#just. black ink blob

[hopeheartfilia]

theese pants truly cant catch a break

[onsunnyside]

🍓° 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Mafia!Ari Levinson x lovesick!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, sweet soft!reader, she’s a little oblivious. size difference: 6’8!Ari, he’s a total beefy hunk. neighbours au, a little tumble, stripper!reader, brief mentions of mafia business, undeniable daddy energy.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It was a little ridiculous how in love you were… With a single glance, he could make you melt until you’re a pile strawberry ice cream, tied with a pretty ribbon, and sitting on his doorstep.

𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝗪/𝗖 | 2.45K

𝗔/𝗡 | just a little something I wrote inspired by Melting by Kali Uchis (also where the title is from). this is my first mafia fic but there isn’t much detail since this is a real itty bitty au. as always, all mistakes are my own. [all posts/asks]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Time seems to slow when he jogs by, clad in shorts and a loose tank top with sweat seeping through the grey. His tan skin is covered in a light sheen, making the dozens of tattoos appear darker. From your seat on the porch, they still look like black blobs and lines stretching from his broad shoulders to his hands. 

You’ve never seen them up close, but you have a few ideas of what they might be—a whole page in your diary to be exact. 

Your eyes fall to his muscled legs, firm and thick thighs strain his shorts and just the beginnings of dark ink poke from underneath the fabric. You barely notice the ice cream melting down the cone to your hands, too deep in a daze when tingles blossom from your chest to your toes. A dreamy sigh flows from your lips as the wind flutters through his long brown hair, brushing along his bearded cheeks. 

He turns to you and flashes a bright smile before turning the corner and disappearing down the street. That single glance makes your heart pound ten times faster, and all of your thoughts tangle into one ball of ribbons, varying in colours, prints and lace, but so evidently you. 

If you could, you’d gift him that mess just so he could know how much he affected you without even trying. 

"Oh no!" You quickly wipe your hands from the melting strawberry ice cream but it's useless, the pink stains your white dress and drips down to the ribbon around your ankle. 

It’s almost too symbolic—the pretty pink bleeds all over your ivory clothes, ruining your life just like the fluttering trapped in your rib cage. 

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to hate him, but he was so damn big that you didn’t have any space left in your heart to hate him. 

To say you're in love would be an understatement. In every fantasy and daydream, he's the main focus, your co-star, your lover, your saviour draped in silk button-ups and silver rings. Oh, he's everything you've ever wanted! As if you manifested him when you were a young child and wrote about the perfect boy to sweep you off your feet and make your life a living fairytale—everything you scribbled in glittery pen has come true before your very eyes.

You don’t even mind that he and his biker friends rev their engines at three in the morning, but your roommate doesn’t agree, she’s never agreed. 

The front door slams shut and you stiffen, hurriedly flipping through a random page in a magazine and desperately trying to act like you were not staring at his house next door. 

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, voice already on edge. Vibrant red hair comes into your peripherals, as well as a pair of angry green eyes. 

Natasha groans, setting down her bag on the kitchen counter. "You chickened out again? I need my sleep before I lose my mind. I can’t get any if he and his dumbass friends treat this street like a fucking race track!”

“They aren’t even that loud—and I bought you earplugs.” 

“I am not touching those things until those assholes learn how to be decent human beings!” She rolls up her sleeves and grabs your arm, yanking you from the barstool. 

"Wait! What are you doing!" 

Her heels stomp on the hardwood floor, nearly shaking the picture frames on the walls, “I messed up five drinks today, do you know how bad that looks when they’re my recipes?” She huffs, "he's out there right now mowing his lawn and you're gonna talk to him."

You grab onto the nearest thing which happened to be the couch and clutched it for dear life. “No—you do it!”

"He doesn’t listen to me!" She digs her fingers into your sides making you yelp and feebly swat her away, but you just screwed up big time. “Just try, baby, please! For me!”

That’s the last thing you hear as you stumble out the front door, tripping over the damn welcome mat and tumbling down the stairs. It’s only a few steps, but it stings when your back thumps onto the stone walkway, your poor elbows cushioning your fall.  

You barely catch the engine cutting and rushed footsteps before he appears. 

He stands over you with sweat brimming at his hairline, a deeply concerned expression etched onto his face, "awh shit, are you okay?" 

As always, the air goes thin and you’re under that dumb lovesick spell again. The sun glows around his head like a halo, melting you to the bone, and leaving a mess on the stone in the same shades as your love—strawberry ice-cream pink. 

It’s terrible that you don’t know how deluded your tender heart is.

"You're bleeding," he crouches low, gently examining your elbow, "did your roommate push you down the stairs?” 

"No! No, I-I fell.” Obviously! “But I'm okay." You utter, avoiding the peeping redhead through the curtains. Your gaze lands on his long fingers wrapped around your arm. He’s warm, warmer than you thought. Heat radiates off his body and envelops you like an old friend, familiar and calm. 

"Are you?" He inquires unconvinced, "here, let me clean you up." He leaves no room for protests as he helps you up and leads you to his porch. 

After you sit on the couch, he disappears inside the house before emerging with a large white case. He sits next to you and opens the kit on the table.

"That's a lot of stuff." You note, staring at the packed first aid kit. There are various rolls of gauze, different ointments, and bandages, far more things than your tiny plastic box under the sink. 

Judging by his shiny sports car, and his collection of perfectly tailored suits and watches, Ari lived a very different life than you and you’d do anything to know about it. Your naive heart aches for him so badly it almost hurts. 

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Can I touch you, sweetheart?” 

You watch him tend to your injury with slow and careful movements, his dark brows knitted in concentration. You’ve never been this close to him, the sudden rush of blood almost makes you lightheaded, but his scent brings you back down. The woody cologne floods your nose, followed by a dash of vanilla with underlinings of musky spice.

“What happened to your other dress?” He glances up, eyes shaded under his thick lashes. 

“Oh… It got dirty.” 

He hums, “what a shame.” He delicately presses down the edges of the bandage. “That’s one of my favourites. It always makes my day to see you wearing it.” 

You swallow down a whimper and clench your thighs, seconds away from dropping to your weak knees. Embarrassment fills your chest, tinged with guilt, “I’m sorry, sir.” The words slip out before you could think.

He cracks a small smile, shaking his head, “it’s okay, just be more careful next time, yeah? Can’t have you ruining the little purple one too, that’s my second favourite.”

Dull thumps hammer inside your head, muffling his raspy voice. You nod silently, digging your sock-clad feet into the concrete. 

You take the chance to memorize his tattoos, from the intricate rose by his wrist following the thorn stems up his arm where they entwined with a heavily shaded skull. Thin script is scattered along his skin, you can’t make out the exact words but they’re in swooping cursive, clinging to his flesh like wet chiffon. 

His arms tighten as he cleans up, the muscles shifting under his paper-thin t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Every unconscious flex clouds your head, tunnelling your vision until he’s all you can see.  A small whine sounds from your throat and his eyes flicker to yours, blue as can be. 

“I don’t see you leave very often.” You were either inside or sitting on the front porch with a treat and a magazine, or in the backyard tending to that small garden. “Do you work?”

“I… I did, then I got fired.” The wound was still a little fresh. “But it wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

Ari perks up in interest, although he knows plenty about you, this was strikingly new. Aside from your basic profile, he knew about your past as well, including where you grew up, where your parents lived, and how long you’ve been in this city. 

It was only right to know about the two girls living next to his late grandmother’s house. Curtis insisted since Ari wouldn’t let him stay in the old two-storey home, but instead the house down the street.

He came here to be alone and mourn, but that was hard to do with a cute neighbour always staring at him. Yet he stopped caring after you left a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers on his doorstep and an adorable ‘welcome to the neighbourhood!’ note. 

He forgot how good it felt to be sought after, rather than feared and honoured like a living legend. You gave him that sliver of normalcy with your longing loved-up looks and quick dashes inside when he pulled into the driveway. To you, sweet-spirited you, he was an ordinary guy, not someone with a history coloured in hues of red and dripping all over his shoes, smearing the black ink of his future; an eternity tied to his family’s glory that’s now his. 

“This customer was being so mean and I know I should’ve stayed professional but I was havin’ such a bad day already.” Your bottom lip trembles, flashes of that terrible day flickering through your head, “first I slept through my alarm, then I missed the bus, and my make-up broke in my bag a-and everything was all ruined.”

He reaches out, rubbing your knee soothingly. Poor girl, if it was up to him, you’d never be mistreated. “Where did you work?”

“Venom Vixens.” You sniffle, hoping he isn’t the judgemental type, you’ve known too many people who would humiliate you for your chosen career. “I, uh, I wasn’t one of the girls on stage since I was still new but I liked it there. My coworkers were nice, I got free drinks, and…”

“And?”

“I felt,” you look down at your hands, they were so much smaller than his, “I felt pretty. People go there to look and flirt, and I didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it.” 

Ari wouldn’t mind giving you all of that instead. 

He licks his lips, imagining you in a tiny lace set, the sheer fabric clinging to your figure while you swayed around the dimly lit club. A piece of art in the sea of ogling and drooling patrons, blooming beautifully under the flattery. 

“You liked the attention.” 

You giggle, “Yeah, a lot. Sure, some customers were gross and would say nasty things, but others were nice, real nice—they’d tip a lot and compliment me. Most of them were just lonely, they wanted someone to talk to or someone to spoil.” 

You don’t regret accepting their fawning or expensive gifts, hell, most of your jewelry was from your loyal clients. Sparkly things paired with sweet words were a one-way ticket to your good books. 

“How about your boss?” Ari asks, “how did he treat you?”

Venom Vixens wasn’t only a haven for the lonely or where perverts got their fill, but of course, you wouldn’t know that. You’d have a heart attack if you knew of the shady people who walked in and out of those doors, you’ve probably served a few of them, flashed that bright smile and earned yourself a big tip—unknowingly pocketing the filthy, blood-stained money. 

