#thinking about the Several asks i have that i wanna draw full comics to answer

[lethesbeastie]

Nothing inspires me to create more than internet strangers asking me about my ocs

[enigma-im]

He Was a Satyr Boy

 Rating: Explicit Relationship: Satyr X Female!Human Warning: Fluff, Respecting boundaries, Penetration, Satyr and human relationship, Critical Role mentioned, timid or shy characters

Word Count: 8604

A shy Satyr catches the interest of the cute comic book store girl

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Today is slower than usual. Generally, comic book stores aren't super busy on a workday but today was especially boring. I've gotten all my work done around noon leaving several more hours of my shift left to fuck about. I lean against the glass counter near the register and look over the empty store. I huff and try to entertain myself by reading the posters around the room for the hundredth time.

Reading the green lantern motto for the 6th time I'm ecstatic to hear the chime of the front door. Looking over I see a satyr walk in. I immediately notice his antlers protruding from his curly brown hair. He is a skinny man, not particularly tall. Might be the same height as me if I were to guess. An inch or two taller. He is sort of cute, not my normal type but still eye candy. Especially wearing a fitted hoodie and loose pants. He has a softness to him, a gentle aura.

I don't call out to him, welcoming him to the store. I just watch as he shoves his hands into his pouch then looks around way too much. As he walks further inside he catches my eye. He gives a curt nod then walks around with his head down. I watch as he paces through each aisle before stopping at the books. He skims through them and picks out two. He cradles them close to his side then makes his way to the register. Only briefly glancing at me he sets the items on the counter.

"This all," I ask. He glances up and nods.

"Yes, this is all. I don't have money for more, your stuff is expensive," he sort of rambles. Edge of my lips quirks at him. I scan his items and wait on him to either pull out a card or cash. He fumbles with his pockets to his loose pants and pulls out a wallet. He produces a card and swipes it to the machine.

He pays and a receipt prints. I push the books to him and hand him the paper. He doesn't say anything as I pass him his things. He takes them quietly and nods before heading to the door.

"Have a nice day," I surprise myself by calling out. It seems to have startled him too. He looks over and gives a nervous smile.

"You too." With that, he leaves. I watch till the door closes, a little captivated by his departure. When I finally look away to the now empty store I hardly notice to half-smile gracing my face.

I'm a little confused to see him the next day around the same time. The store is a little more full, normal for a Tuesday since there is a sale going on for comic books. Perhaps that's why he is back? I try not to pay him any mind as I ring up people but I can't stop glancing at him curiously. He wonders around the store, catching eyes with me a few times. This piques my interest even more.

I barely listen to the man rambling on and on about god knows what. I give him a few nods but couldn't care less. I keep glancing over his shoulder at the nervous satyr browsing the store. I'm not sure why I'm so inquisitive but he is keeping my attention. Perhaps its why he is back after saying he had no money. Or the fact he isn't even looking at the comics that are on sale. What could he possibly need?

I lose focus on him when someone comes up with a question.

"Do you guys have any captain marvel comics," a stout woman asks.

"Far-right wall, under the popular section," I point behind her. I hope this is the end of the conversation but sadly it isn't.

"Oh. Can you show me, I didn't see it over there," she gives an apologetic smile. I look over at the satyr, then back at her.

"Yea, come on," I walk from around the counter. I lead her to the right wall. She keeps asking questions even when I found the box for her. She draws on so long my coworker works the register and checks out the satyr. I see he bought another DnD book, Just the one. He leaves before I even get back to the counter.

I don't see him the next day, hardly surprised. I actually don't think about him, having no reason to. My fascination is but a product of boredom mixed with seeing someone so cute. I've never seen him before, knowing most of the people around the town. It's rare to see someone new and even more rare to see them two days in a row. Still, it seems he is gone now.

I think as such till I see him Thursday. I don't notice anyone walked in as I clean the glass countertop. It isn't until he sets his item down beside me that I acknowledge him. I give him a confused look for a second, wondering what he is doing back here.

"Hi," he curtly smiles, "I forgot the monster guide." I look from him to the book, another DnD guide.

I look back up at him," so you did." He nods as I grab the book. I scan it and prepare the machine for him to pay. I watch him pull out his wallet, I felt the need to fill the silence.

"You know we hold campaigns here every Thursday night," I cock a brow at him. He seems to startle before staring back.

"Oh," he tilts his head. His hair brushes over his forehead and the corners of my mouth quirk.

"They are run by Steven who set it all up, anyone is welcome. Starts tonight around 7, if your interested," I inform.

"Oh, thanks but I don't think that would be good for me. I'm busy around then but thank you. I appreciate you telling me. I guess you figure from all the books I've bought that id be playing this but it's just to read. I don't actually play, I've just been watching a campaign online. I wanted to follow along, you know," he rambles. I don't feel like interrupting, just resting my elbow on the counter. "It's a good show, very funny. I don't know if you have heard of it, but you might have. Its a bunch of voice actors playing DnD, so they get to use their acting skills to bring the characters to life. It's super neat," he continues.

"Critical role?" I cock a brow.

He grins widely, "yea, do you watch it?"

I tilt my head and regard him," not really." He deflates, it almost makes me wanna lie just to get him to ramble some more.

"Well, it's worth a listen. Even if it's super long," he collects his book off the counter," well ill see you around. Bye." I wave then he turns and walks out. I watch him the entire time, huffing in amusement when his antlers scratch against the door.

I stand back up with a little smile, "what an adorable man."

I stay a bit after, organizing some of the figurines in the displays. I know I'm sticking around just to see if he shows up, I'm not going to convince myself otherwise. I'm also not surprised to see he doesn't show up. Which is fine, it was a bit last minute so I can't expect him to not have plans.

It is a surprise when he shows up next week.

The week was slow and I hardly thought of the cute satyr. I noticed he hasn't been back since last Thursday but that was the extent of my thoughts. By Wednesday I've forgotten him, mostly.

Thursday night comes and I'm sorting through the comics for ones that don’t belong. I hear the gang setting up near the back. Getting the table together and their items out. I finger through the thin booklets, pulling out any that wasn’t Batman. I lose focus when I hear the bell at the front door. I look up and chuckle when I see the satyr. I stop what I'm doing and head over. Noticing immediately that he was fidgeting. He was looking around a lot and bouncing from leg to leg. He stops when he catches my eye.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I was a little confused about where the campaign takes place. I looked on the website and it said that it happens in the store, which is what you said, but I don’t know where in here it is and I didn’t want to just walk on in and wander around," he nervously laughs," it is tonight right?"

 my lips quirk," Yes." I won't elaborate, seeing if he will talk some more.

"Oh, good," he looks behind me then back at me," I've been looking through the books. Good reads, it's so elaborate. Still, it’s a lot to learn. I tried to do a crash course on them last Thursday but I was too worried id make a fool of myself. So that’s why I didn’t show up, I didn’t want to be the one asking all the questions. It would take away from the fun of everyone else. I mean I still might ask questions, there is a lot to learn. I hope that no one minds a newbie joining. I really studied, which sounds weird to study for a hobby, but I was nervous. You know, I might actually just watch, or come back later. I don’t want to take the fun from everyone else." I listen to his ramblings, cocking a brow as he tries to talk himself into leaving. Deciding to help him out I step beside him so we are both facing the room. I notice that he is just an inch or so taller than me.

"Come on," I nudge his shoulder then walk ahead. He startles but follows along, keeping his hands in his hoodie pockets. I smirk to myself as I lead him to the back. Once we turn the corner the patrons perk up. All of them looking towards us curious. I glance over at the satyr and see he is hiding in himself. Bunching his shoulders and ducking his head into his jacket. I nearly coo at the sight.

"Who's this," Steve asks with a friendly smile. I don’t answer but nudge the Satyr to speak up. He jumps, staring over at me shocked before looking back at the group.

"Uh, I'm Jensen," he nods in greeting," hello." I quirk a smile at the greeting. Jensen.

"Well, howdy there Jensen. What brings you to our little hobble," Carley asks before anyone else could. Jensen looks from her then back to me. I nod towards the group as encouragement.

"I'm here for the, uh, campaign," he nearly stutters. I find myself taking a step closer to the poor lad. Matt notices and passes me a glance, raising a brow. I pay him no mind and wait for Jensen to join the group.

"Well that’s great, we always have room for another traveler," Steven shouts jovially," please come sit." I look from the gang to Jensen, content with his wide grin. He walks forward and takes a seat between Matt and Steven. I take one more look at the lads before turning to leave.

"Would you like to join," Carley calls. I turn to face them, the words 'no' ready on my lips. I'm a bit surprised to see Jensen practically begging me with his eyes. Watching me with bated breath for my answer. I'm still ready with the 'no' but looking at him makes me want to change my mind.

I have never played with the group, having been invited nearly every night. I generally have things to do and rather get home quickly once they finish up. It's not like I have anything pressing at home, I just rather be there. I begin to doubt my choice, near caving just to get to spend time with the nervous Jensen.

