his stare, and he can see the denial in your eyes. You knew something was seriously wrong here, but you didn't want to believe what you're brain was telling you. That Sehun had forgotten all about you and EXO.

"At the warehouse, remember? You were saving me... The Baem had kidnapped me..." Acceptance begins growing on your features as you quietly finish. "But you don't remember, do you?"

Sehun slowly shakes his head, and you gradually look down at the ground in devastation. The want to comfort you rises, but he makes no moves. He feels like he should apologize for not remembering, but he wasn't sure it would do any good.

Before either of you can say another word, he hears it... the call signal.

The Baem were coming.

He quickly grabs your arm and pulls you further down the block. You almost drag behind him at the suddenness, but your feet quickly catch up.

"Where are we going?"

"You need to hide." He responds, pulling up short when he notices an alley to his right.

He spots a couple of metal dumpsters and pushes you toward them, but you spin back around and immediately question him.

"Why am I hiding?"

"The Baem are here. They're signaling for me right now. You need to hide." He quickly tells you as he points towards the dumpsters.

Thankfully, you immediately get the hint and sprint to hide behind one of the giant metal bins. Once Sehun makes sure he can't see you, he walks back out of the alley and heads toward the whistling that's grown exponentially louder.

He tries to calm his racing heart and puts a causal mask back over his face. His thoughts, on the other hand, were frantic. Not only did he hope and pray that you stayed hidden, but now he had to not freak out because of the two things he had just learned.

He was not a Baem member, and he sure as hell didn't belong with them.

Y/N's POV

You stayed hidden behind the giant garbage bin as your thoughts tripped over themselves. What in the actual fuck was going on?

You steady your breathing and try to listen for any sounds, but the alley was like a wind tunnel. Noise traveled in from both entrances, and cars masked the sounds the pedestrians made.

Your throat fucking hurt and your body wanted to slump against the brick wall behind you in exhaustion but the alley walls were coated in a multitude of substances, none of which you wanted to touch, and the garbage bin was no better.

You drop down into a crouch and run your fingers through your hair as your mind still tries to process the situation. Sehun had no freaking clue who you were. There was absolutely zero recollection toward you or any of the words you had said to him. On top of that, he tried to fucking kill you. Even more, he was working with the Baem?!

What were they telling him? How were they able to keep this charade up? ... How were you going to get him back?

But... he couldn't be all the way gone... He knew enough to hide you from the Baem and to send EXO important information on them... and there was a small spark behind his eyes when you mentioned EXO and Chanyeol but maybe that was an illusion due to the lightheadedness you felt after being fucking strangled.

There was a way to get him back. You just had to figure out how.

After a few more minutes, you stand back up and cautiously make your way back down the alley. Once you emerge back onto the sidewalk, you suddenly feel like you're in a liminal space, like you had just walked out of a movie theater after being transported to another world.

After getting to the end of the block, you can no longer keep up the slow, cautious pace, and the need to get back to Minseok was almost unbearable, so you break out in a run. The looks the other people walking on the sidewalk threw at you didn't phase you one bit.

As soon as the car was in sight, you spot Minseok pacing frantically next to it while shouting orders at two of his men who waited next to it. It's only a couple of seconds later when one of his men notices you coming up the block and points you out to him.

Minseok spins around to look at you, and his blazing eyes cause you to slow down your pace. Oh... he was pissed, and you were about to be in so much trouble for just abandoning the vehicle and taking off by yourself.

He immediately begins walking towards you, shouting, "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

People around you look over curiously, and Minseok snaps his head toward them.

"Can I help you?!"

You quickly reach him and grab his arm before he can draw more attention to the two of you.

"You can be pissed at me all you want, but we need to get back to the house. Now."

"Jesus Christ, what happened to your voice?" He immediately questions, concern taking over the anger he once felt.

He searches your face for an answer before his eyes make their way down to your neck. He pauses as he looks at it, and then his hand slowly goes up like he wants to touch it to get a better look, but decides against it. You close your eyes and figure out exactly what he was seeing. Sehun must've left marks...

