#i usually struggle with portraying movement

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

running Veran longhorns is a lot of effort, requiring constant vigilance, movement, and a ton of teamwork

[natalyarose]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓻𝓪𝓼 & 𝓑𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

Many moons 🌝 ago, I used to offer online readings. Chart readings, tarot readings, and drawings lol- but my favourite type of readings to do, were intuitive chakra readings. I loved doing these the most, because it felt like the insight I could offer was a very direct, hands on way of helping others. Astrological readings can be incredibly helpful and even life/perception altering, but chakra readings are just so- personal, hands on. I love the calm and simplicity of: 'okay, here's the problem energetically and here's how to fix it.' No need to get too philosophical or thoughts-y about it, your body knows what's up too. Which brings me to what I set out to write about!

Aside from intuition, one of the glaringly clear ways I've gone about reading people's chakras and identifying blockages, is through body language and tension. Every human being has a unique story, a delicious buffet of personal experiences spanning throughout lifetimes that informs the way they conduct themselves. In my eyes, there's no one rulebook on how energy (chakras in particular) behave, but I can talk about things I've noticed.

There's a lot talked about in the way of Chakras & the energetic body directly correlating to forms of illness, but not as much conversation relating to everyday noticeable ways in which people carry themselves. I love to bridge Spiritual information directly into the physical realm. Connecting esoterica with scientifically known truths in our world, and directly understanding Chakras through body language seen and interpreted with the naked eye feels so natural to me.

So generally, when a chakra is blocked, we're going to see body language and tensions conveying that: clear signs of muscle tension in that area, a look of being closed off or uncomfortable on that part of their body, sometimes body language and conversational hand gestures that seem as if they are trying to distract someone from seeing that area of their body. As humans, we really prefer not to draw attention to our vulnerabilities & wounds. Some people might portray a sense of 'shrinking into themself' in that area. Posture issues. Then of course we're going to see health issues relating to those areas. We're going to see external life experiences and events manifested by that blockage- but that's another story.

I'm going to go through each of the primary 7 chakras and detail physically observable body language signs of blockage:

DISCLAIMER: some of these things alone of course do not immediately point to a chakra blockage, use discernment. Also, you don't need to relate to these things to still have a significant blockage. These are just observations.

Root Chakra ~ Muladhara

This is a difficult chakra for me to keep balanced in my own energetic body, so I'm very familiar with the signs here.

restless legs- someone who's very fidgety, seems a little flighty in their movements, can't seem to sit still or get comfortable.

leaning against walls and feeling a need to sit down a lot - when the Root Chakra is struggling, it can feel like an uphill battle just holding your own physical weight as the Root is meant to be the energetic pillar.

when sitting in chairs, rarely having both feet on the ground- someone with a blocked Root Chakra is quite literally going to struggle to keep their feet still and calm on the physical ground. They're going to be swinging their legs around, sitting on one foot, etc. just things that signify they're not feeling totally grounded and connected to the Earth.

Sacral Chakra ~ Svadhisthana

You know how you get those dudes, usually teenage/early 20s boys who walk around with their pelvic area kinda jutted out? Think of the rappers back in the day who would wear the super baggy pants lol. It sounds odd to explain, but like their core area is sunken in and there is an emphasis on the hip area. That's a sign of an overactive Sacral Chakra to me- or more accurately, an underactive Solar Plexus Chakra & the Sacral energetically compensating (ie. a lack of purpose, will, drive and instead indulging in sex, intimacy, and other pleasures in an addictive manner). A blockage in the Sacral Chakra is going to look like the opposite of this.

withdrawn pelvic area posture-wise. Sometimes the Solar Plexus might overcompensate, so the posture will be strong and even overbearing in the core area, giving a very controlled look visually.

physically standing very seperate distance-wise from others even in intimate conversation.

very rigid, controlled movements. Robotic movements. someone who is struggling to get into a calm, flow state emotionally is going to reflect that in the way they conduct themselves.

often the Throat Chakra is also affected when the Sacral is blocked since the disconnection from flow state will often make a person very restricted with what they say and how they express themselves. So often these people will hang their necks low or hold tension in that area.

Solar Plexus Chakra - Manipura

The Solar Plexus Chakra is the seat of our will, known as the 'seat of the soul'. Manipura relates to the words manipulate, manifest. The Solar Plexus is responsible for animating our being, enlivening us with the energy and drive required to fulfil our chosen purpose. In general, as you can imagine, someone with a blocked Solar Plexus is going to look tired, very sad and dejected, like the energy has been sapped out of them. More specifically, we're looking at:

as mentioned earlier, sunken in core area and sometimes an over emphasised hip area in body language-wise as sometimes when a chakra is blocked, the chakra(s) on either side will become more active or at least seem more active since the system is out of balance.

sunken shoulders- our core area is largely responsible for all of our upper body strength, so when the Solar Plexus Chakra is blocked the shoulders can be very sunken and the arms can look very flimsy, sort of like puppet. It kinda makes sense- if we are lacking the strength in Manipura (connected to the words manipulate, manifest) required to effectively manipulate our own energy and direction, we become like a puppet, easily manipulated.

Heart Chakra ~ Anahata

When the Heart Chakra is blocked, we see a person who has become somehow jaded in their perception of love. I always love using the word 'jaded' to describe a blocked Heart Chakra, because a healthy Heart Chakra is a vibrant, vivacious green.

closed off heart-space physically- bunching the shoulders around the chest area. It always gives me this visual of almost like creating an energetic cave.

tense shoulders and upper back

not meeting people halfway in conversation (like leaning closer to hear better, conversational body language mirroring).

not a lot of use of hand gestures in conversation or if there is, the gestures are punchy and unpleasant rather than gently and graceful.

often with a blocked Heart Chakra, I see the Throat chakra overcompensating, so the posture might look like the head/neck area is jutted out. The neck area may look very red like it's hot (too much energy in the one place). Socially we're going to see a person who is fairly over-opinionated, not very willing to listen to others, callous in their opinions.

Throat Chakra - Vishuddha

The Throat Chakra is the energetic centre correlating to self expression and communication. When this is blocked we're going to see a person who is having a difficult time communicating their truths, needs & desires. We're often going to see:

neck hung low, sometimes shoulders by extension too

hearing issues and frequent miscommunications in conversation

TMJ (jaw tension). Teeth grinding can also be a sign. Just any signs of lack of balance in the whole neck/mouth/jaw area.

classic social anxiety signs such as nervousness maintaining eye contact.

stuttering, forgetting what you were saying in the middle of saying it.

Third Eye Chakra - Ajna

This one gets a little more elusive because of where the Third Eye Chakra is situated, but like with others; often I can sense a blockage when there is a sense of overactivity in surrounding chakras. We'll see issues with the physical eyes sometimes. The third eye is all about perception, perceiving the 'space in-between'. A person who is open to all possibilities and free from bias is naturally going to be fed a consistent stream of intuitive information. Often blockages in the Third Eye actually have more to do with blockages in lower Chakras... eg. someone with a blocked Root may perceive the world as a scary place and lack trust, so they may misread situations, be impatient and skittish and close themselves off to seeing possibilities beyond their fears. You can have a very open Third Eye but tainted perception from other Chakra blockages. Some physical signs of disturbance in this area:

blurry vision, tunnel vision

holding a lot of tension in the brow area, constant furrowing the brow- this however can also be a sign that the Third Eye is overactive (compensating).

Similarly to the Heart Chakra, the energy in the Throat Chakra can sometimes compensate for a blockage in the Third Eye so again we may see someone who physically, posture-wise, etc. puts a lot of emphasis on their Throat area.

Alternatively, the Crown Chakra can overcompensate and we can see someone who bypasses seeing/perceiving their own raw authentic experiences by laying it all down to a higher power.

Crown Chakra - Sahasrara

The Crown Chakra represents our overall connection to the divine on Earth, higher realms, spirit, etc. While the Third Eye is our ability to perceive these things as well as Earthly things, the Crown is our overall connection to the Universe, to God. The Crown Chakra is deemed to sit at the Crown of the head, some say it kinda hovers above the head (I personally feel it to be affecting the entire area). So here are some clues in body language pertaining to a potential blockage:

hanging the literal crown of one's head down low is the main physical body language/postural symptom I can think of right now - I'll edit to add more if I think of it, but like the Third Eye Chakra, the Crown Chakra is more 'elusive' and mental/spiritual in nature.

Thankyou for reading, and I hope this has been interesting or even helpful to someone out there! <3 Energy work & other spiritual matters don't have to be super 'up in the air' and like I said, I love grounding the knowledge. Heaven and Earth aren't as seperate as we think!

[coochiequeens]

Men being the worst to women in war zones

Even as missiles pound Ukrainian cities and soldiers guard trenches, the war in Ukraine has maintained a stubbornly online element, as supporters from all around the world clash with Russian trolls and fascists. As someone who has refused to leave Kyiv amid the air raid alarms and kamikaze drone attacks and is chronically online, I find being Ukrainian in the age of social media simultaneously infuriating, uplifting, and just emotionally exhausting.

One of the oddest aspects of this is the focus on Ukrainian women’s looks. There has been a vigorous debate among Ukrainian supporters about why people tend to fixate on Ukrainian women’s physical appearances. That includes claims like “Ukrainian women are hot and good at cooking.” Personally, I haven’t found these remarks terribly offensive—although, perhaps, I’ve just got bigger issues to worry about at the moment. But the stereotypes concerning Ukrainian women (and Eastern European women in general) are troubling and potentially harmful—and they point to issues of gender and national identity that a postwar country will have to reckon with.

As in the case of any grassroots movement, the informal community of Ukraine supporters is prone to disagreements and internal debate. Discussions tend to be civil, even when the topics themselves are hugely complicated, such as whether Ukraine should have exchanged a Wagner Group mercenary for Ukrainian prisoners of war. Most of these discussions are purely theoretical: Ethical issues are discussed, military strategies are dissected in minuscule detail, and short clips of Russian President Vladimir Putin posing for the cameras are studied for clues on the state of the Russian president’s allegedly deteriorating health. But arguments over the descriptions of Ukrainian women are a little more personal.

Statements online range from well-intended but questionable generalizations to outright objectifying compliments comparing “naturally attractive” or “well-groomed” Ukrainian women to their “Western counterparts” (usually with the implication that Western women have somehow been ruined by feminism). The weirdest interaction I’ve experienced was a foreigner angrily reacting to my celebration of McDonald’s return to the Ukrainian market. He was adamant that Ukrainian women are good-looking because we live off a steady diet of fresh produce and simple, healthy, and home-cooked meals, and he even tried scolding me for enjoying the cheeseburger (and the brief illusion of normalcy) I had been dreaming of for months.

Users posting opinions such as these are also fond of sharing and reposting images of what a stereotypical Ukrainian woman apparently looks like—and although the traditional beauty standard for Ukrainian women has historically called for deep brown eyes, dark eyebrows, and tan skin, these images tend to portray buxom blonde and blue-eyed girls wearing heavy makeup. The men posting these compliments claim that they are simply appreciating Ukrainian women while supporting Ukraine’s struggle, but critics (many of whom are, coincidentally, Ukrainian women) call it creepy and perhaps even fetishistic. Complicating all this is that the most vocal foreign supporters of Ukraine online are mostly men.

Fetishizing women from other countries is common, of course, but behind all this is that the burden of lookism for Ukrainian women is one of the heaviest in the world—a reality rooted in the country’s post-Soviet history. Although vocal so-called appreciators of Ukrainian women claim they find Ukrainian women attractive because of their natural good looks, what they actually appreciate is the amount of effort Ukrainian women have learned to put into their appearances.

The fall of the Soviet Union brought along turbulent changes in both society and ideology—including gender expression. Although the Soviet idea of femininity demanded that women be flawless, resilient, and (in some ways) androgynous and asexual builders of the socialist utopia while remaining supportive wives and loving mothers, the 1990s brought along two new models of female gender expression. Hugely influential Ukrainian anthropologist and feminist historian Oksana Kis describes these two polar identities as the Berehynia (the hearth goddess, a pseudo-traditional model of femininity rooted in nostalgic nationalism and conservative ideas) and the Barbie.

As the name indicates, the Barbie identity adopted by women in young post-Soviet countries grew from a sudden influx of Western media and consumerism. It was also an identity borne out of sudden social change and an uncertain future. Millions of women, who had been an integral part of the Soviet workforce and who had at least been able to rely on state-provided child care and social support, ended up jobless in a largely lawless society where ruthless men were abruptly climbing to the top.

Although the Soviet ideology had convinced women that they had to carry the dual duty of being both comrades and mothers, the 1990s taught them that the surest way to build the life of their dreams (heavily influenced by suddenly available Western television and magazines) was to attach themselves to tough, aggressively masculine men on the rise to riches.

Looks became a widely accepted social currency—and, for a while, one of the only types of influence and power available to ambitious young women in Ukraine. Beauty salons rapidly opened up on every street while magazines—including the local versions of Elle and Cosmopolitan, which reached the Ukrainian market in the early 2000s—aggressively preached the importance of following the latest fads and keeping yourself thin and youthful-looking, pleasing your husband, and chasing away any real or imaginary rival. As women from Russia’s ex-colonies (and Russia itself) started traveling abroad more often and Western tourists discovered a new market, Slavic women became associated with sex work and a willingness to marry relatively well-off foreigners without asking too many questions.

Thankfully, the recent popularity of feminism (along with a general movement toward stability, democracy, and gender equality) has convinced Ukrainian women that they don’t have to limit themselves by choosing to be a traditional housewife or a glamorous gold digger constantly on the prowl for a husband.

Instead of telling their readers how to dress to find the man of their dreams, Ukrainian magazines have begun addressing matters such as politics, domestic abuse, sexual identity, personal finances, and wellness—although today, they are also forced to write about staying safe in the midst of a war or dealing with power outages. In turn, the women themselves are building impressive careers without having to bat their eyelashes at a perpetually horny boss. In fact, about 15 percent of the Ukrainian army is made up of women, as is more than 20 percent of Ukraine’s parliament.

Yet even this doesn’t deter people from objectifying Ukrainian women—just take a look at the comments under photos of Ukrainian servicewomen published online. The stereotypes are persistent—whether it’s in the relatively harmless form of Western supporters going googly-eyed or the far more disturbing language out of Russia. Online comments from “pro-Z” Russians on social media are packed with fetishistic sadism (for example, rape fantasies, queries about where to find a forcibly deported “Ukrainian refugee wife,” and just general leering comments) aimed at Ukrainian women and girls.

For Ukrainian women, this is hardly new: As with any colonial power, Russia has a long history of treating Ukrainian women as attractive but uncouth and naive provincials to be reeducated at best or exotic objects to be leered at in the worst-case scenarios. While 19th and 20th-century Russian poets treated Ukraine (or, as it was known to them back in the day, “Little Russia”) as an inspiring exotic locale populated by primitive but kind-hearted locals prone to superstition, not much changed after the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

In the early 2000s, a Russian remake of The Nanny aired and instantly became a massive hit. The main difference between the American original and the Russian remake? In the remake, Fran (who was stereotypically American-Jewish and street smart in the original) became Vicka, a Mariupol-born Ukrainian migrant worker who found employment with a sophisticated Moscow family. Throughout the series’ seven-season run, Vicka was the butt of the joke because of her heavy accent, lack of education, gold-digging tendencies, and vulgar behavior. (This included stealing small items, which one of the characters on the show openly compared to “Ukrainians stealing Russian gas.”) But she was ultimately portrayed as attractive enough to marry the rich, intelligent male protagonist. Even in 2022, this colonialist mindset hasn’t changed much—just last summer, Kremlin propagandist Margarita Simonyan fantasized about “Russians visiting Kyiv after the war and enjoying the local cuisine and fresh produce from Ukrainian farms just like in the good old days,” adding that “Russian husbands would be once again breaking their necks to stare at the dark-browed Oksanas (a general term Russians occasionally use to signify Ukrainian women).”

But even pro-Ukrainian admiration for Ukrainian women’s looks comes with a potential price. Seeing Ukrainians as so-called perfect victims who are owed sympathy purely because they’re good-looking, predominantly white, and symbolize a certain type of femininity isn’t helpful. What happens if someone decides that Ukrainian women, as a whole, are not as pretty or docile as they thought they were? Would that be a reason to support Ukraine any less? And in the context of a war where the invader is using brutal sexual violence, fetishizing women seems particularly uncomfortable.

Of course, everyone is free to voice their opinions—and I’m definitely not saying you shouldn’t compliment a Ukrainian woman you find attractive or that you’re some kind of monster for saying Ukrainians are a good-looking bunch. But in a country where good looks have been, in part, a survival tactic, maybe find something else to praise.

Oleksandra Povoroznyk is a Kyiv-based journalist and translator.

[faebaex]

Eye of the Storm

author note: yet another soulmate au fic asdfgs i’m not sorry ╮(︶▽︶)╭ at least its a different character this time? I had fun writing Malleus, i wanted to portray him like more of a cute dork than big, scary dragon, especially considering the circumstances  ￢‿￢ whilst writing, I imagined Malleus is staring at reader the whole time like 🥺 also, collective prayer for Lilia’s knees please and thanks

Please note that this is a female character.

characters: Malleus Draconia x F!Fae Reader

Malleus had been quite a handful lately, Lilia thought as thunder rumbled through the skies of Briar Valley, green lightning often dancing against the dark sky. And especially now that Malleus' mating season had arrived, he had been snappier than usual and isolating himself away. But even then, Malleus was behaving more restlessly than he would normally during his season. It seemed he had truly entered his angsty, young adult stage, and really there was not much that Lilia could do about it. Lilia could only sigh and hope that Silver would skip past this particular growth stage.

The wind sent your hair fluttering as you emerged from the treeline that denoted the start of the Sombre Wilds territory. It was risky for you to sneak off like this, but you just wanted to see one of the storms up close, just once. You could always hear them, rumbling above you, but the thick coverage of the trees in the Sombre Wilds hid the sky from you. Now you stood mesmerised, watching as the peculiar green lightning lit up the sky, bathing the area in an aesthetic green glow.

