#slush invaders

[queenly-owl]

twt stuff

[goggomaggo]

some gifs i made because nobody loves OZB like i do

[its-stimsca]

Could u do a stimboard of Sthomas from Slush Invaders including some rainbow gifs :) Thank you

Who up slushing they invaders

🖲️ 🌈 🖲️ / 🌈 🖲️ 🌈 / 🖲️ 🌈 🖲️

[chewwypepsicola]

sthomas and stucker doodles i did for stickmarch (sadly i couldnt finish the challenge :') )

[p4r4syte]

its boiling hot rn so heres some lost boy hcs. what i think theyd do/be like in summer (mildly suggestive?)

pls add comments, ill add to it :3

David :

•avoids everyone. i know vampires are cold blooded but no doubt these mfs get agitated during summer. David the worst. he’d be sat there, coat discarded with a pissed off expression. still smoking. god forbid he doesnt smoke

•will even get pissed off with Feeding Time™️ because the bloods warm so he’d just disappear for days on end. hiding away. basically hibernating

•Is Extremely Snappy. he will go for anyones throat, doesnt even matter if youre together (god forbid mates), he’ll be avoiding you just in case but will Bark at the boys given any chance

•”he wouldnt hurt a fly” HE WOULD!!!!!! Fuck That Fly Do Not Invade My Personal Space

•will only calm down once hes cooler, he would genuinely have to piss off to the sea (or i imagine the cave has a watered in area) ((only dwayne knows about it but he let david in on it)) or hes sulking in a damp, desolate part of the cave. just waiting for the summer to end

•only one of the boys that can speak to david during this time is dwayne because of how hes empathetic towards his Boys. Marko And Paul Will Be DropKicked On Sight.

•sleeps upside down, near the darkest most secluded park of the cave. there isnt any air, theres no breeze. he doesnt care, he just wants to, fester. Leave Him To Fester

Marko :

•becomes more feral than he ordinarily is

•he Will be dangling from the ceiling, trying to catch any breeze that rolls in

•he will also be chilling with the pigeons, they find the coolest places in the cave to rest so Why Not?

•the summer heat will also be giving him unneeded energy. he WILL be playfighting with paul and then laying there overheating and gets pissed off once paul tried to interact with him again. Cant You See Im Warm? Jesus.

•will find endless cool drinks on the boardwalk once it cools down during night. itll give him no sustenance and he’ll be pissed off that he has a headache tomorrow but. Mmm Slushie :3

•still eats hot food and will complain about how hes warmer now than before he ate the food. yes he knew beforehand. no he wont stop. let him complain

•him and paul sit shirtless in the centre part of the cave, eating ice creams and then getting pissed off once theyve eaten them all (or theyve melted)

•calmer than david, less irritated than dwayne, less energetic than paul

•sleeps in a random, small part of the cave because the air rushes straight through (he followed the pigeons)(he learns many things from them, this is one of the many great things he found out)

Paul :

•please calm down. its Hot. Get The Memo

•continues his antics, just with, less clothes.

•the ONLY motherfucker thats actively trying to interact with everyone else

•he doesnt get it, god bless. not a single thought in that head x

•is also smoking. sat on that fountain (the cold marble against his back), trying to yell to the others (they ignore him) speaker blasting music (its pissing everyone off)

•the only one that actually leaves the cave (until he convinces marko to get slushes with him. then hes no longer going alone)

•a nuisance. a pure fucking mosquito of a man. he’d be stuck to you if he could, please don’t let him you dont know where hes been (various ponds) (hes upside down in a shrub) (dont help him)

•hes a boombox blaster, weedsmoking, white rum drinker in summer. or whatever he can get his hands on. but best believe he’s living it up even if he doesnt make it out the cave most nights

•sleeps drunk in the fountain, naked. Hey, Its Cool. What Do You Want From Me?

Dwayne :

•is the only one who Actually attempts to cater to the rest

•he knows exactly how everyone is and as much as he Needs To Rot too, he needs to check on everyone first

•only person hes really checking on is david lets be honest

•after finding david and just, checking, he’ll find his own section of the cave. not too far, within ear distance of Everyone in the cave

•he’ll just rest there for a while, just dangling, all sweaty

•sometimes he has enough energy to chill with paul and marko but quickly loses it after a while. paul is Way too much for him in this heat. Hes Markos Issue Now :)

•he is the only one that will remind the other boys that they need to eat. it may be hot, but you still need to eat. cue moody david, hyper paul, sweaty and overstimulated marko and coping mother dwayne

•doesnt speak to anyone, literally not at all, because hes just Too Hot™️ so he’ll just pull your hand to what he wants, guiding you to what he needs

•sleeps alone, in the centre on the cave. just above where they all gather, so he can hear everyone but is just far enough away to get peace. oh, hes also naked.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Waiiiiiiit Wanda baiting you into it because she wants to punish you. Like her being in a very dommey mood but she acts like she’s trying to get you to top her just for an excuse spank and degrade you 💞💞💞

OH yes she give you her best fuck me eyes, making you all flustered and needy. She's laying down on the couch, her arms open slightly as you position yourself on top of her, grinding yourself against her stomach as you lean down to kiss her.

She lets you kiss her, moaning softly as your tongue swipes at her bottom lip. She feels soft and submissive beneath you, rolling her hips upwards against yours as her hands softly wander over your shoulders, moving down to your hips and slowly tightening her hold.

Eventually she halts your hips, a confused whine leaving your lips before you pull back. You rest a hand on her throat, attempting to act as dominant as you can. Her soft eyes turn hard, and you immediately realize your mistake.

"My poor little puppy, thinking you have any control over me. Did you really think you could get away with acting like a needy brat?"

Within a few seconds, she's sitting up and bending you over her lap, your face buried in the couch cushion. You don't try to fight it, knowing that would make your punishment much worse.

"Please, I'm sorry Mommy. I didn't mean it I just thought..."

A slap resounds, your ass stinging. You stop talking immediately, Wanda's low voice filling your ears and turning your brain to slush as a vanilla haze invades your every sense.

"You dumb little slut, you know Mommy is always in control. Are you really that stupid to think you hold any power over me? No, darling. Now take your punishment like the pathetic little mutt you are."

You've never been as wet in your life, and Wanda starts degrading you further as your arousal drips down your inner thighs and smears onto her lap. The words wrap around your ears and thrust you further into that vanilla-scented haze as she continues to land blows on your ass. By the time she's finished, you're drooling and glassy eyed, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you beg for her forgiveness.

It's exactly what she wanted.

[radaedan]

Fuck it you know what? A mirror piece to that Kukulkan & CL-4's drabble. This isn't good tbh. I was experiencing (and tbh still is) a writer block for another fic so I thought, 'how about I start another one lol'. Just consider this as a practice fic/experiment that escaped the lab. Featuring my beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, incredible, ethereal, darling Xiuhcoatl and... eugh🤢 (affectionally) Och-Kan.

And btw, Xiuhcoatl is pretty eldritch in here! Or I tried to make him one. I never read a written eldritch work before so sorry if this is inadequate😓

TW: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND INJURIES. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Terror usurped inside his mind.

His body froze, couldn't move. Stiffness hung his joints upon its open maw.

He was breathing as if the air was chokeful of shards of glass, threatening to rupture his lungs.

His skin prickled by the thorns of shivers. Fingers curled tightly upon the mattress he tried to sleep in.

Yet despite it all, his eyes wouldn't unlock themselves from the source of the terror.

Illuminated by the faint glow of the phlogiston torch, soft shadow and lilting figure the light had painted, back turned and seated upon the edge of his bed, was...