“Mr. Hansen was very friendly, but everything went through him. If we wanted to change a routine, we had to perform it for him first and get his approval. He said it was protocol.” Ari snorts but you don’t catch it, all too distracted with twisting the ring on his middle finger. “He was nice when you were nice to him.”

“So he must’ve always been kind to you. You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever met.”

You preen under his praise and nod happily, questioning why you were so nervous around him in the first place.

Ari was a flirt—and you loved being flirted with. 

“Mr. Hansen called me his favourite before he fired me. That was over two weeks ago, and Nat said I could take my time but,” you sigh, “I feel like a bother.” 

He wonders if your best friend would still hate him if she knew he was the reason that her cafe was still standing. Without his ruling over the South district, there would be chaos, and that little joint would’ve been ransacked long ago. 

Did he also call for extra protection because you frequented the establishment? Proudly so. 

“Are you still looking for a job?” He takes your distant hum as a yes, “Do you want to work for me?”

Your head snaps up, your sparkling eyes wide in surprise. 

“I’m opening a new club in a few days and I’ve got a spot left for a performer.” He didn’t, but he had no problem giving someone the boot to make room for you. 

Your mouth opens and closes several times, and the thought of Ari owning a club flies straight over your head. You’ve watched him more than your favourite movie but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him, except that he smokes, liked to work out and alternated between a white mustang and a sleek black motorcycle. 

Oh, and sometimes he changes in front of his bedroom window. 

“You’ll be my boss?”

Say the word, and he’ll be much more than that.

He smirks, gripping your jaw and turning you from side to side, blue eyes flickering over your features, “Sure will. I have a feeling this pretty face will be the main attraction every night.”

Your heart swells when his fingers dig into your cheeks. “I-I would, but Nat won’t like that. She kind of hates you… and your friends.” He adds pressure and your lips pucker, “you’re all s-ho loud wit ya’  bikes ‘n engines.”

Ari bites his tongue, it was either the motorcycles or the blood-curdling screams of the poor soul in the basement. He made a mental note to speed up the process of that soundproof room, he couldn’t have you losing sleep over his business. 

“She doesn’t have to know.” He replies, releasing your face in favour of loosely grasping your throat. Your pulse thumps under his fingers, hard and fast, speeding up as he leans closer, “c’mon, don’t you want to be a star? Get all that attention again and make me proud?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i just love sweet!readers, they're my faves 🥹 and pairing them with big hunky (secretly soft) men is heaven !! i can't get enough !!!!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! I love you all very much 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

[marauroon]

I love your new fic Hypothermic and the whole trope of Jamie being a big cuddle bug and the best friend trope always has a chokehold on me. Can you write a romantic bestfriend!james maybe about a swim in the black lake or something with a summery vibe please (I miss summer so much rn)

BALL GAME — J.POTTER

James makes the most of being your favourite person to convince you out of the castle and into the lake.

cw — james picks the reader up at one point

james potter x fem!reader || fluff || 1.3k || requests open!

a/n: best friend james has my whole entire heart i fear

Sometimes James is half convinced you’re a vampire, that your skin is so delicate that even a pinprick of sunlight will burn you into a pile of ash.

If it weren’t for your ostentatious love of the summer season—and the privilege James has as your best friend—he’d be surprised you even agreed to his request at all.

Yet there you were, sat pretty underneath the shade of one of the small willow trees lining the water with a book in your lap and a picnic blanket separating you from the grass.

Was he a little sad you’d decided not to join the group in splashing around? A little. Was he going to ask you again later with his puppy dog eyes so you couldn’t refuse him? Probably.

But right now he was content with watching how your eyebrows furrowed and left small wrinkles between your eyes as you read a particularly interesting paragraph, and the slight fluttering of your hair against the small breeze.

A sharp splash of water to the back of his head tore James’ attention from watching the way your eyes scanned the pages of your novel with your nose scrunched in a mix of surprise and disgust at whatever was printed in the ink, and he turned around with an exaggerated gesture of annoyance only to be met with another splash straight to his face.

Whilst the icy water was a nice relief from the nearly 30° heat, it was still cold.

“What was that for?” James pulls his glasses from his face to try and wipe the water droplets from the lenses with his thumb, turning Sirius’ face into a blurry pale blob in the process.

“We’re picking teams for a makeshift volleyball game? You’d know that if you stopped gawking over there like a dog in heat,” James can vaguely make out Sirius crossing his arms over his chest, and lo and behold, when he slots his glasses back on, Sirius’ expression is just as smug as he expected it to be.

“I wasn’t ‘gawking’ anywhere you twat,” James sends a splash of water in Sirius’ direction as a retaliation. “I was just appreciating the fact that she actually joined us, that’s all,”

“Appreciating her face you mean,” Sirius’ tone matches his smugness perfectly, and James lets out a short scoff with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re such a dog Pads,”

“You know it,” Sirius shoots James a wink and he pretends to gag. “Seriously though, stop staring so we can play,”

“Orrr,” Marlene wades over to the two to interrupt the conversation, laying her arm over Sirius’ shoulder. “You can go over there and convince her to join us, we’re uneven,”

James shoots another glance in your direction with an uncertain hum. “I don’t think we should disturb her,”

“We can’t play 4 to 3 James,” Marlene tilts her head and shakes it lightly. “So go bat your eyelashes and use your favouritism to get us another player,”

She gives a dismissive wave of her hand and Sirius joins her, James sending the two a very unimpressed look as he drags himself out of the water to speak to you.

It’s not the new source of shade from the sun that informs you of James’s presence, nor is it the sight of him sitting down cross-legged beside you in your peripheral vision. It’s the water droplets that sprinkle the right side of your face and the pages of your book that give him away.

“James—” You let out a low groan to voice your disapproval at him shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair, something that very clearly didn’t work very well as water continued to drip from his curls onto his shoulders, disappearing into the already soaked fabric of his t-shirt.

“Sorry sorry collateral damage I swear,” He throws up his hands in an immediate surrender, and you let out a small scoff with a shake of your head as you pull his glasses from the bridge of his nose to dry them on the hem of your t-shirt.

“Having fun then?” You leave your book on the blanket to shift onto your knees, carefully placing James’ glasses back on his face so they properly catch behind his ears.

James nods with a smile at how gentle your fingers are as they brush the sides of his cheeks when you return them to your lap. “Yeah, we’re about to play a round of volleyball, fancy joining us?”

You scrunch up your nose slightly and he can immediately anticipate your answer. “…no?”

“Awe come on we’re uneven,” James tilts his head as he gestures towards the others in the water, a small pout etched onto his face. “We can’t play 3 to 4 that’s not how it works,”

He blinks at you softly, eyes filled with carefully curated desperation. “Please? We can team up together,” He adds the idea of teaming up like it’s an added bonus to your agreement, his voice sweet, sticky, and absolutely dripping in persuasion.

He looks perfectly pathetic when he looks at you like that, and who are you really to say no to him?

“One game,” Your answer is joined by an exasperated sigh, but James reacts like you’ve just told him all of Severus’ hair has fallen out rather than begrudgingly agreeing to play water volleyball with him.

“Perfect! Let’s go,” James holds out his hand to help you up eagerly, a smile beaming across his face that almost puts the blazing sun to shame in it’s brightness.

You roll your eyes at him, but take his hand nonetheless, and he’s a little too excited in pulling you to your feet as he sends you stumbling forward from his pull, and he uses the momentum to lean down and take the top half of your body over his shoulder, hoisting you off the ground in the process.

You can sense the inevitable immediately.

“Don’t you dare—” You arms wrap tightly around James’ waist as he straightens his posture, his arms secured around your thighs as he walks the two of you towards the lake, suspiciously quiet considering his earlier excitement. “James I swear to god if you do what I think you are going to do I will destroy you,”

You kick your legs the closer you get to the water, although it’s to no real avail compared to the arm strength that is James’ chaser practice, and all it really ends up doing is garnering you an audience as James begins to wade in the water.

“James, you better put me down right now.“ Your warning falls on deaf ears, and your half surprised at the amount of will power he has to keep ignoring you as the water reaches his knees.

“James—“ You barely manage to get his name out before he dive on a you both into the water, it’s icy temperature immediately sending a chill up your spine as you resurface with a gasp, James laughing as he breaks the water himself.

“You absolute twat—” You send a splash of water in James’ direction with an over-exaggerated show of your disapproval, and he blocks it with his forearm, laughter still steadily streaming from his mouth.

Needless to say, you didn’t team with him for the volleyball game.

[chez-cinnamon]

Why does Wally look like he's like. Dropping?? In the most recent artwork?? Is he like, already inky or smth from stress?

Actually, what are the ink forms? I'm really curious.

I’m planning on making a doodle page with explanations about their forms, but it’s taking a while so I’ll show what I’ve got-

The puppets in this AU are made of ink but aren’t exactly made of just ink - think of them as BATIM/Who Framed Roger Rabbit kind of creatures. They’re other worldly beings made of ink.

However the events of the AU involve the puppets being very new to these forms, so they drip often because they forget to maintain these forms. Over time, they become more solid and don’t need to worry about dripping, but it happens on occasion or if they’re stressed/panicked/sad. Wally, Frank and Poppy drip the most out of them - Poppy out of nervousness, Frank because even after living with Fionn for a while he never got used to the sudden change, and Wally because most of the AU involves him and he’s stressed out a lot, plus he has a bit more trouble trying to maintain his form.

The ink they’re made of is insanely flexible - think of Splatoon ink but more otherworldly - which allows them to travel via hopping. They can remain in blob form or can morph half of their body into their regular forms with their legs being a puddle. When in their ink forms, they’re primarily black with slight swirls of their outfit’s colours peeking out, but as they get used to it, their ink becomes less black and more like their most dominant colour(s) (Wally’s being blue/yellow, Poppy’s being red, Eddie’s being orange, etc.)