You creeped further out from the treeline, finding a spot to settle down comfortably in the clearing. Just five more minutes... Five more minutes and you'd go back. Five more minutes couldn't hurt.

...

You lost track of time. Five minutes turned into ten, and so on. You felt hypnotised by the beautiful stormy skies, as if something was drawing you in, pulling you out of the forest to partake in it's gorgeous glow. So distracted by the scene above you, you didn't notice how the wind died around you and a faint pressure built in your ears, as if you were suddenly in the eye of a storm. The green glow around you intensified, and you finally tore your eyes away from the sky to discover that soft, green fireflies had joined you in the clearing, bobbing peacefully around you. It was like being in a dream. You slowly stood, cupping a firefly in your palms on your way up. It spooked slightly at your sudden movement, it’s wings fluttering as it made to move away from you, and you followed, turning as it floated behind you. You followed and... There was something, someone behind you. 

You were immediately stricken with panic, your body seizing as you stared wide eyed at the... Fae? Was he fae or beast, with the imposing way his wings arched out behind him and his scaled tail whipped through the grass as his feet. The way he was regarding you sent a shiver up your spine, his powerful aura along with his sharp stare leaving you rooted to the spot. Your eyes were locked together for what felt like an eternity, and that's when you noticed his horns, and it all clicked together. Wings, tail, horns - Dragon. 

It all happened so quickly. The moment the realisation hit your eyes and the sharp intake of breath left your lips, he had already moved. His tail wrapped around your ankle and pulled, making you lose your balance and tumble straight into his arms. If you hadn’t been so panicked, you would have noticed how your skin erupted in tingles when you came in contact with each other, how your skin prickled as a gloved hand came up to caress your cheek, how a spell was softly whispered in your ear... And then darkness took you. 

...

You awoke to a soft rumbling beneath you, vibrating across your skin. The sound was deep and soothing, and it almost lulled you back into your dreamless sleep. You felt groggy, your head feeling like it was full of cotton as you tried to get your bearings, struggling to pry your eyes open. As if sensing your struggle, the rumbling surrounding you intensified, and you couldn’t help the relaxed sigh that slipped from your lips. And that’s when you remembered. The storm. The fireflies. The fae. And the... spell? Did he use a sleep spell on you?!

Your eyes shot open and you struggled upwards, struggle being the operative word as you just couldn’t quite get the traction to fully upright yourself, ending up awkwardly straddling whatever was beneath you. It quickly became apparent what was impeding you, a scaled appendage wound around your waist and limiting how far you could go. Scaled... Your foggy mind stuttered as you realised what that meant, your eyes trailing along the tail wrapped around you to realise that you were straddling someone’s hips. And that someone was shirtless. Blood rushed to your cheeks as your eyes trailed up the chiselled abdomen of the one beneath you, only to land on the face of the fae from the clearing. Wait, was he pouting at you?! He was, his lips pushed together as if he was disgruntled by your behaviour. 

You pulled upwards some more, and his hands shot up to grip your hips as if to steady you, as if his tail wasn’t doing enough to keep you anchored to him. Your head whipped around, trying to make sense of your current location, and despair gripped you as you belatedly realised that you were no longer in the clearing. A room with simple furnishings, everything looking a bit worn and... Forgotten. Even the bed was nothing special, although it appeared some effort had been made to make it more comfortable - pillows and blankets scattered across the length of the bed in what you assumed was an attempt to create a warm and cosy environment. 

Thumbs massaged soothing circles on your hips, and your attention was torn back to the man below you. The pout melted from his features into concern as he took note of your distress, and soon his lips began to move again. Panic lanced through you again, if he used another sleep spell, who knew how long you’d be out for this time? And without the opportunity to run or protect yourself, because if he was who you thought he was, you didn’t stand a chance, you did the only thing you could think of. 

You covered his mouth with your hands. 

It was his turn to stare with wide eyes as your palms sealed across his mouth. You admit, it was impulsive and you had no next move but it seemed to have... Worked? He was no longer attempting to cast. Actually, he looked quite pleased... A deep, contented rumbling burst from his chest as he nuzzled into your palms and you blanched, pulling your hands away only for him to catch one by the wrist and press it against his cheek. Such an intimate gesture had your cheeks burning again, and before you knew it, you were sputtering out words in fluster. 

“Y-you can’t just k-kidnap someone as and when you feel like it!” You scolded, anger sparking in you as the weight of the absurd situation you were in fell on you. With your free hand, you pushed back your hair to reveal your pointed ears, “I’m not a human, you can’t s-spirit me away like this - it doesn’t work like that!” You could curse your stutter. 

But the fae... Dragon... Dragon fae just stared back at you, your scolding having at least dampened his previous contentment, only to leave him gazing up at you with what you could only describe as puppy dog eyes. If you weren’t so sure that you were awake, you’d think you were dreaming from the absurdity of the situation. 

The dragon fae’s puppy dog eyes faltered slightly as he turned his face to press a kiss to your palm, and despite his intimidating, powerful aura that easily encompassed the room, the earnestness of his action made him seem... Gentle, vulnerable even. Your cheeks were alight at another deeply intimate gesture, feeling the heat flush down your throat in your fluster. You sighed, it becoming clear that your words were not going to get through to the other. What on earth were you going to do? Eventually, the others would realise you were missing and--

“Care to tell me why you’ve decided to take up refuge in our tallest tower, Malleus? I’m an old soul, you know, all these stairs are quite taxing on my knees--” 

As soon as the door creaked open, you were yanked forward into the other fae’s chest as he sat up, his arms curling tight around you as his wings descend forwards to obscure you from view. His tail squeezes around your waist possessively as he snarls towards the door, any previous vulnerability you saw in him gone now as he glared fiercely towards the door, his sudden change in demeanour leaving you quaking. 

“Malleus... Malleus, what have you done?” Questioned what you presumed was the figure at the door, only to be answered with another louder snarl from the dragon fae holding you hostage. 

Whilst the new figure in the room questioned and attempted to calm the riled dragon, you felt yourself grow cold with dread. For as much as you tried to deny or convince yourself otherwise of the identity of the fae who had stolen you, the new figure had all but confirmed it with his entrance. 

Malleus Draconia, future ruler of Briar Valley. 

The Crown Prince of Briar Valley has spirited you away, confined you to his tallest tower and... Purred with you in his arms?!

You found yourself agreeing with the unknown new figure - what on earth had he done?! 

[atriza]

The unyielding Cage pt. 5 Yandere Five Hargreeves x Reader

Part 4

Summary: Y/N is still reeling from the brutal punishment inflicted by Five Hargreeves. Days after the event, she remains physically and emotionally broken, with Five constantly watching over her. During a tense encounter, Five reveals that he believes Y/N still doesn’t understand her place and intends to teach her a painful lesson. Ignoring her pleas, Five forcefully restrains her with metal cuffs, leaving her bound in a corner of the room. As hours stretch into eternity, Y/N realizes that Five’s obsessive love has become her prison. Her spirit crushed, she accepts that escape is impossible and begins to search for another solution.

Word Count: 641 words.

**Content Warning:**

This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes, including obsessive behavior, violence, manipulation, and psychological distress. It portrays a relationship that is unhealthy and toxic, where one character exhibits controlling and possessive tendencies that lead to extreme actions.

If you are sensitive to these themes or find them triggering, please consider skipping this story.

Have fun Reading!

Days had passed since the punishment, each one feeling longer and more suffocating than the last. Y/N laid curled up on the bed, her body still aching from Five's brutality. The room, once cold and unwelcoming, now felt like a prison of despair. Her attempts to recover had been futile- Five's meticulous care ensured that she remained under his constant surveillance, her attempts to heal both physically and mentally thwarted.

It was early morning when Five entered the room again, his expression unreadable. He carried a tray of food, but the usual gentleness in his demeanor was replaced by a steely resolve. His gaze was intense, and Y/N could sense that something was different.

,,I brought breakfast," he said, setting the tray down in the small table. " I thought you might be hungry. "

Y/N sat up slowly, her movements stiff and pained. She forced a weak smile, though it didn't reach ger eyes. "Thank you," she muttered, though she had little appetite.

Five watched her with an unsettling calmness, his eyes tracking her every move. "You know Y/N, " he began, his tone deceptively casual," I've been thinking about our situation."

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"I think you still don't fully understand your position, " Five said, his voice taking on a darker edge. " You think you can just defy me and face no consequences. But you need to learn that you are mine, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you with me."

His voice send a chill down Y/N's spine. She could sense the underlying threat in his voice, the warning that he was not done making her suffer.

"I'm sorry. " she said, her voice barely above a whisper. " I really am. I just-"

,, I know you're sorry," Five cut her off, his eyes flashing with anger, "But sorry isn't enough. You need to be taught a lesse- one that yiu won't forget."

Before Y/N could react, Five trapped her arm with a vice-like grip and yanked her to her feet. Her injured ankle gave way, and she cried out jn pain, but he ignored her cries. With a firm, unyielding hold, he led her to the clever of the room where a metal restraint was attached to the wall.

Y/N's eyes widen in terror as she realised what was happening. "Five, no! Please, don't-"

But he was relentless. He fastened her wrists into the metal cuffs, securing them tightly. The cold, unyielding metal hit into her skin, and she winced as the pressure mounted. Five’s expression was one of grim determination.

"Thus us for your own good," he said, his voice cold. " You need to understand that disobedience has real consequences. "

Y/N struggled against the restraints, her heart pounding with fear. :?" Five, please- let me go! I'll do anything, just dont-"

He ignored her pleas, stepping back ro admire his work. " You're going to stay here for a while. Maybe if you have some time to think about your actions, you'll comment to see things my way."

With that, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. Y/N was left alone, the cold metal digging into her skin, her body shaking with fear and pain.

The minutes stretched into hours as she hung there, her arms growing numb, her muscles aching. The isolation and the physical discomfort were overwhelming. She tried to focus on any way to free herself, but the restraints were too tight, themetall unyielding.

Despair settled in as the hours wore on, Y/N's thoughts spiraling into a dark place. She was utterly aline, her attempts at escape thwarted, her freedom a distant, unreachable dream. The sense of betrayal, the depth of Five's Obsession, and the relentless punishment all combined into a crushing realization: she was trapped in an unbreakable cage of his making.

As the day turned night, the shadows in the room seemed ro grow longer and more menacing. The only sound was the occasional creak of the house and the distant hum of the outside world, a reminder of the freedom she once had and could no longer reach.

Fives punishment had left Y/N not just physically bound, but emotionally and psychologically imprisoned as well. Her hopes had been shattered, replaced by the acceptance of her fate. In the darkness of the room, as her body ached and her spirit waned, Y/N understood that Five’s love had become her unyielding cage- one from which there was no escape.

She needed a fast solution.

[dearweirdme]

We all know TKK were cut from the company's official content, but it seems like they were never really apart. Do you know any specific instances besides Grammy 2020 proving they were close in 2019-20?

Hi anon!

So there’s quite a bit of footage from that time that to me shows they are just fine. @taekooktimeline by Kayla will give you a lot of those moments chronologically.

I’ll show a few I find particularly indicative of them being close despite what the general narrative is.

This fansign moment. Tae moves right into Jk’s space, which to me seems like he’s looking for comfort. This is such a couples move to me, where the one will find a sense of protection with the person trusts. Jm is right next to Tae. But mostly, it’s done in such an automatic way, he barely seems to think about his movement, all that seems to go through his mind is something alike ‘Jk.. safe space’. There’s more moments from that fansign that to me show that they are connected and not awkward. Shoutout to Jk’s flirty looks!

There’s the Japanese bbq interview throughout which Tae and Jk are physically connected and interacting freely with Tae choosing Jk to turn to and not Jm repeatedly.

This live Jk did which, aside from tkk fandom interpretations, shows that Tae and Jk spend time together.

Tae knowing how to calm Jk.

*jumping to 2020 because this is getting long*

I mean, Tae and Jk at GDA was something else. No way those two men weren’t close at that time. Tae was struggling, Jk was a huge source of comfort by keeping an eye on him and keeping him close. None of that was fanservice, I think it’s an insult to their humanity to make it out like that was wat is was. I don’t even care if people believe they are together or not, but to say they weren’t close is just denial imo.

During Festa Jk described Tae as his ‘commonality’ which I don’t think is something he would do had they not been close.

ITS has already been widely discussed on here.. the focus mostly being the talk ofcourse. The wider narrative is that Tae and Jk fixed what was wrong during that talk and afterwards they went pretty much back to normal. To me that makes no sense. Because we can clearly see that they were already hanging off each other and sitting no-space-wise and searching each other out before that talk happened. If there had been a sense of distance between them it would have been minor and not worthy of having been portrayed the way it was during ITS. If there had been distance they would have needed more than a day to go from feeling awkward-ish to full on cuddling in bed. Tae going to Jk’s bed after waking up wasn’t an odd thing for them. Jk wasn’t surprised at all. So it was either scripted to get the point of reconciliation across (and if so.. why was that scripted and not the talk?) or it was a natural thing for them to do and we saw Tae going to Jk for a cuddle and a sleep with their bodies intwined like it was second nature. (Gosh I could rant about the its talk for days 😂😂 i annoys me to no end).

During ITS when Tae and Jk work on Jk’s abs, Jm knows exactly what happens and is not surprised.. indicating they do this more often.

And after ITS things basically went the way they go now.

But mostly, all throughout the years you will find that their body language is constantly that of two people that are close. They lean in towards each other more than they do towards the other members, they search to stand aside each other more, and when they are next to each other they are often connected in some way or will find a moment to do so. This has always been this way. Tae and Jk together aren’t usually the point of focus, but in the background they are definitely together a lot.

[54625]

Five do you have any cloud tips? you are very good at them and i am struggling. (specifically rain clouds if you are able, but i'll take normal clouds too)

Hopefully this doesn't end up too long-winded, but here is MY general process on how to paint clouds. This is not guaranteed to work for everyone, it's just a walkthrough of how I see it.

On the (semi) realistic side of things

There are some general rules of thumb when creating the form of a cloud. With your average cloud, you can split it up quite easily into large shapes and layers, which you then simply detail a little to form the fluffiness.

This is a very simple and classic example of a cloud. I kept the basic outline of the cloud rounded, formed with essentially a bunch of intersecting circles. I made the layers slightly different colours to get across a sense of depth; don't forget that clouds exist in a 3d space and aren't just a flat shape. When adding in the highlights, I made sure to shape them. If you look a little closer you'll see that pretty much all of them make little "C" shapes, continuing to establish the roundness of the cloud. (I do this for traditional painting too; making sure that my paintbrush always goes in round, circular strokes to blend the paint into that shape.)

Now let's look at rainclouds. Same principle, a couple differences. Firstly, and most importantly; most of the time, when it is raining or storming, the entire sky is clouded, no blue visible. You can usually get away with portraying this by simply replacing the blue sky in the background with grey, but don't forget to introduce a little variation/shape to show that it's not flat.

Secondly, one thing I love to do with clouds like these is this sort of "negative highlight" thing. As you can see at the peaks of the cloud it actually gets darker, and the cracks or creases between the layers are the lightest parts. This gets across the look that the cloud is being lit from behind rather than the side, which makes a lot more sense for clouds like these.

On the stylised side of things

Clouds in real life come in tonnes of different shapes, sizes, and colours. Because of this, clouds can look like pretty much anything; you can and should use this to your advantage in your art.

Clouds are the perfect subject matter for stylisation, in my opinion, as they do not have to look realistic at all in order to get across their intended effect, and because their real life counterparts vary so vastly.

When drawing clouds in a stylised way, I find there are two main principles to remember:

1. Prioritise colour.

and

2. Contextualise.

It is pretty easy, despite the lack of detail, to understand what these colours are meant to represent. You can get a lot across by simply using very strong and well selected colours, and this is true for all aspects of art, not just clouds. The white and blue makes you think of bright clouds on a sunny day, the orange and pink is so famously associated with sunsets, and the dark greys remind you of storms and rain. Even without much form, good colour choices will still help you tell what you are looking at.

This is where "contextualising" comes into play. Your clouds will immediately become much more recognisable as clouds as soon as you give them a good context (with colours that match the atmosphere) to stand behind. You put them above a landscape or behind a building or above a character and it becomes obvious as being the sky. Adding a context frees you and really allows you to fuck around with styles and shapes to your heart's content, while still keeping the intention clear.

With this in mind, you can stylise in whatever ways you so wish, and play around with shapes and movement and brushes. (And hopefully be a little more creative than these examples 😅)

I hope this was at least a little bit helpful! I look forward to seeing what you have made/ will make.

[pangtasias-atelier]

An Askran Gift

Just like wrote this with no brain power, only desire and came out with 2k words out of nowhere lmao. And also because after saving 1.5k orbs, I only got 1 Askr besides spark so was fucking pissed and still am! But oh well! So here's him getting fat as fuck lol

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I must admit,” Walking down the Order’s numerous halls with the summoner by his side, Askr puts the two’s slow, leisurely stroll on pause. Askr also takes deep breaths and wheezes while he speaks. “In all my expectations upon summoning you, I never imagined such a thing quite like this,” Despite his confession, Askr maintains an agreeable, cheerful smile. He also rests a large, flabby hand on his belly, the tight, form fitting clothes he once wore still as ever form fitting despite the accommodations for his larger size due to how much he fills out the outfit.

Askr’s gut is a rather respectable ball of fat that reaches past his waistband and down to his knees; the upper bit of fabric from the tied robe on his lower half is pushed down from his sagging belly and tucked, hidden away underneath his stomach fat. Likewise, his once defined washboard abs and riblets are hidden under all his extra weight; all his musculature is smothered with hundreds of extra pounds from Askr’s recruitment to the Order upon being summoned a few months back. Those few months certainly have done wonders to the rest of Askr’s girth. His stomach by far the least impacted from copious upon copious amounts of lard added to his figure, the Dragon God of Askr has a rather defined hourglass shaped fitting of his bull characteristics. 