"Ok," I answer shortly. I nearly smile when I see Jensen's little grin. He has a cute smile.

"Really," Matt tilts his head. I don’t answer but walk towards the table. I grab a chair from the wall and sit on the opposite end of Steve. I look at the three's suspicious faces, knowing they are probably trying to figure out any reason why I'd choose now to join. Of course, the genius bunch looks towards Jensen and piece together their own theories. I'm not above admitting it, I want to hang out with him. He is cute and I find his rambling adorable. Depending on how tonight goes I may develop a crush.

The night goes alright, everyone was boisterous and engaged. Everyone seemed to have fun, including me. Jensen was shy at the start but grew into his own as everyone kept him included. I appreciated that. I didn’t want to be the only one trying to keep him out of his shell. Id hates to look over and see him cave into himself with nerves.

Around two hours later the gang packs up and says their goodbyes. I walk away before they could start interrogating me, getting started on the work I put off. Once I hear the chime of the bell I head back over to the table, startling when I see Jensen still packing up. I grin to myself and head over, sitting across from him.

He looks up and smiles," Hey." I nod in greeting," man those guys are so nice. The woman, Carley was it, she gave me some of her dice. They look so cool, got a holo look to it. Reminds me of opals, it's so cool." he holds the 20-sided die up and rotates it back and forth. Showing off the rainbow reflection on it.

"So ill take it you had fun," I cross my arms and lean back in the chair. I smile at him, feeling his own grin to be contagious. He looks from the die back to me, his toothy grin making me feel gushy.

"Yea, it was so grand. Steven has such an imagination on him, this wasn’t what I expected at all," he leans onto the table with his elbows," I can't wait to come back and partake in whatever the next adventure will be. I might try being a sorcerer next time. That is if we are allowed to change our characters. I like mine right now but I do wanna experience the other classes. Does he do different campaigns every time?" 

"Yes," I nod.

"That’s great! I'm so glad I came, I was so nervous that I paced around my apartment before coming here. I figured since I just moved here it wouldn’t hurt to make some friends but I was nervous mostly for that reason, not knowing anyone. It helped that I know you, I was really banking on you being here. If you weren't I would have probably walked out," he nervous laughs, looking at the table," also thanks for joining, I could tell it isn't something you usually do."

"No problem, it was fun," I answer honestly.

We chat for a little longer before I have to shut down the store. He leaves shortly before, promising he will be back next week. I find myself getting a little giddy at the idea of seeing him again. Tonight went well, I think I can confidently say I have a crush on him.

He visits twice before Thursday, one of the days I heard from Matt when he was the one working. The day I got to see him was nice, we chatted a bit before it got busy and he left. Along with his two visits, I've been getting the 2nd degree from Matt.

"So you like him," he cocks a brow as he lounges against the counter. I shrug noncommittedly, knowing it's going to rowel him up. He drops his head back and groans at my non-answer," Don’t give me that. I don’t know the last time you were interested in someone, I've only heard stories of your past boyfriends. The tall hunky lads with more muscles than sense. So excuse me for wanting to boy talk with you." I pass him a glance, debating on being a prude with my thoughts. It was none of matt's business on who I liked and didn’t like. Still, I'd admit that the idea of gossiping is tempting.

"Yes, I have a thing for him," I bite my cheek to stop from smiling. I don’t need him poking fun just yet. He startles at my words, perhaps shocked I even said anything.

He twists around and leans his elbows on the table," I was just teasing before, I didn’t think you actually wanted him. He is so not part of your portfolio, he is so timid and lithe. Hard contrast to your previous interest." I pass him a cheeky grin while pretending to read the magazine in front of me.

"He is cute, and I think his ramblings are adorable," I answer. Matt deadpans at me, not really getting what I'm saying.

"You like his ramblings? What happened to the woman who dated big bulky men, hell the last dude I heard you dated was an orc. Like how would you go from something that big to someone like Jensen," he tilts his head trying to catch my eye. I glance at him but continue to look at the pages.

"I just like him, not everything has to be dissected and viewed from every angle. I think he is cute and I enjoy his company," I answer bluntly. Not everything has to be over analyzed to its basic form. I don’t have to uproot my childhood to figure out why I find Jensen so attractive. I just do, and that’s ok.

Matt doesn’t like my answers but he leaves me alone after another five minutes of arguing.

Thursday comes quickly to my joy. The gang sets up and Jensen shows up shortly after they do. I watch him walk from the door straight to the back, resting his bag on the table as he too sets up. I stay in the corner, finishing up my work. I'm content on just sitting this one out, but of course, if he asks I can't say no.

"Where is she," Jensen asks as he looks around.

Steven looks up at him," she is working. She generally doesn’t contribute to these things."

"Oh," Jensen looks dejected. I actually feel bad for having to work. I guess if I rush I could come over for a little. I bite my cheek as I try to figure out anything I could close early.

Around an hour later I make some time, skipping out on stocking for the night. I can just do it tomorrow anyway. I step around the bookshelf and watch the table from the sidelines. Listening to Steven paint the picture, then the gang reacting. I watch Jensen for a bit, smiling a little as I see the enjoyment on his face.

I startle when Carley calls outs," You just going to stand there or you going to sit down?" Everyone turns to me, only Steven turns back to the table.

"Oh hey," Jensen grins," Come, sit." he pulls out the chair next to him. I walk over and take the offered seat, not missing Matt's big smile.

I spend the next hour listening to and watching their game. Keeping quiet on the sidelines just enjoying their jovial behaviors. The mission comes to an end, leaving on a happy note. I stretch and get up before the others could begin packing. I wave to the group and go back to closing.

I count out the register as Jensen stops by the counter," Hi." I finish off the set of ones and give him a friendly smile.

"Hi," I say back.

"Watcha doing," he rests his elbows on the counter.

"Counting out the drawer, make sure I'm not missing anything," I answer as I count out the twenties.

"Are you the manager here or owner," he asks. I get what he is doing, trying to start up a conversation. I appreciate the company, so I answer.

"I'm technically a manager, but it feels like I'm the owner most of the time," I shuffled up all the money and places them back in the drawer.

"Why is that," he watches as I close out the register.

"I do everything here. I make the calls, stock the store, fix the store, advertise for the store. I think the owner just wanted to own a comic book store but not actually run one," I walk around the counter and to the backroom. Jensen follows, staying at the door when we get to the office. He keeps me company as I deal with the paperwork of the day. Dealing with return receipts and new stock.

The night feels like it goes by quickly, probably Jensen to blame for that. He is nice to talk to. Once he comes out of his shell he is funny. Still rambles but it's with fewer nerves and more just enjoyment of the topic. I finished up my work about twenty minutes ago but I didn’t want to send him away just yet. I'm content listening to him talk about his job as a Graphic Designer. He seems to be very passionate about it, grinning widely as he talks.

The conversation starts to die down as we both begin to yawn. I look over at the clock and see we are forty-minute past close. We both decide its time to leave. I walk him to the door and he waits for me as I lock up. I turn back to him and prepare for goodbye.

"Well, today was nice. Thanks for chatting with me, I didn’t mean to make you stay so late. I know I tend to talk too much, I get it can be a little annoying so don’t be scared to tell me to shut up," he tries to laugh but it’s a little self-deprecating. I watch him for a minute, probably making him feel uncomfortable.

I find myself sputtering out the first thing that came to mind," Do you wanna go out sometime?"

He startles, "What?"

"Do you," I point to him," Want to go out with me," I point to myself. He still seems lost.

"Uh," he short circuits, not really getting what I'm saying. He looks uncomfortable and I can't lie, it hurts a little.

"Hey, you don’t have to. It's ok if you don’t," I try to give him an out.

He shakes from his stupor, "No, I want to. I'm just a bit shocked."

 I regard him curious," Shocked? Why?"

"well," he rubs the back of his neck," its just-because- you know."

I smile," No I don't think I do know."

"Its cause- because," he huffs," Because you are you. The super hot comic store girl. I didn’t think you would like me." I can't stop my chuckle. I've never had a guy assume I wasn’t into them, especially when I feel I've been obvious.

"Well, I do. So would you like to see a movie this weekend," I try again since he never really answered.

"yea," he grins widely," I'd love to."

I give Jensen my number and tell him to write. We depart with dorky grins on our faces, leaving for our respective homes.

The weekend comes quick and I meet Jensen at the store. We walk together in a bit of awkward silence. I can basically feel his tension rolling off him. I can't help but try to think of ways to relax him, make him feel comfortable. So I ask him about his job and he takes the in. This seems to work until we make it to the theater. when we go to sit his tension rise again. I try to keep the conversation going but when the movie starts its harder to keep him calm.