Who? His mind screamed, the question tried to crawl to his tongue, but died upon the tightness of his throat, Who? Who!? WHO!?

who are you who are you who are you get away from me get away from me get away get away-

If he were any saner and less stricken, he would be disgusted of himself, of how fear encroached his sanity that it didn't flash upon his mind to call upon his guards to remove this intruder or finish them himself.

But he wasn't in his right mind at this moment. All the feeling of horror he had experienced in his lifetime, suppressed and recompacted into actions that actually make a difference, now had returned upon him like waves, drowning upon the cold, dark water of damnation. Devastating torrent that forsook his wits and ransacked it into smithereens. Rendered him useless and freezing upon his spot. A helpless child shivering upon the mercy of death's hand.

And all the while, the figure hadn't yet to turn their back, still gazing upon the darkness of his bedroom. Particles of dust still float undisturbed, they sat unmoving, static, unreal.

A figment of the other world infiltrating reality, unto the air and unto the faint light, nailing him with their presence. A mere shadow that invoked the deepest fright of a night that promised a million misery and hatred, crawling its deathly claws upon his body, his lungs, his heart. Stealing his breaths and squeezed his organs with sheer blood rush made from dread. Acid burning his stomach and torn his gut. He'd choke upon his own sweat, and felt, with the agonizing surety that his growing red-rimmed eyes, going strained by dust and dryness, would water and scream his fear for the figure to feast. Just like a bleeding prey awaiting the jaw of a hungry beast, gleaming with saliva and a smile of starvation.

But that wasn't the end. Wasn't even the beginning.

Because then, that unearthly figure, all shadow and smoke intertwining with light, finally did turn their back, and laid their gaze upon him.

And the aching pain that he had been suffering grew their grip in thousands of fold.

Now it was infernal, the heat inside that was consuming him. His bones and joint broke and remade, only to be shattered again and again until they were as fine as dust. His muscles stringed apart, all the fibers stretched and snapped in tautness. Rot invaded his gum and he vomited out his teeth along the putrefied organs of his. Blood boiling and scorching his insides, bleeding the red liquid outside like flooded waterfall. His skin- scales and all- shed from his flesh and melt all over the mattress, forming a puddle of volcanic crimson and emerald green spikes, already spearing the remaining meat that still clung to his body.

Yet it was his brain that agonized the most. Smashed and ripped apart, the slush inside reverberated hideous laughters and whispers that echoed upon the walls of his fractured skull, shrilling, failure failure failure failure failure failure failure aberration heir abhorrent sun-

die-

All ceased to be.

Death crushed him in their grip.

Or that was he had thought, until he realized that it was not the harrowing emptiness of the afterlife that embraced him, but the emptiness from the pain itself.

Gone was the horrendous affliction, the ear-splitting jeers and the excruciating terror. Instead, all those horrors were replaced with a deep sense of...

...Serenity?

Peace, freedom that made oneself float from sheer weightlessness. The atmosphere of a sunny day with white clouds arraying the sky and green grass and calming breeze hailing the saccharine warmth of a summer day.

Paradise of sunlit field and gentle wind, blowing across the room and seeping into his mind, body, and bones, mending.

And then he felt a tender touch. A stroke, honeyed caress through his hair, to his temple and his brows, and finally his cheeks.

...It was... warm, soothing, too sweet. A sweetness that made one's eyes water with sleepiness.

...how...

His eyes battled with said sleepiness, drifting from the land of dreams and the waking reality back and forth, like a flower carried across a wind current. He was lucid enough to feel the gentle hands that brought soft caresses now tilted his head toward him trying to inspect. Though, perhaps their touches could pierce the veil of lucidity.

And from his languid gaze, he saw...

Saw-

His heart jolted laborously, fighting against that encroaching drowsiness. A fragment of that horrid terror crashed the shore of his consciousness once again.

Because, from his sight, he saw- he saw-

A fracture, a dismemberment? Colors dancing discordantly to form a image, changing rapidly in a flash of a lightning, and as clear as a reflection of a bonfire's glow. Fatamorgana with the light of a rising sun-

The burst of sunset's orange, shaded by sprouting canopy, the smell of faded scrolls and decaying papers reverberating with electrical buzzing... father?

But it changed, twilight purple descending through the approaching night's sky along with the sun, drowning in the latter's moribund light... with an inundating scent of the withering purpurbloom haunting the sensation... wilting with water and iron... no, that dragon-

The figure cupped his cheeks in its entirety.

Into the hollowness upon his head, was the scenery of a limitless azure ether, the blue swaying...

Like the Sacred Flame...

...Lan-

A sound, lilting and melancholic, the melody of volcanic ashes sinking from the blasted sky and to the fertile ground down below...

It was a voice, echoing inside his healed brain, '...you look nothing like him... except those eyes, crystalline ambers as always... but everything else... you're your father incarnate.'

...what?

Then a chuckle, a howl of gale racing inside a labyrinthine valley, '...no, you're just like me.'

He felt the drops of rain upon his skin. But instead of cooling, they burned like lava. Along with those scathing drops, the figure clenched his grip on his cheeks, fingers of a clawed reptile and calloused human one ever exchanging and intertwining, encircling the skin around his eyes, ushering the drowsiness.

And the final sound- the last blow to end a dying ember.

'sleep, little one.'

The claw-like nails jabbed his eyes.

Darkness erupted.

In his dream, his eye sockets bled gold-colored blood.

[neosprites]

Can I request grr from invader Zim? Pls & ty ~♡

[INVADER ZIM - GIR: STAMPS]

pls credit if you use

best seen on dark mode

Some other graphics I found while searching:

dividers from animatedglittergraphics-n-more

blinkies from 2009xd

graphics from unknown-till

graphic from viniknp

graphics from graphics-cafe

stamps from animatedglittergraphics-n-more

icons from blood-slush

blinkies from blu3b3rryj4mp1r3

icons from pissonbunni

graphics from engravedlives

[knownashaunt]

The desolate halls, eternal in their namesake now, shudder only with the deep heaves of Icecrown’s winds at uncertain intervals. The languishing groans echo within patina-worn cobalt corridors, their barren walls desperate to ward off encroaching spindles of creeping icicles, of whose cadence is a soft, crystalline thrum. Whimpers of smaller alcoves are swept away with soft rattles of railing-strung and pike-lofted bones. The mounds that protrude from the shadows of sharp-tip buttresses had long ago frozen over, reaching high arches lost to darkness, competitive with the ridges of ice and swathes of snow that now blanket the numberless tawny knobs and sallow heaps in their eternal rest.

No grave is more mass than this.

Though the frigid waste’s air diminishes the stench, the corpulent piles of remnants permeate beyond sight into other senses; a ruthless invader set to make raw any sensation of foulness the mind could concoct, sparing no mercy especially to the olfactory system. This was a nightmare that knew not how to be gentle in its manifestation. Light does not dare itself here. Held at bay by a clime of miasma, its roils stirring dense pools contained only by cathedral vaults to listlessly caress against the strokes of brushes made by violence—strokes that prove the mounds were earned. It never got cold enough to stop the dripping. Not at this level. The red rust of metal planks and strutted catwalks could not truly cease to gnaw away at crude edges and black chains under so many droplets of warriors long-gone. It drums an endless beat, a wet layer added to the dirge of the forgotten forge’s arteries.

“Ooph!” The bones only rattle to the breath of their tyrant’s maw, not Haunt’s cry; but some, long errant from their settled corpse mounds, skid across a blade-scarred platform in a hollow clamor under the scuffle of leather boots and leather bindings.