Askr’s two dark, over swollen tits rest heavily atop his gurgling gut—still digesting the multiple pounds of food for a snack. His large chest spills out the plunging neckline of his shirt; the inner portions of his breasts which are larger than his own head pressing up against one another at the same time as they dig against his rotund arms. Askr’s chest nearly adds up to be the weight of his own gut, the two massive tits almost three fourths the size of his stomach. His thighs make even slowly waddling extremely difficult with how massive the two pillars for legs obstruct each other, and every other person who needs to get past Askr’s width in the Order’s wide—but still narrow with every man’s rising weight—hallways. Askr’s loosely tied robe, able to function as a bedsheet from the sheer width of the fabric, clings to his massive, cumbersome thighs. Askr’s pants dig into his enormous legs. The material is particularly stretched around the upper bit of his thighs. Especially with his large shapeless ass, Askr’s rear spilling out his pants unlike the well behaved dragon he usually portrays himself as. The flowing cape behind him thankfully covers up Askr’s wobbling, shapeless exposed shame. His cape manages to make its way down to Askr’s fat filled calves, the lard from them smothering his ankles as the two in turn press down on his tired, overburdened feet from his crushing weight. Even with his own abilities—moving at a tremendous weight only possible from Askr’s strength and magic—the 900 pound bull can barely muster enough energy to maintain the movement, especially when he finds himself much more willing to laze and graze, Askr finding Kiran’s changes to the Order all too agreeable despite his initial dismay and misgivings.

“But you don’t mind it, right?” Kiran responds. Having walked in front of Askr, the wide, spacious hallways still inapt in handling over a third of a ton of fat side by side, he turns around to face Askr. Kiran’s own large gut which struggles to stay contained underneath the navy blue button up, buttons holding on for dear life as the fabric strains enough to leave gaps large enough to show off Kiran’s large, blubbery gut in between the taut buttons smushes against Askr’s own still larger gut. “Because I have a special little gift for you,” Kiran smiles down at Askr, the lofty summoner still managing to stand over Askr’s tall, respectable stature. Askr's gut wobbles from the eager slap Kiran gives it, and Kiran turns back around, giving him a grin as he leads him ever on, the two waddling far past morbidly obese men a normal sight. 

The two eventually manage to reach their destination after a strenuous few minutes of walking which seem to drag on for ages for Askr—both of them wheezing and heaving at the end of their short yet sluggish walk. “And may I ask what this special gift entails?” Askr's ass presses against the wall as he uses it as a resting spot, the blubber from his wide, doughy backside and large rear spreading across the surface. He tilts his head back with his mouth wide open. His rotund figure falls and rises with each deep gulp of air he takes. Askr even jiggles, his gurgling hungry stomach demanding food once more.

The two in one of the Orders’ plethora of hallways, the plain, regular area manages to still feel off to Askr. Glancing around, both visually and magically—using his abilities to feel the energy—he hides his frown upon the strange aura, as if the hallway feels like every other one yet feels just as comfortable and welcoming as the residential wings. The extra bit of adornments in the hall with the addition of plush blue rug used solely in the residential wings only strengthen his feelings. 

Kiran smiles at Askr, the same eager, sincere smile he first presented himself with upon meeting him. “It's just a little snack I used to give all my supports before,” Kiran lies.

“Before they all got too fat to even walk,” Askr thinks to himself, finishing the rest of Kiran’s response. Though, the thought of becoming so big that walking would be nothing but a thing of the past doesn't sound disagreeable to him. Not with the abundance of magic to still aid the smaller immobile blobs, nor when the sight of such a tremendously large man is a rather common sight. Askr's stomach helps fill in the last few wavering walls of resistance Askr might have had, the deep trembling growl in his gut needing—no, demanding—food right away. “Then I will gladly accept a gift from such a fine friend,” Askr laughs, now at ease.

“Perfect! I'm sure you'll love it,” Kiran says as he finally unlocks the door and enters inside, the door usually left unlocked with the room meant to be discovered, Askr's painfully unaware self inept at taking Kiran's hints like the beast laguz before him. He stumbles into the darkness like everyone else who's entered before, but unlike them, Kiran knows exactly where he's going. “Ugh, lemme reach a window for some light,” he leads Askr inside, still pretending to fumble around. Kiran takes careful steps—even more careful than his already slow waddle.

Askr follows behind him; his already sluggish steps are even more laughably slow with the poor visibility. The sound of the door clicking behind him makes his ears twitch, his eyes also widening. “I’m sure you enjoy pranks with how insistent you are on tapping people but I hope-” Askr can’t even finish his sentence when he has to close his eyes shut at the sudden burst of light that floods the room. It takes him a few moments for Askr to regain his bearings, eyes fluttering open. And his mouth hangs wide open upon the sight that awaits him.

The room is absolutely massive. Even larger than the Order’s numerous training areas—all but one renovated into massive mess halls filled with an abundance of feasts and heroes to eat it all—Askr can barely grasp the size of the room. The room even rivals the sheer size of the throne rooms or ballrooms in the largest castle’s home to Askr or Embla. Even with his and Kiran’s already rotund size, the two morbidly obese, near immobile men take up only a handful grains of sand’s worth of space in the sprawling room. The other inhabitants take up a much more sizable, ridiculous portion of the room, not much space now left for the two large men.

Askr can’t even tell apart the enormous, massively fattened blobs in the room, much less identify which heroes they are. Askr can barely assume that it’s only three other men from the feeding tubes attached to portals above their obscenely fat bodies that make even him seem like a twig next to them. And their feeding tubes loudly whir from the waves of food forcibly gushing down into their mouth; though the muffled moans show that all three men gladly enjoy themselves. Two of them are much more comparable to one another in size. They look almost exactly the same, the main difference being one’s slightly paler shade of skin. Said blob, also known as Keaton, is also much more top heavy compared to the other. Keaton’s gut and breasts surge forward in front of him, the mountain of fat cascading in front of him and smothering his immobilized thousands of pounds ago legs. His lard rises high up from so much stacked on top of itself that it hides his sunken face that sports numerous neck and chin folds. Or else Askr would be able to see the twitching wolfskin ears. Keaton’s breasts lack any discernible shape to them much like the rest of his corpulence. And the other similarly sized blob, Kaden, is shaped practically opposite to Keaton. Kaden’s extremely bottom heavy barely able to be described as a body leaves his thighs billowing out on both sides of him. The two carriage crushing thighs manage to spread out wider than his own gut. Though the ends of his legs are still covered up by the sheer expanse of how far out his stomach surges forward. Kaden’s ass completely smothers his bushy orange tail, the two mass asscheeks billowing out behind him. And yet the two massive men still pale in comparison to the titanic wall of blubber behind them. So large, the enormous third man’s monumentality is slowly beginning to push away Kaden and Keaton. The two of them lacking much of a shape to begin with, the third man’s figure is simply fat all around. Yarne’s enormity spreads out in all directions, the obscenely several tonnage of bunny requiring two feeding tubes to keep himself satisfied. Yarne’s breasts cascade down his waterfall of a gut, the two crushing breasts going so far as to touch the rising mound of fat known as his thighs. His long taguel ears are hidden behind the mountain of a gut and also blend in with the pale tons of blubbery they rest on, Yarne’s immensity only broken up by the deep patches of black body hair he has all over his body.

Askr still wide eyed as he stares at the three men, he only realizes that Kiran is right in front of him until it’s too late. A perfectly inconspicuous piece of chocolate is right in front of his face. The delicacy looking like any other one, the overbearing aroma that wafts to his nostrils grapples with his mind, the cloyingly sweet scent the only thing he can think about, even with three enormously fat blobs right in front of him. “Hnngh w-wait!” Askr shouts as he raises a meaty hand to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickle down his portly face, the rivulets of water pooling down on his hefty rack for breasts. Askr takes deep, heavy breaths. He does his best to try and clear his mind, thoughts of anything but what he already craves in his deepest desires taking hold of him. Askr moans as he feels his body warming up. His clothes begin to tear as his body swells fatter. Even standing begins to become more and more difficult than the already taxing chore it was. His limbs become even more useless, the last vestiges of flexibility deteriorating away to make room for more lard. “Wh-what did hnhh did you do,,,”

“I’m giving you what you wanted,” Kiran pats Askr’s head, playing with his blue hair before moving onto caressing his bull horns, watching him continue to blow up with more and more flab.

Askr moans upon the contact. And soon afterwards, he finds himself falling to the ground. But he thankfully has all his extra cushioning to soften the fall. “You’re turning me… making me into them,,,”

“No,” Kiran whispers into his ear, using Askr’s expanding blubbery body as a mattress. “You’re going to be even better,” Kiran continues playing with Askr’s extra appendages, his hands rubbing his bull ears now. 

Askr takes a better look at the three blobs in front of him. Thinking he was just expanding so rapidly, he realizes that the other three men are also rapidly losing weight. It doesn’t take long for Askr to reach the same size as Keaton and Kaden, Askr completely immobilized long ago with even his fingers and toes unable to be moved. It only takes him a little while longer before he even realizes that it is the wolfskin and kitsune, the two just barely immobile blobs. And yet they still continue to lose weight, both of them ending up just a few hundred pounds shy of Askr’s weight before this, both of them able to now waddle at a sizable 600 pounds. Meanwhile Askr is still growing, still not at Yarne’s size, he just barely manages to surpass the also slimming down Yarne by the time Kaden and Keaton begin to slowly waddle and test their regained mobility. Askr continues to say nothing; he simply continues to moan, his eyes almost shut tight in the pleasure of feeling himself fill out the expanse of the room, more and more of his vast body taking up and demanding space like the god he is. Even as he passes Yarne’s initial blob of a size, Askr continues to grow, barely able to reach the bare minimum of coherence by greedily demanding more in between tired, exhausted moans. He doesn’t even pay attention to Yarne as his weight loss slows down, basking in his enjoyment so much he doesn’t even notice his now visible taguel ears. Askr doesn’t even feel the three six hundred pounders that scale his monumental body, the god of the country now taking on the entirety of the weight the three beasts just lost. He does focus on the fact that he’s stopped growing. His high of enjoyment now diminished, he simply basks in his own enormity.

Not that Askr can truly look upon his own splendor, his vision mostly taken up by his rotund distended cheeks that each alone now weigh more than several men combined. Askr’s hourglass figure still manages to somehow withstand the several couple of tons added to his body in such a short time frame. His two monumental breasts graze the stone floor itself, the bit of lard that rests on the tile pooling in front of his still enormous gut. Askr’s ass spreads out behind him, the large rear unable to even be identified as his rear with how shapeless it is. And his tail is now completely swallowed in between the lakes of fat for an ass. His thighs spread out on both sides, his width alone about three fourths of the room’s width. Askr still a moaning mess, he only pays attention upon the arrival of the nearly a tired, sweaty ton of combined lard for three beasts that managed to climb his enormity. 

“I wahhnt moore,” Askr demands, his speech even slurred and exhausted from the sheer girth of his size. 

Kiran pats his head, gleefully overseeing the entire process. “Don’t you worry. These three are going to take care of you for a bit. So just let yourself be praised and pampered like you want to, fatass,” Kiran transports himself out with a portal, saying goodbye with a final ruffling of Askr’s hair and a large spread of food conjuring itself out from a portal he left as one final treat. 

“Lord Askr,”

“You’re so fat,”

“You must be so hungry,”

“Feed Lord Askr,”

“Lord Askr needs to be bigger,”

The three beasts rub and fondle Askr’s enormity—the minuscule amount of his enormity that they can reach of him—all of them shocked upon his size. Their jealousy of no longer being the fattest still evident, they reason that it doesn’t mean they can’t make Askr even larger, all three also glad for the sudden mobility, no matter how slow their still morbidly obese selves are.

And Askr happily allows the three loyal subjects to feed him, the overfed cow voraciously demanding more in between hurried bites crammed into his mouth. He can’t allow himself to remain upstaged.

Not when even he knows that his current throne room filling size can’t even hold a candle to the castle crushing blobs that are Kiran’s supports.

[grim-faux]

X8 _ An Unfortunate Side Effect

First – A Small Quiet

Trigger Warning for bad habits and harmful habits around children. Please do not smoke or use other controlled substances that are not given by a licensed professional. Read on with caution.

And reiterating that smoking is not condoned or considered/portrayed as cool or beneficial to people who struggle with addictions. The Thin Man does not understand such concepts, smoking is simply something that he is 'supposed' to do, and he does use the affects to mellow him out. He's a grown ass man who was raised by an a flesh monsters disguised as a Tower. End PSA

Who could have thought routines would be detested by one who had spent countless decades (if not centuries) trapped within a perpetuating cycle?

No, the Thin Man wandered the roads, he chose paths at his whim or stalled at his fancy. He was not confided to a set route; he held no obligations to the repetition of a loop he fought to untangle from – if tentatively at this point. Though he still felt confided to the hypothetical cycle unyielding, he was liberated in some manner to meander into this room or judge that building, and decide the next course to take. He could scrutinize the signs on buildings, ascertain if the mark speek elaborated upon the contents within, and deduce if they might yield insight of his situation, or if it would be a probable location to give a pause and reconsider his life choices.

It was rare that the Thin Man lingered for any duration of time, if only to allow a particularly challenging wave of storms to pass, or allow the small creature huddled in his shadow the opportunity to nest down and find some food. It was usually when said creature had sufficed all interest in the specific zone, that the Thin Man returned to his wanderings. He could infer this, typically by when the smallers harassment intensified to unbearable levels.

The room was in bearable shape, bone dry and scarce of all vermin (save for one). This good quality had saved a few books from utter dissolution, which allowed his focus to preen through the pages. Some of the letters had faded, and the pages were a slate gray, yet he could make out enough. Which he stubbornly threaded through.

“Are you done ransacking the kitchen?” posed the arched figure. The desk was unforgivable short, the chair had faults as well – it wobbled nefariously, until he had mended the issue. He could not mend the owner of the face, peering up at him from beside one tall stack of books. Nor did he anticipate an answer.

He could sense the boy was in one of his moods.

“Did I not pose a question?” he prompted, once more. This time, the gaze wavered and the child inched back beside the books. “Ḥ̸̪̋m̴̩͈̀̕ṃ̶̽̇?”

The boy huddled down beside the corner of the books, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat and concealing his face under his latest hat. It was possible the location had nothing that the child could make use of, nonetheless, he would not know for certain unless he was given speek.

The Thin Man adjusted the cigarette in his fingers and took a slow drag. “Do you need something? D̶̯́ǐ̸̪d̴̟̽ ̷͇͝ Ȳ̸̥o̴̪͠u̵̹̿ find  ̵͛͜S̵̯͋ö̸̦m̸̼̒e̸̮̿t̴͉͐ḫ̴͗i̷̹̒n̵̰̈g̶͇͐?” He worked to press his focus into the tome, rather than the scrap of fabric that blew after his heels across all the streets.

For whatever reason, the child shuffled away from the books and ‘tiptoed’ closer to where he was propped up on his elbow.

S̷̪̍i̷͉̒g̷̥͐h̶͓̄.̷̩͝

As per tradition, he pretended to be unaware of this movement. In fact, the child ceased to exist altogether. Unless he made speek, the Thin Man was not interested in decoding the cryptic needs.

A tug came to the sleeve of the arm, which held his more interesting book aloft. Not a sound though. Hence, he gave the boy not the moment. The child’s emergence was progress, was it not? Not that he cared. His acknowledgment of the child was to brush off his sleeve, and sweep away the boy.

This had the negative desire, as now he had a child latched onto his fingers and biting.

The Thin Man exhaled smoke and tried flicking the vandal away (this never worked). “I have Ṋ̵́ỏ̶̞ ̶̭̒ I̷͍̐n̶̛͍t̸̼̽ē̷͍r̵̡̄e̴̟͂ș̴̈t̶̖̀ in your  ̶̗͌T̷̤͋ŗ̵̕i̶̹̿ṿ̵̚i̵͔͑ą̵͛l̷̻͌ nonsense.” Usually he got a hiss or some calamity of gibberish, but the boy was being rigidly hushed. “What is the M̸̰̉e̵̗͊a̷̖̽n̴̤̐i̶̺͐n̴͖͝g̷̞̍ ̷͚̒ of T̵̖͘h̵̻̄ị̸̑s̸̤͗?”

With his hands occupied by book and cigarette, he was left with no functional way of dealing with the boy. He set aside his reading, then reached over and peeled up one of the legs hooked around his pinky. An effort was made by the child to latch onto his cufflink with his teeth, but with a firm tug that scheme was dismantled. Now, he had his hand liberated, though he was likely in the same predicament. The child was brutish about taking a hint and leaving well enough alone, he should know.

Dangling the boy by his ankle, he leaned onto the desk with his elbow supporting him and watched, amused, as the boy curled up to grapple with the fingers pinching his ankle. Still not a noise or anything. That was interesting, at least. Well, aside from the audible Plop! the hat produced when it smacked the desk’s surface. It was comical. He could feel the laugh track roar in his head.

“D̵̲̓ŏ̸̘ you even K̴̡̾ṅ̵̦ọ̷̈́w̵̥̎ ̷̜͝ why you are T̷̈́ͅò̸̜r̷͙̈́m̴̻͌ē̴̖n̶̘̄t̵̠̔i̵͉͒ń̸͔g̶̫̾ me? Or is this S̵̢̎ö̷͍́m̷̠̐e̸̼̊ ̶͕̈ S̶͕͌ō̴̼r̶͙͑t̸̥̓ ̶̡̚ of Í̶̗m̵̰͌p̶̀ͅų̷́l̸̹̔s̵͖̓e̴̹̾ in your  ̴̱̈́M̷̞͝e̵̡͘n̶̥͝a̶̋͜c̶̙̊e̷̗̓ criteria?” He doubted the boy knew, let alone understood that sting of sounds. The Thin Man fancied twirling the child, which kept him from prying at his narrow ankle.

“What should I do with this child? What should I̶̡̥̅̎̆̉͛ ̵̭̗̞͈̖̃́̍͘͝D̷͈̄̀̏ơ̵̢̩̬̻̰͗? Hmm…” The boy had no input, other than to spin. “Nothing? Not even a G̵̛̠͒̾̌̆r̷̡̯̪̥̥͔̾͐͊̊̓͝ơ̸̡̟̠̤̗͒͂̅̌w̵̛̥̣̟̙͛l̵̼̼̺̥̔͌̿́͝ͅ?̷͎̒̾́͝ͅ? Grr….” He enunciated it, but this received no reaction. Not that the Thin Man could tell with the way the child was twirling.