I watch him out the corner of my eye the entire film. He fidgets his hand in his lap, not really focusing on the movie. I feel bad he cant enjoy this. I'm running out of things to try, so I go for broke and grab his hand. I interlock my fingers with his and rest them on the armrest. His grip is a bit tight so I rub my thumb to his skin in an attempt to calm him down. Surprisingly it works, he loosens his grip with a sigh. He gives me a quick squeeze then leans back in his seat. I go for broke again when I lay my head on his shoulder. He jumps but doesn’t do anything to push me away. I will take the win.

The movie ends and it wasn’t that great. Probably should have picked a better one. Still, I had fun, only because it was with Jensen. After we got up he grabs my hand again and we walked out together. It was sweet, which is something I never had with my exes. They were a bunch of dumb jocks looking for their next nut. It was fine at the time because I wasn’t expecting much but it was unfulfilling. This, with Jensen, feels good.

We walk back to the store where we chat under the awning. With a brief hug, we part ways, making plans on the phone for another date. I sit in bed that night smiling like an idiot, not wanting to put the phone down till I nearly pass out on my own.

We go on a few more dates after that, nothing getting too intimate besides a kiss on the cheek. We see movies, go out for dinner or go to one of our places to cook. Then every Thursday we talk for hours, even texting once we got home. I like him a lot.

One day while talking at the store he kisses me. I'm startled when it happens, he gets embarrassed and tries to back away. I don’t let him get far and kiss him. Since then the relationship has gotten more intimate. Spending dates snobbing anywhere private like a pair of teenagers. He shocked the gang one night when he kisses me hello. They all had their guesses but we never gave them answers. Since then they have taken to picking fun of us, trying their best to get us to blush. Of course, I was a little harder to crack than Jensen. Still, it was cute to see him get all flustered. Sometimes I joined in on the teasing and give a big kiss to his cheek.

As much touching as we have done we never have gotten around to discussing sex. It was becoming more prominent as some make out sessions left us both a bit bothered. He never initiated anything so I didn’t push, it was fine. But one night while we are sitting on my bed talking he surprises me.

We lounge on my bed looking through his phone at videos he saved. One thing leads to another and we start making out. I have my fingers buried in his soft curly hair, my other hand petting over his chest. I want to badly run it under his shirt, feel his skin on mine. I don’t try to push my luck, wanting him to take the leap.

His fingers clench at my hips making my insides burn. He hesitates in the kiss, but not stopping as his hands play with the hem of my shirt. He slides them under my shirt, gliding them over my hips up to my waist. I find myself gasping and leaning back. Our breath mingles together as I wait for his next move. I can feel his finger shake as he tries to move up but he can't bring himself to do it. I resume petting over his chest, leaning up and kissing his cheek. Telling him in actions that it's ok to go on.

He gains some of his nerves and smooths his hand over my skin. Petting and groping up to my bra. His breath stutters as his thumb timidly traces over the fabric. His breathing stops when he hooks a finger underneath, sliding over till his index touches my boob. He sucks in a gasp, pausing his hand as he catches his breath. I continue kissing his neck and petting his hair. Giving him all the time he needs.

Jensen rests his head against mine before moving to cup my chest. He sighs, tickling my head with his breath. His palms are warm against me, if not a little sweaty. He gropes softly, rubbing his thumb over my hardening nipple.

"so soft," he mumbles to himself. I peck his neck in answer. He continues to grope and squeeze, content in just this for the time being.

Soon he leans back and tugs at my shirt. Asking with his eyes if I could take it off. I don’t even hesitate, I lean back and pull the clothing off. I throw it onto the floor. When I look back at Jensen I nearly laugh, he is captivated by my nearly bare torso. I grin at him as I lead his hands back to me, hinting at him to take my bra off on his own. He catches on and fumbles to unhook the back. He manages well and helps pry the straps off my arms. He tosses the bra off the bed and doesn’t take his eyes off me. He reaches for my chest, watching as his fingers rub my nipples. I leave him to go at his own pace, sighing at the sensations of his hands. He surprises me by leaning down and taking me into his mouth. I choke on my words as his tongue swirls over my bud. I pet along his head, tugging softly on his hair when he sucks on me.

He laves attention on both sides, taking his time to both enjoy and make sure I enjoy it. I feel the all too familiar weight in my stomach, my crotch throbbing with need. I know better than to force anything but its starting to get hard too. I'm happy when he takes another step, pushing me back and crawling over me. He leans down and captures my lips, giving a rather fierce kiss. He continues to cup my chest with one hand, seeming to not be able to get enough. I press my luck and slide one of my hands down his chest, sliding under his shirt and feeling his warm stomach. He gasps into the kiss but doesn’t react. I continue moving up, pulling up his shirt as I go. He lets me, even leaning back to take the clothing off himself.

Once the article is removed he smiles down at me before kissing me again. I return the kiss but turn away so I can get a good look at his newly revealed torso. He pecks down my neck as I pet along his chest. I go up to his shoulders then going slowly down over his pecks, rubbing his nipples as I go past. He licks over my neck before sucking on my skin. I gasp with a grin then trace my nails over his stomach. I chuckle when he sucks in a breath, his stomach clenching as I near his pants.

He stops his assault on my neck, waiting patiently for my next move. I reach over his hips, sliding into his pants as I do. I feel his soft fur, raking my fingers through it as I pet his hips. He rests his head against my neck, watching my hand between us. His antlers rake against the headboard but neither of us pays it any mind. I cautiously run my hands towards his front, keeping my pace deliberately slow in case he wants me to stop. He doesn’t react, perhaps not even breathing as I reach towards his cock.

When my fingers are finally touching him we both jump. His antlers thud against the wood startling me. I pause my hands near his dick. He takes a minute to catch his breath before leaning down and pecking my shoulder. I take that as a sign to continue. I reach down and wrap my fingers around him. I hold him then wait for any signs he wants to stop. His breathing is shallow and rushed, his posture tense. Still, he kisses my shoulder, nuzzling his face to my neck.

I stroke him in a loose grip, enjoying the feeling of his hard cock. He is a well-hung satyr, staying on par with a lot of my exes. He is thick but perhaps averagely long. He is warm and I can feel something wet running down from his tip. I'm curious what he would taste like.

Getting too caught up in the feel of him I don’t notice his whimpers. For a moment I think they are good till he lifts his head away from me. I look at him from the corner of my eye, stopping my motions on him. His eyes are clenched and his breath is still shallow. It doesn’t come out even but in ragged, scared patterns. He looks more than a little nervous.

Without much thought, I retract my hands from his pants. Petting up his stomach and chest to his neck. I tilt his head towards me and give him a peck on the lips. He squints open his eyes, I finally get to see the fear in them. That decides it.

I roll him off me and lay him on his back. He follows without a fight, looking at me curiously and worried. I give him a smile before reaching for my blanket and throwing it over us. I lean over to my nightstand and grab the tv remote. I lay down beside Jensen, laying my head on his chest. I rest my hand on his stomach then turn the tv on.

He doesn’t say anything as I boot up YouTube. He is still breathing hard but he has rested his hand on my naked back. I pull up my unfinished video then fully rest against Jensen. The video plays and I can feel him perk up when he realizes what we are watching. I've been watching Critical Role so we had more to talk about, its not a bad show but its so long.

Soon Jensen relaxes and watches the show. At some point, he started petting my back and holding my hand on his stomach.

"Thank you," he mumbles. I turn my head and look up at him. He adjusts and looks down at me. He looks calmer now, if not a little content. I hum in acknowledgment and kiss his chest. He hums too with a relaxed smile on his face. We turn back and watch the show.

We never say anything about what happened, it being pretty self-explanatory. He wasn’t ready, and that’s fine. We soon fall asleep half-naked in each other's arms. It’s a peaceful rest, best night sleep I've had in a while. 

I wake up the next morning to the feeling of something repeatedly touching my face. I squint my eyes open as I feel something wet against my nose. I first see Jensen smiling at me. He leans down and places another kiss to my cheek then to my chin.

"Morning," he mumbles as he kisses my lips. I hum into the kiss, happy to return it full. I sit up and cup his face as we make out. It’s a bit sloppy for a morning kiss but ill take it. He reaches over and pets over my back, his cold hand causing chills over my spine. I gasp into the kiss making him smile.

He surprises me by sitting up and pulling me over his lap. I balance myself by holding his shoulders. The coldness of the room makes me shiver as I remember my lack of a top. Of course, Jensen doesn’t seem to mind as he slides his hands up my thighs, over my hips, on my stomach to my chest. He watches his hands as they cup me. He pinches at my nipples, smiling when I suck in a breath. He leans forward and begins kissing up my collar. Trailing licks and nibbles over to my neck then jaw. He drops his hands to my hips and grinds me down onto his hard cock. I startle at the suddenness, curious if not pleased with the turn of events. What a way to wake up.

Using whatever bravado he has gotten this morning he grabs my ass and squeezes. He huffs against my neck as he bucks up to my crotch.

"You seem excitable this morning," I gasp near his ear.