“ＹᴏＵ ᴋＩᴄＫ ʜＡᴜＮᴛ? You kick Haunt like the football?” Haunt screeches with a warble only known by elbow-knockers, shrill and: “Jail! Eternal jail for your foul-flung foot!” A knee rises then drives its metal heel down on fabric-wrapped flesh just as recycled air hisses from the half-cocked, now rent diffuser. The metal facet securing the hose into the mask spills plumes of bilious green mist. Desolate wails slice through the gaseous fumes with an insouciance that similarly forces chilled air directly into the leaking fissure, freezing Haunt’s air supply. They wail alike, thrown into a flailing fit unsuited for someone permitted to carry loaded guns. Again a kick filled with rage swipes at bondage, sending their captured quarry rolling over slush and crumpling into an amused, pained, and blessedly muffled cackle in a split-second of hubris—or maybe hopelessness.

Heaving like a beast bit open at the throat, Haunt twists, half-bent, dancing with sharp contorts between peals of anguish (and more adamantly, questions of victim-hood) and sprays of flash-freezing chemicals until the unsatisfactory sound of ripping rubber hosing from broken metal slams the mechanically stiff whips and nae-naes to a halt. The bound bag of a body writhes, invigorated, its bindings mercilessly denying sight—and obscuring from others seeing. The sounds of desperation keep Haunt aware of the attempt to escape, despite focusing on the crisis of broken equipment.

“Gah! It’s always the last ten—mmph—twenty meters! Always so close, steps away from ▇▇▇!” Frantic clatters punctuate the shed of a worthless respirator, only to fade away, lost in teeming darkness. The prominent light source, Haunt’s rebreather and its tubing, sputters a few final rivulets of green-tinted chemicals as its hose joins the cadence of those far-off droplets, slipping from a despondent grasp to join the now-abandoned breathing tank and hooded filtration mask on the ground. Rid of refitted leather, the once-bright fluorescent glow of green lenses now stare with the pallor of dark glass-tinted eyes, generously pinpointing for no one in particular exactly where the ghastly captor lingers in the bleak haze as they stalk towards their bounty.

“If you did not want to contribute to the betterment of the world,” Haunt circles, a vulture wreathed at the throat with pride and pomp. Six feet and then some of wrapped fabric, strapped leather, and a few additional half-frayed ropes, twists like a worm, bereft of appendages in these confinements and made to be pecked at by Haunt’s heightened words and pitch. “You should have learned to kill your shadows!” The circling ends at feet, where the lank of Haunt’s frame looms, dripping still, just out of cadence with the rest.

“Pity, yes? You didn’t. You didn’t learn from the mistakes of those that still take breath. You have been shown the path before, and yet— Now you serve a better purpose—You should see—you should really look, but, those bright green eyes of yours, Haunt finds them unsettling; you will have to imagine, instead. Here, where you were a bitch, is a holy chamber of innovation, made especially for your type: the weak. The ones made to fill the pits, with your big shoulders and your strong arms and very powerful legs, what the fuck.”

In the darkness all is clear. The way that body churns in every effort to be free under the monotony of Haunt’s hundredth soliloquy of the trip, and how Haunt failed to see the liberated leg that came out of nowhere earlier until attempting to gather up straps by both hands once again. The kicking resumes, but frustration fuels focus, protecting what remains of personal protective equipment and guarding a face now only concealed by sable cloth wrapped like bandages. “Haunt was perfectly fine not having to smell this place again, you know. It’s not the worst now, it will be worse later, but even this—”

In the darkness, the cloth gag sounds less effective, and among recapture, kicks grow fervent until both ankles are seized as a hen is captured by its irate farmer and hung to think about its decisions before the blood rush comes. It leaves Haunt awkwardly long in the body, an unholy might coursing through appendages to keep six damn feet and then some off the ground and unable to do much more than thrash. Over the shoulder and shuffling towards the hall’s end, it is a quick motion that puts legs backwards against a back well strengthened by carrying a breathing tank.

“Listen, hm? Yes?" There's enough pause for a fly's heart to beat. "Okay. 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔—” In vain, both, they collide in struggle again, each step far exaggerated by the need to counterbalance a body in riot. Jerks and tugs adjust and adapt, and despite it all, shadows continue the need to be heard. “Flailing is not going to help! It just makes this hard—breaks Haunt’s things—fills you with unearned rage. Sure, rage is good, but too much? It will be wasted. Haunt needs what’s at the core, not the surface. Try to find your center. Deep breaths, think vengeful but calming thoughts. Fire, perhaps? Haunt assumes that is a rational go-to. Big, large, vast bonfires? Wildfires without boundaries.”

To any victim, the true torment is the stream of consciousness, the platitudes, the confessions and knotted philosophies. It always hints, implies, fills just enough space to create more in the end. In the darkness, it is everything, and it has been darkness for hours, this time, for this singular soul. Some targets are worth more effort but afforded far, far less respect, a blatant hypocrisy to the values often honored by Haunt’s typical prey subjects. Even as the winds wane and the gangrenous heaps are lost beyond icy pillars and then taller walls, there are the words. “… Most of these places have been long pillaged by the combined forces of you breathers. Few remain in such splendor—capable of creating, capable of modifying. It is transfiguration that is hardest to achieve in the wake of catastrophic errors. Sure, at first there was the direct conduit to the blueprints, the schematics! Oh, the schematics…” The chill permeates worse, where wind is stifled by humid air and walls still sweat from their last exposure to profane experimentation. It digs through fabric and bindings, and heralds an end Haunt has done nothing but sing of.

“Now, with none of that, we start from scratch. The scratch is you, by the way. Well, your being. There is no greater fuel in this world, than what has been pressed from within your heart under the torment experiences of your…really quite long life. You’ll do well in your new purpose.” Praise as there is, the body is still dropped like a wet bag of trash.

A different crescendo of sounds blares after minutes of silence, away from words and metal, left only with the moisture. Then, the worst of freedom comes with the rifling grip of metal and leather-clad fingers prying away a blindfold held by a belt strap. The faint ebb of waning green glow rims the wicked edges of machinery made beyond the minds of the living. It blinds, despite its dimness, though as minutes carry on and Haunt abandons being helpful in favor of ushering more carnal groans from profane equipment as it whirs into function.

Turning back to eyes now adapted to the undulating pulses pallid ichor amid glassy pipework, arms of black outstretch in reception and white-glowing eyes flicker their vigor of ill intent.

“Welcome, dear soul, to the end of your fleshly constraints!” Standing silent, awkward, and finally issuing a squeak of confusion, a hush little voice mutters: “Confetti—forgot the confetti—” then perks to the highs of self-appointed glory again. “Don’t take it too poorly, your mechanical internment will at least put you between a woman’s legs. You will rumble with a power that could only be imagined in your current state. You will burn, through fuel, through muck, through chaff. You will deliver to her enemies the Sun's very wrath. You'll have a chassis! Wee!" Elation crashes into a solemn sea of silence but not for long, there is an attention deficit to contend with, here.

“Welcome, to the Severing of Your Soul!” There is no applause, but shoulders do sink as if abruptly freed from the burden of announcing. “…ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗⁱᵗˡᵉ. It should have splendor, but what is splendor for, in the last moments of your current state? You will find no absolution here, and maybe that is the misconception, that which should be avoided here.” Boots drag heavy over sludge, sticky and loud in their ominous approach. “Maybe, instead, Haunt informs you that your ancestors will watch the macerating of your finite existence into something useful. That is all they will be able to do.” The weight of a fist drives into open eyes, ending consciousness in a succinct blow. The room heaves, steady in the motions of purpose, and Haunt rises upright again, shaking out knuckles like a wimpy kid—kaldorei skulls are strong and they aren't big on punching things (guns work pretty great on night elves, however).