"What the hell happened?" He lowly asks.

"I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you..."

"Your neck is turning fucking purple, so you better tell me something."

You sigh and bring your hand up to rub your sore neck. You could only imagine the reaction your brother was going to have.

"I saw Sehun."

Minseok's eyes widen into saucers, and he starts throwing a million questions at you. Where? With who? Why wasn't he with you? It was all too much.

You throw your hands up in front of you in a stop motion and snap Minseok's name to get him to stop talking. Once he quiets down, you fill him in on everything that happened and what you suspected was happening. Minseok looked like he wanted to interrupt you multiple times, but he managed to hold everything in.

One of his men steps up to the two of you and gestures toward the vehicle with his head. "I don't think you should be having this conversation on the street."

In the excitement and shock of what happened, both you and Minseok had forgotten all of the rules in place to keep EXO safe and you guiltily look around to take in your surroundings before the two of you head back to the vehicles with his men following closely behind.

As you get into the car, you can't help but ask the one question on your mind. "Do you believe me?"

Minseok sighs and crumples back into the driver seat, then reaches his hand into his pant pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. He hands it over to you and turns his head to see your reaction, while saying, "I do."

You unfold the slip of paper and take in the string of numbers before you. 1248-94.

"What is it?"

"That," Minseok says while turning the car on and shifting the gear into drive, "is Sehun's emergency code."

The two of you speed home as you discuss what all of this was supposed to mean. Sehun had no memory of you or apparently who he was, but he could remember random numbers? He was working with the Baem, but he also hid you from them? You pondered and theorized the entire ride home until Minseok killed the engine in the driveway of the compound.

The two of you get out and spot Jongin and Baekhyun a little farther up ahead. You ignore the pang you feel in your heart as you see Baekhyun. Those feelings would have to wait. There were more important things going on.

"I thought all you had to do was check a box?" Jongin jokes. "Did you guys get lost on the way home?"

Neither you nor Minseok laughs as you approach the duo, and Baekhyun shakes his head before looking away.

"You know, it doesn't hurt to laugh or smile. In fact, I hear it's quite good for you." The youngest continues on, much to your dismay.

"If you had said something funny, I'm sure you would've gotten a reaction." Minseok replies as the two of you come to a stop in front of them.

Jongin goes to reply, but before he can, Baekhyun takes a step toward you. Your eyes are immediately drawn to him, but his eyes were glued to your neck. The anger on his face was clear, but when he raises his eyes to yours, you actually let out a gasp.

You had never seen such a murderous expression on someone's face before, and it literally stole your breath. Baekhyun looked beyond terrifying like he was ready to set the entire world on fire just to watch whoever had hurt you burn with it.

He reaches his hand up to touch your neck while growling out, "Who did this to you?"

Even though he looked like he was ready to stab everyone, his touch on you was still feather-light like a caress. It was enough to make you temporarily forget everything bad that had happened between the two of you.

Jongin steps forward to see what Baekhyun was fussing about, and when he spots your neck, the anger finds his way to his face as well.

"What the fuck happened?" He demands as he looks between you and Minseok.

"I'll tell you guys inside." You say as you turn away to head into the house, but Baekhyun's strong grip stops you.

"Tell me now." He gets out through his barely checked anger.

You turn to face him and grab his hand from your arm, firmly but carefully breaking his hold on you. "It'll be easier to tell everyone at once. Trust me."

You start the walk toward the house, and the three men quickly follow suit. It was quiet at first, everyone processing their own thoughts, but it doesn't stay that way for long.

"You know Junmyeon is going to kill you, right?" Jongin asks Minseok.

The eldest shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Is that optimism I hear?" Jongin jokes before pausing. "Actually, why does that scare me?"

You walk into the house and head straight for your favorite spot in the living room. The others could worry about grabbing the rest of the guys. You were going to take a minute to yourself before all hell broke loose.

As everyone begins filing into the living room, you make sure to hide your neck with your hair to the best of your abilities. Once everyone is there, your brother looks expectantly between you and Minseok.