A downside to their ink forms, however, include being unable to touch water, due to ink mixing with water - it can be quite painful to them. And they can’t get too close to fire/hot things, otherwise they’d melt or burn, almost like film. After some time in the human world, I can imagine that they’d somehow get more used to it and they’d be able to touch water, but in general it’s painful for them. They also don’t need to eat and drink, but to keep substance, I like to think they rely on either drinking/sleeping in ink pots, or they snack on lollipops.

But yeah- I might come back to this but this is the basic outline of their ink forms!!!

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ An Endearing Infestation

Tw: none, silly fluff

It started with catching one of those tiny rascals in your house as you cleaned. No bigger than the size of your palm, a tiny blob of soot-like ink was accidentally caught amidst your vacuuming when you tidied up your house in your Serenitea Pot. You didn't even comprehend it resembled a small bird chick with one crimson eye since the small thing got frightened and scurried off underneath your couch. Any attempts to look for it were futile.

Another time, you were certain you caught two identical ones playing in the closet before sprinting with a hurried squeak when you stepped into the room. You started doubting your eyesight at first, before speculating the worst - some sort of an infestation in your pristine clean house. Yet your worries were settled aside when you finally managed to take a closer look at the many little birds that found residence within the crooks of your house. Fluffy in an unkempt manner, they were tiny birds that stared at you with their single crimson eye and a tiny crest on their round soot-colored bodies. You could almost chuckle at how silly these weird creatures were, but you couldn’t deny their cuteness. They were afraid you would kick them away, or even shoo them with a broom - but you’re not that heartless. 

The entourage of identical yet tiny blobs often observed you. They appeared curious about the many things you did in your Serenitea Pot. When you read in your study, they would play with the books. When you cooked food in your kitchen, some of the tiny birds would try and help you by pushing the spice rack closer or bringing more stems of herbs. And on late, cold nights, when you’d light up the fireplace in the guest room, even the timidest of the bunch would come out from their hiding spot to huddle neatly for warmth. They were easily spooked by the tiniest of movements, so you did not disturb their gentle napping when they fluffed up their pitch-black feathers and clustered close to you for heat. It was a charming sight.

Nevertheless, you are yet to discover where these little rascals came from. You never encountered them during your travels in Teyvat, that's for sure. However, something about those round eye orbs of theirs seemed familiar… There must be a source. And most importantly, why would these rascals broaden in quantity when a certain Fatui Doctor stays in your Serenitea Pot?

Your brain instantly conjured up a thought, like a detective reaching a moment of eureka when solving a mystery  - Dottore. 

With a grumble and a whine, you had to confront him. To no one's surprise, the Harbinger found solace in your Serenitea Pot, often spending time in your study or directly bothering you. It’s a habit of his, like a daily routine. Thus, you stormed upstairs to your library where he lingered, and saw him sitting casually by the desk. 

Dottore wasn’t reading. He wasn’t mulling over some papers or research. No, he was plainly sitting and peeking somewhere behind the table.

“Dottore,” - you declared his name firmly. “Whatcha got there?”

The man glances at you neutrally; no surprise or dismissive groans. Yep, this man is concealing something. He replies nonchalantly: “Nothing. Just my morning coffee, as you can clearly see. Perhaps you need a vision check, dear?”

You give him the look. A look of raised eyebrows and a glare that says ‘Oh really now?’. Dottore's mouth pressed into a thin line, silently holding the mug. He remained eerily still and silent as if you tested each other through nonverbal communication.

And yet neither of you broke the silence, but instead, a small birdttore peeked from the Doctor’s mug. Even when the little thing caught your scrutinizing gaze and tried to hide in the mug, its single-feathered crest was still visible from the mug.

“There isn’t even any coffee in your mug, Dottore!” - you huffed in an astounded manner, placing your hands on your hips. “Come on, spill it out. How many of those wee bird-things you’ve got hiding?”

“I literally have no idea what you’re rambling about. Don’t be outrageous.” - He replied in such an easy and dismissive manner; it would’ve been believable were it not for that impish smirk that tried to break free on his face.

“Dottore, there is one peeking in your mug and I can see another one hiding by the chair. Perhaps you’re the one who requires his vision checked, hm?”

With a deep sigh and a mocking tone, his shoulders loosened and he reluctantly put down his facade - “Fine, you’ve got me. Consider this as an astute observation on your part. Are you pleased?”

As Dottore sat up more comfortably by the desk, the abundance of teeny ink blobs came out from their hiding. So minuscule yet wobbly, they gleefully revealed themselves and started scurrying everywhere. On the desk, by the floor, in Dottore’s mug… some even happily climbed onto your leg as you stood there, baffled. Dottore just watched with that giddy grin of his.

“... Okay, so, what are these? And why are there more of them in my house? Please tell me this isn’t some sort of an experiment gone wrong and now you’re disposing of them in my home, like getting rid of an infestation.”

“Infestation? Do not be ridiculous. It is clearly the opposite! A small experiment gone right, and now it's serving its purpose.”

“And that purpose is… what?” - You raised an eyebrow. Dottore stood up and smiled cheekily:

“Having bits and pieces of me to accompany you while I’m away.”

He replied so confidently as if it was ludicrous of you to not realize it earlier. Yes, of course. Creating sentient little bird things so your significant other wouldn’t be bored. So obvious!

“...Is this some sort of ritual or experiment that I am not aware of?” - You clasped your hands and asked suspiciously. Some of the tiny blobs climbed onto your head. “Because if this is your way of ‘marking your territory’ then excuse me. I didn’t know that mad scientists exercise such a custom.”  

“Oh shut it. You’re not even mad that I sneaked in so many of them when I visited you. It was comically easy to slip them every other day in your manor. That means they are serving their purpose accordingly. Stealthily keeping you company.” - Il Dottore smiled triumphantly, standing right in front of you.

“Wha-? I can barely handle one Dottore, and now you make me handle many tiny pieces of you? Countless silly little birdttores to keep an eye on me? No way!”  

“Sure, sure,” - The Doctor scoffed and laughed at your attempt at teasing. His one arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you for a much-needed kiss on the cheek. His lips pressing tightly and lingering on your skin. “There, can your endearing face handle just a couple more kisses or must I humbly request for that smile of yours to return?”

You rolled your eyes at him but didn't rebuttal.

Hence, the evening was spent the usual way. Resting by the couch, the fire crackled in the fireplace. And while you and Dottore relished in the rare opportunity of leisure time, the tiny birdttores huddled once more by your lap or perched on Dottore’s shoulder. The Harbinger kept his arm around you, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. Although you couldn’t see through his mask, his stern expression kept an eye on the teeny rascals, as if warning them not to disturb you at home if they didn’t want to be exterminated on the spot.

Therefore, all was well... But Dottore had to think of ways to lock the bedroom in the future so those scoundrels wouldn’t bother you two in bed.

➻ First time posting a fic here. Please tell me how I did! And if you wish to see a casual day with Dottore and his birbttores - here is my art! 

[zarla-s]

Hi. Wanted to ask you about"you will never leave here not in the way that matters" thing. Is it purely in the physical sence (like that ink blob will find Gaster everywhere)?

It's primarily in an emotional sense! It works on several levels actually.

The goopmonster has been inflicting torture on Gaster that he feels like he deserves and thus doesn't try to escape for the most part - this is also why it says "and you thought I was what was keeping you here?" in a mocking way. Gaster willingly tries to go back to it, which the goopmonster also mocks him about by going "if you insist" to him. In essence, he'll never escape his self-loathing, or the feeling that he deserves to be tortured for everything that he's done (or didn't do), or the trauma of the entire experience of being erased and tortured eternally/instantly. He can't escape the damage he's endured and inflicted - in some way he will always carry it with him, much like how the black void drips out of his scars on the surface.

But, this and the monster are a reflection of Gaster's pessimistic worldview and his general lack of hope. Trauma, how people react to it and how people overcome and learn to live with it, is the major theme of Handplates. People can't "leave" their trauma entirely behind, so to speak, but they can grow, live, love, be happy, and hope, even while bearing its scars. It's not the be-all end-all of their lives, and it doesn't have to be all of Gaster's life. That was part of why Papyrus was so insistent that Gaster try to leave - try to move on - from what he'd done and what he'd been through to try and build a better life.

It comes up again later, when Gaster is on the surface, where he says that it's hard for him to believe that they're free and that it won't be taken away from him again, residual fear from what he went through during the War. Essentially, PTSD. It's then that he gets some perspective on what the goopmonster said to him - you'll never leave here, not in a way that matters. Even if he leaves the void, his damage will come with him. Even when he has everything he wanted, he can't feel safe. He can't feel peace. He can't escape it.

But of course, right after that, Asgore suggests ways he can deal with it, ways he can learn how to handle it and live with it, and he goes with him to do so. He gets books about how to live and deal with trauma and PTSD, he reads them and works on it. He tries, like he promised Papyrus he would. He can't erase what happened, he can't "leave" it, but he can still work to make a better life for himself and work to be a better person for the people around him. Those scars are part of him and his world, but they're only part of it.

It does also work on a more literal level - Gaster can never entirely leave there because he's not entirely put together. Pieces of him are still missing and still scattered across the void, parts of him he can't get back or understand or possibly even recognize as himself anymore (part of the makeup of the goopmonster itself? perhaps :3).

It also applies on a meta level with Gaster being the panel borders, which disappear when they're in the void. That blackness will always be there just by its nature, defining time and space by the panels and gutters (well... lack of gutters...). So Gaster can never leave the void because he is the void, to an extent, and he can never escape his fall into it or even his way out of it because his being encompasses the panels that define the entire function of time for the comic's reality. He's in a perpetual state of eternity and instantaneous, present for every moment of the comic from beginning to end but unable to change it or understand what it is he's doing or even is. Panels define time and space for a comic, but that time is an illusion, under the control and imagination of the reader.