“W̵͕̟͋ͅḣ̸͕̣̓͝y̶̤͗͊  ̷̩͕͌́̍Ḛ̷͋͐v̶͓̩̱̈́̓̋ȇ̵̙̝n̶̤͚͆͠ ̷͙̋͠ͅ put yourself T̸̫̆h̸͇̋r̵̻̟̃̅̀ō̶̫u̸͕̯͒͌̇͜g̶͓͇̾̉h̸͙̆̔ ̶̭̖̼̉͘ T̸͎̉͠h̶͉̭͊͂̈́ị̸̧̅̈́̇s̵͓͋̕, if your are not going T̵̜̔o̴̧̗̊̋ ̵̩̬̆͗ E̸̥͊n̷͚͔͑͂g̷̲̒a̵̢̠͑͗g̷͉̑e̵͈̽ those powers you N̶͙̔e̶̼͝g̷͎͑l̷̖͋ẽ̵͉ć̶̯t̵̪̏?” The boy could easily, very EASILY relocate to a different location altogether. If anything, the child could escape his grasp with a flicker. He was certain. The boy refused. “You F̴r̴u̴s̸t̶r̶a̷t̶e̵  ̷M̷e̵.” The child continued twirling. He had no right to look offended, affronted, or whatever.

Until he let the vandal drop onto the tables surface. He made sure to lower the boy a tad bit before releasing him. “Why not H̴u̴n̶t̶  ̵D̸o̵w̷n̸ ̶ some other C̴r̶e̴a̷t̵u̸r̸e̷ ̴ to T̵o̵r̷m̸e̸n̸t̶?̷” It appeared the child would not be frolicking off to dismantle the abhorrent Viewers or whatever sort of fiend he might have the misfortune of crossing paths with.

Right away, the boy launched to his feet. But fell over. He rolled over and tried once more, only for repeated results. Again, and again. And. Again. The child stumbled sideways, pivoted on his toes, and toppled to his knees. Before he could even begin to recover, the boy tipped sharply to his side and flopped to his back.

The Thin Man practically face palmed. When he looked down again, the boy was still tipsy but managed to stand on his two feet and glower up at him. He had to emphasize that “glowered up”, since the child looked ridiculous with how he wobbled. The Thin Man took a deep draw on his cig and leaned down. He was disappointed when the ruffian did not tumble down the way he anticipated after the cliché puff, though the alarmed expression was worth it.

“Ĺ̷̬ē̵̖ä̵͙r̸͔͂n̶̖̊ȩ̴̌d̸͍̎ ̴̪͝ your L̸̝͒ĕ̵̥s̵̪̀ś̶̝ó̵̖n̵̙̆,̵̈́͜ ̴̭͐ yet?” he smirked. The boy snorted and snarled. At last, some noise! “There W̷e̵ ̶G̷o̷. When I ̴W̵a̵n̷t̸ ̴S̷p̴e̶e̴k̴,̶ you  ̴W̶i̸l̵l̵ —” He cut off, when the child crashed to the table and continued snorting and hacking. Wetly. That did not sound right.

The Thin Man tilted his head and arched his brow. “B̸o̵y̸. Why must you be so ̸D̷r̶a̸m̴a̴t̷i̵c̷?” If anything, this was insulting. Though by increments, it began to dawn on him this could be serious.

The child hunched over on his hands and feet to hack full bodily into the surface beneath him, choking and wheezing with every grasp for the musty air. Never had the loathsome environment given the child such a reaction – none of the dust, putrid air, or fouled crawlspaces the boy navigated, ever put him into such a fit. And the lad was buckled forward, croaking with every iota of his being while also fighting back the sounds he could not feign off.

“What have you done now?” Clearly, the child had gotten into something. This explained his reluctance for the speek. “M̴o̷n̵o̵?̸ ̶What D̷i̷d̷ ̵ Y̵o̶u̶ get  ̶I̸n̶t̶o̷? Make some speek for me.”

That was likely an impossibility, as the child choked back another retched snort. This was the Thin Man’s cue to crush out his cigarette and scoop up the boy. He glitched out of the room, bypassing the short – but at this time infinite hall – locating the kitchen space in a few pops. His outlined sputtered as he set the child on the counter, he dragged open the drawers with a glimmer of his powers. When he found a rag, he hastily drenched and rinsed the musty compress before applying it to the child’s face.

“What I̸̦͝n̶̠͋ ̸̰̚ T̴̟̾h̸̳͝e̷̠̿ ̸̙̑ T̵͎̂ò̷̝w̶̻̄e̴̖̓r̸͕̂ ̴͙͂ did you do? How do you M̷̩̓ạ̴̾ǹ̴̯a̸͖͐g̶̖̍e̴̹̐ ̴̣͝such events? Huh?” The Thin Man did not wait for chirps or utterances, he did his best to wipe the coat and matted hair of anything that could be the cause of this irritation. “Are you L̵i̴s̷t̵e̵n̸i̷n̸g̶ to me?”

Probably not. He gave the child a brief glimpse, seeing only watering eyes twisted shut and a nose that was a faucet. And of course, more of that retched rattling gasps. The squeaks devolved into creaking whimpers that barely sounded like an animal, never mind a child. The child was a repulsive mess. “What have I told you about being C̴̺̃ạ̴̓u̸̡͆ț̶̑i̷̹͆õ̶̡ũ̸͕s̸͍̑  ̸̩̐W̵̨͛h̶̻̿e̷̜͊r̴̳͌e̷͕͛ you  ̷̯͒R̸͕͛u̸̖͆m̵͉͆m̷͕̄ḁ̸͗g̷̯̈ê̷̪?̷̭̃ ” The dread that the child tumbled into a child trap laced with toxins now festered in his head.

What would he do?

“Hold on. I’ll make you better. Hold on.” The Thin Man did his best to clean the scum off the child’s face and fix him up. That did succeed in subsiding the hoarse choking and most of the hacking. He draped the boy over his palm and rubbed his back, working to massage out the gurgling phlegm sounds hitching and gargling. “There. Let it out. That’s right. There we go. Try breathing….” It unsettled him how the boy struggled for the barest of breath. “Easy…. Slow breaths. Slower. Like I showed you. Deep breath in, and then exhale. That’s goo—”

He shut up when the boy pitched forward on his hand and vomited. Or dry heaved. Nothing came up, but it nonetheless sounded grotesque. Ew.

“There,” he grimaced, struggling to control the obscene crackle in his voice. “That… er, that should make you feel better.” Nothing really came out, but the child’s breathing at last eased. Sort of. The harsh quaking racked through his ribs, and the body persisted to rasp and convulse. “Easy. Easy there.” Once the child’s gasping settled a bit more, he gave him a few careful pats. Just to make certain all the foul was worked out of his child.

“Feeling better?” Without lifting the child, he leaned close to the counter to check the boy. He was given no response, aside from a sniffling-wheeze. “You look leagues better.” A wet sneeze smacked his palm. His lip twitched, yet there was nothing to do about it.

Raising himself and the child up with him, the boy settled against his collar as he began to move. The Thin Man continued to rub at his back while he searched around the kitchen, hunting for whatever put the child in such sorts. With a flick of the transmission, he forced doors to the cabinets open, and wrenched open the cupboards beneath the counter. One handed – he kept Mono secure to his collar – his hand rifled through, seeking out any spore or dust that must have contaminated the boy.

“What in the Tower did you stumble into?”

A wet hiccup spared no insight. While the child wiped his muggy nose on his collar. Never mind. He dismissed the kitchen area and prowled into the other rooms. It was not uncommon for food offerings to get laced with toxins in the denizens efforts to ‘fix’ the pest infestation. Though he expected his boy to be savvy about such dangers – most children knew better. At times, the corrupt offerings could be disguised and at others, children were desperate. This was not the typical MO of a toxic contaminate, but who knew all the effects of poisons.

“Did you fall into something?” No response. Slight snorts and whining were the only reply, accompanied by a faint snorting and a faint ‘tweeing’, whenever the child wheezed. “What did you get into, child? It is important that I know.” The boy did begin to burble something.

“C̴o̷m̵e̵  ̵A̸g̷a̷i̵n̶?̷”

The boy did not reiterate or adjust his speek. It was more incoherent grumbling. He should be gratified by that amount of speek in leu of the total absence of noise.

“Focus on your breathing,” he rumbled. Searching through the remaining few rooms absorbed a good portion of his focus, but the Thin Man did manage to enforce his point by stroking Mono’s back. None of the obscure corners or out of view spaces under a cabinet or bed proffered any sort of contaminate that might explain the child’s reaction. The fear that the child may have chewed on something arguably nonedible did weight on his thoughts, yet he held out hope that he would discover some clever ruse that would have duped a desperate boy. He resisted interrogating the child further for the time.

“That is better, is it not?” A croaky hiccup was the most optimistic noise. “There-there. No more W̶h̷e̵e̸z̶i̵n̸g̵.̴” He really did not evaluate if there was much improvement, instead opting for another patrol of the common spaces in his last gambit to locate some clue. None of which was forth coming. And the child had nothing coherent to supply for the broiling mystery, aside from wet sniffling.

The Thin Man once again wandered into the kitchen, and once again stood before the sink. He adjusted the tap for a fine trickle and took a ‘fresh’ towel from the open drawer. The fabric was stiff and dank from centuries of forgot, but once liquid was applied to the fiber it softened considerably. Setting the boy down on the counter, he kept the vandal caged by his hand while scrubbing off the stale layer of yuck.

“C̵e̷a̵s̷e̴ ̶ M̵o̷v̷i̸n̸g̵.̶” The boy was going nowhere, but his wriggling made it impossible to scrub. “The more you fight T̴h̴e̶  ̶L̷o̴n̶g̸e̸r̷ ̷ this T̶a̸k̵e̸s̸.” This warning went unheeded, and the child had his teeth latched onto the rag. With a croaking growl.

The boy began chewing the rag and wrestle it, while raising one leg to kick at his fingers. The Thin Man utilized this time to reexamine the flushed face, and rake his knowledge over any insight if this was a normal complexion. Nothing about Mono’s complexion was normal, even for a child. The boy might have resembled the typical child for now, or not. The man in the hat could not say with certainty. The feisty boy still fought the rag, even though he retired the item and let the ruffian clutch the thing in his arms. He had a habit for rassling anything he could get his arms around – plush animals; a sock, his hand when set on a table.

“What are you doing?” he posed. He did not move his other hand from the child’s backside, though he was no longer restraining the boy. To the inquiry, the boy dipped his head down and bit more onto the rag. “It is not alive. Nor is it further harassing you.”

The child pressed further back against his palm and kept his head down. Nodding. A residual wheeze creaked beneath the buzzing from the Thin Man's residual suspicion. The Thin Man crinkled his brows. Was the ailment still complicating the speek?

“Still U̷n̶w̶e̶l̷l̸?” Not expecting any form of noise, the Thin Man scooped the child up and placed him against his collar. As expected, the boy abandoned his battle with the rag in favor of latching onto his shirt. It was quite typical for children to huddle into their little child clusters for warmth during the rest times, but the excessive clinginess persisted to disturb him. It was wrong for the boy, this particular child, to behave in this way. This dependency should have been weaned off him ages back, when the girl abandoned him to his fate.

“This is unbecoming B̴e̷h̵a̶v̶i̵o̸r̸. You cannot be reliant on others. It never E̸n̵d̸s̶ ̶W̷e̶l̷l̷ for you.” The child burbled against his collar. Really.

“Keep.”

“N̸o̵t̶ ̶ F̶o̷r̴e̶v̵e̴r̷. You will T̴i̶r̵e̶  ̴of M̵e̵ and run away. That is what you A̵l̵w̷a̶y̸s̵  ̵D̵o̴."  Following a brief stall, he added, "That is how all children are.”

“No….”

“Y̷e̶s̸,” he fizzed. The boy kept his face pressed into his collar, hiding as the Thin Man peered down to the best of his ability. “I̵t̵ is  ̵W̴h̷a̸t̵ ̵ you A̴r̸e̵. I̵t̵ ̸ is W̵h̶a̵t̵ ̴ you B̴e̷c̷o̷m̶e̶.”

And what would the boy become? That was the pondering query which haunted him the long hours he spent roaming the soddened roads. The boy left to his own devices would become the thing, the creature, the only thing the Thin Man feared. Hated.

The man in the hat.

He sighed, and the child hacked into his shirt.

“T̷h̶e̸ ̶ S̵t̵r̴a̶n̶g̵e̶ ̵ C̶h̶i̸l̶d̴.̴” He hated being the one child that was different. It was cruel that despite all that he fought for and wanted, was thrown aside. “So ̵U̷n̷h̸a̸p̷p̸y̷.̴ ̶M̷i̴s̵e̴r̴a̶b̴l̵e̶.̸ I will never U̶n̷d̷e̴r̵s̶t̷a̶n̷d̶ you, little one.”

The boy that knew not of his fate, of the destiny awaiting him at the end of the hall. Not until the latch clicked, the door handle dropped, and all the secrets he ever had engulfed his entire being. He had felt everything in that short span of time, aged faster than a child of this world aged. Experienced every stage of emotion, felt the burden of loss and regret unlike a child of this world had ever felt. It destroyed the boy he once was.

Lost in his musings, the Thin Man had wandered through the corridors until he was in one of the spare rooms of no interest. It was one room the child spent time scratching around, placing marks all over the lower walls – odd symbols with curves and squiggly lines, a figure of some four legged animal.

“W̵h̴a̷t̶ ̸ D̸i̵d̷ ̶ Y̴o̶u̸ ̷ E̴v̶e̸r̵ ̸ H̴o̷p̷e̷ ̸ T̵o̸ ̵ G̷a̵i̵n̸?̶” The boy did not offer anything, except dig more into his collar. “Nothing to offer to O̶u̸r̸  ̵C̷o̶n̸v̷e̶r̸s̷a̵t̷i̵o̴n̷?̸” Another burbled murmur spurred from the boy. How very enlightening.

He could not help the chuckle. “What was that?” He recoiled when the face reared up at him yelping.

“Not small.”

“O̶h̴  ̸N̵o̶?” The chortle vibrated from him without, prompting another dour glare from the child. “You are.”

“No.”

“You cannot argue with fact.” He was not necessarily being mean, but he had to give the scruffy hair a brush with his finger. “Someday though. That A̷l̶l̸ ̷C̷h̷a̴n̸g̸e̶.̵” The angry scowl on the child melted into one of… he could not say curiosity. It certainly was not concern.

He arched his brow. “What is that face you make?” The boy pressed his check against his shirt and gazed at him. And blinked.

“Sad.”

Not this again. “And why D̶o̸ ̵ Y̸o̸u̷  ̴B̴e̷l̸i̸e̷v̶e̵ I am sad?”

The boy shrugged against his palm. “Have story.”

Ah yes, the story. The unfortunate truth of his fate as the fallen ‘hero’. Though the idea of hero was far detached from the boy’s understanding, there were no villains or saviors in his sordid tale. There was only he and Her, against the terrors that inhabited the world. The children were no more heroes than a crab overcoming a leech. Heros and fallen saviors existed nowhere, survival was the only payoff from vanquishing the latest foe.

“What of T̸h̵i̷s̵ ̷S̶t̸o̷r̸y̵?”

A long and deep breath filled the little body tucked under his hand. The child slipped his gaze down, stared at something beyond the Thin Man’s line of sight, before turning his strange stare back up to him. “Speek make y’child? Hmm?”

Speek. You child. Question.

“Yes. O̴n̸c̵e̶. What of it?”

The boy kept those eyes fixed on him, unwavering. Strange child. Cursed boy. Always hiding his face under hats and masks. He was not hiding now.

“Smol?”

“H̴m̵m̸?̷”

The boy scrunched up his face, probably untying more convoluted inquiries from the depths of his scratchy thoughts.

“R’smol. You n’child?”

He sighed and lifted a finger to sweep the matted hair out of the boy’s eyes. “Y̴e̶s̵.̷ All children are small.” That frustratingly slow blinking persisted.

“Smol.”

What was the boy not getting?

“Yuh?”

It was his turn to reciprocate the slow blinking. “O̶n̶e̶ ̵ T̸i̶m̴e̸.̵ A long -  ̸L̶o̸n̶g̵ time ago.”

Long-long ago. In an era that had since died and reverted to dust. The boy fell and was forgotten, left by the one he cherished. Oh how he mourned the lost friendship, the companionship, the cohabitation with someone that was once his world.

“For happen?”

Ah.

The floor creaked as he shifted his weight. He realized he was swaying ever so slightly. The child’s eyes drooped, but he caught himself and forced alertness back into his stare. Only to have his eyelids dip down once more.

“S̶o̶  ̷M̷u̸c̷h̴.̵”

“Su’much.” The child hummed, and nestled down more into his jacket. “Sum….” A small wheeze and hack popped from the boy, but he smothered it easily enough. “Story.”

The Thin Man hummed for the child. “It is a P̶o̵i̵n̶t̷l̴e̸s̶s̵ story.”

“Poin’ess….”

“It means, it has N̸o̵ ̶ P̶l̴a̴c̷e̴ in this world.” Much like the existence of children. He brushed carefully over the boy’s back and continued humming a melody. It had no rhythm, the tune was flat, but the child’s eyes fluttered shut.

The search for the mysterious irritate was long forgotten. If the child had another violent fit later, he might have an apt opportunity of discovering the source. For now, he meandered into one of the rooms that had nothing but a table with some chairs. No books or pages, or the other odds and ends that enabled him to constantly scribble through the pages of endless nothing to offer erudition or redemption to the husk of a world. Just a dusty table with a tattered table runner. It fancied him to take his place at one chair and lean back by a margin, only to set his heels on the tabletop.

For whatever reason he was still humming off key, to no one in particular. It was dangerous to… he was no longer a child. No more, than the boy cupped in his hands was he.