"So, what'd you find?"

"You mean, besides the bruises all over your sister's neck?" Jongin chimes in when he notices your attempt to hide them.

Junmyeon looks at Jongin like he's trying to decide if the younger man is joking, but when he takes in the seriousness on Jongin's face, his gaze snaps to you. All of theirs do.

You let out a scoff as you shoot daggers at Jongin before gathering your hair and pulling it behind your head. Junmyeon's eyes bulge as he takes in the marks, and Yixing quickly gets up from the couch and comes over to examine your neck.

You cautiously look over at your brother while Yixing assesses the bruises, and you find the same murderous intent that was present on Baekhyun's face. Great. Now there were two of them.

"Are you having any trouble breathing or speaking?" You nod because you knew he was going to figure it out the second you started talking, and he looks at you in concern. "When this is over, come with me down to medical. You're going to want to ice that, and I want to make sure there's no real damage."

Once you tell him okay, he heads back to his seat, but his troubled gaze remains on you. Junmyeon, on the other hand, immediately turns on Minseok.

"How could you let this happen?! I literally just told you to keep her safe!" Before Minseok can respond, he turns to you. "Who did this to you?!"

You bite your lip. Seven expectant faces watch you, but your eyes fall on Minseok, who gives you a small nod.

"It was Sehun."

You could've heard a pin drop. An ant walking by would've made an actual sound. You almost began to wonder if someone paused the simulation with the way they all froze.

"What did you just say?" Chanyeol asks with a deadly calm.

"Are you seriously saying you not only saw Sehun but he strangled you?" Jongin quickly asks.

Jongdae gets his question in there before you can respond. "Are you sure it was Sehun? It wasn't someone who just looked like him?"

You give Jongdae a disgusted look as anger quickly rises in you, and in the most sarcastic voice you can muster, you say, "Yep. You're right. I forgot the person who literally had their hands around my neck as he tried to choke me to death. My bad."

"Okay. Everyone just hold the fuck on." Your brother shouts.

You run your hands through your hair in frustration. This wasn't going to be easy, and you knew that, but you didn't think that they would straight up dismiss the idea.

The sensation that someone was watching you sweeps over you, and you look over to see Chanyeol eyeing you intently. You meet his stare and wonder what thoughts were running through his head.

"I believe her because this," Minseok says to the group as he pulls out the note, "was put in the P.O. box around the same time."

Junmyeon takes the note Minseok held out to him and reads the numbers out loud. Once the last number comes out, the room explodes with questions, everyone talking over the other in confusion and excitement. It was chaotic enough to give you a headache.

You drop your head down into your hands to rub at the growing pain, like that would make it better, when a hard grip on your arm wrenches your hands away from your face. You look up in alarm and confusion to see Chanyeol's frantic face in front of you. His wild eyes searching yours as he demands to know what else happened with Sehun.

Before you can say anything in response, Chanyeol is ripped away from you and thrown up against the wall next to your chair. You watch with wide eyes as your brother squeezes the front of Chanyeol's throat, putting enough pressure on Chanyeol's vocal cords to cause the man to yell in pain.

"Don't you ever touch my sister like that again, Chanyeol, or I'll fucking kill you."

The parallels between what your brother was doing to Chanyeol and what Chanyeol's cousin had done to you were not lost on you, and you sat there with your mouth open in shock.

The rest of the guys quickly pull the two apart while you sit there frozen, and it takes a few moments for everyone to calm down.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..." Chanyeol sadly says in a weak voice.

"That's not good enough, Chanyeol." Junmyeon snaps at him.

Chanyeol, who had been dropped on the floor by the couch, nods his head and brings his knees up to his chest like he was trying to protect himself from the world. He looked so lost...

"I just don't get why Sehun would strangle you but then leave his help code... and where the hell has he been?" Jongdae asks.

"There's more to the story," Minseok says, giving you an opening to tell them what was going on.

One by one, the members all look over at you, even Chanyeol, who slowly raises his head to you with a wince as he sees the marks on your neck.