He tries to describe this a few times to others but it's very difficult since he doesn't understand that what he's in is a comic, he can't comprehend that perspective or that that's what he's seeing. Being in a game seems like the more logical conclusion, even if that still has holes. But anyway.

[malacandrax]

Hello hello!! Just wanted to say that I really love seeing your traditional drawings, they're so charming 🥺 It's pretty rare to see trad. art on here compared to digital, which is a little sad.. there's just something about the personality it has!

Do you find that the post engagement they receive is less than your digital works? Personally I've had this experience but I'm not sure if it's different for other artists 😯 It's discouraged me a lot from posting since I don't regularly have enough time to sit down and make a digital piece vs drawing in my sketchbook 😓

On a related note, is there a pen you'd recommend for sketching/doodling? All the pen drawings in your sketchbook posts are so pretty 🫶

Thank you so much! That means a lot honestly. Seeing other peoples sketches is one of my favourite things, you're right, it's generally less perfect but I think it has more charm because of that. I feel like *personally* I actually often favour traditional stuff over digital when I see it online- I have a big collection of digital sketchbooks and fav'd youtube flipthroughs.

HOWEVER yeah I think we are in the minority. To be completely honest on itch.io I've actually only made 4 sketchbook sales*, I assume there's a market out there but I ain't hitting it haha! I do have a good chunk of patrons that comment and like my sketches, which is wonderful, and I often get sweet tags on the doodles I share here- but you're right that engagement is lower. I'd encourage you do just do it for yourself, though! There's nothing like having a big stack of art in real life. Maybe that's a privileged position for me to have, at the moment I don't need to worry about engagement on my sfw art, but also it's a shame to not do something you enjoy because of numbers. (I would recommend using a scanner if you want to catch more peoples eyes. Mines crap but it's way better than photos were.)

Pen wise I am a picky bitch, I like things that don't require pressure, make a uniformish line, and ink that flows easy- so I prefer gel pen styles or fountain pens. My most recent fav were some lyreco retract gel 0.7's my partner randomly brought home from work lol, but I lost the black one and replaced it with a uniball signo 0.7 [UM-120*], honestly they're just regular gel pens though, I generally try them out in a shop and pick ones that don't blob or scratch.

My fountain pen is a pilot kakuno, which atm has that blue grey ink in (sailor 224) and I really love it. (also I put it into a water brush pen) I've also used carbon platinum for a good waterproof ink.

Good luck with your sketchbook endeavours, and thank you again!

*there are...at least two types of uniball signo, and the other one with a soft grip is bad imo.

**thank you to those sweethearts who bought the sketchbook!

[neverdoingmuch]

when wen ning first wakes up in the burial mounds, wen qing and wei wuxian are both really overprotective of him as he’s getting used to his new body, so to speak, and they’re still trying to make sure there’s no other issues with him like idk falling apart. so he’s stuck watching all the other wens running around, doing the farming and cleaning and cooking and building their new home, and wen ning feels really useless and left out.

but then one day a-yuan runs up to him and is like !!!! are you busy?? and when wen ning is like uhh no? a-yuan just beams at him and is like wait here! and runs off into wwx’s cave and comes back with some ink and paper and just plonks down onto the floor in front of wn and starts drawing him. wn just panics and sits stock-still for like three hours until wwx comes over and is like ah wow a-yuan you’re so good! can you draw one of me and wn? and a-yuan is like mm!! and he eventually ends up drawing the entire family and yeah,, they’re all red blobs except for one black blob but everyone loves his art regardless.

and so a-yuan starts drawing more and more. paper is hard to come by sometimes but the wens always make sure a-yuan has enough that he can keep drawing. he draws his uncles and his aunts and wwx (when he comes out of his cave). but everyone is always really busy, and wn ends up being a-yuan’s main model and favourite subject to draw. and yeah wen ning still feels kind of useless and uncomfortable in his own skin in a way that he’s never felt before, but when a-yuan clambers into his lap to show off his latest art, wen ning never looks like a monster in a-yuan’s drawings.

(and then when all the wens die and wn is locked beneath koi tower, a-yuan forgets them. but whenever he gets the chance to draw at the cloud recesses his people always wear red and sometimes have black veins.)

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

i prefer my words to intersect to overlap each letter to run smack-dab into each other to pile atop each other like an old fashion fumblerooski play from high school i want there to be all black and no white no space in between  just one big blob of ink of emotion of all the pain and suffering carried within the very words now huddled

i want you to be confused unable to make heads or tails just like you make me feel

[dorky-kawa]

Is the avant mv really predicting the jjk ending? - an analysis

There's no way to be sure, but on the other hand, it sure is racking up to be a lot of strange coincidences if not. People have made several observations that the MV seemed to have foreshadowed Nobara's return all along, while others have made other theories on how the MV may be telling us of the return of the glorious blue-eyed king.

Putting the stuff about our blue-eyed king aside (we'll return to it), the MV was scarily accurate about Nobara's return.

But one thing that I noticed from the latest chapter is that the MV may have also showed us Sukuna's defeat months ago.

References from the MV -> chapter 268:

In a brief panel of the MV, there is a blob that looks similar enough to the Sukuna blob we saw this chapter. The blob is coughing up black ink/blood? as if it were punched, almost like Sukuna taking damage from Yuji's black flash.

Sequence in the MV:

Also, at the start of the sequence, there appears a pair of hands holding on to the blob, just like Yuji holding Sukuna with both hands as Sukuna faded away.

Now, if this convinces you snippets of jjk's ending have been hidden in this MV, it gets interesting regarding what else this MV might be foretelling. Interpreting an MV is a subjective art, but users on twitter have pointed out another sequence in the MV in which a portrait with two eyes (that have clouds floating in them) becomes blotted with ink over one of the eye.

This connects to the suspicious amount of official content with Gojo that only has one eye opened. Why do you keep drawing him with only one eye, Gege?

In the end, what does it mean for Gojo? No idea. Some people are saying he's coming back with a binding vow that requires him to give up an eye/Six Eyes. You can probably find the theories on twitter. What would be the purpose of him coming back at the end of the story? Who knows.

— but the picture is there, and depending on whether you're convinced or not, the MV seems to have referenced the jjk ending in it, so it might be worth it to check it out to see if we can figure out more about the ending before it's ending in 3 chapters anyways.

As an aside, this post is just talking about whether we can rely on the MV to predict the ending; the MV itself has other panels that refer to canon events in the manga. It's pretty cool - check it out on Youtube if you have the time.

Also, in case anyone is not familiar with how the MV predicted Nobara's return:

References from the MV -> chapter 266-267

[bloody-peach]

Demonic Possession (BATIM smut: Ink Demon x F!Reader) [NSFW]

(art by Hikase555)

Goodie Bag: Vaginal sex, creampie, monster sex, biting/marking, breeding, fluff and smut, dry humping, grinding [please let me know if i'm missing anything].

Now Playing: The Rigs - Devil's Playground (click here to listen)

Taglist: @omniuravity @eldritch-affair and any other fellow monster/demon fuckers!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

A/N: Oooh man, the monster fucker in me is salivating over Ink Demon rn. I couldn't find a lot of Ink Demon smut (if any) so I made one myself. A few things before we start. 1) The ink demon will not be referred to as Bendy in this, just 'the Ink Demon'. I go against canon and see Bendy and the Ink Demon as separate entities, so it applies here. 2) the look of the Ink Demon in this story is going by hikase555's design. The header image is by them, but here's another one for further reference: [click here]. 3) I had my boyfriend help me with the intro, so if there appears to be a slight disconnect in writing styles at the start, that is why. One last thing: if you ever get confused on how kissing works in this, the kisses work pretty much like how it worked in this image: [click here]. Ok, on with the show!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Bending through the corridors of the Cycle left closed and locked away, a sound painfully wailed behind the walls. He once found comfort being given form, but now he dreads the very existence left to be his fate; why must ink demons have heat cycles?

The Ink Demon knew that his heat would start today, it started the same time each year (wait, do years even go by in the cycle?). He would usually be able to control it by pleasuring himself in many different ways, and it would usually work, but now he was insatiable. He needed to find a mate or else lose his mind trying to hold off til the end of his cycle, which he knew he couldn't do.

As he ran through the list of potential candidates in his head, a shrill scream rang out through the halls. It wasn't a scream he recognized as anyone from the studio, so he went to investigate. He followed the commotion to find a chase between the Projectionist, and a woman he'd never seen before. A smile grew on the Ink Demon's face. Maybe this was his chance.

-Some time before-

You heard the rumors about the abandoned studio from the 1930s near your apartment from many people, but never really believed them. However, the mystery of what could be inside the surprisingly intact building enticed you to go see for yourself. When you entered the studio, everything around you turned black and sepia. You walked through the halls and explored the many rooms, to the point where it seemed endless.

But you soon found that, unfortunately, you were not alone.

Many humanoid blobs made of ink and morphed versions of the Bendy characters would try to attack you, at an increasingly growing rate. You were able to outrun them, but you started to grow paranoid over whether they'll be back. Nevertheless, you kept exploring, but you carried a makeshift weapon (you found a broken piece of pipe). You walked into a room where there was a projector running, displaying some footage for some TV special with Joey Drew as the host. You took a closer look at the projector, impressed by its ability to still run after all these years. But then, you noticed ink starting to drip down the projector. The ink formed into a puddle and then grew into a body, attaching to the projector. It lifted it off the stand and was now a walking ink being with the projector as its head. The creature turned to you and let out a terrifying shriek, then started to charge at you. You dodged it and ran out of the room, the projector being chasing you.