This is a place of holy innovation, boasts a thing of unmitigated desolation that cannot possibly reach such lofty claims. But the mounds started here can only grow in height, number, and girth. So they will, until Haunt can reach those heights. One unfortunate resource at a time.

[ @high-justiciar ]

[starlightrows]

17 — Longing

Hiding In Plain Sight

← Previous - Next →

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Hospitals, illness, depression

Summary: Wolffe made his choice, was it the right choice?

As the sun rose over Naboo, Slush watched from your window as the renegade team flew away. Part of him wished he could have been on that mission, but he knew it was far more important to be here with you. Someone had to be. 

Wolffe stepped on that transport and swallowed any semblance of fear or anxiety. He had to be focused on the mission. He had a job to do. Thousands of lives were on the line, including yours. This mission had to succeed, it had to. 

The journey was long and the mission was grueling. Seeing the ruins of Atraken with his own eyes was a nightmare of its own. Getting down to the fragments of the fractured planet was nearly impossible. Wolffe felt like a shell of a man combing through the bodies and debris in his bulky protective suit. 

He still felt like a shell of a man sitting on the transport back to Naboo with the source specimens that would hopefully be synthesized into a vaccine. He felt like he was watching himself from the outside, as he disembarked from the transport and was rushed into a decontamination chamber. 

He was assigned a room to rest and recover under observation from the medical droids while the raw source material was taken to a research facility to begin working on the vaccine. He felt detached from the whole situation, even this place and his own body. He laid on the bed and slept dreamlessly. He sat by the window and stared aimlessly at the sky. 

It wasn’t until almost three days later when he felt the sharp pin prick of the syringe administering the very vaccine he had just risked his life for, that he felt like he was seeing out of his own eyes again.

He turned to the medical droid “Where am I?” 

“Theed Memorial Hospital” he droid recited 

Wolffe stands from the bed he was sitting on and pushed passed the droid. He finds himself running down the hallways trying to orient himself in the space and figure out how to get to you. He finds his way back to the room he’s practically been living in for the past few months and pulls up short at the door. His hand inches from the keypad to enter. 

He has no idea how long he’s even been back on Naboo. To be honest he doesn’t really remember leaving or returning to this place. He has no concept of how much time has passed. You may not be in that room anymore. You may be gone already. You could have been gone for a long time. If he opens the door, what would he do if he saw an empty room? 

An acrid panic creeps up the back of his throat and invades his mouth, he feels like he might wretch. He backs away from the door and turns around, placing a hand on the wall opposite your door. His heartbeat feels like a battering ram against his ribcage, trying to crack his sternum and escape his body. Tears well in his eyes as he takes some deep breaths, clutching his chest and choking on his exhales. 

Suddenly the door opens behind him and a familiar hand is laid on his shoulder. Wolffe glances behind him and sees General Plo standing before him. Wolffe can not find a single word to say, he can only stand there in his state of sudden panic. 

“Breathe deeply and calm your mind” General Plo’s voice is steady and grounding. 

Wolffe does as he’s told and breathes deeply for a minute, eventually finding his voice again “Is… is she?”

“She received the vaccine yesterday morning” General Plo says calmly “And she is already showing marked improvement” 

Something in Wolffe snaps. It feels like a burden of immeasurable weight is lifted from his chest and he can breathe again. “Oh thank the fucking maker” he mumbles in disbelief 

“Before you go in, I want to speak to you about a few things” General Plo says, keeping his hand where it sits on his shoulder 

Wolffe nods, “Yes sir?”

“You have been in a dissociative state since returning from Atraken. Some of the others from your party seem to have been similarly affected. I spoke to Ahsoka about what you encountered there. I understand that response was partially due to the exposure to the toxins, but you also underwent an extremely traumatic experience” He explains “Please understand, you must take time to process this. I am here to help you should you need it”

“General… how long have we been back? I… I really don’t remember… most of it…” Wolffe admits

“Three days, and you were gone for nine” 

Wolffe nods… that is a long time for him to have almost no conscious recollection of it. 

“I understand… I don’t doubt it will, for a lack of a better word, haunt me… but right now… I just need to know it was worth it” 

General Plo gives his shoulder a gentle pat, “Of course” 

Wolffe steps back up to the door and presses the button to enter. He first sees someone standing by the bed, facing away from the door and adjusting the pillows. Slush turns around and grins seeing his brother standing at the door. Slush steps aside. 

There you are. Sitting up, propped up against pillows. Darkened bags still under your eyes and a dullness to your skin, but there is an unmistakable sparkle in your eye and a smile on your chapped lips. Stars how he’s missed your smile. 

Slush quietly backs out of the room and closes the door. Wolffe approaches slowly and lowers himself gingerly on the bed to sit next to you. He reaches for you, cradling the back of your head with a gentle hand. He leans forward to touch his forehead to yours. His eyes closed and a soft laugh coming through before he could even get out a word. 

“You’re awake” he says, hardly believing it himself 

“Thanks for not giving up on me” you chuckle weakly

He tilts his head and catches your lips, kissing you with gentle desperation. You have so little strength in your body, but you manage to lift your arms to hold him close to you and kiss him back. He pulls away and kisses the corner of your lips and up your cheek. 

“I love you” he whispers, as tears drip down his cheeks. 

—— 

In the days that follow he watches you do things that he never realized required so much physical strength. Simple things like getting out of bed, even sitting up right and coughing sapped what little energy you’ve gotten back. Still with each passing day, he can see how much better you’re doing. 

“I know I’m proving that maker forsaken saying that doctors make the worst patients, but stars I want to get out of his bed” you complain one day as Wolffe helps you lay back on the inclined pillows. You did better than yesterday sitting up on your own to eat the meager lunch the nurse droid brought by. 

“You’re really that anxious to get back in the fray?” Slush laughs a bit, taking the tray off the bed. 

“Not really. I guess I just want to feel like me again” you admit “Not used to the other side of all this” 

“You’ve never been hospitalized before Doc?” Slush sits in the spare chair and props his feet up on the edge of your bed 

“Well, I mean. I was shot at the battle of Osterra, and technically I was hospitalized for like half a day. As soon as that drugs kicked in, I was back on the front line” You’re almost certain you’ve told this story to the squad before “You’ve somehow managed to dodge every blaster bolt sent your way Slush” 

“Me myself? Yes. My ships I’ve flown? No, not even a little. I have definitely been hit while flying” he laughs a bit, then feels a bit guilty for even having this conversation in front of Wolffe. He goes quiet and avoids his eye. 

“Don’t even bother asking” Wolffe says coldly, pausing before going on “I lost this game right out of the gate. Took a bolt to the shoulder at the battle of Geonosis” 

Slush brightens back up, “Oh yeah! I forgot all about that!” 

There is a tap at the door before it opens, General Plo stands at the threshold and steps inside. Slush and Wolffe sit up straight but do not stand at attention. 

“Captain, it is a relief to hear your voice again” he says coming to stand by your side

“Thank you General” you smile. Even though General Plo’s face is mostly concealed by his breathing apparatus, you’ve known him long enough to discern his expressions. His words are happy but his face is concerned.  

“I wish I had better news for you all” he says, confirming your suspicion. 

Now Wolffe and Slush stand at attention, you try to sit up straight at the very least. Wolffe reaches out to assist you, “What is it? What’s happened now?” 