"I have a wonderful woman in my arms, what's there not to be excited about," he chuckles. I laugh with him before grinding my hips to his, relishing his groans. We go back to making out but this time he reaches between us and cups my crotch. I startle, sucking in a breath as he fingers me through my pants. He pets me a few times but decides it isn't enough. He slides his hand into my pants and touches me directly. Petting along my slit then diving his fingers inside.

"Very excitable," I gasp. He leans back against the headboard and watches me. Having a pleased grin on his face. A better look than last night. I can't help but lazily smile back, happy that he is comfortable.

His fingers pump and curl inside me, testing out every bump and crevice to see which makes me groan and gasp. I enjoy this different side of him, his smirk is all the more arousing. He adjusts his hold and gets his thumb to rest over my clit, giving timid circles. I try not to grind with him, not wanting this to end so soon. Just enjoying the soft strokes and pumping fingers. His other hand pets over my thigh, everything moving slow. He takes his time, just looking pleased to watch me.

I look down at his chest, my hands following my gaze. I feel his chest rising and falling quickly, his heart pounding at his chest. His face is calm despite his rushing blood and hard cock poking my ass. My fingers trace over his stomach and down to his pants. I feel the tufts of fur poking up, the happy trail disappearing behind his bottoms. As I play with his pants he slows his motions then removing his hand altogether. His face is focused but still calm. He rests both of his hands on my thighs, not moving or giving any indication of what he is feeling.

I hook my finger on his pants while keeping eye contact. I cock a brow in question. His lips quirk slightly, his emotions very different than last night. He nods his head while petting up my thighs a bit, fingers twitching with hidden nerves.

I sit up off him and pull his pants down to his knees, keeping his boxers on. I can't help but smirk at the tent in his underwear, feeling a little confident because of it. I reach for his bottoms but look up at him again, just making sure.

"I trust you," he mumbles while giving a nod. I grin like an idiot, feeling butterflies in my stomach. I hook my fingers to his boxers, brushing my nails against his skin. I pull them down just enough for his cock to spring out, slapping back against his stomach. I suck in a gasp, feeling a wave of arousal flow over my cunt.

"Oh," I gasp. I stare at his swollen member, appreciating its girth. His tip is red and wet, his shaft presenting a lovely prominent vein. I can barely see his balls, just seeing the curly hair flowing under his underwear. Using a finger I push his bottoms down more, brushing against his sack. He jumps at the contact, making me snap my eyes to him. He is chewing on his cheek, seeming a bit nervous. Not nervous like before but a little self-conscious.

He catches my worried look," I'm fine, just… you are staring."  he looks away still chewing his cheek, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. I want to coo but I know it will embarrass him. Instead, I lean forward, my stomach brushing against his cock, and kiss his cheek.

I whisper near his ear," you just look so good, I kind of want a taste." his shoulders drop as his head thumps against the headboard. He clenches his eyes and groans.

"God," he drops his head to his shoulders," maybe later." I lean back to look him in the eyes but he is still tilted away from me. So I grab his antlers, guiding his head back to me.

I cock a brow," later?" he stares at me a bit wide-eyed, worried he said the wrong thing. To ease his tension I lean forward a peck him on the lips," I like the sound of that." he smiles. I take his lips for mine again, introducing my tongue to his mouth. He meets mine as his hands grab my hips. As our tongues mingle I reach between us and timidly grab his cock, worried he will reject me again. Not that I'm bitter about last night, I understand. It's just going to hurt the second time.

He gasps into the kiss, his fingers holding me a bit harder, but he doesn’t stop me. I grip him a little tighter and pump. Feeling the bumps and grooves of his cock, squeezing a bit at the tip. I feel his pre coat my palm, smearing it over his head then the top of his shaft. He bucks into my grip while forcing his tongue into my mouth. His hand reaches to the hem of my pants, reaching in and fingering my clit.

We touch each other, grinding into the other's hand as our tongues intertwine. Our gasps and groans feed each other's wants and desires. I feel on the cusp, my finish nearing because of his fingers. Yet I don’t want him to do it just yet, I want to cum on his cock.

I lean back from the kiss, stopping my hands. His fingers curiously stop, he watches me for my next move. I remove his hand from my pants, nearly whimpering at the loss. I sit up and shimmy out of my pants. He catches on and helps me remove the clothing before tossing them to the side. I rest back on his lap, my cunt sitting at the bottom of his dick. He looks at me with wonder and eagerness.

Curious, I grind my pussy over him, spreading my slick over his shaft. His head drops back as he groans. I watch him with a smile as I repeat. Grinding over him, feeling his warmth partially part my folds. His back arcs as he pushes his chest out.

"Please," he whimpers," let me be inside." I look at his hooded eyes, them begging me along with his words. I nod before sitting up and hovering over him. I look between us, grabbing his cock. I stroke him once or twice then positioning his tip to my entrance. I let just his tip slip in, my insides practically burning with the need. Still, before I can give in to my greed I check to make sure he is ok. I refuse to use him, he means too much for me to do to him what I did to my exes. He isn't just a body to me.

Our eyes meet, his hooded gaze is locked onto mine. He looks like he is in divine torture, biting his lips just waiting with bated breath. He passes a quick glance to where we are about to meet then looks back up at me. He nods once, telling me what I needed to know. Without preamble I drop down on him, taking his cock quickly.

We both cry out as we meet, sitting flush on his lap. I take a second to enjoy the stuffed feeling, resting my palms on his stomach. I watch as his head drops to his shoulder, his eyes clenching as he bares his teeth. I pet over his stomach, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

"Tight," he whimpers as he looks at me. I huff with a big smile. He grins at me as well, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

We sit there for a second as he catches his breath, I wait for his cue. It doesn’t take long for him to raise his hands and cup my hips. He grabs me and grinds me into him. We both suck in a breath, then he does it again. I get the idea and circle him, listening to his sharp breaths and tiny whimpers. I introduce a few short thrusts, using my thighs to lift myself. I watch as his eyes flutter close, his lips parting in a sigh. I ride him, using my hands to balance myself as I lift higher.

I set a fair pace, bouncing on him while gyrating my hips. I stroke over his stomach to his chest, feeling his racing heart. Watching his face contort in pleasure, each fall causing his mouth to part just a little more. I soon lean forward and kiss his cheek. Giving soft kisses under his eye then near his nose. He startles me when he wraps his arms around me. He sits up and begins to give shallow thrust upwards.

My breathing starts to get harder, panting near his ear as our bodies meet. I grind myself into his stomach, my clit stroking over his fur. I groan at the image of his fur flattening from my slick. I start to whimper against him as I feel my pleasure begin to peak. I rest my cheek against him, petting up his chest to his neck. I card my fingers through his hair, just barely touching his antlers. I squeeze my eyes shut as his cries increase my own. His noises spurring me on more.

"God, you feel too good," he pants. I can’t speak now, I just nod. I focus on the feel of his cock sliding in and out of me. Stroking my walls and reaching deep inside. I cry out louder on his next thrust, tugging his hair as I follow my peak.

I don’t have time to warn him before I'm clenching around him. I stop my falls as my legs give out. He chokes on a gasp, grunting into my neck. I feel some drool drip onto my shoulder as he bucks into my convulsing cunt. I slide my fingers up and grasp at his antlers, clenching them in a white grip. I cry with each thrust, falling apart over him. I barely notice when he stills suddenly, feeling something warm and hot inside myself. He lets out a long groan, bucking once or twice more.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, as do I. he holds me close, adjusting to relax his head to my chest. I still grip his horn tightly but I pet his back as I try to even out my breathing.

"Thank you," he still huffs.

"Don’t thank me for that," I laugh," I had fun too." he kisses my sternum as he too chuckles.

"Not that, but thank you for that too," he sits up, not before nuzzling one more time to my boob. He rests his head against the backboard and looks up at me with a fulfilled smile. "Thank you for giving me time," he clarifies. His hands slide down to my waist and keep me close. I stare down at him feeling happy. There is no other way to say it, I'm just happy.

"of course," I pet some hair out of his face," I wanted our first time to be comfortable."

"Most people wouldn’t have stopped," he nuzzles against my hand. Pressing a kiss to my palm.

"Then most people are awful," I joke," I couldn’t use you like that."

"And that why you are so wonderful. Even when it looked like my body wanted it you knew me well enough to see I wasn’t ready and for that I thank you," he leans up and kisses me. It's slow and wet, if not a little lazy. It's nice.

"I love you, Jensen," I find myself mumbling to his lips. He sits back abruptly with eyes wide. I watch him cautiously, feeling the heavyweight of panic in my stomach. Before I could say anything he buries his face to my neck, grinning widely against my skin.