-Now-

You ran and ran as fast as you could but you could hear that projector being catching up to you. Soon, to your horror, you hit a dead end. You turned to see your demise coming closer and closer. You put your arms up in a defensive position and shut your eyes tight, waiting for a swift death. But then there was a loud sound and then, silence. You slowly opened your eyes and saw the projector on the ground, separated from the demon's body. You put your arms down and almost jumped when you saw who killed it.

It was a 7 foot tall, malformed figure with skin made of black ink that almost looked like tar, appearing to have a fit human torso, legs, and arms, but with a very small waist. His head looked like Bendy's, but it looked like someone dumped ink on his head, making him look melted. It covered his eyes, so you couldn't see them, if he even had any. His horns were curved and almost looked like a crescent moon, almost. His smile matched Bendy's, but it was much wider. His left hand had 4 fingers and was wearing a white, ink-stained glove, while the other hand had 5 fingers and wore nothing. While you couldn't help but blush as you looked at him, you noticed that he wasn't trying to attack you. He was just...standing there, looking at you.

He stood motionless, his gaze fixed on you. His presence felt unnerving and sinister as he slowly approached you, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You started to relax as your fear started to dissipate. When you saw its smile, you couldn’t help but feel a blush appear on your cheeks. The Ink Demon's smile widened as he continued to approach you, his steps slow and deliberate. His gaze, intense and penetrating, never left your face. He then knelt in front of you, his head in front of your chest, which brought a lump to your throat for some reason. Maybe it was the invasion of personal space.

You felt a bit of unease in your stomach due to his gaze, but you figured he was safe, since he saved you from that projector thing. You cautiously reached your hand out and you gently put your hand on his cheek. As your fingers made contact with the Ink Demon's face, his inky skin felt cool and smooth to the touch. The ink didn’t stick to your fingers, much to your surprise. He remained still for a moment before slowly tilting his head slightly, resting his head in your hand, a low purr in his throat. It seemed that he found comfort in your touch.

You reached your other hand to touch his other cheek and you couldn’t help but smile warmly, realizing he wasn’t like the other monsters in this building, and that your assumption of him being safe was right. The Ink Demon's expression seemed to glimmer with a mix of curiosity and something akin to affection as you held his head in your hands. You felt as he slowly placed his large hands around you, like he was holding a doll. The Ink Demon's grip on you was surprisingly gentle, his ink-covered hands enveloping you with an almost protective hold. He was handling you like you were made of glass and if he moved wrong or squeezed you too tight, you’d shatter to pieces.

His gaze remain fixed on your face, his expression filled with a strange sense of connection. You couldn’t deny that you felt that connection too, along with a warm feeling in your chest. You thought about how sweet this demon was being, that maybe this was its true nature. You then thought about how it must’ve been so long since he’s seen anyone here that wasn’t a monster out for blood, and how lonely he must’ve been. After that thought, you felt a sense of compassion for this creature and you leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on his head.

The Ink Demon seemed surprised by the action, because it backed up a bit. You felt like you did something wrong, so you said, “I-I’m sorry. Was that too much..? I..I...” That’s when the Ink Demon slowly shook his head, his face softening as he continued to hold you. He reached up with one hand and gently touched the spot where you kissed him, a small smile forming on his face. Something told you that he really liked that. After that, he lifted you up and took you to another room.

The next thing you knew, you were in a room with a makeshift bed in the middle of the room. Must’ve been where the Ink Demon slept, you figured. As he placed you on the mattress and stood in front of you, you wondered why he brought you here, until you thought more on it.

Why else would someone bring you to their room? Because they want you to stay.

You look at the Ink Demon and ask, “You..want me to stay with you, don’t you?” The Ink Demon's smile widened slightly, and he nodded in response to your question. He released his grip on you but took your hand and gently held it, as if urging you to stay. Well, it wasn’t like there was anything for you outside of the building. You had no one waiting for you, no one to be worried about you if you disappeared. Plus, it’s not like there was a possible exit to this place anyways. So you looked at the demon and smiled, saying, “Alright. I’ll stay with you.” The Ink Demon's eyes lit up with a mixture of gratitude and excitement, then he nuzzled the top of your head and licked your cheek.

You felt a stinging pain on your cheek, so you touched where he licked and there was blood. Turns out you got hurt as you ran away from that Projector Demon. You noticed you got a few scratches on your cheek and on the side of your neck and on your shoulder, all bleeding. “Shit...” you said to yourself. The Ink Demon tilted his head slightly, observing your injuries with a mix of curiosity and concern. Slowly, he went to your cheek again. The Ink Demon’s long, inky tongue snaked out from his mouth and delicately licked at the blood on your wounds. As you felt the stings, you noticed that even though he was terrifying and intimidating, he was still being so gentle with you. As he continued to clean your wounds, a low growl rumbled in his chest, almost as if he was trying to comfort you. You felt a blush form on your cheeks and when you heard his comforting purr, you felt touched that he cared about you enough to comfort you through the pain.

He then moved from your cheek to your neck and shoulder. You felt his hot breath on your neck, his tongue slowly caressing it as he cleaned up the blood. It sent a heat down to your very core and you could feel yourself getting hot from this. As he slid his tongue down to your shoulder wound, you accidentally let out a soft moan. In response, the Ink Demon’s purr deepened as he continued to lick your wounds. His tongue brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His gaze stayed locked on you as he continued to lick you, seemingly lost in thought.

He went towards the spot between your shoulder and your neck and he growled again, but a bit louder this time. He then bit down gently on your skin, drawing a bit of blood. A small, almost unnoticeable amount of ink dripped from his teeth onto your skin, sinking into the bite as he marked you as his. You gasped softly as he bit you, but not out of pain. The ink seemed to numb any pain the bite would've caused and it actually intensified your heat. You couldn’t help but start to feel aroused from his bite, his tongue, his touch, his everything. The Ink Demon’s growling deepened as he continued to leave more marks on your shoulder, now with more purpose than before. He could sense your arousal, and it only served to fuel his own. He knew that you had to be his mate, there was no denying it. He wanted you oh so badly, his very being was screaming for him to devour you.

You couldn’t help but reach your hands out and touch him. You wanted to feel his skin, to know that what you were experiencing was real. The Ink Demon purred, reveling in the warmth of your touch. You gently touch his arm, trailing your fingers along his slick inky skin. You reached his hand and after feeling his palm and fingers, you gently intertwined your fingers with his, holding his hand. He smiled warmly and leaned down slightly, pressing his forehead against yours and allowing your intertwined fingers to rest between you. You blushed red and you felt a warm and tight feeling in your chest. Were you starting to fall for this gentle beast?

You started to trail your other hand down his chest and along his stomach, feeling how smooth his skin was. The Ink Demon inhaled deeply, his body shuddering slightly at your touch. He gazed at you, his cheeks flushed and his smile so warm and inviting. He reached out with his other hand, placing it on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him. You gasp softly at his touch, sending shivers down your spine. “Y..You can..t..touch me too...i..if you want,” you were able to say softly.

The Ink Demon pressed his lips against yours, the kiss gentle and slow. His hand moved up your back, tracing the curve of your spine and pulling you even closer to him. His other hand trails down your side, resting on your hip as he explored your body. You kissed him back, letting a moan escape into his mouth. The Ink Demon smiled, pulling away from your lips to kiss your cheek and neck. His hand moved down to your thigh, slowly tracing its contours as he pulled you even closer to him. You sighed softly as his fingers traced along your thigh, opening your legs slightly to let him touch even more of you. The Ink Demon's hand moved further up your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your dress and exploring the smooth skin beneath. He pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a purr and allowing himself to fully experience the sensations that were running through him. You felt your body heat up more as his hand slid up your dress, and you decided to just speed up the process for him. “H..Here...let me help you..”

You undid your dress and let it slide off of you, leaving you nude except for your panties. You heard a deep lust-filled purr in his throat once you were nude. He gently laid you onto the mattress, ready to prepare you for him. The Ink Demon moved his hand up to your breast, squeezing it gently and exploring the contours of your body with his fingertips as he kissed your neck and shoulder, licking the fresh bite mark and your wounds. He pressed his groin against yours, feeling the heat between your legs as he explored your body with his hands, mouth, and tongue. You moaned as you felt the heat from between his legs touch yours. You couldn't help but slowly rub your groin against his, so he felt as good as he was making you feel.

The Ink Demon smiled, admiring your desire for him. His hand moved up to your face, cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss your lips again. He pressed his groin against yours, feeling your warm, wet center against him as you both move against each other, your bodies intertwined and your breaths becoming heavier and faster. The Ink Demon moved his hips against yours, feeling your body shudder with pleasure as you came closer and closer to release. He slipped his hand down to your panties, feeling the wetness between your legs as he ripped them off, exposing you to him completely.

Once your panties were gone, you felt something touch your pussy. You look down and you saw something growing from his groin, which formed into a large cock, matching his skin. The Ink Demon smirked as he grabbed your thighs and rubbed his cock on your pussy for a bit, until he slipped his hand between your bodies, guiding his cock inside of you, gripping both your thighs and slowly pushing himself deep inside. You couldn’t help but let out a moan as he stretched your walls so deliciously. He leaned forward, grabbed your jaw, and kissed your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth as he feels your body writhe beneath him. He started doing long and deep thrusts, your bodies entwined and your breath coming in short, gasping breaths as you both feel the pleasure building within you both.

You had never felt this sort of ecstasy before in your life, not even with any other partner. This thing was reaching depths you never knew were possible, sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had. “Ahh..! S..So..good..!!” you couldn’t help but let out of your lips once he broke the kiss. The Ink Demon's hand moved down to your ass, squeezing it gently as he thrusted into you, feeling your body shudder with pleasure. He kissed your neck and shoulder, his tongue exploring the contours of your skin as you both come closer and closer to release. He could feel his cock throb inside of you, the pleasure building within him as he moved faster and faster, feeling her body writhe beneath him.