“The war has been stagnant. Suspended in time with the fate of so many hanging in the balance. Word of our healer's recovery is beginning to spread. Orders have been dispensed, The Republic means to take advantage of this situation” he explains 

“We’re being deployed” Slush says gravely, looking to you, still struggling just to sitting up right for more than a hour at a time. 

“Not yet. But we have been ordered to return to The Radiant, and be ready for deployment orders within the next several hours” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder “I came to wish you well Captain, and collect you both to leave immediately” 

Your heart sinks and your head hurts. But you understand that duty always comes first, and you’ve been exceedingly lucky these last few days to have the three of them here with you at all. Most of the others recovering in this hospital have no one. 

“Thank you sir” you nod “We will meet again soon” 

“Indeed” General Plo withdraws his hand “I will retrieve the ship from the hanger, be at the platform in 15 minutes for departure” 

“Yes sir” both of them answer as General Plo leaves. 

The room is silent for a moment, as you look between them. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be fine” you assure them. 

Slush nods and gives you a smile “Of course you are. You’re getting better every day. You’ll be back in no time” 

“Yeah. I’ll break myself out of here the second I can walk and bum a ride home. You’ll see!” You joke. 

Slush steps forward, and wraps his arms around you for a quick hug. You hug him back and give his shoulder a couple pats. “Thank you for staying” you say softly. 

He smiles and gives a half chuckle “See ya real soon Doc” and with that he leaves, making sure to close the door behind him. 

You turn to Wolffe, sitting in the chair at your side. He’s not looking at you. You reach out, and take his hand. 

“This is getting pretty old ya know” he says, finally looking at you with his brows stitched together in a mix of anger, sadness and fear. 

“What is?” You ask, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb 

“The war putting us apart from each other” 

You nod your head in agreement, frowning at the tension rising in your chest “Yeah” 

He sighs sadly, before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss. 

You don’t know what to say. You want to reassure him. Make him laugh and feel at ease. You don’t want to start crying. You don’t want him to worry about you. You want to get out of his fucking bed and go with him for stars sake. 

“Hey” you shake your entwined hands gently to get his full attention “You did the impossible. You and Rex and General Skywalker and Ahsoka. You saved the galaxy. You saved my life. You did that. Fuck this war. Fuck this universe trying to keep us apart. I’ll be better before you know it, I’ll come find you”

He cracks a smile “You’re going to terrorize those nursing droids until you can walk again” 

“I’ll be the first one discharged from his hospital, just you wait” he you grin 

“I’ll take that wager” he squeezes your hand, leaning in a bit 

“It’s a deal” you close the distance between you and kiss him. 

He savors the touch of your lips, the taste of your tongue, the pull in his chest when you kiss him. He is the one to finally break away, keeping close. He gently lowers you down to rest on the pillows, and strokes your cheek. He didn’t get to say goodbye the last time you were dragged apart, somehow this feels worse.

“Wolffe” you whisper, knowing your time is almost up, and your brave facade is breaking with the reality that he about to leave “Kiss me one more time, tell me you love me, and get on that ship…” 

He hesitates. Needing to see your face for just a moment more. He swallows the lump in his throat, and kisses you again. It is a firm and insistent kiss, following your orders but for his own sake. He savors it. He pulls away and puts his lips by your ear to softly say your name “I love you with all of my heart” he kisses your cheek, stands and leaves. The door swishes closed behind him. Tears spill over your cheeks and sobs make your body sore until you fall asleep. 

———

The trip back to The Radiant is uncomfortably quiet. Wolffe knows he will have to return to his role as Commander. These last few months he’s barely been a person, let alone a soldier or a commander of men. 

He knows you will be back. You’re alive. You’re somewhere safe. That’s more reassurance he’s had in months… years even. But he doesn’t have the strength to find comfort or joy in that sentiment. He doesn’t even have it in him to be angry. He’s just drained. Empty. Devoid of any feeling on the matter, aside from a dull throb of exhaustion. 

“We’re approaching The Radiant” Slush gives the warning. 

“Inform the bridge of our return, and tell them to await deployment orders from Coruscant” Wolffe responds, settling back into himself. Ensuring that he is not broadcasting his own feelings, or lack thereof. 

“Yes sir” Slush acknowledges before transmitting the message. 

The ship comes in for a landing in the familiar hanger, the team is ready and waiting to receive them. As Slush completes the landing cycle, Wolffe clears his throat. 

“Thank you” he says “For the last couple months” 

Slush clasps his shoulder and gives him a nod “I’m still with you Commander” 

“I have one more favor to ask of you” He says 

“Anything” 

“Keep Dr Faragian away from me” he makes sure to exaggerate the name 

Slush laughs “The day we get to transfer him off this ship, will be the best day of our lives” 

“Agreed” 

To Wolffe’s surprise and relief, General Plo takes the lead on addressing the waiting squadron. He confirms the rumors that have been going around that a successful vaccine has been synthesized, you are in recovery, and the war is not over. He tells them to be ready for deployment at any moment, it is likely they will be one of the first squads to receive orders.

Barely an hour passes before orders arrive and The Radiant is jumping to light speed, heading towards the next threat. 

Days pass into weeks. One mission wraps up and another is waiting. Wolffe trains with the team. Does meaningless paperwork. Attends meetings of strategy and war development. Eats. Sleeps. Bathes. He sort of just exists. 

He misses you. When he’s with the team, the group feels incomplete. When he’s alone, he feels incomplete. His feeling of emptiness comes and goes. There are bad days where he doesn’t feel like himself, he just feels like a vessel. And there are better days, where he misses you so much his chest hurts. He prefers those days.

———

Every day you push yourself to move your body in whatever small ways you can manage. You know you have to trust the process, healing takes time, especially without the aid of bacta. 

In a few weeks you’re able to sit up on your own and are given the go ahead to use a hover chair to get to and from the fresher on your own. The independence of this seemingly small task does wonders for your mental health and your resolve to get better. You use your hover chair privileges to leave your room and visit others in the hospital. Encouraging them to move their bodies and not give up hope. 

You urge the medical droids to allow you to start physical therapy. You want to move. You want to walk. You want to lead the way for the others to recover too. And you do. 

It is slow progress. But you keep at it. The day you’re strong enough to take a solid step without a walker or handrails, you are so happy you could cry. Your fellow doctors and medics around you at various points in their recovery progression are ecstatic for you. But you can’t wait to send a message to Wolffe and the team. 

You’re tired getting back into your bed. You know from the news and reading officers reports that the war has resumed in full force, despite still having very few medics. More and more new graduate medics and doctors have volunteered or been drafted on both sides. A few medics at other recovery centers have been returning to duty. You long to be one of them.

Neuromuscular rehab program is working. Took three steps unassisted today. Will be walking in no time! 

You smile to yourself as you hit send. You know he might not see it for a while. Especially if they’re deployed or on a different sleep cycle. You haven’t heard from him in a few weeks, so you assume he’s busy. Or he just doesn’t have anything to report. 

You miss him. You miss all of them really. You miss being Slush’s copilot. You miss teasing and laughing with them around a campfire or in the mess hall. You miss your office and your simple chambers. You miss your team. You miss your partner. You miss Wolffe. 

You want to be by his side when he addresses the squad. You want to share a meal with him, even if it’s just flavorless rations. You want tease him and make him laugh. You want to lay next to him in bed and feel his lips against yours. 

You roll over onto your side and hold one of your pillows close to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You have to remind yourself of how far you’ve already come. Each new day, each new step gets you just a little bit closer to getting back to your normal life. You just have to stay focused and motivated. 