“Was child,” mumbled the voice. Some time later when he made no acknowledgment, the child shifted under his hand. “Have friend?”

“H̵u̸h̶?̷” The boy nudged his finger with his forehead, but he resisted the urge to glance down. He was not strong enough to meet those eyes so like his own.

“Y’child.” The wriggly thing was easy enough to control, though the squirming did not cease. “Am Mono r’friend. Y’child? When smol.”

“N̸o̸.̴ Never.” That was the blunt response. The only correct reply. “It W̷o̸u̷l̶d̶  ̵N̷o̵t̷ have  ̵W̸o̷r̸k̶e̶d̴ out.”

“Yu'lie.”

“Do not be D̶e̸l̶u̴s̴i̵o̵n̷a̴l̴.̴”

No wonder why S̷h̶e̶ dropped him. Who in this Tower forsaken city could ever tolerate this spiteful splinter.

“What’s y’like?” muttered the voice. “N’child? What y’done?”

Fool child.

“Smol,” he replied, to the boy. “W̴e̴.̶.̴.̸ I was….” The words and stories all slipped away, or never existed in the first place. The boy never existed. It was all a lie. His dreams, the adventure, his friendship with H̴e̷r̶.̷.

“I went on many adventures. I saw such terrible things.” The Thin Man brushed his fingers over the child’s back, trying to recall how the coat felt so heavy on his shoulders. How mighty and fierce he felt with its snapping around his ankles, how it protected him from the sharp flint strikes of rain.

“Trick?” came the muffled voice under his palm.

“Mm. Many tricks. Many.” He tussled the child’s hair. “At times I was very frightened, and did not know if I would wake up. But I was resolute in my mission.”

“Mish-shun.”

“A very important task you undertake.” The Thin Man could feel those eyes burning into him. He zoned out on the warped, tattered ceiling where plaster and wood hung downward. The upper floors ceiling was visible through the gloom, and somewhere a bulb bristled its waning shimmer.

“Am Mono s’mish’un?”

That caused him to falter and turn his gaze down to meet the boy’s. “You?” He was on the verge of laughter, but the eyes were so imploring and uncertain. “Yes,” he choked, on reflex. “You are a very important mission.”

The child turned his head the other way, and pressed is cheek against his jacket. “Have friend. Am Mono keep’yu. Mm?”

The Thin Man worked through his ancient memories, of what togetherness meant when he was a child, with nothing but a soft hand in his own. The world against them him, the dangers endless. Scavenging beside a second pair of eyes, the rasped speek beneath the creak of walls, the chatter of rain. What was a friend, but another threat to bypass. She must have felt the same sentiment. Why else would she condemn him? He would never know. He didn’t care to know.

“I think you would have been a good friend for me,” his voice snagged, and stammered. “I don’t know for how long, but I would have cherished… it would have meant the city to me.” The child hummed against his palm.

“Am prot’ck. Am Mono does. Y’safe.”

“Sure.” The Thin Man reached up with his free hand, and tugged his hat down to shelter his eyes. “Now hush it and recuperate your strength. That was a nasty fit.”

Mono grumbled, but tucked up into his coat. “Not hurt.”

“Shh.” No nonsense argument here. “For a short spell, stay still and rest your head.” And no refute came from the boy. Just a steady finger, tracing the creases in his hand.

“Make story?” came the messy grumble. “Y’am’um Mono? How story?”

It took a dreadful long moment before the Thin Man put together the soft twitter, but when it struck him, the world felt dark and strange. He shut his eyes and tried to recall a long era lost in the miasma of is confinement to the Tower. How long did the roads stretch? Where in the skyline did towering buildings fade? Did they hold up the sky? What hazards lurked in the musty black corridors?

“Two L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̸ ̶ B̵o̷y̶s̴,” another sputtering scratch tattered his words. “They crept through a murky room, listening to the creatures pawing at—”

“Was speek? Am Mono. Him?”

The Thin Man paused to regard the question. “One was Mono. We do not remember the other boys name. It was not important.” The child snorted.

“S’portant. Have call. What speek?”

The Thin Man brushed back his hat and glared down at the child, who matched the smoldering frown with one of his own. “Let me continue. Maybe he will remember his name.” For now, that satisfied the child. He turned his face away and shifted around into a more comfortable heap. Or perhaps he was soured by the Thin Man’s disregard for the important, unnamed child.

Regardless, the Thin Man resumed. Softly, he spoke, “They came from a vehicle on a railway track. The unsteady vessel crashed into a wall and splint in two – one of them was pinned. But without losing the other, and risking great harm when a fire spread through the wreckage, they found their way out of the tunnel. This happening made them realize how much they needed the other, and how important together was.”

“Mm. For impor’ant.”

“O̶f̷ ̷C̸o̴u̵r̵s̷e̵.̷” He traced a finger along Mono’s back, working the knotted kinks from the child’s spine. As Mono relaxed further against his jacket, he went on about the grand adventures that the two children shared. The dangers they overcame, and how they learned so much about being more than just travel companions.

It was not quite the togetherness he thought was the most important link he shared with Her. It was bigger than company, impossible to convey in the span of cohabitation. When he thought about these illusions with the boy, it made a sensation so warm and painful swell inside his chest. As if he might have the gall to risk banishment to the Tower ten times over, to certify this child never saw a single solitary chair locked behind a door.

“From then on, they always had each other,” he finished.

Mono had fallen into silent rest forever ago, but it felt critical to his shaken thoughts to reach the end of this journey with that little boy.

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Hello!! I've been reading through Bonus Links and having the time of my life, BOTW was my first Zelda game so I'm particularly delighted at your portrayal of BOTW Link. Here's my question- I really love when artists portray Link as primarily using sign language, and would love to do it in my own stuff, but I struggle to find appropriate references or even figure out where to start looking. I worry about drawing it in a way that looks confusing or lacking in personality, particularly to an audience that actually does know ASL (which is what I'd most likely use, but obviously that's flexible). Do you have a specific set of references that you use or have any recommendations on where to start learning?

i'd like to preface this by saying I am not at all a good authority on ASL or how to portray it in comics, nor is bonus links skjsg i am an ASL novice, so i'd say please look into resources from Deaf people and ppl who communicate in ASL!!

for example, most of what I use in the comic is referenced from Lifeprint . Bill Vicars, who runs that site, also has a youtube channel here. there was an ask a while back where ppl left some other resources in the replies that I can't find for the life of me so,,,,for those of u that know ASL if u know of any other reliable ones feel free to drop them in the replies! I like Dr. Bills' site because the page for each sign usually comes with extra info about the context of the sign, what signs might make a good substitute if you mean something slightly different, etc. Sometimes I will go looking for a certain word and find out it doesn't really have an equivalent or should be signed differently than I thought, so it's extremely helpful.

I also spend a lot of time just like, watching videos of ppl signing, not just in educational context but also in casual ones. I don't have any particular videos to link for this, I started getting a lot of youtube shorts of ppl signing when I started researching (thank u google for spying on me) so i watched lots of those. I try to pay attention to where the hands are placed, what the hand that isn't signing is doing when the other one is busy, what upper body movements are also happening, etc. I try out the signs myself to get a feel for them. Comics are static, and many signs are dependent on movement to be legible, so I try to imply that movement where I can. I also looked at other comics that have incorporated sign- in particular there's an issue of Hawkeye (#19 I think) that to my knowledge handles it pretty well. I'm honestly not sure If I'm handling it perfectly outside of some positive feedback i've gotten, but I'm doing my best to portray it accurately! So again pls take everything from me with a huge grain of salt.

[cowboyjen68]

howdy jen!

I’m a younger butch, 22, and i only recently came into this label in the past year or so. i cut my hair and started embracing myself and am so much better for it, but it’s also brought a lot of struggle. primarily, i have a really hard time feeling desirable. i don’t know if it’s something to do with where i am or just my age, but i feel like it’s so much harder to meet people who are into people who look like me. it’s hard to look visibly queer, and it’s hard to be masculine. a lot of the time i feel pride in my roll as a protector and safe person, but it becomes so exhausting when i never feel safe myself. when i never feel desirable. i wonder if this is a common thing amongst butches, and if so, how do i get past it?

You could be me talking when I was 23 and just coming out. My first thought, once I really realized that I was a bit different from many of my female friends, was “What lesbian is going to be attracted to me? Lesbians like other women and I kind of look like a boy”. I truly thought that my stature, the way I walked, whatever energy or movement got me consistently mistaken for a boy (or man) was the very reason why I would never find love or passion with whom I most desired, another woman. 

In college I toned it down, I kept my hair long with a sort of short in the front mullet. I wore generic jeans and a sweatshirt to try to be somewhat comfortable but also unremarkable in my clothing choices. Looking back it made no difference. I was clockable as a lesbian, and butch, long before I fully admitted who I was to myself. 

I felt unattractive. I refused makeup and more feminine clothing and convinced myself it was because I was a “feminist” or didn’t want to invite the gaze of men because I wanted to focus on college and not date. I just knew I would be alone forever (which sounded better than being with a man in any case) and no woman would look at me as anything more than a goofy friend. 

Years later, after talking to my old friends and nights chatting with my older lesbian friends in my early 20’s I realized we all shared very similar experiences. Very few women think of themselves as desirable to others. It was the rare one, usually traditionally attractive and outgoing, who had some idea that she was interesting to the opposite sex even if she had no desire for that. Most of us had this idea that we were just plain, or ugly or just not attractive, especially to the demographic we most wanted to desire us as a romantic partner. 

The fact is, many women have a similar feeling to what you are going through regardless of her sexual orientation. 

On to the good news. The greater Western culture tends to portray butches in the media either ugly and rude or stoic or as some perfectly physically fit woman who wears a sports bra to show off her muscles and is brimming with a snarky confidence. That is show biz and not real life. 

I hear young butch4butches and young femmes and garden variety lesbians lament all the time that they can’t find butches today. “Where have all butches that love being butches gone?”  they ponder. So as a butch there are plenty of women out there seeking you and wanting to see and meet you. 

We are quite visible and it is hard to hide our lesbianism when we are in public. And most of us don’t want to. We want to be comfortable as ourselves so we put on a stiff upper lip and go into the world looking as confident and sometimes as tough looking as we can muster. Once you meet the right friends and date a woman with whom you connect you will find a feeling of safety if you let it. Allow your friends to carry some of the burden. Listen to them when they say they have your back. Let the woman you are dating stand up for you and talk about how wonderful you are. 

Take a look at my tiktoks or posts here on tumblr and you will see that butches are loved and appreciated but a vast majority of the LGBT Community. 

Wear what makes you feel confident. Get out to events at the gay bar, concerts, even non profit fundraising events. Take the time to go to places that require you to dress up and put some effort into picking an outfit that suits you. Looking good can truly lead you to feeling good. You can boost your own confidence by getting a good haircut that you love, shining your boots and putting on some light cologne. The best way to get past the feeling of being inadequate as a dating partner is to get out and meet more women to befriend.  The more women you meet the more you can see you are not alone 

As you meet more people,  and form more community connections, you become more comfortable as yourself and you feel much less endangered in public. You learn that much or your fear is thinking others are watching you when in reality most people are just trying to get through their day. This is not to say it is not important to read your surroundings, it certainly is, but you will feel much more at ease if you feel confident in yourself.

[tea-earl-grey]

Re: your Disco S4 review:

but there was just a bit too much Therapy Talk for my liking. and to be clear, i don't mean too much Actual Therapy. i really respect the show for portraying therapy and trauma recovery in depth and just having cool main characters go to therapy because it's good and healthy is Very Cool. but i do think there are definitely scenes (particularly in the beginning of the show) that has dialogue fall into Therapy Talk where all the characters go around in a circle and coherently state their thoughts and emotions and then resolve their conflict.

I also have the same issue, I know the crew were heavily traumatized in season 1 and I love that we’re finally getting a Trek have Starfleet take mental health seriously.

But it’s how the writers execute the scene that’s the problem. I think you’re right on the money about them needing another pass at scenes like that.

I also think, most of the time the show literally stops the action for the characters to just talk. And I adore characters being in a room, just talking. But I think it’s because most of the time it’s because those scenes do two things at the same time. Or they usually have characters talk around it and be difficult.

In season 4, it seems the characters start their scene and they just over indulge too much, maybe a tighter edit would also work.

But also I think most modern shows have that problem where they use Therapy talk as a crutch for character development and relationships.

And again, I preface this that I do love having mental health taken seriously but I think there’s a way to do it where writer’s integrate it organically— one of the new shows I like from AppleTV— Shrinking, is literally all about it but it’s funny and heartbreaking and sweet. I think maybe it’s because the writers are also new to the concepts and think they have to fit everything to be relevant.

Hopefully, they worked out the kinks for season 5!

Yeah exactly. I love Disco but sometimes it feels like the writers just need to read their dialogue aloud to make some last revisions (and also put some nuance/unspoken things into the dialogue).

I also think, most of the time the show literally stops the action for the characters to just talk. And I adore characters being in a room, just talking. But I think it’s because most of the time it’s because those scenes do two things at the same time

This!!!! I know fiction is never meant to accurately reflect reality and that there are always going to be weirdly timed conversations for the sake of narrative but Discovery in particular has SO MANY "stop and talk" scenes during Big Action and it drives me crazy when the plot just establishes a strict time limit to do something and then we spend three minutes for characters to have a heart to heart instead of just. Doing The Thing. I know the 90s era "walk and talks" were annoying to film but those downbeats of characters chatting while going from point A to point B is a great place to add small bits of characterization (and movement!) instead of standing still and monologuing.

Thanks for the rec, I've never heard of Shrinking but will have to check it out!

(putting a big tangential ramble about Disco's portrayal of mental health/therapy under a cut because yeesh it got long)

As someone who has been in therapy, has a psychology degree, and has written fiction that uses therapy sessions as a setting/framing device, I can say with a decent amount of confidence that the way therapy/mental health is utilized in Disco is neither super realistic nor using its full narrative potential. Imo we skipped a very interesting part of everyone's healing journeys between s3 and s4 where characters are actually struggling to articulate their problems or denying their issues. Particularly with Detmer who went from having severe PTSD flashbacks in s3 to talking about her feelings with total clarity in s4 when actual trauma recovery is nowhere near as quick or linear and usually requires making major lifestyle changes to actually heal and maintain that healing.

And also I take issue with the fact that all of the characters are growing and facing similar issues at the same time and pace. It ends up making a lot of awkward and redundant conversations between characters who aren't in conflict and are self-actualized enough that they state everything they mean. And when there is meaningful conflict, the characters seem to very quickly overcome their flaws and make up. It's like the opposite problem that a lot of sitcoms and soap operas run into when characters are so driven to conflict and secret-keeping. It is refreshing to have a show where everyone is committed to being their best selves (which is quite similar to tng in that regard) but it doesn't easily mesh with the sort of drama that Discovery seems interested in telling stories about. All of this is also probably why Book's narrative (and his relationship with Michael) was one of the best parts of s4 because it felt like the writers actually committed to realistic season-long conflict born out of trauma and loss that wasn't written off. And as a result I think David Ajala's acting was some of the best of the show because he was given so much depth. I really just wish that the other characters had something similar but Disco's style of hyper-serialization, shorter season orders, and a large cast of recurring characters just doesn't lend to realistically telling stories about trauma and recovery because we almost only see the action and not the characters living their ordinary lives.

And while 90s Trek certainly wasn't The Best at portraying mental health (the therapy it shows in tng is just. Wrong. And so many characters like B'Elanna and Janeway have their issues with depression forgotten about after an episode or two), portrayals of PTSD with characters like Kira, Seven, Neelix, Picard, and Sisko tend to be more interesting to me because those characters' journeys through healing aren't linear. And as always, more episodes and episodic television in general makes it so emotional moments really hit (like Picard's breakdown in Family after Best of Both Worlds, seeing Kira's trauma around her father's death in Ties of Blood and Water, or whenever Neelix, the usual comedic relief and lighthearted character, has to confront how his family was killed in a brutal genocide) whereas with a show like Discovery – there's constant character drama and confrontations and big emotional moments so the catharsis of someone having a breakthrough in their treatment is a bit undercut. For something like that to be memorable, there have to be unmemorable moments too which just isn't Disco's style. It's not inherently a bad thing, but it's not really to my tastes.

Even the other new Treks tend to be a bit more grounded with character dialogue and addressing mental health. My enjoyment of Lower Decks shot way up in s4 because her admitting that Sito's death drove her away from wanting to be an officer was such a huge moment of catharsis when Mariner usually avoids talking about her feelings with a six foot poll. SNW has both La'an, M'Benga, and Chapel dealing with PTSD and their moments of vulnerability and pain are better because SNW tries to balance the silliness and seriousness of Trek. Picard is probably the most similar in content/tone to Discovery and even there despite the serialization and awkward characterization moments, the characters all have consistent issues with trauma that affect them at different times and affect them despite self-improvement. And I think Picard sometimes dips into heavy-handed emotional conversations but it's not quite as much as Disco because oh boy these characters are good at avoiding their feelings.

To be clear, I do love Discovery and people blow the awkward writing/Therapy Talk problem WAY out of proportion to cover for the bigoted reasons some people vocally hate the show. Like this problem does annoy me but it is just one aspect of the show and I hope one that will be fixed (or at least less noticeable) for season 5.

[kakashi-posting]

This one is gonna talk about trauma (vaguely but still) so if that's not something you want, you've been warned. Largely it's more of a focus on the influence trauma has on Kakashi and how I think he'd learn to heal because I'd rather write happier thoughts than just angst.

I think there's some interesting stuff you could write about with Gai helping Kakashi handle his trauma. Kakashi has this shift in healing that I really think could be interpreted as learning to heal with Gai at his side.

I imagine Kakashi is avoidant of physical touch that gets better as he grows up. He actively doesn't want to hurt anyone so he's reluctant to even touch people on the shoulder, he shies away from hugs and startles when others try to touch him. Usually keeps himself a little further away from people in a group setting, just enough to feel like he's keeping them safe.