"Aw," he coos," you don’t understand how terrific it is to hear you say that." the panic evaporates quickly and is replaced with a gushy feeling. I rub my cheek to his head, my forehead hitting his antlers. I can't stop smiling or blushing as he rubs his nose and continues to coo. "You beautiful woman, I love you so much," he kisses my cheek," Love you when you joined me in my first campaign. Love you when you held my hand at the movies, relaxing me when I was a nervous wreck. And I love you most when you didn’t force me last night, I will love you forever because you are just too wonderful." I hide my face to his shoulder as he peppers my face with kisses.

"stop," I laugh," my face is going to catch on fire at this rate."

"How can I stop? The cute girl from the comic book store loves me! I never thought id even get the guts to talk to you let alone have sex with you," he rubs his nose near my eye. His grin is wide and his heart still beats wild. I try to fight my smile but it comes out anyway. My teeth showing as my lips curl from ear to ear.

"I thought you were cute when I first saw you too, I wanted you then and now," I kiss his cheek. He shutters and slumps on me.

"You are going to make my heart burst," he mumbles near my ear," first you are kind to me last night, then you are watching Critical Role for me. Next you get me to trust you so much that we make love. And you tell me that you like my stupid awkwardness! God, you are too much." I nearly get teary-eyed at his words, making me feel like a saint when all I did was care about him. I definitely love this timid satyr.

"Do you work today," I wrap my arms around his shoulder. He slides his hands around my waist and hugs me close.

"No. Do you?"

"No," I kiss his neck," would you like to spend the day in bed?"

"I'd love nothing more," he quickly flips us over. I laugh as he settles above me with a big smile. He looks down between us and kicks off his bottoms. Quickly he catches my eye again and cocks a brow in question. I can't help but laugh before grabbing his face and kissing him again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PSA: you can withdraw consent at anytime. This is for both genders. just because a girl is wet, doesnt mean she is ready or willing. Just because a boy is hard, doesnt mean he is ready or willing. communication is important and No means No.

On that note, I really wanted to write a story where the guy wasnt ready. its always the girl not ready to take the leap but it happens to guys too. they arent always the cumbrains we mistake them for. sometimes they need time to trust and open up to a person.

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[bandrlodge]

Just My Type

Bucky x Plus Size Original Female Character: Briar Hawthorne

Chapter Summary: Briar experiences 6° of separation

Chapter warnings: general buffoonery, recreational drug usage (marijuana)

Chapter One: Design Client Anonymous

Briar smirked, pulling her coffee cup from the cabinet. Another night, another Natasha one nighter. Of course, she'd hurried them out as she heard her roommate stirring. She pulled Nat's comically small mug from the cabinet as well and prepped both of their drinks. One sugar for Nat. Five sugars and a heavy splash of Coldstone's Sweet Cream Creamer, for her cup. Briar heard the patter of her footsteps down the steps as she was topping off her mug.

"Morning, Nat." She smiled, sliding the mug over. She grumbled, ruffling a hand through her thick, red hair. Briar settled back against the counter, adjusting the neck of her oversized Manson shirt before grabbing the coffee.

"So...how was last night?" Briar asked. She sipped the coffee, relishing the warm hug now rushing through her bones. Natasha chuckled and downed her mug full in one gulp.

"Let's leave it with, slimy yet...satisfying." Briar gagged.

"Fuck you, you nasty bitch."

Natasha laughed, "I've offered, several times."

Briar shook her head, "I don't fuck where I sleep."

"That doesn't make a whole lot of sense." They heard a voice call. Briar's head snapped over to our balcony door, which was now closing on a very disheveled Clint Barton. His hoodie hung off his frame, obviously torn in a fight. Clint, was a character; the only one of Natasha's group that was ever allowed to meet her. She loved him and couldn't count the number of times he'd shown up, carrying pizza and begging to rewatch Avatar. One time, he'd even brought a dog, Lucky. From that moment on, he'd had a permanent invitation and open door to their place. Other than him, no one had ever been allowed inside the apartment and in the four years she had known Natasha, she'd never met a single friend other than Clint.

For good reason though; living with a semi retired Avenger was dangerous. She never wanted to try and draw more attention to our friendship and home by bringing home extras. Well, high profile extras, according to her.

"No one asked you, bird brain." Brisr smiled. Clint perched himself beside me on the counter, snatching the half full coffee pot from its machine and taking a swig straight from it.

She rolled her eyes and simply took another drink of her own, having learned long ago any war involving coffee was a war that would never be won with Clint.

"Oh yeah, Nat, uhm...Boss wants to talk to you. Says you should probably call him, like...an hour ago."

"So, we arent gonna address the bloodied knuckles and tattered clothes?" Briar cocked an eyebrow and glanced between the two. Nat shook her head, "Probably not. I'm gonna go make this call." A moment later she was gone, leaving poor Briar at the mercy of the blonde coffee fiend.

Clint finished off the remainder of the coffee sitting in the pot and scooted closer to me, bumping his shoulder against my own.

"So, how's work going?" He wiggled his eyebrows, flashing his side cocked smile. laughed, raking a hand through my hair. Her finger snagged into a blue tendril and pulling at it absently while she answered,

"Honestly? It's fine. That's it. I expected a bit more from a high profile firm. I took two cases from the lead designer and one from a coworker at their behest, but, there isn't too much to go around." Briar had switched from a solo home design firm almost eight months before. While being her own boss was pretty much heaven, she needed health insurance and there was no way she could afford those payments on my own. So, she took the newest Senior Designer spot at Legendary Interiors and the rest was history. Even with the small work load currently, Briar was pretty lucky with them. The base pay was substantial and there was always a fifteen percent commission for Senior levels. She had her health insurance and not once had she been asked to remove her piercings, change her hair color, or cover her tattoos.

"But, I'm lucky. So, I don't wanna complain too much. Plus...you should see the room I'm working on now. The case came nameless to me, but, the space is amazing. From what I can tell, I actually have the space to do all of the projects I've come up with. The proposal is being sent in on Monday afternoon. Hopefully..." Briar took a large breath, "its accepted." Clint nudged her,

"You're fantastic, Briar. It will be" He hopped off the counter, putting the now empty pot back into it's holder and held out his hand.

"Show it to me, Smurfette."

Briar laughed at him and abandoned her coffee cup to drag Clint down the hall to the design room. She flipped the light switch and pulled him over to the light table. Rough sketches of a modern penthouse with multiple greenery patches throughout the floorplan lay upon the table, littered with various colored ink marks. Clint sat on the stool and studied them for a few moments, chiding the blue haired woman for biting on her nails whilst he was doing so.

"This is great, B. The greenery you've used is so...oddly placed but, it works."

She squealed, "That's what I was going for. The client is a war veteran with severe PTSD. I wanted him to have the modern space he requested, but...he originally just asked for a little spot in the house to retreat to. But, I put a bunch of spaces around the house. Triggers arent confined to one space. So, why should his self care depend on getting to one specific area?"

Clint nodded along with her rambling, something obviously ticking away in that big brain of his.

She smacked his shoulder softly to get his attention, "Whatcha thinking, bird brain?"

He turned to look at his friend, a shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"I know whose space you're designing."

________<_________<________<________<_____

Bucky had sent the proposal for a new design over to Legendary six weeks ago. By now, he had hoped to see at least a rough sketch. Except for a few short email exchanges between himself and the Vice President of Design, he had no information on who had taken his project nor, what they were doing with it.

He pulled out his phone and shot a text to Tony,

'You said that design place was the best, right?'

Not a moment later: 'Yes, tin man. Who got your project? Katherine? Jonas?'

'I don't know, Tony. I haven't heard from anyone other than Camille. She didn't give my name to the designer like I asked, which I appreciate, but I don't know whose working on it.'

Bucky managed to fix himself a hot cup of lavender tea before Tony responded with a name and a phone number.

'Her name is Briar Hawthorne. She's been with them eight months and is their newest Senior Designer. Camille gave it to her specially. That's her cell phone number. I had to schmooze for that. Use it wisely, old man.'

Bucky laughed, Tony schmoozing on his behalf was still jarring. But, thankfully, the past decided to stay in the past after the Thanos affair. There was too much to rebuild and too much to cherish now, there wasn't time for wallowing in past mistakes. He sat on his bed, pulling a sleeping Alpine tightly to his side and shot a message over to Briar.

Hopefully, he could get some information on his damn apartment design.

______<________<________<_______<______<__

Briar sat on the balcony, weary eyed, and staring at the text message on her phone. She took another inhale of her joint and leaned her head back against the egg shaped hanging chair she was in. An exhale later she was typing her fifth attempt at a response to him.

She took another drag of the joint and recalled finding out the identity of her client.

Clint had laughed for a good five minutes. Chuckling at the absolute fucking serendipity he was watching unfold. Natasha had come in as he was dying down and as soon as he told her - in a hushed whisper between two very best friends - she had also spent a full five dying from laughter.

Turns out, the client was none other than Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A.k.a. the Winter Soldier. Natasha had complemented the decision on the multiple greenery spaces for relaxtion and meditation, saying that the Sergeant would like that idea. Clint had teased Natasha about how she couldn't hog their Smurfette anymore, knowing that the team would likely attach themselves to Briar quickly.