Your com device buzzes behind you, indicating a new message has come through. You make the effort to roll over and reach for the device, knowing it will be worth it to hear from him or your team. 

I’m proud of you 

You smile at the message. Short but sweet, and most definitely genuine. This is a monitored frequency, any exchanges using it have to be above board. Usually leading to short responses and unceremonious updates. But you know. You know he must be happy you’re getting better. You know he is proud of you. 

One step turns into three steps. Three into five and five into ten! You’re getting stronger with the exercises you’ve been prescribed. Your walking form is getting better and more stable. It’s not enough for you. You want to walk without fatiguing. You want to run! 

It is the hardest part. Transitioning from independent walking to jogging to running. You feel like you can see the finish line but can’t go any faster to reach it. You try to keep Wolffe updated, even when he can’t respond. 

Running was never your favorite part of physical training. But the day you’re able to run at a full sprint with no pain, no instability, no abnormal oxygen consumption or fatigue. You’ve made it! You’re considered to be back to full health by GAR standards. You’re ready to put your uniform back on, load up on a transport and meet up with The Radiant wherever they are in the galaxy. But your discharge papers give you pause.

The options you’re presented are: Accept an offer to be honorably discharged from service. Accept an offer to be transferred to a non fieldwork position at a VA hospital on a Republic hub planet. Accept a reenlist opportunity to be assigned to a new squadron in need of a field medic. Request placement on previous squadron or team, if position remains vacant or is otherwise unoccupied. 

Obviously you select the option to go back to your squad but the phrasing of it makes you uneasy. You’ve put in all of this work and waited all of this time. You want to go back now. You should be allowed to rejoin your squad. You shouldn’t have to request it. And you will be damned if fucking Roy takes your place as lead medic on the 104th. 

You are discharged from the civilian hospital that has been your home for the last several months, and stay in temporary GAR housing in Theed. Until your new orders are confirmed you do what you do best, you treat patients. Normal civilians with normal ailments and injuries. It’s sort of nice, being able to practice medicine in a much simpler way. People with sprained ankles, children with mild illnesses, small cuts and household burns. But it also feels like a sick joke. Like winning a grand tournament only for the prize to be a participation certificate. 

Three weeks later, with no communication from the GAR on your placement or from the team acknowledging your update, you get a com call in the middle of the night. Not that you were able to sleep anyway, too much on your mind to sleep. Orders. Orders to rejoin the The Radiant at their next rendezvous point. 

It’s hauntingly familiar. Leaving a medical facility, getting on a transport, and flying off to meet back up with your squad. You’ve spent more time away from them than with them in the last year. You want this to be the last time this ever happens. 

———

Wolffe received word of changing course to make a stop at a rendezvous, and thought nothing of it. The Radiant transports troops from outposts, medical frigates, weigh stations and the like all the time. It isn’t until five minutes before the ship is set to arrive that he sees the transfer order come up on his data pad. 

He has to reread it twice, three times, then four and five to make sure he’s not just seeing things. It’s real. That is your full name. Followed by your rank and designation. You’re being reassigned to the 104th. You are the person getting on at the rendezvous. 

He hasn’t seen you in months. He hasn’t seen any updates from you in weeks. And now you’ll be here in a matter of minutes. He coms Slush to assemble the squadron to receive you in the hangar when you arrive. And rushes to be there in time to join them. 

He stands at attention when the shuttle docks in the bay. His heart hammers in his chest as the ramp lowers. And he watches as a different woman than the one he kissed goodbye on Naboo descends the ramp. You look strong and healthy. You look the way he remembers you the first time you met, over two years ago. You look like you again.

Tag List: @maulslittlemeowmeow @lucyysthings @justanothersadperson93 @lackofhonor @paige6768 @thefact0rygirl @ttzamara @nekotaetae @jennrosefx @kashasenpai @littledragonlady @love-space-nerd

[jjuniesdaydream]

Slush!

not requested

wrote this bc i have been craving for some junseo softness and i think that it's a crime that there isn't more of it. also because i have that one moment of sleepy junseo with no shirt on seared into my brain, so that was the inspiration ig (also pls this is so self-indulgent) i'd obviously recommend listening to Slush by DKB while reading this, as it is its namesake :3

word count: 2,1k gender neutral reader

Junseo knew it would have to be a day of hell for you. Not only did you have your job that you, of course, had to do, and do well, but you were also in the middle of moving out of your apartment and into a new place. He had tried to come over more to help you pack, and you were grateful for the times that he had helped you, but he had his own schedule that was tightly packed and unfortunately didn’t have the most time to help out, much to his dismay.

One day he had managed to carve out a whole evening for you. Giddy, he picked up the flowers and the takeout he had planned to bring with him, knowing that you didn’t leave yourself much time to eat and your meals had mostly been cups of ramen. He smiled down at the plastic bag hanging from where he held onto the handles; he could smell the amazing food as he walked to the apartment that was still yours for a few days. He was wearing his black bucket hat and a facemask, as DKB was finally garnering some attention after Peak Time was aired and he had experienced more frequent times of being stopped on the street for an autograph or a selca, and as much as he loved his fans’ support, that day he just wanted to go straight to his love to help out with something as mundane as packing things in boxes and eating good food out of containers.

When he got there, he knocked, as he usually did, but as you sometimes did, the knocks were ignored. He chuckled to himself, thinking that you were probably just zooming around with headphones on and couldn’t hear him; it wouldn’t have been the first time that would happen, so he did what he had permission to do; he went to your mailbox and searched for the little nook in it where you hid your keys. You had a bad habit of forgetting your housekeys either at Junseo’s dorm or in your personal desk at work, so you decided that it would be good to have a backup plan for when that would happen, which you had told Junseo to take advantage of whenever he wanted to, since you trusted him with your home, even if you weren’t there with him.

He snatched the keys from where you’d hung them inside the mailbox and unlocked your front door, opening it casually like he would usually, thinking you’d hear that and come running to the front door to see him. But not this time; this time the apartment was silent. Junseo’s brows furrowed, worry invading his thoughts. You should’ve been off of work by then and you had said you were way too busy packing to go out with your friends at the time being, so why was your home so quiet that he was feeling as if he was doing something disruptive just by rustling a plastic bag? He toed off his shoes quickly and moved in to put the food and flowers in the, mostly empty, kitchen, walking swiftly into the bigger space. He stopped in his tracks and felt a smile creep onto his face as he saw your form lying on your couch. Your hair was wild as if you had literally just thrown yourself onto the cushions, with no regard to your hair possibly falling onto your face, which he wouldn’t be surprised if that was how it went down.

He looked you over; you had your big dress shirt on, something he loved about your style. When you got the job as a middle school teacher, you wanted to portray yourself as more professional but didn’t want to lose your personal style in that, and so your brilliant idea was to bring some of your love for street style/casual wear, with the oversized tees and huge jeans, was to buy oversized dress shirts, something Junseo had quipped at, mentioning that they were probably his size. You also had your tight slacks on, which looked considerably less comfortable than the shirt. Analysing the place, he could see that you had already devoured the cup noodle you were relying on for sustenance, and so was probably not that hungry. He quickly went out to put the food he’d brought into the fridge, always available to heat up later, and fill a big cup you’d sometimes use as a vase with water and a little sugar and put the flowers in there too, to make them at least look just as fresh when you’d wake up.