I also think it's Gai who helps him a lot with this. With all their competitions and Gai just generally communicating love through touch, I imagine it's just something Kakashi doesn't notice getting better until there's significant progress. There are still times where Kakashi struggles with touch but Gai finds a good balance with him of respecting his wishes and ensuring that his touch stays a familiar safe presence and keeps him from being touch starved. The times where Kakashi initiates things like fistbumps always results in such a sincere smile from Gai like he's given his friend the best present he could have asked for.

Being guarded and untrusting. There's probably multiple reasons why. He doesn't want to hurt others, he's afraid of himself, he refuses to lose more people - just naming a few. But this is a common enough response to trauma. Again I think it's Gai who really helps start the shift here.

Kakashi would still care deeply for people he lets in even if he comes across as distant. But I imagine Gai is just an unwavering support system for him. I'm talking like laying on the floor in his bedroom together talking about the latest flashback, just letting Kakashi blurt out everything on his mind with no judgement no commentary until he's done. And even when he is, just a reminder that he's there for him, always will be.

I'm talking like Gai being able to get Kakashi to open up to him even if he can't do that with anyone else. Regular check ins when Gai knows something's wrong from the small slips in facade when Kakashi relaxes enough around him.

And I'm talking Kakashi in return being there for Gai. Immediately able to recognise the attempt to hide a negative emotion and trying his best to meet Gai in the middle. A little hesitant to reach out and console him but not allowing himself to pull back, commited to try and help as he figures out what to say. Speaking softly and calmly with gentle movements to show Gai he's safe with him.

I also think that Kakashi knows how important it is to have Gai in his life. When he confronted Sasuke he claimed everyone he loved is already dead, not allowing anyone to understand the depths behind his friendship with Gai. Refusing to have a target placed on the person who never feared him being too much or too dangerous.

The whole silly rivalry they portray highlights some of their dynamic and brings out better traits in Kakashi that his distant act doesn't allow normally. But it also keeps them safer, keeps them able to be there for each other.

[fatphobiabusters]

I was finally able to watch Disney’s new animated short “Reflect,” which is about a fat child who is a ballerina and has negative body image. 

So here are my thoughts:

Wow, when they say “animated short,” they really do mean short. The whole video is about 6 minutes, but the animation doesn’t start until over a minute in and the credits start at around 3:23, so you get more credits than you do actual animation. I guess two minutes of a positive fat protagonist is better than nothing, and is especially better than the usual fat villains, fatphobic stereotypes, and fat comic relief that Disney usually gives us. Hopefully there will be enough positive feedback for this short that the company will start allowing more positive fat characters, especially fat protagonists. A fat Disney princess is sadly still too much to ask, I imagine. But maybe someday.

They showed some concept art and drafts of the animation before its final form, which were of a thin ballerina dealing with negative self image. There was one particular drawing they showed of the thin ballerina looking in the mirror and seeing a fat body.

I am so, so, so glad that they didn’t actually do that for the real animation. Not only are thin people already catered to enough, especially in “body positivity,” but depicting a thin person seeing themself as fat and hating that fat body is extremely fatphobic and only promotes fatphobia. If your aim is “body positivity,” then doing that is the exact opposite of what you’re supposedly wanting to promote. Fat is not a feeling, and a thin person overcoming “feeling fat” by realizing they’re thin only demonizes fat bodies, which are the bodies that need positivity the most. The reason why I put “body positivity” in quotes now is because the movement has been watered down until it now no longer includes fat bodies like it was meant to; it’s at the point that fat people had to create a new movement, fat liberation, to get away from the centering of thin bodies. So I guess making this short all about reassurance of thinness wouldn’t be far off from what “body positivity” has currently become, but it still would not have been good.

I like that they made the fat character a ballerina, as that breaks some stereotypes and shows that fat people can do things that are usually gatekept from us. The character design is good. The main character’s body is not designed in a funny way or made into a joke. The character also does actually look fat instead of midsize or “thick.” The animation itself is nice as well. I will say that making fat peoples’ struggles out to be just negative body image (none of the other characters say anything to the main character either, so it really is just portrayed as an internal problem) is not great. Yes, it is important to have representation about fat people’s body image, but that is all we ever get and it doesn’t address the root of the problem, which is systemic fatphobia. This is another problem with “body positivity,” since the movement is all about body image and not things like fat people experiencing a wage gap and constant medical negligence among the plethora of other things that contribute to our oppression. I guess Disney has to start somewhere, and starting with negative body image is easier and safer than bigger problems, but I almost wish they would have just made an animation with a positive fat protagonist just succeeding or having an adventure. Not even discussing body image instead of making all our positive representation about us not liking our bodies. 

Overall, it was a pretty good animation. The representation wasn’t terrible and hopefully, hopefully, this will mean more positive fat characters and even fat protagonists in the future. And I am forever incredibly grateful that they didn’t go with their original concept of a thin character “feeling fat.”

-Mod Worthy

[domirine]

You probably do a lot of life drawing seeing as how perfectly fluid your art always is so this ask might be redundant lol but,, i was wondering what kind of references you usually use? Do you just google similar poses, does it come from your mind, or do you have a go-to app to look through like pinterest?👉👈 i ask bc I struggle a lot with poses and usually when i look them up i end up drawing nothing bc its not. Ever good enough for me/what im looking for lol😔 still not sure how to even draw characters smoochin, rip

thank you, nonny!! i do a lil bit of life drawing, but man i really do feel the same way you do. while i'm happy to show some art when i get it done, the process can be a real struggle.

sorry this is gonna be long and all over the place lol hope it helps tho:

life drawing good: i recommend ditching the idea of finding the 100% Perfect Ref right off the bat. studying anatomy and life drawing (this site has a range of body types and fun poses) somewhat regularly, therefore growing my mental library so that i can try and make whatever pose is in my head happen later, has been more viable to me than spending hours looking for the Perfect Ref.

drawing a bunch of generic people skating without pressure of creating proper character art is good practice, and it primes me to then come up with a skating pose of my own.

ref hunting: i save pictures i might use as refs regularly in a browser folder - good refs, bad refs, boring refs - losing a ref standard can be helpful because at the end of the day it’s what you make with it, so it doesn’t have to be particularly mind-blowing to begin with. you don’t wanna reinvent the wheel or create the most never-been-done-before pose, you just wanna get a thing right.

pinterest is very good for poses, yes, though you have to know how to look for them - i.e. i found that typing out "dynamic pose" will not yield organic results, as opposed to looking up people in motion like athletes, boxers, skaters and such. for fighting, i recommend using photos or clips from (ideally staged lol) fights, as opposed to stock images where the models are standing for a while posing - the former preserves a lot of the movement. i also recommend looking up group photos from events or shows for interesting natural poses and people interacting.

best hot tip of all tho: what helped me most is to not treat references very religiously. don't be tied down by what's in your ref, or not finding the perfect one, because then you're focusing on accuracy and not necessarily on what you wanna communicate with your drawing. if you can't find what you're looking for in full, just use a part that you find interesting, and then bullshit the rest and revise accordingly.

idea-generating can be very hard but you can practice it like any other skill, because having a decent idea of what you wanna draw is helpful - you don't have to have the whole pose visualised 100%. it's the mood, body language and expressions, that i think are more important. looking at refs can help reveal your ideas and intentions, but i will not create them for you i’m afraid.

for example, speaking on characters smooching, i've drawn these using refs in   pretty uptight way with no ideas beforehand - and i find them painfully boring because they're not rly communicating anything aside from a anatomical accuracy (more or less);

i was being too intent on staying faithful to the reference, and they're looking kinda stale to me. the only one that was done without any ref, was the bottom left - which i like! bc it's got spice and it’s portraying some emotion.

but i wouldn't have drawn it if i hadn't already started on the others, so maybe another good tip is to trust the process and not give up mid-work!! drawing stuff you��re not proud of is still drawing stuff, and not everything you create is gonna be satisfying. things are gonna click here and there, but you never know when, so don’t give up on your ugly artsy ducklings!!

[rosslync]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔 / / ross & troye

WHO: Ross & Troye ( @troyesvn )

WHEN: June 25th, 2024

WHERE: London, UK

PLOT: Ross joins Troye on stage.

TW: nothing.......... hehe jk its us! smut! <3

"Everybody wants you, baby, you should insure that waist, with the highest policy you can get. Bet nobody wants you bad as I do, baby let me plead my case."

Ross: Being reunited was maybe one of the best feelings Ross had felt in a long while. Truthfully, all his memories with Troye were slowly becoming his favourite ones, things he’d usually regard as the best things not even being comparable; not when he had him there. Their time back together had mostly been spent the better way they knew how; newly formed marks against both their skin being the evidence of that, and the taste of Troye seemed to linger against his tongue for longer than it used to, not that he would ever complain for that. Now; their performance day had arrived. There was something so special for Ross in being able to share the stage with his boyfriend, especially during a Pride event; being able to be there with Troye, the very person that encouraged him to feel prideful meant so much. Ross had never doubted his feelings, or his pride for a second; from the second he realised his feelings for Troye to now. There had never been any doubt in his security in it. He made sure to make that abundantly clear during his time on stage - a relatively heartfelt, yet flustered speech to the crowds of thousands who would stand there and listen. All about how in love he was, how happy he was to have their love; and how he could never be ashamed of it, all his feelings laid bare for those that would listen; as well as the rendition of something he had written for Troye in their time apart. He was smitten, that much was clear, and no matter how many times he watched Troye perform; he’d never get bored of it. But here he’d found himself, waiting at the side of stage knowing his boyfriend was about to bring him out; somewhat a homage to their first meeting, only this time they could fully enjoy it; no anxieties or overthinking.

Troye: Ross’s performance brought a lot of emotion — the surprise of his song, one he had yet to share with the world, performed freely in front of the crowd with Troye as the muse had him near tears, and then, of course, there were the songs that followed… the songs that made him want to intertwine himself in Ross, to feel his body all over his own. When it came to his own setlist, he was looking forward to what he’d make his closing song just for tonight. He couldn’t imagine carrying on a performance once it wrapped, knowing he would struggle to keep his focus on anything but Ross. He knew it the moment he turned, seeing Ross on the side of the stage, motioning for him to come out and take a seat on the empty chair behind him. Troye started the song as he made himself comfortable, slowly approaching him, standing in front of his boyfriend before he placed his foot on his leg and pulled him in to his body. He performed One of Your Girls as he normally did on tour, Ross taking the spot of his dancer, except for now, it felt all the more intimate. He tangled his fingers into blonde locks and tugged, well aware of just what reaction it would pull from his lover. The lyrics passed his lips without missing a beat, guiding Ross’s head closer to his crotch than he may have if it were anyone else in his shoes. He smirked, one only Ross could see as he turned from the crowd. He wasn't even on him yet, and he could feel a heat in his cheeks, letting it pass as he tightened his grip on the microphone and lowered his hips.

Ross: He had watched this dance a thousand times over, not just from his time joining Troye on tour; but from his time scrolling aimlessly online, fixating on every movement the dancer portrayed against his boyfriend. This felt far more right to him, he knew it was simply a special thing for Pride - but he was so glad to have the opportunity to do it, he felt as though he could become quite comfortable in the seat for the rest of the shows, if he could. Ross had thought the thoughts running through his mind a million times - how good Troye was at what he did; how even here, with him, he played the role so well. Not that it required much acting, in this instance. For a moment, he thought about how much he could get away with here; what exactly he could do to Troye to work him up, throw him off… But he wasn’t that mean. Besides, he was enjoying playing his own role now too - his hands moving to slide up against his boyfriend’s thigh; all the way to his ass - a hard slap being pressed against it. A movement he had seen the dancer do before, and despite not knowing any of the choreography; he’d pick up the initiation from his boyfriend - only hoping it felt better coming from him. His hand slipped away once he felt Troye lower his body, not feeling much a need to hold back his emotions anymore; the grin on his face so wide as he kept his eyes on his boyfriend lowering down towards him. His hand moved to slide up against the corset Troye wore, resting his palm against the side of his waistline as he looked up at him with the widest of eyes; almost daring him for his next step.

Troye: This time was definitely contrasting from the way the music video shoot played out, how Troye asked for every bit of his approval, worrying that he took it a step too far. This time, it was worry free as he pressed his body up against Ross’s own, and there was something about being watched by the crowd as he touched him that sent a familiar shiver down his spine, amplified by a thousand as he rested on his lap. By now in the choreography he’d be on the ground, overpowered by his dancer, but here he took the lead, as if he was playing off the memory of how they first became familiar with one another. He held the microphone to his side as he brought his lips to Ross’s ear, his free hand traveling up his chest as he spoke only for him to hear. “Bet you’d like to fuck me right now,” he whispered, pulling away to capture the look in his eyes, pulling the strap of his corset over his shoulder with a bat of his eyelashes and a sway of his hips. His words taken in by no one other than Ross until he continued to sing, breaking his spoken desires as he ran through the second verse.

Ross: He was sure everyone in the audience must have been able to see the way Ross enamoured Troye. His eyes practically saucers as he looked into the others blue ones, his chest freezing his breaths momentarily as he felt his boyfriend speak against his ear. He was so in love, partly for this reason - the way they matched each others energies, seeing who could take the other further or who could surprise the other the most. Ross’s fingertips trailed up Troye’s arm, intwining with the strap of the corset as he played with it delicately; a certain look in his eye to convey a very clear message for what Troye could expect once they got off that stage. Letting go, he leant back into the chair, but only to slide his shirt off his chest – figuring if he were making a special appearance on stage, it’s what he should do. Besides, he knew Troye would like it, and he couldn’t take anything too far; not wanting to throw him off his singing. But still, his hand slid up the bodice of the corset, up his chest and sliding to the nape of his neck - pulling him closer, slowly, so not to throw him off. His smirk evident, and his thumb stroking against his boyfriend’s skin.

Troye: Troye watched Ross as he leaned back, lifting his shirt over his head, bringing an immediate smirk to Troye’s lips as he let his eyes roam over his body, this time obvious, not trying to hide his lingering gaze as he sang. Before, even when the cameras weren’t rolling, Troye would stare, quick to turn away if Ross even did as much as glance back in the vicinity of his direction. He felt free now, able to let his hand run over his boyfriend’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his palm without fear he was pushing his limits. There were none, other than the fact they were on stage, and Troye had to keep that thought in mind as he moved his hips against him, grinding down on his lap before he lifted himself off of him, leaving him with nothing as he finished off the song with the closing choreography, performing the routine in front of Ross’s widened eyes.

Ross: Ross shifted in the seat a little, having to remind himself of where they were - think of pure thoughts to not leave himself in an embarrassing predicament. He felt relatively proud of both of them, for being able to keep things calm, professional; leaving some things up to the fans imagination. But still, the lights from the stage were so hot, and so was he, Ross had to allow a moment to collect himself; still, his eyes never leaving Troye’s. He wished he could do it every night, almost, for a second wondering if this could just become his life now - follow Troye around and be his personal chair every evening. The song ended all too soon, and Ross, somewhat entranced, had to remind himself to stand up and move. He gazed the stage to find his boyfriend, walking over to him and placing his hands on his hips - thumb toying with the material of the corset; as he listened to the crowd cheering just in front of them. Inching his lips forward, he grinned as he spoke into Troye’s ear, the grip on his hips tightening. “Thought you were into kissing boys on stage?”

Troye: Troye wondered for a moment that when he turned around, if Ross would still be sitting there watching his next move, off to the side of the stage, or elsewhere. He felt his hands on his hips before he could register much else, the roar of the crowd muffled in comparison to the thoughts running in his mind, the desires, how much he wanted him as his grip grew firmer and it was his turn to whisper in his ear. Instead of returning his words by speaking, he turned his head slightly to capture his lips, kissing him, taking it upon himself to push it a notch higher than his usual. His lips lingered from his mouth, across his jawline and down his neck, his fingertips stroking down the bare skin of his back before he suddenly pulled away. He looked at him, his eyes showing more to be desired before turning his back to him, making that his exit as he strutted off the stage and left Ross to follow.

Ross: It would be impossible to remove the smile from Ross’s face, footsteps trailing in Troye’s direction almost immediately - the sound of the crowd was muffled now, irrelevant, as he fought against the the urges that plagued his mind. He could taste Troye on his tongue - he could feel the way his eyes told him everything; having watched every movement for every second of their performance together. After following him backstage, he chased after him a little - hands on his boyfriend’s hips as they strolled towards the green room. “You,” he begun, momentarily removing his hand to open the door in front of them. Pushing Troye inside, and almost immediately closing it behind him, he used the grip he had against his hips to pin him against the door, the smirk on his face evident. “Are so,” He continued, fiddling with the button on Troye’s trousers - finally sliding them down his thighs. “Fucking,” And now it was his boxers turn, Ross’s fist moving to slide up his boyfriend’s thigh, kneeling onto the ground in front of him; completely at his mercy - he didn’t have to finish the sentence. Instead he just chuckled, his tongue pressing against his boyfriend’s cock - an act he had become much more confident in performing recently.

Troye: Troye’s smirk was plastered on his face, permanent as he felt Ross’s hands back on his hips, meeting up with him with a clear motive. He listened as he spoke, slowly, accentuating his words with every movement as he pushed him into the room and against the door, the same smirk mirrored on Ross’s face. He hardly had time to say anything before Ross was on his knees, pulling his clothing down his legs. He parted his lips to speak, but could only whimper as Ross’s tongue came in contact with his already hardened cock. He brushed his fingers through blonde hair, pushing it away from framing his face as he looked down at him. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the sight, of Ross settled between his legs… of Ross hovering over him, or of Ross laying beneath him. It all still felt like a dream, whichever way he had him, one he never wanted to wake up from as he tilted his head back against the door, a soft laugh escaping him at the realization of just how far they made it from the stage. “So, what?” Troye finally urged, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Ross: Ross was thankful his shirt was long forgotten on stage, his body feeling hotter as his hand slid to wrap his fist around Troye’s length - spitting a slick of his saliva down onto it. He whined as he felt the fist run through his locks, a feeling he had only felt moments prior; but this time in a position he was much happier to be in with it. Ross looked up at him, the corset still against his frame - the shoulder strap slightly hanging off, but everything else set so perfectly against him: Troye truly was the perfect human being to him, Ross felt so enamoured by him. Eyes locked against his smirk as he wrapped his mouth around Troye’s length - his mouth working up and down his length in an attempt to pleasure him. He wouldn’t move his eyesight, not even when he would push himself further - taking Troye in further, letting him hit the back of his throat in a way he had only recently been able to get used to. Slowly, he pulled away, whining as he widened his eyes, pressing kisses against Troye’s shaft in place of his tongue. “Mmh..” He pondered, his fingertips sliding down to palm against his balls, blinking up a few times at his boyfriend, “So… Everything.” He spoke, spare hand sliding up the corset that rested against Troye’s stomach - palm over the breast cup. “Everything.”