He changed position slightly as he lost himself in the pleasure, grabbing your wrists and putting them above your head, your legs a bit in the air as he leaned towards you more and thrusted harder into you. You moaned at each thrust, trying not to cry out loud. The Ink Demon let his tongue out and licked up your belly and breasts as he fucked you so well. Ink dripped from his tongue, leaving trails on your body, like you were his canvas for his lust-filled creation.

He kissed your lips once again, feeling your tongue explore his mouth as you both came closer and closer to release. Finally, he felt your body convulse beneath him, your pussy clenching around his cock as you came, your moans filling the air as you cry out in ecstasy. He follows soon after, letting out a primal roar and feeling his cock throb as he filled you full with his hot, sticky seed. You felt like you were in another realm than you were as the pleasure from your release flowed throughout your body and you arched your back. All that existed was your full womb, the cock inside you, your body, and pleasure. You could feel his seed fill your belly so much that the sensation caused a second orgasm to rock your body.

Once you come back to reality, you both stay like that for a moment, your bodies intertwined and covered in each others’ cum as you both caught your breath, before the Ink Demon collapsed onto the bed, laying next to you and pulling you close. The Ink Demon kissed your cheek, feeling your smile as you both lay there, your hearts pounding in your chests. You hugged him close, your head resting on his chest. He then leaned to your ear and whispered in a deep, gravelly voice, “I love you.” While you were a bit surprised he could actually talk, you felt warmth flood your heart and you smile, kissing his cheek before saying, “I love you too.” The Ink Demon smiled, feeling his heart swell with warmth as he hugged you tightly. He rested his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your warm body pressed against his. You both lay there, holding each other close, until eventually, you both fall asleep, your bodies still intertwined.

‘I think I’m going to love this new life,’ you thought to yourself before letting sleep take you.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

[tacticalspider]

oops i slipped it's time for the pobra kid

image description in alt and under the cut

[Image shows a drawing of the red teletubby Po as the Kobra Kid from the MCR album Danger Days. Pobra Kid, as he will be called, is light skin on his face and the insides of his ears and the rest of his body is red teletubby flesh, including an antenna on the top of his head which has a circle on the end. He has short hair on the top of his head that starts red at the roots and turns to a bleached blond color at the tips. Pobra is wearing thick black sunglasses and an unimpressed expression on his face. He has a dog tag necklace and a yellow tank top with vertical black blobby stripes underneath his open jacket. The jacket in question is red with white stripes around the chest and thick blue stripes going down his arms rimmed with white. On the left breast is a red and white patch that's supposed to look like a snake opening its mouth but honestly it kind of just looks like another blob. In dark blue ink, "tactical spider" is written on the side of the picture as a signature, along with the title "THE POBRA KID" in all caps at the top, and a speech bubble, which reads "arts and crafts. i love arts and crafts" and then has a smiley face. End ID]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Adobe steals your color

When a company breaks a product you rely on — wrecking decades of work — it’s natural to feel fury. Companies know this, so they try to deflect your rage by blaming their suppliers. Sometimes, it’s suppliers who are at fault — but other times, there is plenty of blame to go around.

For example, when Apple deleted all the working VPNs from its Chinese App Store and backdoored its Chinese cloud servers, it blamed the Chinese government. But the Chinese state knew that Apple had locked its devices so that its Chinese customers couldn’t install third-party apps.

That meant that an order to remove working VPNs and apps that used offshore clouds from the App Store would lock Apple customers into Chinese state surveillance. The order to block privacy tools was a completely foreseeable consequence of Apple’s locked-down “ecosystem.”

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

In 2013, Adobe started to shift its customers to the cloud, replacing apps like Photoshop and Illustrator with “Software as a Service” (“SaaS”) versions that you would have to pay rent on, every month, month after month, forever. It’s not hard to understand why this was an attractive proposition for Adobe!

Adobe, of course, billed its SaaS system as good for its customers — rather than paying thousands of dollars for its software up front, you could pay a few dollars (anywhere from $10-$50) every month instead. Eventually, of course, you’d end up paying more, assuming these were your professional tools, which you expected to use for the rest of your life.

For people who work in prepress, a key part of their Adobe tools is integration with Pantone. Pantone is a system for specifying color-matching. A Pantone number corresponds to a specific tint that’s either made by mixing the four standard print colors (cyan, magenta, yellow and black, AKA “CMYK”), or by applying a “spot” color. Spot colors are added to print jobs after the normal CMYK passes — if you want a stripe of metallic gold or a blob of hot pink, you specify its Pantone number and the printer loads up a separate ink and runs your media through its printer one more time.

Pantone wants to license this system out, so it needs some kind of copyrightable element. There aren’t many of these in the Pantone system! There’s the trademark, but that’s a very thin barrier. Trademark has a broad “nominative use” exception: it’s not a trademark violation to say, “Pantone 448C corresponds to the hex color #4a412a.”

Perhaps there’s a copyright? Well yes, there’s a “thin” database copyright on the Pantone values and their ink equivalents. Anyone selling a RIP or printer that translates Pantone numbers to inks almost certainly has to license Pantone’s copyright there. And if you wanted to make an image-editing program that conveyed the ink data to a printer, you’d best take a license.

All of this is suddenly relevant because it appears that things have broken down between Adobe and Pantone. Rather than getting Pantone support bundled in with your Adobe apps, you must now pay $21/month for a Pantone plugin.

https://twitter.com/funwithstuff/status/1585850262656143360

Remember, Adobe’s apps have moved to the cloud. Any change that Adobe makes in its central servers ripples out to every Adobe user in the world instantaneously. If Adobe makes a change to its apps that you don’t like, you can’t just run an older version. SaaS vendors like to boast that with cloud-based apps, “you’re always running the latest version!”

The next version of Adobe’s apps will require you to pay that $21/month Pantone fee, or any Pantone-defined colors in your images will render as black. That’s true whether you created the file last week or 20 years ago.

Doubtless, Adobe will blame Pantone for this, and it’s true that Pantone’s greed is the root cause here. But this is an utterly foreseeable result of Adobe’s SaaS strategy. If Adobe’s customers were all running their apps locally, a move like this on Pantone’s part would simply cause every affected customer to run older versions of Adobe apps. Adobe wouldn’t be able to sell any upgrades and Pantone wouldn’t get any license fees.

But because Adobe is in the cloud, its customers don’t have that option. Adobe doesn’t have to have its users’ backs because if it caves to Pantone, users will still have to rent its software every month, and because that is the “latest version,” those users will also have to rent the Pantone plugin every month — forever.

What’s more, while there may not be any licensable copyright in a file that simply says, “Color this pixel with Pantone 448C” (provided the program doesn’t contain ink-mix descriptions), Adobe’s other products — its RIPs and Postscript engines — do depend on licensable elements of Pantone, so the company can’t afford to tell Pantone to go pound sand.

Like the Chinese government coming after Apple because they knew that any change that Apple made to its service would override its customers’ choices, Pantone came after Adobe because they knew that SaaS insulated Adobe from its customers’ wrath.

Adobe customers can’t even switch to its main rival, Figma. Adobe’s just dropped $20b to acquire that company and ensure that its customers can’t punish it for selling out by changing vendors.

Pantone started out as a tech company: a way to reliably specify ink mixes in different prepress houses and print shops. Today, it’s an “IP” company, where “IP” means “any law or policy that allows me to control the conduct of my customers, critics or competitors.”

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That’s likewise true of Adobe. The move to SaaS is best understood as a means to exert control over Adobe’s customers and competitors. Combined with anti-competitive killer acquisitions that gobble up any rival that manages to escape this control, and you have a hostage situation that other IP companies like Pantone can exploit.

A decade or so ago, Ginger Coons created Open Colour Standard, an attempt to make an interoperable alternative to Pantone. Alas, it seems dormant today:

http://adaptstudio.ca/ocs/

Owning colors is a terrible idea and technically, it’s not possible to do so. Neither UPS Brown nor John Deere Green are “owned” in any meaningful sense, but the companies certainly want you to believe that they are. Inspired by them and Pantone, people with IP brain-worms keep trying to turn colors into property:

https://onezero.medium.com/crypto-copyright-bdf24f48bf99

The law is clear that colors aren’t property, but by combining SaaS, copyright, trademark, and other tech and policies, it is becoming increasingly likely that some corporation will stealing the colors out from under our very eyes.

[Image ID: A Pantone swatchbook; it slowly fades to grey, then to black.]

[quitealotofsodapop]

Thinking about a scenario where the Ink Demon/Ink MK/Curse the gang encounters in S4 accidentally forms an outer conscieness.

I feel like it gains sentience partially from MK refering to the Curse as a being separate from the Scroll - and not solely as a tool created to torment it's prisoners. Almost like a magic artifical intelligence.

I could see MK finding a way to contact the demon, mostly to gain greater insight on things he's mentally avoiding. Like by writing with an enchanted ink set, or with the ink left behind by the Curse's rampage.

MK, putting ink brush to paper: "Hi?" *The ink begins to blob and shape itself into words* Ink Curse, as writing on the paper: "You could have just used a pen, idiot." MK, excitedly writing back: "It's you!!" Ink Curse: "Why do you seem excited? Are you a glutton for punishment?" MK: "So, I know your whole thing is to pick people apart mentally, right?" Ink Curse: "Yes. I was spawned from the ink used to detail the crimes of those written into the scroll of memory. It is my purpose. Like how you were made for-" MK, writing over the response: "Yeah yeah chaos and destruction and stuff I know that part. But like, when I got home... I started thinking about the other stuff and... you seem pretty good at voicing thing people don't want to know about themselves. It almost feels I dunno... catartic almost? (is that how you spell it)? Ink Curse: "It is spelt Cathartic. And If you take any comfort in what I did, then I have failed my purpose. Or you are hopelessly dense." MK: "But thats the thing! I didn't feel comfortable! You dragged me out of my comfort zone and made me think about junk. It's actually helping me a little in coming to terms with... what I am." Ink Curse: *doesn't respond for some time* "You are strange." MK: "I mean, I guess. I'm writing to a demonic ink curse instead of going to an actual therapist. Hope to talk to you again soon Mozhi*!" Newly dubbed "Mozhi": "Excuse me?"