After making sure that the front door was locked and all the unnecessary lights in the apartment were off, he scooped you up with ease and walked you to your bed, making sure to put you down on your mattress as gently as possible, as to not wake you up from your needed sleep. He undid and slipped off your slacks but kept the dress shirt on you so that you could be comfortable, but also while making a mental note to wear more dress shirts himself, liking the idea of you borrowing them to lounge around in like this. When he had tucked you in, he went out into the kitchen again. He had come over to help you pack, and he still felt too energised to knock out with you, so he ventured into your kitchen again. You had specifically asked him to help you with the kitchen wares, feeling much better about there being an extra person there to help you handle the fragile glass and such, so without making too much noise, he wrapped up your plates and glass and packed them neatly in the box you had set out for it. One thing less for you to worry about when you woke up the morning after.

After getting the kitchen stuff packed it was an hour later and Junseo could feel his day catch up to him, exhaustion settling into his body. Pulling off his shirt but keeping his sweatpants on, he slipped into the bed beside you, softly wrapping his arms around you, humming to himself as he could feel your familiar warmth against him. He had always thought that you were made for him; you fit perfectly into his arms, into his heart and into his life, and he wished that he had more time to spoil you like he wanted to, but instead, he got moments like these, and well, he could never complain about that. He soon fell asleep, always finding it easier to do so when he had you safe and sound in his arms.

You woke up first the next morning as you had been the one to pass out first, feeling warm and content. You opened your eyes slowly so as to not blind yourself from the light coming from the window but found something casting a shadow over you from said light. You knew exactly who it was, even if the logical part of your brain that said that he’s the only one who it could possibly be hadn’t even woken up, you were sure; that was your Junseo lying with you. You could tell especially from the form of his body’s silhouette and from the arms wrapped around you, and then you could smell the lingering of his cologne mixing with his natural Junseo-smell that you adored so much. You nuzzled your face further into his body, taking in the fact that he was there and seizing the opportunity to enjoy every single second of it. You took your chance to place a few kisses on his broad chest, being the place where you could reach while being in his arms, wrapping an arm around him as well, giggling a little when you could feel his arms tighten around you. You had had a few mornings like these in the time of dating him and you knew all the right buttons to press by now to get Junseo to wake up the gentlest (with some help from his group mates who learned the hard way). You let your fingers travel up and down the expanse of his back, your nails dragging lightly, and you began talking to him softly, only stopping to place another kiss on his warm skin.

“Good morning, my love. Thank you for coming over and for caring for me like this. You're really special; I have no idea how I got so lucky as to get to be with you.” You were about to go on, knowing that Junseo loved waking up to the sound of your voice speaking to him, but it seemed as if it had worked a lot quicker than you had anticipated this time; “I’m the lucky one here,” Junseo grumbled, his morning voice hoarse and, not that he’d ever agree that it was; cute. A smile spread on your lips, blinking up at him with all the love you could muster. “Agree to disagree.” You kissed his chest again and felt one of his hands come up to brush your hair out of your face, looking down at you with a sleepy smile. “When did you come over last night? I don’t remember letting you in.” You questioned and he groaned, digging for the memories in his still sleep-hazy mind. “I think it was around 7:30 or 8 pm? You were knocked out on the couch when I got here.” You took in the words said in his raspy voice. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what happened,” you said in a light-hearted tone. He smiled down at you and loosened his arms around you to stretch them and give you some of your space back. “What happened was that those kids you love teaching so dearly are energy vampires,” he whined and leaned down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. You laughed at his words; “energy vampires?!” He nodded and you could feel him pout against your skin. “Yeah, and when I finally get to have you all to myself, you’re sucked energy-dry!” You laughed even harder and brought your arms up to hug his head even closer to your body. “Oh no, I am so sorry, honey! You know I’m a sucker for those small creatures,” your puns just made him groan even more and suddenly he was escaping from your embrace with you giggling and fighting to keep him hugged to your body. “No, let me go! You're awful for punning me when I've just woken up.” He finally broke free and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. You ended up hugging around his waist, smiling up at him as he looked down at you, your head peeking just around his body.

“You know I’m gonna hold on and be dragged after you if you try to walk away,” you had a certain tone when you told him so, making him think that you were absolutely not bluffing but also knew that he wouldn’t do that to you. What you didn’t know was that he had woken up with an abundance of energy, ready to deal with your silly attitude. With one swift motion, he somehow grabbed a hold under your arms and lifted you up while turning you in the air, placing you over his shoulder, all the while standing up from the bed, making you yelp out in surprise. You knew he was strong and that your weight was really not a big deal to him, but it still surprised you when he just did stuff like that. He walked and spun around with you on his back, mostly to hear your squeals and giggles, only to grab you and throw you onto the bed again, making sure not to throw you far enough so that your head would hit the headboard, throwing himself on top of you, snaking an arm around your body again, to hold you close, while using the other arm to hold himself up. As your giggles died down, the two of you just looked at one another, smiles growing softly on both sets of lips. Junseo leaned down slowly and tenderly placed his soft lips on yours, kissing you properly for the first time since he’d seen you this time. The kiss was delicate and infused with love and went on until the both of you were lightheaded, and by the time you’d separated, there were ten fingers in some hair, four cheeks red with heat and two foreheads touching each other.

The first one to utter any words was Junseo; “let’s just melt into the sheets together for a little bit more.” And you had no objections whatsoever.

A/N: i know that some details or behaviours of the reader were probably oddly specific but as i said before; this was incredibly self-indulgent. when i started writing this i was in the middle of moving out and was so stressed out so this was written with myself in mind a bunch. but i hope whoever reads this enjoys it also! (i am now putting the finishing touches on it in my new apartment on a makeshift bed on the floor so there you go lmao)

[moonlitcomet]

A simple, not fully comprehensive guide to stick figure community art styles you might find on the internet:

Despite being such a simple object, something universal to humanity when drawing a simple person, there's a lot of ways to depict a stick figure. Almost infinite ones. And some of these ways to draw a stick figure have developed into entire communities; just by looking at the way someone draws a "stick figure" character, you can probably tell what corner of the internet they've stuck their nose in!

RHGs/Dojo Duelists

Probably what first comes to mind when you think of those fancy stick fight animations. These guys have been around for longer than many people have been alive, having been founded in 2005 by Stone. Many people who started out animating with RHG eventually moved on to become professional animators for cartoons, movies, and even anime.

RHGs and Dojo Duelists are often animated using symbols and objects in Flash, creating a distinct "segmented" appearance. When up close, they often have hand drawn facial features, which adds more to the style of the artist and animator.

Fans of RHG and Hyun's Dojo are often inspired to animate or create colorful and violent stories based on these characters, and quite a few of them seem to find old men incredibly sexy.

An interesting fact about the RHG style and its fanart is that most RHG fanart is in a style commonly referred to as glorified stickfigures, with simple, full bodies and detailed features. I am unsure as to the origin of this art style, but if anyone knows where it first originated, I would love to know.

Gildedguy's Glorified Stickmen

A bit of a side-community to Dojo and RHG is that of Gildedguy's community, who I am happy to represent. Gildedguy started animating in 2006, but truly became more of an internet sensation in 2011 with the release of Slush Invaders. Gildedguy the character made his first official debut in 2015 with Gildedguy vs. Fry, a speedbattle[though he made an appearance in the Slush Invaders game before that.]. Since then he has been releasing at least one new big project every year, with the quality of each animation ramping up as time goes on.

Gildedguy's art style involves large heads and stumpier proportions, with enormous eyes. His style is extremely unique for a stickfigure artist, and you can almost always tell when someone has been inspired by his art and animations.