She reread the text for the hundredth time.

'Hi, Ms. Hawthrone.

My name is James Barnes, and I am the client whose penthouse you are designing currently. I know originally I asked to remain anonymous but, I wanted to check the progress on the design. I've not recieved any sort of update.

Thank you, again. '

He seemed so formal. Briar was stuck on how to respond, wondering if she should mention Natasha or if she should just be professional.

'Mr. Barnes,

Thank you for reaching out. I apologize that you have not been provided with regular updates but, I can tell you that the draft proposal and cost summary will be available to you on your account dashboard on Monday. I submitted my idea to Camille yesterday afternoon. Please don't hesitate to reach out with any other questions or concerns.

- Briar Hawthorne'

Professional, succinct.

Boring.

She hit send and stuffed the phone down beside her thigh in hopes that the cushion on the chair would muffle the vibrations so she could ignore it should he respond. Briar finished out her joint and pulled another from her cigarette case and lit it up.

She felt the dooming buzz of an incoming message on her thigh and groaned.

It was James.

'Could we maybe meet tomorrow and go over the plans together? I would feel better going over the plans with the actual designer. Not her boss.

And call me Bucky. All my friends do.'

So, they were friends now? She chuckled and settled back into the chair again.

Meeting a client off the clock could go wrong, there was no telling if she'd face repercussions on Monday.

But, the opportunity to present her project on her terms in her words...

'Yeah, sure. I can do a full layout set up on my design wall here at the house. Just text Natasha for the address. She doesn't let me give it out. She's a weird roommate.

And call me, Briar.'

There. She threw it in.

The frustrated groan yell from inside the house a moment later meant that Bucky was quicker on the draw than she would have thought.

_______<_________<___________<_________<__

JMT tag: @sea040561 @heli0s-writes @suz-123

Thank you to you, reading this. Yeah, you. You're awesome.

[myselfsquared]

I'm so sorry to bother you and feel free to ignore this if it's annoying but PLEASE I am literally begging for more info about Cynthis??? PLEASE???? I LOVE HIM??? MUST KNOW???? ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Literally none of these asks are a bother at ALL, quite the opposite, so please don’t apologize! It makes me SO happy to see people like my art and are interested in my characters! So… I’ll try to cover the basics but if you wanna know more feel free to let me know!

Context: Cynthis exists in two settings, because I am weak for AUs and using the same characters over and over again in different things. First one is my comic “My Superhero Husband” which I made a teaser for a while back and plan on continuing it as soon as I have some free time on the side. Second, the one all the moodboard drawings are from, is a cyberpunk story/RP I’m writing with @reversedkore​—we’re writing it for fun and it’s messy and it’s out of order, so we don’t really have any plans of sharing the full thing, but I can at least share some info, and maybe some pages of Cynthis’ backstory!

This is gonna be kinda long so I’m putting it under the cut, but please don’t feel obligated to read the whole thing!

Setting: We’re in the far future and there’s spaceships and there’s an intergalactic Empire who controls everything, and there’s androids, and it’s kinda dystopian, except most people are queer one way or another, because this is our story and we do what we want. Society is divided in two sides: the Noblus, who are like nobility except it’s a bought title, and they have to pay millions to keep it every year, and the Hands, who are literally everyone else. 

The current Emperor, James, is the first Hand-turned-Noblus to earn the throne. He’s a bit of an arrogant self-centered prick who kinda ends up being the bad guy, but it’s complicated and we love him.

Magik: Due to experiments done decades ago, now a small percentage of people are born with powers that we’re calling “magik” because we are edgy and unimaginative like that. There’s three types of magik: Techs (communicate with technology), Warpers (they can literally warp the fabric of spacetime and do shit like teleport, time freeze, gravity control etc. which is fun but also their powers are killing them), and the most common ones, Shockers (different types of electrokinesis). The Empire doesn’t allow non-Noblus magik users the tech that helps them properly use their magik though, unless they join the military, the police force.

Backstory: So, Cynthis had to leave his home planet at a very young age and join the Fleet (their version of the military) so he could get the tech that helped him control his powers. He comes from a planet where all life is considered sacred, so for many years he refuses to kill. But unlike most Shockers, his power is limited to touch—he can’t send out stuff like bolts of electricity. Nobody really takes him seriously as a kid cause Shockers are like canon fodder and his powers aren’t that great, and purely out of spite he becomes the best one in class. If you have time to kill and you wanna read some snippets of his childhood, you can find them here. 

Forward several years, he’s been part of special forces units, he’s earned some medals, and is considered one of the best the Fleet has to offer. And then the Emperor decides that Cynthis is both skilled and pretty, so he assigns him to be his personal bodyguard, and Cynthis hates this, but the money is very good. Then emotions and morality and a whole bunch of factors get involved and things get complicated.

Personality: Cynthis tends to be flat, cynical and sarcastic. Though he used to be a bit more idealistic, now he’s of the opinion that nothing ever changes anyway, so why even try? He also has a bit of a guilt complex and always tries to blame others for things. Despite that, he’s straightforward and honest, with no taste for small-talk and pleasantries. He is not great at understanding emotions and social cues, and is especially thick when it comes to realizing that someone is flirting with him. You could be handing him flowers and saying “I LOVE YOU” and he’d still be like “???” He has shitty self esteem.

Interests: Outside his job and training, his interests tend to change quickly. He picks up random hobbies all the time, and then some months later drops them: sewing, gardening, snowboarding, knitting, carving, fishing, hiking—you name it and the chances are he’s done it. Sometimes he comes back to them, sometimes he doesn’t. He loves plants though, that doesn’t change.

Mental Health: Though he keeps himself distracted most of the time, Cynthis doesn’t exactly have the best mental health possible. He shuts himself off from other people, and sometimes has self-harming tendencies. He has a lot of guilt surrounding things he’s done, and often goes through long depressive periods. Though he used to be more hopeful, that’s been replaced by cynical pessimism. He’s 33 and he feels old.

Dysphoria: Cynthis knew he was trans since he was a kid, but he couldn’t start hormone treatment till he was 18, because the Fleet did not allow it. He’s gotten top surgery since then, and that’s helped his dysphoria a lot, but doesn’t want bottom surgery. He’s not as bulky as most of the other guys he served with, and he’s not very comfortable with his body in general, but his dysphoria nowadays is more of a background thing, rather than something unbearable. There’s days where he doesn’t even think about it.

Relationships: Cynthis has a boyfriend called Archimedes, who is a Noblus fashion designer, and about 8 years younger than him. Archimedes is the kind of person who says he’ll get a coffee and orders a mocha with extra whipped cream, croissants on the side. I adore him. He’s idealistic, and naive, and sheltered from the world, but he’s incredibly kind. He hates the Emperor and the whole Empire system, but is too scared to leave his family and go fight for what he believes in. The two are very different but somehow click together. Archimedes makes Cynthis feel hopeful again.

Things get more complicated when James, the Emperor, gets involved. Though Cynthis hates him at first, over the years the two grow closer, and they end up having a very intense, somewhat toxic relationship. They bring out the best and the worst in each other. Cynthis can talk to him about things he’s never been comfortable discussing with Archimedes, and James actually begins it trust Cynthis and value his opinion.

A bunch of very messy things happen and plot and blah blah blah, but the most important point is that the “love triangle” turns to an OT3, and you can pry these three out of my cold dead hands.

Oh god this really has gotten long. Okay. I’m going to stop now?? Thanks for the ask and I hope this kinda answered some questions!

[bioticgoddess]

Of The Voide (#2 - an original work)

Here ya go. The next installment of the Of the Voide Story. Like I said, it’s an original work. So don’t steal my stuff but you’re welcome to share. :)

Please enjoy!

The Seti’Veth System: Cor’seti Station

The space station orbiting the planet Cor’seti was always a questionable decision. It wasn’t really neutral territory, being well within the jurisdiction of the Coalition, but they didn’t exactly police it. Meant that people like the crew of the Ashewake could dock and resupply. Right now, they needed the rest. The Krimmoran contract had been a bust and then they’d had to deposit the younger Voidekeine girl back with the flotilla. Her field tour ended early, much to her temporary shipmate’s relief.

Seated at the bar, black and blue hair pulled off her face in a series of braids, Zaffre Branwen took another swig from the mug. At least they’d had Corinthian Red Tea - most folks mistook it for brandy or some kind of whiskey until they tried to steal a swig, then they got trouble. Which was exactly the last thing she needed. Her base tint alabaster-gray skin was covered in what looked like paint splatter marks of black and a darker blue-gray. Terrans might have said she looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Others would have wondered when last she’d bathed. It was the usual variance of bullshit levied at all  Voidekeine. They were all as spotted and splattered as she was, though that alabaster base color could be as black as ebony - like her co-pilot and engineer Tagetes. His spotting was mostly shades of lighter grays.