*"Mozhi/Mòzhī/墨汁" - meaning "squid ink" or the ink used in traditional chinese calligraphy.

And since putting a name to something gives its power, "Mozhi" begins to manifest beyond ink and paper. Ink stains and monkey handprints litter the apartment. The magnets on MK's fridge start rearranging into swear words. The menu at Pigsy's shuffles to critique minor flaws in the kitchen. Mei starts recieving scathing texts from an unlisted number. The tv starts glitching in the viewer's insecurities.

Eventually the gang break down MK's door to figure out wtf is going on, only to see an Ink!MK physically pull itself into the 3d world from the Cursed ink. Everyone starts screaming.

Macaque, laughing: "Oh my gods, I know what happened here - I've heard of it happening before in shadow demons. MK gave the ink Curse a name and that gave it power to, quote a little puppet made of pine; become a real boy." Ink Curse/Mozhi, stumbling like a newborn fawn: "Why is my body being pulled down?" Wukong: "It's called gravity, spot. You get used to it." Ink Curse/Mozhi: "You are actively floating." Wukong: "Yeah, doesn't mean I have to like gravity."

In his "physical" form, Mozhi looks like monkey!MK with inky black fur and colder toned skin - his facial marking a smeared grey color with a distinct heart-shaped outline. He reduces to his inky form when physically damaged or when he wants to "hop into" a book or artwork. Dislikes sunlight/heat, it dries him out.

And because he is no longer within MK's head/the scroll, he's a lot less all-knowing. He is however scarily perceptive of others thoughts and fears, and loudly narrates his opinions on things.

Red Son: "Is that a sentient ink curse?" Mozhi, mockingly: "Is that an emotionally-constipated daddy's boy who almost destroyed the world with a toddler temper tantrum, and still refuses to admit that he's more morally righteous than he lets on?" :3 Red Son, flames up: "Oh its on, you glorified Rorshace test!" MK: *sprays water bottle at them* "Down! Both of you! Mozhi, I said no commentating on people's inner thoughts!" Mozhi: "If y'all actually went to theraphy, then there would be nothing for me to talk about."

This also makes Mozhi the best person to roast somebody when the others are too busy/emotional to do so on their own. And since he mirrors the power of the person he's roasting, it gives him Jester's Immunity to damage from angry Celestials.

The Jade Emperor: "Why is there a loose ink demon in my throne room?" Mozhi, giggling manically as he morphs into an ink!Emperor: "Hahahahahaha~ wow. Ruler of all beings, mortal and divine. And you can't even recognise yourself. Disappointing really. Then again, can't expect much from a glorified intern that was gifted the throne and hasn't done much else since." *Vicious Mockery continues for many hours*

Mozhi is however... kinda bad at admiting and recognizing his own feelings? He's never had any before that weren't projections of others. Is this what true sadness feels like, or does he just need to get some sleep? Can come off as cold, even when trying to be geniune. He's just not used to having emotions or empathy yet.

Enjoys fictional works that dive into the concepts of meta-fiction and medium awareness, ex; Deadpool, Bandersnatch, and Doki Doki Literature Club.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Your heart is pounding and it can't be stopped

The red queen is dead! Unfortunately, her Overblot is an even more fearsome foe.

(Twst au where Overblots are apocalyptic events)

Riddle Rosehearts was dead.

Yuko had not seen the body, but she knew this to be true.

Would there even be a body? What had Crowley once told them about Overblots? They would drain the Host of power, like a soda can that would inevitably be discarded. Does that mean that the body would be tossed aside, that maybe one day they could go back and bury the poor boy? Would it simply disappear the moment there was no more mana, nothing left of the boy except for a rampaging monster? Or would the body stay there, attached to the front of it, until it decayed naturally?

Did it even matter, anymore?

A high scream met their ears.

They didn’t stop to let themselves wonder whether they recognized the voice.

Her breathing came in short, aborted gasps. Deuce’s hand, wrapped around her own, was gripping her so tightly that it was starting to hurt. Blot hung heavy in the air, thick blobs of inky blackness threatening to choke them. Her feet stumbled over cobbled streets. Ace’s collar glinted in the red-tinted sun as he struggled to tug it over his head with a newfound fervor. The trees creaked and groaned as they were ripped out of the ground one by one by the queen on a hunt. Flames spilled from Grim’s mouth as he followed at their heels, painting the world behind them in flames in hopes of slowing it. People cried out as they were found. First in surprise, then terror, then anguish and then pain and then –.

Their little group of four stumbled through the mirror.

It was as if they had stepped into another world.

The ripping, tearing sounds they had been listening to for the better part of an hour came to a halt all at once. No one was running, no one was screaming. Their peers sent their group strange looks, all hopelessly unaware of the monster that was now in their midst.

For just a moment, their group of four lingered there, a heap of teens, breathing heavy in a way that was either just regular overexertion or the beginnings of a panic attack. So shaken by the sudden change they almost forgot what was going on in the sheer strangeness of it all.

“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a Savanaclaw second-year student commented, teasing.

“No,” Ace said, his laugh bordering on manic as it spilled from his lips. “Those are in Ramshackle, not Heartslabyul, idiot!”

Yuko wanted to join him. Laughing seemed like much more fun than whatever it was she was doing, planning and trying to figure out a way to defeat a monster that was so much more powerful than she could even dream to be.

Then she glanced back, at the mirror.

Cater held his hands up, yelling something that was inaudible to those not in the Heartslabyul pocket dimension, winking at something they couldn’t see.

A tree speared him through the chest. He choked on his usual smile. He coughed, blood speckling the untainted trunk in front of him.

The clone dissolved into nothing.

A distraction, perhaps, so people could run to find safer places to hide for the moment.

She had the sinking feeling that the plan was actually to lead the Overblot to the mirror. That he wanted to use the rest of the school as bait, just so he could live.

She turned to the innocent bystanders.

“Rosehearts-senpai has Overblotted,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm despite the way her heart thudded in her chest in time to the deceptively cheery kids song that was Painting the roses red.“He is coming. Believe me. Or don't, I couldn't care less. But we all need to run.”

It wasn’t hard to believe her.

The Overblot approached the place where the clone had fallen, the ink sloshing over the top of its jar with every lumbering step, painting the cobbled stone path black. It knelt to scoop up the tree, gently cradling it in its fingers for a moment. Blood rubbed off on its white gloves.

Dully, Yuko thought that, at least, Riddle’s ghost could at least be glad that those damn roses were finally red.

It turned to look at them them. Without a Riddle hanging on the front, screaming and crying, it was strangely eerie, to look at a faceless being, and yet know that its eyes are locked solely on you.

With intent.

It hefted the tree in its hand, preparing to throw it.

They didn’t wait to see whether or not the tree would be able to make it through the mirror.

Shoes skidded on tile as they took off running again.

People scrambled in every direction. Towards the safety of their own dorms. Trying to find a way out. A place to hide. Anything that might save them. The more they spread out, the more of them that would survive. They knew this all intrinsically.

They also knew that those who got caught would die alone.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ace said, leading their group through the halls with ease. Despite how little time they had spent at the school so far, he knew the layout like the back of his hand. “We need to get out of here.”

“Come up with that plan on your own?” Deuce snarked.

“I’m fucking sorry do you have a better one?”

Yuko groaned. “Not the time, guys.”

They grumbled and fell silent, instead focusing on getting out the doors.

Crowds of people, heading about their days like normal, seemed confused by the group of teens that were set on getting out of the building without paying any mind to the people they might end up trampling along the way. Maybe they thought they were running from Riddle’s punishments. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, if that was what they were guessing, but they didn’t know the full extent of things.

She should tell them the full extent.

Ace met her eyes and, briefly, in a motion so small it was almost lost in the steady bounce of pounding footsteps, shook his head.

Her voice died in her throat.

They both knew that the more people the Overblot encountered, the more it would be distracted from chasing them. That the more people they warned, the harder it would be to push through crowds, to stick together, to get away and be sure that everyone else had escaped, too.

They stepped out onto the grounds without uttering a word of warning.

Mud squished beneath their feet as they ran. It had rained earlier that morning, but now the sky was sunny. Deceptively, it was a nice day out. It felt wrong.

It was hot. The sun beat down on them relentlessly.

They were out in the open.

Others rushed into the woods, hoping to find comfort and safety with the trees as cover, but they had forgotten the dangerous wildlife and poisonous and venomous plants that would prove to be just as fatal as the Overblot. No, they had to leave, that was the only chance they had of making it out of this alive.

It would just require them running across an open field in broad daylight. It wasn’t a short sprint, either.

In the back of their minds, they knew that their school was on an island, so they probably wouldn’t be able to get away in the long run even if they did, by some stroke of luck, make it off campus. But they didn’t care. They just wanted more time.

Time they didn’t seem to have.

“AaaaAaaaCe TrrrRaaaappolA!” the creature roared from somewhere within the castle. Blot spilled from a tower window, which was helpful for trying to figure out where it had gone, but unsettling in that it was heading up the Astronomy tower, a place with an open roof and a view of the entire campus grounds. It was getting the high ground, trying to spot them. Even when lost to the blot, nothing that was formed from Riddle Rosehearts could be entirely stupid.

They were going to be found.

Ace turned a few shades more pale.

“What do you guys think are the chances we all misheard that?” he tried.

“Nonexistent,” said Grim.

Ace gave another laugh. It was bitter, unsettling, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was at this very moment that she remembered that the Queen of Roses was said to be a tyrant, yes, but that her subjects were also said to be mad.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop, and he looked at her with wide, imploring eyes.