Troye: Troye couldn’t bother lifting a finger, he always wanted to be touching him, in one way or another — from his hands tangled up in his hair, to the softest brush of skin against his arm, and every in between. It was no surprise they found themselves here, with the backstage area still busy with crew and performers alike, and the thought of having his cock down Ross’s throat as people walked the opposite side of the closed door had him pushing his hips forward, deeper. He watched him, met his gaze, and allowed his own to travel towards Ross’s hand, how he wrapped it around him, his mouth working everything in reach. “God, fuck, you’re getting so good at that,” he sighed, his own fingertips loosening the grip on his hair to travel down his jawline. The noises from Ross’s lips made his cock twitch, knowing he was the only one who could pull them out of him, a soft whine of his own echoing once Ross’s lips were no longer all over him. His heart pounded beneath his clothed chest, the material of the corset blocking Ross’s hand from fully enveloping him once more. He liked the sound of everything, given that was exactly what Ross was to him. He brought his hand over Ross’s, smiling as he lifted it to intertwine their fingers together. “I love you,” Troye said, soft, maybe a bit too soft for the moment they found themselves in… but it wouldn’t stop him from feeling it as he gave his hand a small tug to get him back on his feet.

Ross: The praise immediately went to Ross’s own cock, feeling the material of his jeans suddenly grow tighter as he kept his eyes on his boyfriend. There was something about it being him, and being his that made all of this so much better for Ross - knowing that after the crowd had seen that performance; some of them would be imagining the two of them in this scenario. He knew it would be a success, but the other thing he knew was how much it would turn him on; despite everything the two of them had done together, knowing every inch of Troye’s body and how to work it - something about the two of them in that scenario did something to him. Maybe it was the recollection of everything that had started their journey, or maybe it was the way he could feel Troye’s heat over him as his hips swayed down - regardless, there was a reason Ross couldn’t wait until they had got back. Needing him now, urgently, as if it were the last thing he’d do. “I love you,” he repeated, taking Troye’s initiative to stand back up - ignoring the tent that had grown in his pants to cup his boyfriends jaw, a small whine leaving his lips as he kissed him. “Wanna make you feel so good…” He mumbled against his lips, his breath a little shaky, “Do whatever you want me to. Anything.”

Troye: Troye still felt that same flutter in his stomach each time Ross declared it. This time was no different as he repeated his words, bringing his lips to his own as he murmured his desires against them. He could have stayed here for hours, if time allowed it, having Ross keep his word and send him deep into a state of oblivion. He let go of his hand to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue rolling over Ross’s in an effort to taste both him and himself. “Anything?” He asked once he pulled away, his breathing heavier, “Fuck me right here.” Troye’s words were soft, his eyes blinking up at Ross in a manner far too innocent as he batted his lashes. He pressed closer to him, so his cock was flush against his thigh, a hushed whimper at the sudden friction, “You already see what you do to me, everyone did… now let them hear it.”

Ross: Ross took the initiative, spinning Troye around to face the door - pinning his almost bare body to it. “You are such a slut.” He spoke, bringing his lips to his boyfriends neck - just as he had done on stage, only this time he’d give himself the permission to lightly suck on the area, surely enough to leave a mark. He was almost taken back to the moments following their filming together; where he has snuck off to the toilets to jack off because his cock was beyond a state he could just ignore, so mesmerised by Troye and everything about him. “Gonna make you cum, and then when we get back to the hotel room tonight - i’ll make you cum again. He mumbled against the skin on his neck finally getting back down onto his knees; a place he couldn’t find himself to complain about going to often. “Make you wanna bring me out for your next show, too. Show you how I’ll make it worth it…” He hummed, raising his hand to slap a firm spank against his boyfriends ass - smirking up at Troye as he trailed his hand up to rest against the waist of the corset.

Troye: Troye placed his hands on the door, smirking again as he was turned from Ross, “For you,” he clarified, humming in satisfaction as he felt his boyfriend’s lips against his neck, sucking a mark sure to be seen the next show if he weren’t planning to cover it. Now, he had nothing to hide — completely lacking shame; instead wanting to display it fully. To have him like this was beautiful in comparison to the last time he’d performed the song with him, a sexual tension between them neither of them acted upon. He listened to his promises and pressed his lips together, keeping himself from interrupting. “You wanna come out again-“ he started to speak, his words cut off by the moan that was torn from his throat as Ross’s palm met his ass. He arched his back almost instantaneously, pushing closer as if silently begging for more as Ross’s hand traveled to his hips. “Show me now,” Troye asked, still facing away from him as he rested his cheek against the door, knowing the position he found himself in only made the chance of someone hearing him all the more greater.

Ross: He was sure he would go to the ends of the earth for him, do anything he’d ask - hence how he had found himself on his knees, ready to make him feel the best he possibly could. Slowly, he inched himself forward, his hand finding Troye’s wrist to direct his hand to his hair - finding himself craving the touch. It was something Ross would remember from the performance, something Troye would do to him knowing the way it would turn him on; make him always want more. “Stay,” he spoke demandingly, knowing his boyfriend would follow his orders, and not wanting to waste time find comfort on their green room sofa. He made his way to their suitcase, bringing out the lube they had packed together earlier: thinking of the silent giggles that had escaped them as they did, realising they wouldn’t be able to hold themselves back after being on stage together. Ross hurried back, the bottle in his hand as he finally pulled his own trousers down, his boxers following with them. “I want everyone to hear.” He spoke, in reference to Troye’s position at the door, his lips finding their way to his neck again. “Want everyone to know, just like after the Met.” He mumbled against his skin, pumping some of the liquid against his fingers - finally running them over his hole.

Troye: Troye allowed Ross to move him by his wrist, position his hand in his hair just as he wanted it, earning a tug from Troye as he fought the urge to push his head forward. Once Ross told him to stay, he didn’t move a muscle, the hand previously entangled in Ross’s hair rested aimlessly at his side as the other held the doorknob, as if it were an effort of stopping anyone from entering. He could hear distant conversations beyond the door, muffled laughter of those walking by, and he knew there was no way he could keep himself quiet enough to not be caught. As Ross came back to him, ridding the rest of his clothing, Troye once again parted his lips to speak but any effort to think a coherent thought was lost on him with Ross’s mouth back against his neck as he teased his hole with his fingers, coating him without penetrating. Even so, it was enough to have Troye gasp at the feeling, craving his touch so badly he was convinced anything would get him off tonight. “We’re gonna get kicked out,” Troye said in a giggle, but backed up against Ross’s hand as he spoke, showing no desire to stop. “But I know you’re hard, felt it, bet you were before I even got on your lap…”

Ross: Ross listened to Troye’s words, smiling silently to himself, knowing the risk of them being kicked out was of no concern to Troye. Definitely not. Not from the same boy who had taken his entire length in his mouth inside an elevator with no warning, or sucked on his thumb in the Met Gala bathrooms, before they had even slept together. He knew Troye. He knew how far he could take this. So, with that knowledge, he pressed a small amount of pressure against his fingers; not quite allowing himself to enter him yet, wanting to head the prettiest whines that would escape him. Kissing further up his neck, his lips landed to his ears - his fingers starting to move in small circles against the rim, his body pressed firmly against his boyfriends back; his spare hand moved to rehook the strap on Troye’s corset back over his shoulder. “You just have to look at me and I’ll get hard.” He mumbled, the hand that had rested on the strap trailing up to this throat - delicately wrapping around it. “But you know what you’re doing, every single time, you like working me up.”

Troye: Ross positioned Troye so he could hardly budge, locked between the door and his boyfriend’s body — not like he could complain. Especially not when all he could do was whine, knowing Ross knew well enough the circling of his fingers would drive him crazy, wanting more. His brain felt a little fuzzy already, still on the high of bringing Ross out on stage, but he couldn’t be bothered by what they might be missing after his set when Ross had him like this. His lips curved into a smile as Ross’s hand eventually found its way to his throat, wrapping around it, his fingers against where his lips once were. “Please,” Troye began to beg, the empty feeling proving to be too much as he tried to buck back down into Ross’s hand but was pressed too close to him for it to be effective, other than showing just how desperate he was. “And you like working me up, too,” Troye bit back, “So, we’re even. Now you can just fuck me.”

Ross: “Shh…” He hummed, his fingertips that surrounded Troye’s throat tightening a little, an action he knew wouldn’t be any assistance in making Troye be quiet. Especially because at the same time, he’d finally allow his fingers to enter him. It wasn’t as though Troye was unprepared, having had seen each other for the first time in weeks only making their desires stronger; Ross wasn’t as afraid of hurting him as he had been the nights prior. So, he’d use two fingers, lightly rocking them in and out - the angle in which they were stood helping him to find the spot he knew would drive Troye crazy. He knew his body now, inside and out - and knew everything he had to do to make him feel his best. “You were thinking about this on stage, weren’t you?” Ross questioned, his lips moving to his boyfriend’s shoulder to lightly kiss his skin; tongue pressed flat against it. “Thought about how I’d take you to this room, leave no time before fucking you.”

Troye: The pressure around his throat had him distracted for a moment before he was met with his fingers, leaving Troye moaning out despite the efforts to keep him quiet. It was only the first stroke of his fingers and he was whimpering, tilting his head back as Ross gave him just what he needed. His words went to his cock, now fully hard, causing it to twitch just before Troye brought his hand down between himself and the door and gave it a squeeze. “Fuck, yes,” Troye admitted, the mixture of his lips against his shoulder, his fingers inside of him, and a hand around his neck making Troye’s breathing heavier. He bit down on his lower lip as hard as he could as Ross’s digits worked inside of him, attentive to what made Troye’s eyes roll back. “You… fuck, shouldn’t… not there,” Troye knew he wouldn’t be able to stay silent, not with Ross knowing what may as well melted Troye in his hands. “Ross,” he moaned his name, as if it were a warning that he wouldn’t be able to hold anything back if he kept focus there.

Ross: Hearing his words, Ross tightened the grip against his throat - holding him in place by his neck. He made no effort to stop his movements, “I shouldn’t? Tell me you want me to stop, then.” He spoke, firmly, knowing that it’s the last thing his boyfriend would want to do– his fingers curving up to brush against the spot he knew would give the answer he was hoping to hear. Hearing Troye in this state was always so satisfying for him, he was sure there was nothing better than hearing him whine - so desperate for everyone touch that Ross could offer him. It was why he would always prioritise him, always prioritise making him feel good; because hearing it always set a physical reaction for him. He felt himself harden from the sounds, pressing a little closer to his boyfriend to rest his length against his skin - not changing the angle his fingers would hit him.

Troye: Troye couldn’t tell him to stop, and Ross knew that — instead, he moaned, taking his fingers inside of him with his noises only growing louder as they curved up in motion. He took it all in as Ross opened him up, pressing his own length against him, leaving Troye craving every inch. “Please, need you,” Troye encouraged, resting one hand against the door as he brought up the other to hold onto Ross’s arm, holding his grip against him in place. He allowed his touch to linger back over his own body, the material of the corset beneath his fingers. “Do you want it off?” He asked, his voice a little soft as he tried to speak through his breathing, tried to distract himself from the feeling that radiated through his body, warmth rushing his veins as Ross showed no desire to stop.

Ross: Ross stood there for a moment, stroking his fingers against the skin on Troye’s neck - his other hand pulling away, leaving Troye empty for a moment - the hand that was just against his neck now on his hip. He leant over, picking up the bottle of lube he had carelessly discarded, a sharp breath inhaling through him as he felt the cool liquid coat his cock – the first time he had touched it that evening. “No,” he answered, stroking his hand up and down his length to coat the lube over it. “Keep it on, please?” he spoke with a small groan, the grip against his hip tightening as he aligned himself with his boyfriend - not quite pressing in yet. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful.”

Troye: The loss of Ross’s fingers made Troye whine, but it was worth it in the anticipation of what was to come, the sound of Ross’s cock slick with lube music to his ears as he stood patiently before him. He smiled as Ross answered him, the plead in his voice making Troye’s face soften as he straightened the fabric out on his body, dropping his hands to spread his cheeks apart to help guide his boyfriend. “Mmm,” he practically purred as he felt the head of Ross’s cock against him, “You can’t even see my face, babe,” Troye teased, bending forward to show off the detailing of the corset from behind. “You don’t have to be soft with me right now, Ross.”

Ross: Ross followed every one of Troye’s movements - from the way his hands moved to the bottom of the corset, to the way they moved to spread himself open. It only made him realise more just how much he meant his words; of course not only being associated to his lust, but still, his behaviour in scenarios like this contributed to his statement. “Don’t need to,” he responded, his grip against his hip hard enough to bruise - as he finally pressed forward, a short gasp leaving him as he felt the warmth that surrounded him from Troye. After a short pause, an attempt to collect his own breath - he’d start to thrust his hips, holding Troye up to the best of his ability. “You - mmh -“ he begun, his voice low as he attempted to keep it in for the sake of the people outside, “Always feel so good, take me so well.”

Troye: Troye couldn’t focus on much other than the grip Ross had on him as he pushed himself forward. He exhaled as he took him in, Ross not waiting much longer to move his hips, causing Troye little time to adjust, his moans already spilling from his throat. He knew they could have easily made it over to the couch, but from the way Ross held onto his hips, Troye knew he didn’t want him budging as he settled his hands on the door. “Fuck, give it to me,” Troye begged, the outside noises overtaken by Ross breathing in his ear, the sound of his skin against his own. It was clear how much the prospect of getting heard began to have an effect on Troye, backing up on his cock before Ross could even sink every inch in him. "Harder."

Ross: Ross would obey anything that Troye wanted - one of his hands trailing back up the corset, before resting against his throat; just as it had before. He figured this was what Troye wanted; and so he let himself become looser - allowing his own breaths and moans to become louder, audible for anyone walking outside. “So fucking greedy,” he commented, tightening his grip around Troye’s neck as he begun to rock his hips rougher, harder. The door lightly tapped from the way Ross’s movements would move Troye against it, his fingers digging in slightly to where he had left his marks against his lovers neck; feeling as though he’d like the sensation of the pain from it. He wouldn’t last long, not with Troye speaking to him the way he was, especially not in that corset; one he surely, surely wanted to ruin by the end of the night.

Troye: Ross’s noises always turned Troye on, and as he slowly seemed to care less and less about the passerbys, Troye felt even more in bliss. “Yes, yes,” was all he could call out, stifled as Ross wrapped his hand back around his throat. Troye tried to meet his thrusts, arching his back before leaning forward against the door, every movement of Ross’s hips causing Troye to moan louder, the attention brought to them as Troye gripped the doorknob causing it to rattle. The harder he went, the rougher he was on his body, and Troye wanted no mercy as he tilted his head back, his eyes rolling with the motion. He couldn’t have cared about getting kicked out now, not when he felt like this. Ross was right — he was greedy, and completely shameless about it as he moaned his name, leaving no secret as to who was behind the door. “You feel so good, always, I…” the words came out a little strained, but he managed, “everyone should know how good you fuck me.”

Ross: It was warm in the room, Ross already felt hot from being on stage; or at least he’d pretend that was the reason he’d take his shirt off on regular occasions. He felt Troye’s head fall back, only exposing more of his neck for his hands to wrap around - his grip tightening enough to make it so Troye would be unable to speak. As much as he enjoyed hearing the things he’d want to say, hearing him strain was almost better; his pants leaving his lips louder than they had previously, and his hips moving even quicker. The door wouldn’t just rattle now, it was lightly banging; there was no doubt the people outside wouldn’t know what was happening in there; if anyone was even there now. Ross couldn’t focus on any outside sounds, being so focussed on the sound of Troye’s gasps through his tightened neck, and the sounds of his cock slick from the movement. “Everyone should know how good you are to fuck.” He hummed, through escaped breaths. “But only mine to fuck, always.”

Troye: Troye’s body was pressed flush against Ross, his back against his chest as he held his head back, encouraging his boyfriend to do as he pleased. He couldn’t string words together with the tightened grip, but could still cry out, his noises broken but certainly not mute as Ross quickened his pace, knowingly aiming his thrusts to hit Troye’s prostate. In a moment like this, he was thankful Ross was stronger than he was, managing to hold him up more than his own body would allow as he balanced himself against the door but felt his legs growing weaker. With Ross’s lips so close to his ear, he heard every pant as they grew heavier, a smile — even with Ross’s hand around his throat — spreading across his face as he echoed his words with Troye being his.

Ross: His hair slick against his forehead, the hand that rested against his hip inched around - wrapping his fingers around Troye’s length. He stroked upwards, skin touching the material of the corset with every flick of his wrist, the idea of messying it after everything that had happened on stage pure motivation to him. His teeth grazed lightly against his earlobe, hand sliding from Troye’s throat to rest in his hair, tugging his head back to stay backwards against his chest. Despite the enjoyment of the position they were in, Ross still wanted to see his face as he cums; forever being one of his favourite sights.

Troye: Troye knew once Ross’s hand was wrapped around him, he wouldn’t last much longer, and nothing but the sound of his moans could warn him. He couldn’t find any words to speak, his eyes rolling back as Ross pulled his hair and had every say in the direction he wanted him. Through half-lidded eyes, he turned his head to get a better look at him, mouth agape with no words spilling from his lips. Anyone in the surrounding area was bound to hear the moan that left him as he came, and he was too far gone to realize just how loud he may have become — and, perhaps more importantly, too far gone to care. His legs felt like they were going to give out beneath him as he released over Ross’s fist, his breathing erratic as his orgasm hit him full force.