He’d known the woman for decades, since they were kids using repair mechs to sneak from their assigned frigates to the Ag-ships to beg for cocoa pods so they could harvest the chocolate from within the fruit. He’d stowed away on her little transport ship one year when she’d swung through the Flotilla to drop off some supplies she’d been asked to ferry home between Contracts. Had they not been acquainted all those years, it was a near guarantee she’d have wasted the ammunition and escape pod necessary to send his ass right back home.  

“Alright Boss,” he stood behind the black and blue-haired woman. “We got watchers,” he whispered, the blue portion of her long hair brushing his hand as he put it against her back.  It was well rehearsed theater to make onlookers believe they were about to flit off for a lover’s tryst. 

He stood a full foot taller than she was and his proportions were emphasized by his armored vacsuit. He wasn’t comically large - though on the taler and broader side for their species, he couldn’t compare to the Krimmora or the Omari (an amphibious, crocodilian  race) or any of the other more massive denizens of the galaxy.  But he had a winning smile that, despite being a Voidekeine, disarmed everyone. Casually he raked a hand through his short mop of silver and pink  curls. The turn of his head towards the corner table indicated the direction of their new admirers. 

Sighing, she downed the remaining tea in one long slow draw and signaled the bartender to come over. “Vaun, can I get a couple canisters to go,” she pointed to her now empty drink, “And wrap up those meals too?”

Behind the bar, a tall red-skinned Corinthian gave a subtle nod, the same one he gave when a customer entered or paid their tab or tipped well. It was neutral but the affirming wink he tossed to the woman was emphatic. Vaun himself rose a full head taller than Tagetes when he rolled his shoulder and spine up and revealed his full stature. But he was spindly, the result of spending his youth in Corinthus-3’s low gravity. Like it’s sibling moons, Corinthus-3 was a mining concern and major source of metals and metalloids. Corinthus Rex, the heavy-gravity world around which the lunar system orbited, gave rise to a much stockier offshoot of their species and was, by all accounts, a more diverse and lush ecosystem. 

Most only bothered to visit the moons as they lacked the bone density, muscle, and cardiovascular development necessary to handle the central world’s gravity. Much like the Security vacsuit wearing group watching the two Voidekeine. 

Though to call the organization “security” on Cor’Seti Station was a joke. At best, they were thugs pretending they had the authority of the system behind them. At worst a cartel that the Coalition - who’s giant war ships were currently in orbit around the station - ignored because it meant that they didn’t have to actually police the station. They could focus on the parliamentary conquest and assimilation of the Seti’Veth System. 

“Auck’ver’im,” Vaun’s lips barely moved as he set the pack insert filled with her requisition down on the counter. “Crell’mey’rah.”

“Universal translator seems broken,” Zaffre tapped the small, hexagonal chip icon painted on her suit’s armored breast-plate. “But I got ya.” Index and forefinger pressed together, she saluted him with her left hand. 

Tagetes had taken the moment to put the oddly heavy pack in his rucksack. He knew they were lying about the translation device being offline. Despite his accent, when both Zaffre and he spoke he’d heard Universal Common and not Flotillaspeka. The Corinthian’s change to his native tongue had been deliberate. “You get enough tea,” he chided, his glance at Zaffre a cover to watch as the men sitting at the shadowed table rose to follow them. They certainly weren’t being subtle. “Wanna help me carry this stuff?”

Hands on her hips, close to the blaster pistols and the clip keeping her helmet in place, she shrugged. “Nah, you got this Tag,” rolling her head and stretching her neck, she took advantage of the reflection off one of the other shop windows to get a better look at their new friends. One was tall, full gear, possibly a Coalitioner. He didn’t look like he’d come off some broken down frigate or was born on a station. Nope, shoulders were too square and he moved through the crowd like he everyone owed him. The two on his flanks she wasn’t sure about. They could have been Coalition or natives, if the latter was true then they’d been hired. Probably sold out to one of the big Capital ships monitoring the station approach. “Any ideas why we’re so popular?”

“You did snipe that last target,” her silver and pink haired companion suggested. His free hand absently coming to rest on his own blaster as they took the turn leading to the docs. It would be longer this way; going through the slums meant they’d be more likely to disappear in the crowd. Their gear was carbon-scorred and pock marked with years of fire fights and falling from too-high up when a jetpack’s booster failed.

It was a slow trek.

The pair took turns taking covert glances in reflective surfaces to track their shadows, going down a dozen alley-like maintenance corridors, or through doors between bulkheads that shouldn’t have existed. They managed to lose their unexpected attachments as a result of going through the twist and turns of the station’s slum. They cut down through the old maintenance shafts and ladders instead of hopping on the lifts. It was like being home in the Flotilla, the way the station creaked and groaned with the artificial gravity generators and the air cyclers. If it was quiet, they knew something could be catastrophically wrong. The Voidekeine had grown accustomed to living in an environment that hummed with the lives of people and machines. To ask them, either might have said that ships and space stations had souls of their own because of the care put into building and maintaining them. 

Their peaceful walk didn’t last long. 

The three thugs, the likely Coalitioner at the forefront, barred their access to the Ashewake. Zaffre grumbled under her breath, “Fuck.” 

“Zaffre Branwen, Tagetes Patch, you’re a long way from the Flotilla.” Definitely Coalition. His accent was sterile and his words clipped short like the hair he probably had shaved stupidly close to his head under the polished helmet. Neither of them had clocked how clean he looked. 

Brow cocked, she asked in her own clipped speech, “We are on business. My logs are in order.”

“It’s Coalition Senior Inspector or Sir to you, and I do see that,” He grinned slightly, withdrawing a data pad from behind him. One of the hunched shouldered men behind him had had it. “Do you know why I wished to speak with you,” he asked, his tone making the hackles on her black and gray freckled neck stand up.

Shaking her head, Zaffre answered carefully, taking a step forward so she was between Tagetes and the Coaltion man. “‘Fraid I don’t. Sir.” There was no difference in her voice but the man couldn’t say she was being sarcastic. Not that he probably even knew what sarcasm was. 

“Your impulse thrusters,” he grinned like he’d caught her in a trap.

“You mean the one that’s been sputtering? Sir? Yes. Got the credits needed to pay for repairs on my last job...sir,” she nodded, moving her hands like she was doing the math on her fingers. 

Behind his helmet, it was a certainty the Coalitioner was seething. It bled into his careful words, “Good. You’ll be taking it to the ship yards then.” It was an instruction not a question and an assumption she was going to be using Galactic Coalition shipyard The sharpness of his words and precision of his posture broadcast that opinion.

“Yes. Sir,” carefully she moved her hands from near her blasters, last thing they needed was a firefight so near an airlock. Not that she wouldn’t put the lot of them down if they drew on her and Tagetes. Would be the principle and within her rights by every regulation and law she could think of for more than one system and the Flotilla. But this stop wasn’t actually about a busted up and overused thruster. No. This was about making sure they knew that he knew who they were and that the Coalition likely knew too.  “We were going to head for there at 0800 local time. Sir.”

The next several minutes were long. He stared them down, probably taking an inventory of their weapons and both were sure he was about to ask them to strip off the armor plating from their vacsuits and relinquish their weapons for inspection. That he’d detain them for long enough to put them behind whatever schedule her answer put in his head. “Good evening then,” he said suddenly, marching past and making sure to shove Zaffre with his shoulder on the way. 

The two men who shadowed him slinked behind, both keeping distance from the Voidekeine who watched until they were out of sight and the airlock door hissed closed behind them. Like a pair of synchronized binary stars, they slammed their helmets on as a precaution. 

First rule of dealing with an self important prick like the Coalitioner - always presume being spaced or left in a depressurized hold is possible. A glance at the computer interface mounted on her left gauntlet confirmed the ship was still there. The Ashewake hadn’t been impounded or vaporized - thank the Makers. It didn’t mean, however, that they could relax.

Tagetes punched in the command and security codes that opened the airlocks leading to their ship and brought her to life. Voice like rocks through a tumbler, he warned, “We better get the hells out of here.”

“I want this to be a speck on radar in the next thirty minutes,” she concurred, her own voice modulated through the helmet. “We can inventory Vaun’s things in FTL. I don’t wanna be around when The Inspector,” her turned mocking for just a moment before she continued towards the cockpit, “gets that Capital ship or the Seti’Veth Primus to authorize a search and seizure warrant.”

“Agreed,” he was through the doors and hooking the duffel to a wall. In the low gravity, it was easy to put it in the netting with another half dozen or so similar black and gray bags. All but one was marked with the symbol for P3Y-722; the Eck’Ra Home world. 

Over the ship’s intercom, she smiled, “Next stop on our grand galactic cruise, the sunny breaches of P3Y-722. Or as the locals call it Ori Velar.”