"Sehun..." You trail off, not knowing how to say it. "I think Sehun lost his memories..."

You're met with silence until your brother croaks out a "what?".

"He didn't remember me. When I brought up EXO and Chanyeol, he said nothing... He doesn't even remember the warehouse..."

The men slowly took in the information, each one of them silently trying to figure out how this happened. Your eyes find Chanyeol, who looks utterly devastated, and even though he was being a giant dick, your heart went out to him. Chanyeol did everything he could think of to try to find Sehun and bring him home, and when that failed, he lost himself. Now, he had just learned that Sehun didn't even remember him...

"That's not all... He's also working with the Baem."

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[imnotwolverine]

On The Planes Of Reverie

Henry Cavill x OFC smut

Warnings: dreamy, rough smut, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, mentions of ..I think a medieval war camp? 

Word count: 1.371

Author’s note: It’s difficult for me to fall asleep unless I first conjure up a scene. I’ll think of the space, smells, people and more often than not I have very vivid dreams after - sometimes to the aggravation of my poor boyfriend who has to endure my wild thrashing around. BUT! It also gave me the idea to write this little smutty drabble. I hope you may enjoy it my dears - I wasn’t even sure whether to post it..but ah well..here we are 😘Have a good evening my sweets!

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

‘Ohhh cold,’ I quickly ducked beneath the velvety cover, the material much too cool for my liking now winter had arrived. Brr.

‘Coming,’ Henry grinned, turning back towards the ensuite to spit out his toothpaste and turn off the lights.

After a few shivery cold moments, teeth clattering, the sheets lifted again, more cold washing over me before I was welcomed by the long awaited bask of hot skin against my back. ’Sorry,’ He hummed in slight mirth as I jumped at his cold fingers traveling over my belly - he obviously didn’t really mean it as his words were followed by a deep rumbling sniffle.

‘Mmm,’ I grumbled in mild annoyance, scooting a little further back so I was settled comfortably in the curve of his body, pressing myself into his chest and thighs.

Henry, my personal body toaster, was all I now needed as London was sure to be struck by an icy storm tonight. I hated winter.

‘So what are you going to be dreaming about tonight?’ He asked.

‘Really? You’re really curious about that?’

‘Mhm. I’ve never heard of people like..prepping their dreams. I’d love to hear what you’ve got planned for tonight.’

I turned my head slightly in his direction as I tried to think, the room too dark to see anything. What would I be dreaming about? Good question.

‘I see…’ I yawned. ’..the insides of a large canvas tent. It’s dark, except for the illumination of a few candles lit in stormlights. I’m on a bed covered with furs, having just lain down; it’s not all that warm yet. Quite cold actually. I shiver. The tent is luxurious. Rich jewel toned fabrics, a table with war plans in the corner. And outside..a storm is picking up, guards slushing through thick inches of mud as the canvas tent flaps and pulls.’

‘Mmm…’ Henry nodded into my hair. ‘Am I there?’ Henry’s warm breath fanned over my skin, causing small goosebumps to run up my arm. I smiled.

‘I don’t know. But I do feel a body next to me. A warm arm draping over me, fighting away the cold in my bones.’ I sighed as Henry squeezed me a little tighter, smiling into the crook of my neck.

‘I think I know what happens next.’

‘Do you now?’

Henry moved his hand to cup my jaw, turning my head back towards his, effectively caging me in his large arms. His dark voice rumbled as he placated a few ghostly kisses over my cheek:

‘You can’t see him, but you can feel him. He murmurs a strange language to you; not that you care. You need his warmth as a cold draft enters through the cracks between the tent and the ground. You shiver.’

And I did shiver, my body moulding to Henry’s touch as I let myself drift in between sleep and wakefulness.

‘And then?’ I asked, breathing out softly as I felt my body sink, slip into the dream.

—

His skin felt like hot coals, making my nerve ends sizzle and tingle. But after all the cold, the sensation was most welcome. For a moment I forgot about the restless thump of feet that walked passed our heads - just a few centimetres away from us. Mud splashed beneath the soldiers’ boots and I could hear the rain hitting the canvas above us.