Ross: Whenever he witnessed Troye cum, his eyes would be locked on him until the second it was over; the sight captivating him every single time. He loved feeling Troye spill over his fist, loved watching the ways his lips would part and his eyes would roll back - he loved him, so much. Once he was sure Troye was finished, he moved is hands to Troye’s hips; making no effort to clean his hand in the process. He had become so used to finishing inside of him, wanting too - Troye always knew the ways to make him feel euphoric as he came, but now, he’d try not to think of it; a fantasy in his mind he wished to play with instead. After pulling out, he turned Troye around, manhandling him slightly but still keeping him pressed up against the door. “Want you to help me,” he hummed, taking Troye’s wrist and placing his hand over his cock — letting out a breath of relief at the feeling of Troye’s hands pressed against his length. “You know where I want to finish,” he spoke, stepping forward a little, pressing his lips to his boyfriends, finally.

Troye: Troye always felt like his orgasms were all the more powerful with Ross, guiding him through it, an attempt to catch his breath as he steadied himself on his feet. He whimpered as Ross left him, as he always did at the loss of feeling full, not yet fully in the moment as Ross took the lead to turn him around, his back now against the door. He blinked at him a few times, a fluttering of his lashes as Ross asked for his assistance, wrapping his smaller hand around his cock and pumping. He caught his moans with a kiss, his hand working quicker as it deepened. “Do I?” Troye questioned with a smirk against his lips, hoping he had the right idea from the way Ross’s eyes had roamed his corset top, how he asked him to keep it on as he had his way with him. He pulled away from the kiss to look at him, one hand on him as his other lifted the strap that had slipped from his shoulder, hoping he alluded to the right idea.

Ross: His eyes locked onto Troye’s own, his mouth slightly agape as his whines left them. Troye was hot all the time to him, no matter what he was doing, what he was wearing; or what he wasn’t wearing… But there was something special about the corset, something special about any expression of femininity; like Ross could get the best of both from him. His hand trailed from Troye’s hip, grazing over to the front of the corset, tracing lines over some small marks of Troyes own cum from his own orgasm; Ross’s hand still sticky with the rest of the residue. “Fuck, yes,” he confirmed, thumb stroking over the material as his eyes darted to watch the way his boyfriend’s hand looked wrapped around his length. “Such a good boy, the best girl, whatever…” He hummed, inhaling a sharp breath, hips buckling into his fist “Everything I’ll ever need.”

Troye: Troye knew he had the right idea as soon as Ross’s hand grazed over the fabric, stroking over where Troye had spilled onto himself, and he couldn’t help but smile as he spoke his way through it. He moved closer to him, as close as he could get to place his lips to his ear, whispering — perhaps the quietest he had been this whole time. “Let go for me, then,” he said in his hushed tone, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock as he tightened his grip, mimicking how he would with his muscles if he were still inside him, all in time with Ross bucking his hips. “Please, baby? If I’ve been a good boy..”

Ross: It was a welcomed difference to how they had been prior - Ross wouldn’t notice the sounds coming from outside the door anymore, focus entirely on Troye and his soft tone of voice. It sent chills over his body, suddenly feeling vulnerable, like literal putty in his boyfriend’s hands as he spoke to him. It would never have taken much, short whines leaving him as he felt the bottom of his abdomen become warm, his whines turning into moans as he finally came - watching the contrast of the whiteness of his seed against the black of the corset fabric. Ross tilted his face, catching Troye’s lips in a kiss; smiling softly against them as he moved his hands to wrap around his shoulders gently. “I love you,” he hummed against his lips, pulling away ever so slightly; “but I have no idea how we leave this room. I think we live here now.”

Troye: Troye's full attention was on Ross through his orgasm, stroking him through it, never once lessening the pace or loosening the grip of his hand until he was sure he had came down. As he caught his breath, his lips were on Troye’s, and Troye couldn’t help but smile back at just how soft Ross was after the whole ordeal, this time his hands at his shoulders rather than around his neck. “I love you,” he answered back, before Ross could say anything else, but his next comment had Troye giggling as he looked down at his top. “I mean, with a change of clothes, for starters…” Troye pondered as he swiped some of the cum off with his fingers, toying with the idea of bringing it up to his lips to taste his boyfriend on his tongue. He ran his free hand through Ross’s hair, trying to make it look more tame as he brought the digits of his other hand to his mouth.

Ross: Watching the way Troye placed his fingers in his mouth was almost enough to drive his blood south again - watching the way his tongue lapsed over his digits; the soft feeling of his hands in his hair. A little unable to resist himself, Ross leant forward, pressing a few more kisses against his boyfriend’s lips; smiling as he hummed against them. “I packed stuff,” he mumbled, his hand trailing down from Troye’s shoulder, resting at his ass as he offered it a small squeeze. “I thought…” He begun, moving his lips to Troye’s neck, kissing over a mark he left the night prior; his tongue rested flat against the reddish flesh. “We could enjoy the rest of the festival…” His thumb stroked over where he had just squeezed, as he pulled away, tilting his head to the side. “Close your eyes, once you’ve put this on?” Ross finished, a playful smirk on his gaze as he looked his boyfriend up and down - stepping away and throwing him a shirt, notably, one that belonged to Ross. But no trousers, yet.

Troye: Once Troye was satisfied with licking his fingers clean, his lips were back on Ross’s, like they couldn’t bother to be the slightest bit apart. Troye hummed in response, biting at the inside of his cheek as Ross rested his hands on his ass. As if he had to worry about making any noise now. He tilted his head on instinct, exposing his neck to Ross’s waiting mouth, a soft sound escaping past his lips as he watched his body language as he pulled away. His eyes followed his smirk, and how he looked him up and down. Catching his shirt in his hands, he set it down momentarily to slide the corset off his slim figure — with ease now, given how many costume changes he had grown accustomed to, so it wasn’t long until he lifted his arms and slipped Ross’s clothing over his body to take place. He looked at him once more, trying to study what was on his mind, a smile on his face as he laughed whilst closing his eyes. “Are you going to surprise me with some pants?” Troye asked, wondering what in the world would come next.

Ross: Ross watched as Troye slowly peeled the fabric from his body, showing himself bare for the first time that evening. The sight burned into Ross’s memory, surely something he’d return to think of throughout the rest of the evening. He always adored how his shirts enveloped Troye, oversized and unmistakably borrowed, a message to tell people that Troye had a boyfriend; it made him feel smug, as though he could brag to everyone who would pass Troye. Humming softly, Ross turned to rummage through the suitcase, clearly seeking something specific. When he finally found what he was looking for, he pulled it out with a wide grin, chuckling as he approached Troye again. “Not pants, yet,” he teased, eyes locked onto the large material that draped over his boyfriend’s frame - licking his mouth with his tongue slightly. “I meant it earlier, when I said I wanted to make you cum when we get back tonight too.” He begun, pressing a gentle kiss to Troye’s cheek - humming a little. “So… I thought I’d bring something. To make it easier when we’re back.” He spoke quietly, not wanting anyone to hear - his head tilted to the side. “You trust me? Close your eyes. Turn around.” He knew the answer, and that Troye would do anything he’d ask - regardless.

Troye: Troye’s arms settled by his sides as soon as he pulled the shirt over his head, immediately feeling cozier with the fabric that smelled like Ross settled over his skin. He took a liking to borrowing Ross’s clothing, so having a shirt of his rather than his own was really just a welcomed surprise. He could hear Ross looking for something else as he kept his eyes closed, a soft smile rested on his lips. Once he heard his laugh come closer to him, he raised his eyebrows in anticipation, his smile fading into a smirk when he came up and kissed his cheek, as if solidifying his promise for what was to come later. “I trust you, and my eyes have been closed,” Troye noted as he turned, a small giggle of his own as he faced the opposite direction.

Ross: It was hard for Ross to not lather Troye in kisses - kiss every inch of his skin, tell him to keep his eyes closed as he’d douse him in them. Especially as he looked at his smile, or the way he could still be so expressive with his eyes shut; he was so deeply in love. A smile on his own face that Troye couldn’t see, Ross immediately dropped down to his knees, lifting up his shirt that rested over Troye’s frame to position himself underneath it. He moved one hand up, gripping onto Troye’s asscheek, moving his face ever so slightly closer to kiss the other one delicately. “You know how much I love you?” He questioned, in such a loving way it was almost unbelievable where he sat - using his hand to slightly spread Troye open. “I love you, so much.” He hummed, running his thumb over his hole - pressing another kiss to his cheek. Hesitantly, he moved back a little - picking the lube off of the floor to pump it over the object that laid in his hand - sure that Troye would be able to hear. “You wanna go watch the other performers?” He asked, wondering if Troye would engage with the conversation at all.

Troye: Troye could feel Ross approach him, closer, but still had no idea as to just what he was closing his eyes for. He stayed still as Ross lifted up his shirt — or, Ross’s shirt, — his hands back over him. For a brief moment, he wondered if tonight’s promise would happen now, especially when he felt his thumb over his sensitive hole, earning a gasp from Troye as Ross’s lips settled against his other cheek. His words mixed with his delicate touch had Troye nearly melting for him, a satisfied smile on his lips, pushing his ass out as soon as he heard the pop of the lid. He, himself, was quiet up until then, and he almost felt like laughing at Ross trying to keep up casual conversation as he was so close to the most intimate parts of him. “I love you, more,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he answered, following up with a nod. “Mmm…” was all he managed to utter after that, leaving Ross to take it however he pleased.

Ross: Delicately, Ross slid his hand up under the shirt, to rest against the side of Troye’s waist. He enjoyed getting Troye like this: to a place where he would find himself unable to respond fully, working him up just enough to make him try to form sentences. He loved the way Troye loved this, and he loved the way Troye would adapt to anything he’d ask; letting Ross touch him in any way he pleased. As much as Ross prioritised his boyfriend’s pleasure; maybe the reasoning behind it was from enjoying how much he loved to see Troye feel pleasure too. “That a yes? You wanna go back out after this?” He teased, his hand sliding back to his boyfriend’s cheek - squeezing hard whilst he’d pull it to the side - spreading him open. “Say it.” With that, he’d finally pump the cool liquid over Troye’s hole, using his thumb to massage it in lightly - it not being his intent to turn him on again, as much as he could feel his own blood pool south momentarily.

Troye: It was difficult to form any thought with Ross behind him, squeezing, spreading him apart. Troye felt like he could only hum in response, but eventually tried to speak, a small “yes” leaving his lips as it was echoed by a soft whimper at the feeling of Ross’s thumb against him. “Ross,” he warned, his name somehow the easiest to utter, spilling passed his parted lips. “We can go back, come on,” Troye fought to reply, above all else, looking to make Ross proud as he did just as he was told. He knew if they were to go back out there, something about him would look different — whether it was how flushed his face still was, or how marked up his neck had became since the door fell shut behind them. “You wanna show me off?”

Ross: Ross honestly wouldn’t have complained about not going back out there, forgetting all the promises he had made to friends to catch their sets; his entire focus on Troye. He contemplated it for a while, keeping the dressing room hostage and causing an array of issues for the organisers - maybe if he weren’t so nice it would have been something he’d seriously consider. The temptation of Troye all too much, something very difficult to resist. “I think we already showed each other off.” He hummed, finally, bringing the plug up - trailing it in circles over Troye’s hole. “But I always wanna show you off,” He continued, his voice a little hoarse; entire focus laid on the toy as he waited for noises of approval from his boyfriend. “The prettiest person in the world.”

Troye: Troye smirked to himself at Ross’s comment, a blush reaching his cheeks just as the pink tint to his skin began to fade with time. When he felt the toy against his hole, he sighed, now knowing what Ross had planned. He thought about being among the crowd, Ross’s arms around him with everyone unbeknownst to what was underneath his clothes, keeping the sensation of being full. “Please,” Troye begged for it, for Ross to stop the circling and give him just what he needed. He knew they wouldn’t make it the whole festival, even if they made their best attempt, their focus too wrapped up in each other to give it their full attention. “Keep me open so I’m yours to fuck.”

Ross: Ross ran his spare hand up any inch of skin it would reach - from Troye’s thighs to his ass, circling round to his hip and along his waistline. Every inch. He was sure he couldn’t get enough of it, seemingly finding it hard to go even more than a few minutes in Troye’s presence without having a hand on him. He wanted to be touching him all the time; not even just sexually. “You’re already mine to fuck.” Ross hummed, lightly applying pressure against the toy - watching the base of it slowly become surrounded by Troye. “Only mine to fuck.” He hummed, before pulling it out a little; only to push it back in again. This time, he’d allow it fully in - somewhat of him envious of the object, as he found himself fighting against the growing urge to take him then and there, again.

Troye: Troye melted into Ross’s touch. He always did, Ross having a way with his hands, hands that knew a way around Troye’s body — keeping him satisfied, keeping him safe. He whimpered as he felt Ross push the toy in, then out, then back in again and finally allowing it to settle fully inside of him. It was incomparable to Ross’s length, but something that would keep him full, a constant reminder with every movement of how rough Ross had already fucked him and what he still had in store. “All yours,” Troye echoed, reaching behind himself to spread his cheeks apart, giving Ross a full view of how well he could take it. “Still look pretty?” He asked, extending his hand out only to slap it back against his skin in a spank, turning around with a innocent grin painted on his face.

Ross: There on his knees, in front of his boyfriend - watching as Troye presented himself to him; he was sure there was no place better for him. Eyes not knowing if they should be locked on the way his hole had taken the toy so sweetly, or the way his face searched for approval. His question was answered in the way he heard the slap, a small whine leaving him as he stood back up - fingertips cupping the bottom of Troye’s chin. “The prettiest.” Ross confirmed, before once again pressing his lips to the others. Even if he knew he shouldn’t be kissing him, knowing that instead he should be focussed on getting them both dressed and ready to get into the crowd; he also figured one taste wouldn’t hurt. “Can’t wait for when we get home, have you ride my tongue, then my cock…” Maybe one tease also wouldn’t hurt, a smirk lathered against his lips that were rested against Troye’s own.

Troye: Troye smiled against his lips at the confirmation, pulling him in close, as if they were apart for ages, truth being they hadn’t taken their hands off of one another. He wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling strands of blonde hair back between his fingers as he spoke. He pulled away just to catch his breath, forehead pressed against Ross’s own as he thought out his fantasy. “Fuck, yes,” Troye said, in a way that showed no ounce of him would be left in disappointment if they were to part ways from the festival now. He moved to press his lips to his ear, as if they were back in a crowd of people, his words soft, “We won’t make it out of this room if you keep talking like that.”

Ross: Ross’s hands glided gently along Troye’s waistline, his fingertips pressing softly against the soft fabric of the oversized shirt. A quiet hum escaped his lips as he felt the breath against his ears, accompanied by a grin that seemed permanently etched onto his face. He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning Troye’s features; his eyes dark as he looked at him with such love. “I promised so many people I’d watch their set…” he groaned, his voice carrying the weight of reluctance as he pouted momentarily - until the sight of Troye brought his smile back instantly. “We should stay for just a little while, but I wanna go back to the hotel… soon,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Moving towards the suitcase, he rummaged through it until he found the trousers he had packed for Troye to wear after his performance - aware he’d want a change; with a quick toss, he threw them in Troye’s direction. “I packed us both hoodies, too. So we can lay low at the back, if you like?”

Troye: Troye hummed happily as Ross’s hand was pressed against him, watching as his lips curved into a smile. He nodded in agreement, eyes following Ross’s movement, his arms extended for whatever he would pass his way. As he caught the article of clothing, he slipped them on over his legs, allowing the shirt to flow over the waistband of the bottoms. He felt cozy, knowing the hoodie Ross had suggested and having him near would only escalate the feeling. “That sounds good, you won’t miss it, but we’ll still have an easy exit,” Troye said with a laugh, running a hand through his hair to try to smooth it out before gesturing towards his boyfriend. “And what about you?” He asked, fully aware he was still naked, standing in front of the open suitcase. “Do you believe in clothes or is this how you’re going to lay low in the back?”

Ross: Ross watched Troye dress, somehow forever captivated with every movement he made. There was something relatively exciting about it, seeing Troye dressed in oversized clothing, Ross’s own clothing - knowing what lay waiting for him underneath. He giggled at Troye’s words; clearly not caring about the fact he was still undressed - if there was something the blonde knew he could be confident about, it was his body, all the more in front of his boyfriend. “Thought this was only for your eyes?” He spoke with a grin, walking across the room to pick up his discarded jeans - not bothering to put his boxers back on as he pulled the denim over his legs. Soon after, he picked up his own hoodie, slinging it over his shoulder, and walking back over to his boyfriend. “You look cute. Nobody on the floor will be able to tell how hard I just fucked you.” He grinned, a chuckle leaving him as he’d peck his lips - as if he hadn’t just said something so graphic. “The people right outside however…”

Troye: Troye wasn’t complaining, given the fact that his gaze still travelled over Ross’s body, taking in the sight before it was covered. His eyes trailed down his chest, to his abs, down beyond his waistline, only snapping out of his stare when he spoke. “Very funny,” Troye replied, a roll of the eyes that had been focused entirely on him. He smiled at Ross’s compliment turned obscene comment, a giggle of his own echoing Ross’s as he reached for the doorknob, watching as he pulled his jeans on, leaving his boxers behind. He fell silent for a moment, knowing it would be a feat to pry his eyes away. “You don’t think anyone else could tell?” He raised his other hand, his fingertips grazing over the marks on his neck. “You sure about that?”

Ross: Ross reached over for the hand Troye had used to graze the skin of his neck, a wide smile spreading across his face as he intertwined their fingers, gently pulling Troye’s away from the marks. “I said just fucked you,” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. He inched his spare hand toward the doorknob, placing it over Troye’s to twist it open. Hearing the door creak, Ross leaned closer, whispering into Troye’s ear, “I think our performance on stage made it very clear that we fuck. Regularly. A lot.” His voice was a soft murmur, trying to not allow the people behind the door to hear; as if they wouldn’t already know. Giving a soft kiss to his temple, and with a final glance around their dressing room, Ross reluctantly tugged Troye’s arm, finally letting them leave to finish the night.