Their friends slowed as well, though they looked no happier.

“We can’t, we can’t stop,” Grim said. As a fire monster, he couldn’t cry, but it sounded like he was getting as close to it as was possible for him.

She ignored him. She knelt and grabbed two handfuls of mud, and then dumped them over Ace’s head.

He shrieked, indignant and disgusted as brown ran down the back of his neck, seeping under his collar. “Wh – what are you –?”

“Hair’s recognizable. Need to cover it.”

His eyes widened and he practically dove into the ground, rolling in the mud. Dirtying his hair and collar. If there was one thing she could respect about the boy, it was that he was surprisingly quick on the uptake, when he wanted to be.

Next, she shoved brown into Deuce’s hands.

“Do you even know what mud is –?” he started to ask.

“No, and I couldn’t care less.”

He grimaced, but started combing his fingers through his hair to dye it.

She briefly pressed her hands to the back of her own neck, allowing the excess, cool mud to bring her down before she could overheat.

That dealt with, she knelt beside Grim, who was shaking like a leaf despite the heat and exhaustion. Carefully, she ran her fingers through his fur. He complained about the mud, but ultimately leaned into her touch regardless.

She pressed a kiss to the top of her familiar’s head.

He leapt into her arms, and she shouldn’t have had enough strength to carry him, and yet she did. The monster looped his arms around her neck, hugging her close, and he half-sobbed into her shoulder.

“We’ll make it out of this,” she promised. “And we’ll tell everyone that you, the Great Lord Grim defeated the nasty Overblot, and you’ll be the greatest mage in the world at age, like, one and a half.”

Grim, for once, didn’t take the opportunity to spout off about his greatness.

He trembled in her arms.

She thought he was falling apart at the seams.

She thought she felt the same.

But she didn’t have time for any of that. She was the smart one, the one who had figured out what to do at the mines, and she would figure out what to do here, too. Her parents had named her Yuko – helpful child – and she was going to help her friends get out of this damned school. And then she was going to figure out how to make a portal back to her own world, and drag these three idiots along with her so they wouldn’t have to experience anything as dangerous as this ever again.

It was what they deserved.

(It was a pipe dream and she knew it.)

Only once they got what they deserved would she allow herself to finally break down.

For now, she had problems to solve.

Eventually, finally, the pair of mages she called her friends were entirely average-looking, unrecognizable.

Just in time, too, because the Overblot finally reached the top of the Astronomy tower. It stood upon the precipice, leaning over, spilling black down the sides.

Yuko covered Grim with her school uniform jacket, hiding his flaming ears and electric blue eyes from view.

The Overblot peered over the grounds. For a moment, its gaze landed on them.

It continued on.

It didn’t find what it was looking for.

It screamed, frustrated, and leapt directly from the tower. The ground, already unsteady and muddy beneath their feet, shook.

It paid their shouts of surprise (and horror as it sunk in just how large the thing was) no mind. Instead, it turned and ran into the forest, bowling over trees as it went.

For just a moment, none of them even dared to breathe.

They looked at each other, wondering if they had all imagined it. Whether the stress had broken their minds already.

Surely, they couldn’t actually be escaping.

Deuce grinned widely, too widely, it didn’t fit his face at all.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet, pulling her back into a run. Grim curled tighter in her arms, trying to make himself more aerodynamic since they were not risking stopping even if just for a few seconds so she could put him down. Ace followed after them, hot on their heels.

The gates came into view.

A breathless laugh escaped her. She almost couldn’t believe it.

She shouldn’t have.

They couldn’t even get within three meters of the gates.

A forcefield no one had ever noticed before – no one had ever been this desperate to leave before – glimmered purple as they bounced off of it, the four of them tumbling back into the grass.

It was deathly silent.

They were… stuck.

In here.

With the monster that was actively calling for one of their heads.

They rushed forward, fists pounding against the forcefield, desperate wails spilling from their throats, begging that somehow someone would pass by and hear and be able to help.

No one came.

Yuko sunk to her knees.

“We’re doomed,” she breathed.

“No. Nonono! Yuko, don’t say that! You have to have a plan!” Deuce almost begged. “You always have a plan.”

She stared at the wrought iron in front of her. At the trees they could see through the bars, at the safety that was so close and yet so far.

“I – I don’t know.”

[goosewizard]

chat i would like to propose in universe ctommy tattoo artist

(also on ao3)

tommy doesn't remember when he started tattooing.

he has a small stick and poke from l'manberg, something stupid he and tubbo did one night with sewing needles and ink. a lopsided 'T' still rests on his ankle, and he knows tubbo has a matching one. they're small and faded and dumb to look at but they face the other when the two stand side by side, and that's enough for them both.

(he remembers tubbo had looked at it in awe after it was done, asking if he could do a bee next, and tommy figured he may have to get more serious about blood-borne diseases)

he practices on himself, writes out POGCHAMP on his knuckles (and then thanks Prime that hand tattoos fade fast). he sports two uneven black circles above his right knee, with small blobs of green and purple in their centers. wilbur had commented on how they looked like a particularly nasty bruise, but tommy found fresh needles, gloves, and rotten flesh on his bed later, so he'd like to call it even.

(besides, he likes how it looks)

he had garnered a bit of a reputation after that, working on whoever would let him. tubbo gets his bee, a whole swarm of them really, niki gets flame dancing up her arm, fundy asks for something or other, but they could never really figure out the logistics of it. it was good for a while.

and then open wounds are too much of a risk to take.

and then they're free.

and then there's schlatt.

in the quiet of pogtopia, wilbur asks him for a flag, the flag, right over his heart. tommy scoffs but takes extra time making sure the ink he's using is just the right color. it had been some of his finest work. wilbur had loved it.

(he tries not to think about how there's a scar running through it now. he guesses some things were never meant to last after all.)

tommy would say that he doesn't do touch-ups, that all his work is perfect the first time and you can suck it.

that rule doesn't quite apply when his best friend has been burned to shit, taking tommy's craftsmanship with it. the skin is obliterated, raw and open, and the bees are gone. tommy offers to do them again, right then and there while tubbo's still hopped up on painkillers, but tubbo just shakes his head and says maybe later.

later doesn't come for a very long time.

when he comes to tommy, back still raw and bandaged, quackity asks for his wings back. he says fuck no but changes his answer to not now when quackity crumples. a few months later, when he all but sobs at his reflection, tommy pretends not to notice.

tommy doesn't tattoo dream.

(he wishes he didn't tattoo himself then, but the smile on his wrist stares up at him, taunting)

(it had been the only thing dream allowed to heal)

he's worse at it when he gets revived back. his hands shake. he's out of practice. his lines are sloppy. he puts a lily of the valley on his calf. it looks like shit.

he does it just to know he's alive sometime, tells people he's 'practicing' when he stabs lines into his skin. it doesn't hurt him, not really, it's just-

tommy doesn't really know. he's so tired nowadays.

it's tubbo that brings him out of it in the end (it's always tubbo isn't it?). he gifts tommy a machine he made himself with new needle adapters, says it should be a lot faster now and you could do the bees again, if you want, and that's it really.

they start on tubbos sleeve that night, laughing like they're 16 again and talking, really talking. it's been so long since they've been together like this. tommy tries out his new machine on rotten flesh, gets a feel for it before he works on his best friend, his brother. as they sketch the design, the sun rises and tubbo has to run home to take care of his son (when did he get a kid?), promising to be back before long.

(tommy thinks of all the promises tubbo has broken)

(he doesn't break this one)

when he comes back, tommy pours the ink with shaking hands and tells his brother you don't have to trust me again. you can live your new life and i'll make do. i never wanted to hurt you. i didn't mean it. if this sucks it's all your fault. tubbo smiles at him, easy and understanding and says yeah, alright.

i still love you enough to stay.

the lines wobble a bit and tubbo has to take deep breaths on the tender parts because he actually does have pain receptors on that side you asshole, but he smiles as he says it. he leaves with his arm wrapped and a promise to care for his new ink, and there's a weight off tommy's chest.

to his surprise, ranboo comes to see him next, hands twisting and looking like a deer set to bolt. they ask for a crown on their left wrist. small. simple. and something that would have taken 15 minutes if they would stop teleporting away every time the needle fucking touched them.

(ranboo ends up calling tubbo to keep them still. the hand-holding and flirting is gross)

(tommy's happy for them)

tommy finishes tubbo's sleeve, and ranboo honest-to-god swoons when they see it and they're all laughing their asses off and before he knows it he's meeting their kid who's so little and looks up at tommy with his big eye and touches his tattoos gently and with so much wonder that it hurts to look at and it's too much and he bolts.

the next time tommy sees the kid (michael, his name is michael), he has marker scribbles all over himself, says like you! in toddler babble, and tommy thinks he may be able to swing an apprenticeship someday.

he sees more people after that. he thinks there's less fighting now, or maybe just less fighting directed at him. he appreciates it, either way. connor gets a sonic tramp stamp, go figure. niki comes back, asks for a lemon branch, and tommy pretends he doesn't know the meaning behind it. quackity comes in, disheveled, and quietly asks for the name Charlie over his heart. tommy does it at no charge. his eternal nuisance ranboo gets alliums and tulips winding up their arms in black and white ink, their husband holding them down all the while.

no, tommy does not cry, he is a professional.

with enough time and some very generous "anonymous" donations, tommy builds a tattoo shop, a real one with clean quartz interior and shiny new chairs and work stations. he offers his tom-toos to whoever passes by, and his portfolio grows bigger by the day. the shop is safe (tubbo's fucking nukes ensure that) and on special days, michael helps him stencil his clients.

wilbur comes in once, and tommy has the strength to say no. wil doesn't come back after that.

tommy doesn't remember when he started tattooing, but now, as he looks across the SMP and sees little pieces of him across boundary and faction lines, on friends and enemies, he thinks he'd be a fool to ever stop again.