For a moment I forgot about the incessant fear that crept over me, making me quiver like the cold wind did as it whispered through the cracks between the heavy canvas. And the man behind me hushed me, coaxing me to press myself deeper into his warm cocoon. He had been in bed for a while, his skin all toasty, sticky even. I didn’t care.

He spoke, but his words made no sense. More feet passed, metal clanking on metal. Some groans in the far distance. Had there been a fight? It might just have, as I felt how I wasn’t just cold; I was aching. Soured leg muscles and a dull pressure near my right ribs. Nothing major, but enough to make my breath hitch as his fingers traversed my thin shift covered chest, massaging the soft flesh of my breast beneath. Again he hushed me, but this time it was more incessant, as if to keep a secret, his body pressing another hard bit into me. No large thighs or rock-like pecs. But his member, as hard as the planes of his abs that jerked as I placed my cold fingers on his naked skin.

I half-expected him to protest my icicles probing him, but he didn’t make a sound, a hiss. All he did was nuzzle the back of my neck, fanning hot air over my cold skin, drawing a different kind of goosebump trail over my arms.

In an instant I found my belly pressed into the soft furs, his weight crushing down on me as he rolled his body into me, rubbing my clothed behind to show his need - he did groan this time.

I moaned ever so quietly, offering him the only answer I dared give as yet more people passed by the tent, halting just a meter or so away from us, their dark voices discussing something over the loud howl of the wind and rain.

The cold air returned in licking waves to my calves, thighs, bum, until my shift was dragged up enough for him to return as my human-shaped blanket. Warm, heavy and needy, his teeth finding the soft spot between neck and shoulder. I let my fingers roam over his skin again, though it was hard from my awkward position, face pressed in warm fur, body caged beneath his.

Again he spoke and again I didn’t understand, but there was no real need for it anyway. This dance was so primal that all I needed was that velvety steel that rubbed so eagerly between my thighs, sliding through the gentle pool of wet heat that was slowly gathering.

I took too long apparently; he spit in his hand before he pressed beneath my hip and onto my core, his hips now starting a slow grind, cock rubbing through my squeezed together thighs whilst his fingers bruised my clit. Harder, harder, harder he pushed me and I whimpered softly. The feeling pushed all minor pains away. Scents wafted around me. Iron, salt, sweat and fur. The softest of grunts rumbled in his chest.

Harder - his other hand curled around the back of my neck, keeping me down as his knuckled hand pulled me back into his groin. Into a thick hot shaft that impatiently pushed and forced, willing me to relax and let him breach through, nose nuzzling my hair, his breath hitching. Inch by slow inch, the last inches slipping fast and hard into my cervix; I was somehow glad he had roughly pushed my face into the fur, muffling my cry.

More soldiers walked past.

Hot and cold mixed. Whenever his body rolled out to push back in deep, the icy air wrapped around me. And then he was back, claiming me. Taking me with force that made the bed shift slightly, his hands curling in an even more bruising push and pull on my hip and neck.

—

‘Fuck.’ Henry growled, his voice distinctly different but the hot, cold, sweaty dance of skin on skin the same. Mewling softly I blinked open my eyes to realise where I was. Back home. Back in our London bed. ‘You awake?’ He whispered, feeling up my cold shoulder, the blanket fallen down as I had obviously been writhing up against him, his hard-on pressing into my wiggling ass.

I panted softly and let out a soft chuckle. ‘Yea…Woo..I checked..he wasn’t you.’

Henry pushed himself up a bit, kissing my shoulder in question.

‘In fact he had nothing on you.’ I rolled into his embrace and pressed up to kiss him eagerly. 

No, everything about Henry was better. The way he made my heart and core ache for him, how wet I got for him as I all but sensed him around. With mighty need I clawed a hand around his shoulder, begging him to do something about my half-finished soaking wet dream.

I imagined he’d be smiling down at me, but it was too dark to see. 

He rumbled. ‘I’ll give you something good to dream about.’

And that he did.

--

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