Gildedguy has a very interactive community, and he has inspired many people that I know to start animation, be it when he first started with Slush Invaders or even as recently as Story 7. Many members of his community, myself included, do not find themselves interacting with many other stick figure communities, though overlap between Gildedguy and almost any other large stick figure community is also very prominent and common.

Animator vs. Animation [Alan Becker]

The source of nostalgia for many my age, these little stickfigures have kept a chokehold on their corner of the internet for nearly two decades, with the first Animator vs. Animation being released one year after RHG's founding, in 2006. Ever since then, AVA and its sidestories of AVM strike inspiration and excitement into the hearts of its fans. Many children and adults alike love the stories of these stickfigures, with simple but nuanced characters and visual stories that anyone can enjoy.

Unlike with many RHGs and Duelists, AVA stickfigures are hand drawn and have more fluid and bendy limbs, and have no facial features except in the case of a single Youtube short as of the time of this being posted.

Fans of AVA sometimes draw in the art style of the source material, but here on Tumblr, I've also seen a lot of them giving them more detailed bodies and faces, as well as clothing and hairstyles. Many copycat animators on youtube exist with nowhere near the level of charm and love put into Alan Becker's AVA.

Henry Stickmin

I'm not actually fully familiar with Henry Stickmin, its games, or its characters, but it's hard to find any other stickfigure style as distinct as this one. With detailed heads, hands, and feet but stick-thin bodies, Henry Stickmin stands out while also sticking to the stickfigure art style.

Henry Stickmin first debuted in 2008 with Breaking The Bank, a point-and-click adventure game.

Dick Figures

Dick Figures is a crass, adult-oriented short animation series on YouTube, which debuted in 2010 and released a feature-length film in 2013. The shorts are almost always immature and vulgar, calling to the times of the internet that they originated from.

Dick Figures features hand drawn stickfigures with stick-thin bodies and detailed faces.

I've found that fans of this series do not often cross over into the internet territories of other Stickfigure communities, and instead spend more time in meme communities.

Marikin Online 4 [MO4]

MO4 is a Japanese RPG game with a very niche and dedicated art community behind it. While Marikin Online 1, 2, and 3 did technically exist, they were never fully finished games and are no longer available to the public. From what I can tell, MO4 first released around 2018, and I can find little other information about the series' history itself in a cohesive place.

The characters are unusual and distinct, with one of them even somehow landing on the Sexypedia. They have gray or white skin with few body features aside from their faces, and many of them will be adorned in fancy billowing clothing.

I can't say much for the game aside from the fact that it is intended for mature audiences, and has dark themes such as abuse and sexual harassment.

You'll find that many fanartists for this game are Japanese or Chinese, and may be difficult to find outside the community itself, but once you find one you'll almost definitely stumble into 20 more.

Countryhumans

One of if not the most controversial groups of stickfigure communities on this list, Countryhumans are character designs based on countries and historical regimes. They have distinct character designs with facial markings based on their respective flags.

Countryhumans were likely founded in 2017 in a Russian forum, almost definitely based upon or at least inspired by the 2009 Polandball comic. As is the nature of depicting entire countries as characters [IE Hetalia and Polandball itself], this community wound up creating many offensive caricatures of countries and citizens of the countries it represents, and is frequently put under criticism for doing so, as well as shipping said countries with other countries that have warred, invaded, or forced oppressive regimes upon others. The sexualization of regimes such as Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, and ISIS are especially causative for this.

Due to its controversial nature, many stickfigure artists - especially east Asian artists - around the world have wound up blacklisting Countryhuman community members and artists from interacting with them.

Mid-Fight Masses and related characters

Mid-Fight Masses, and its related characters, were a phenomenon released in the early modding days of FNF in 2021. While these characters were not created for the mod - instead being made as early as when their creator, Dokki Doodlez, was 9 or 10 years old - they were popularized in the FNF mod featuring them, and became somewhat of a sensation, being some of the most popular characters in the fandom.

Sarvente, Ruv, and other characters in the universe sparked their own microfandom outside of FNF, with many new and young artists creating characters based on their distinct designs. With colorful facial markings, detailed clothing, and blank white eyes, many stickfigure characters created in 2021-present follow these design traits. They stand out from other popular stickfigure communities in the sense that many of these characters very rarely are shown committing violent acts, and have much more whimsical and fantastical lore.

[vampiradelmal]

ODYSSEY - babysitting duties

Maggie’s slipping a mixtape into her walkman when Greta rudely slams her bedroom door open. “Get your car. We gotta pick up Marcia and Sally. Sally’s crush is gonna be at the Odyssey tonight.” “What? … Like now? Ask your dad.” “He’s busy.” “Okay. Ask Melissa.” “Her and her husband said you’d take me.” Of course he did. But who was she to disobey her father? “… Go get in the car. I’ll be there in five.”

Two lovely hours are spent at the Odyssey, playing Space Invaders, skating, getting slushes, pausing every 30 minutes to go see where Greta and the girls went.

The night is cut short when she spots the girls lounging around satan’s children, the Bowers Gang. Sally is flirting with Patrick while Marcia is busy being ignored by Belch and Vic in a heated foosball match. Greta is boredly watching alongside Henry. If Maggie didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed the blonde terrors were twins.

Stalking from afar she sips her slushee, watching as Patrick slinks his arm around the giddy giggling Sally. Too fucking giddy. Suspicious, Maggie approaches the group, cheap booze and stale cigarettes wafting into her face.

“Go get in the car. We’re leaving.” “Why?” “Don’t argue with me. Get in the car.” “Awww c’mon. It was just for fun.” “Don’t be such a buzzkill!” “Why are you always embarrassing me?” “Somebody’s got her panties in a twist." “Take a swig. It won’t kill ‘ya!”

Before the comments can escalate, she’s ripping away the tipsy girls, hauling ass to the exit. Agitated horny a-holes calling out while her arms are being scratched and yanked at by drunken tweens.

Babysitting is such a blast!

[inksandpensblog]

🧨Yellow: Any episode idea that you want to happen?

Slush Invaders crossover.

Either that or Blue finally learns about tipped arrows, please Alan his whole thing is that he's the archer and the brewer how has he not discovered tipped arrows yet it's been three seasons—

[krispilol]

hello pie person i would like to know your voice claims for your secret bosses they are very cool

1: ty!! :3

2: oh boy

Floraal: probably zim mixed with gollum

Slush-E: generic cartoon child like from invader zim

Manny: rockstar freddy

Huela: some mix between GLaDOS and pomni

Incesar: nightmare fnaf

[warriorcfflame]

🎧 + 6, 7, 8

6. a song that represents my muse's world view

Eyes Open - T. Swift (if i say her whole name I will summon the horde)

"So here you are, two steps ahead and staying on guard / Every lesson forms a new scar / They never thought you'd make it this far / But turn around (Turn around) / Oh, they've surrounded you, it's a showdown (Showdown) / And nobody comes to save you now / But you got something they don't / Yeah, you got something they don't / You just gotta keep your eyes open"

7. a funny song that fits my muse

Me Want Bite - Keyes

"This is lava / It's external molten rock, you see / And it's not edible / But don't you think it ought to be? / It's just melted liquid minerals / That our bodies can't extinguish / It can reach twelve hundred celsius / So you really shouldn't drink it / But even then / Me would like to partake / Of yon spicy smoothie lake / Me would rather enjoy imbibing it / 'Til me fire slush thirst is slaked"

8. a sad song that fits my muse

Trapdoor - Casey Lee Williams

"The pain it keeps invading / It's showing all over my face / Though I try to keep the hope alive / After all the things I've said and done / I don't feel like the chosen one / How will they see me if I lose my faith?"