[byebyebyler]

A Stupid Fight - Byler

They were in the middle of a stupid fight. They both wanted to forget about it as soon as it had started, but instead, it ended with Will slamming the door to their apartment as hard as his small body could manage.

Mike sighed, running a hand through his wild curls. He looked blankly at the pieces of paper in front of him, scribbled with ideas that his mind formulated in the middle of long nights, making him jolt wide awake and wake Will in the process.

Will.

“It was supposed to be good news,” Mike mumbled to himself, “Not the start of a fucking argument.”

Mike had gotten an offer that he couldn’t pass up. The couple’s comic series has been pitched to be turned into a full blown Hollywood series of movies. He was super excited about it, and he was especially excited to tell Will since it was both of theirs, Will being the illustrator.

He was hoping Will would be as happy as he was. Obviously nothing was set in stone, but he wanted to answer the movie company as quickly as possible to ensure it could still happen.

They could pick up their entire life and shift it across the country. It was an exciting new stage of Mike’s life, and he wanted to share all of it with Will.

Will, on the other hand, wasn’t leaping at the idea. Living even in New York City, it was too far away from Indiana for Will. He was very family oriented and liked visiting his mother and Hopper over breaks from work and holidays. Mike totally understood that, but he couldn’t and didn’t want to move without Will.

“We’ll still see them on holidays and stuff! We can call!” Mike had assured him enthusiastically, smiling widely at his boyfriend.

“Mike, it’s not that easy. My mom needs me to be close, she doesn’t want anything to happen like... before,” Will whispered the last word, reluctantly looking up at Mike’s worried eyes.

“Will, I’ll be with you every single day. Nothing will happen, alright?” Mike promised him softly, holding Will’s hand to comfort him. Mike pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away to smile gently at Will. “Think of it: we could buy an actual house, that’d be awesome. It’ll be way better than this shitty apartment, and we can maybe get a cute dog or something. We’ll have a office to share, you can have a place for all your fancy art things-“

“Mike, what if I don’t want that?” Will said so quietly that Mike could hardly hear him.

“I get that you don’t wanna move, Will, but I don’t wanna-“

“No. What I mean is... what if I don’t want this huge Hollywood success. It’s our work together, I don’t want our names or work to be associated with a horrible movie. Then, horrible sequels too.”

Mike furrowed his eyes, looking at Will with confusion on his face. “I’m sure we’ll have a say in everything concerning the movie-“

“How much say? Will we see the script, will we not? Will we be able to have a say in costumes, outfits, or sets? Will they even fucking let us because we’re together?” Will asked, his voice shaking but getting louder with every question.

“Will,” Mike said, trying to calm him down with a soft voice. “Things are better in California, you know. There’s always gonna be people like that in life-“

Will scoffed, shaking his head. “So, you’re just telling me to accept that?!” He challenged Mike with a look of disbelief on his face. “Really? After everything I’ve been through- after everything we’ve been through?”

Will went over to the kitchen, grabbing his jacket violently off of the counter. He put it on quickly, looking utterly frustrated and upset. “You know what, Mike? I’m sorry I have to ruin your big Hollywood dreams, but I can see the reality in some of these things. I’m not gonna work with anyone who thinks that our relationship is gross or disgusting so much so that they don’t want us to be involved in making our work become a reality.” He reaches the door, watching Mike stay put near the couch. “I’m gonna go take a walk,” he finally said, slamming the door before Mike could respond.

-

Mike shook his head, playing out the previous events on a loop in his mind. He felt horrible. He felt guilty that he hadn’t listened to Will the way a boyfriend of years should’ve. He sighed again, lifting himself off of the couch.

He knew Will needed space, and he wanted to give him that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how things ended.

He walked over to their shared office, smiling at the rough sketches along with finished pieces scattered all over Will’s desk. Mike could list thousands of good qualities of Will’s but neatness wasn’t one of them.

Mike opened his own desk’s drawer that they had named the Drawer of Everything Needed at Some Point when they had first moved into their apartment. He smiled, picking up the small velvet box he kept hidden in there. He had bought it on a whim one day several months ago. A simple silver band that he knew would suit Will. He had only glanced at it a few times since purchasing it, but this time it was the most meaningful.

He was waiting for the right moment. But, as his thumbs stroked the velvet material of the box, he was fearing it would never come. Especially not after the way this fight left them.

Sighing, Mike shoved the box far back into the drawer like he had done so many months ago.

Will, instead of being cuddled up close to Mike, was out in the brisk cold air of Central Park. Him and Mike didn’t live too far away from the park, but it seemed miles away that February night.

He was stuck in his thoughts. He didn’t want to be disagreeable, but he wanted to ensure that moving across the country would be worth it. Will wanted a say in everything, he wanted a say since he was the one who designed Mike’s characters. He felt like that was only necessary.

But, he also felt that if the actors or people working on the movie figured out him and Mike were together, it would destroy everything. The comics wouldn’t sell, the movie would be gone, everything would shatter.

“A gay comic book writer and his boyfriend who draws the pictures,” Will mumbled to himself, kicking some slushy snow into the street.

Once in the park, he sat on one of the benches. It was freezing cold, and that only made Will miss Mike more. Mike was basically a human furnace, heat radiated off of him.

After contemplating the long walk back to their apartment, Will waved down a taxi which brought him to his building a lot faster than he wanted to be. I should’ve walked. What if Mike’s upset? I basically crushed his dreams, should I walk around the block until midnight? I could do that...

He generously paid the taxi driver, wondering if the man could be bribed into driving Will to Jersey. Maybe Indiana if he was up for it. Anything to avoid Mike’s hurt gaze that Will worried about the entire cab ride. Too soon, the taxi was gone, and Will was left to either freeze his ass off outside or go inside and possibly be broken up with Mike.

He hoped for the best, that Mike would just be mad for the night, and ran up the stairs. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, and instead took the stairs two at a time.

He reached the apartment quickly, digging into his pocket for the keys. After moments of panicking, Will found them and slowly unlocked the door.

All of the lights were still on, and Mike was sitting on the couch. His head turned when the door opened, and he couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Will,” Mike said, walking over to the door to stand in front of his boyfriend. “You’re freezing.” His smile melted into a frown, taking his jacket quickly.

“I love you,” Will told him, smiling and happy that he wasn’t upset. “I’m sorry,” he said once Mike had him wrapped tightly in a hug. “I’m sorry. I totally overreacted. I should be happy that your work is possibly going to be a movie. That’s amazing.”

Mike stepped back and leaned down to kiss Will. “It’s /our/ work. You worked as hard as me on your famous drawings-“

“I’m not famous,” Will quickly corrected him, ducking his head as a blush formed on his cheeks. “I love you, dork.”

“I love you more,” Mike responded, holding onto Will’s hand while trying unsuccessfully to hang up Will’s jacket in their closet. After failing multiple times, he threw it onto the counter, Will rolling his eyes at him. “And, I’m not mad, if anything I wasn’t listening to what you were saying. I’m sorry about that, and I should’ve asked all of the questions you had. They’re important. They’re important to you, that makes them important to me.”

Mike continued on, walking them over to the couch. “And, honestly,” he sunk into the couch cushion, smiling as Will instinctively curled up into his side, “they should be important to me nonetheless. I never want to put you in a situation where either of us could be hurt in that way. And, obviously I want my boyfriend on set at all times. I want to be able to hold his hand while we watch actors mess up lines all day long. Besides, you’re the creative genius behind all of the illustrations, so you especially should be the one watching from behind the camera.”

Will interlaced their fingers together, squeezing Mike’s hand. “I don’t want you to be hurt either. Or us. Or the movie because of some anti-gay writers or producers or directors trying to keep everything from us.”

“I’ll call them first thing tomorrow. Everything will be figured out for us I’m sure. If that’s what you want... you know, if you wanna go to California.”

Will shot him an uneasy glance, relaxing as he felt Mike’s hand squeeze his. “I’m still not sure about that... I don’t mean to be like that — all disagreeable and stuff — but I’m sorry-“

Mike pressed a kiss against the top of Will’s head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. I wasn’t listening, and we both know I do that a lot. I’ll ask about relocating the filming locations, how about that?”

Will smiled, wrapping an arm tighter around Mike’s torso. “And, we can always get a dog here in our shitty apartment, right?”

Mike laughed into Will’s hair, nodding along to his words. “Yup, our shitty little apartment.”

[bemorestrange]

aliw update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

for brevity’s sake, i’m only keeping the tldr above the cut; so keep reading for more info!  anyway: not dead! :D

sorry for the radio silence i have adhd 🤘😔

my bf and i finally saw bmc on broadway this summer! ♥♥♥

i’ve been working on a (written) oneshot focusing on brooke and chloe :O

i’ve been thinking n planning, and i finally started drawing the next pages (not panels)

also!! been thinking about a discord server for the au. thoughts?

1—  originally i wrote out a whole thing breaking down my months during hiatus, but i later decided that was too much so!  i have adhd, and i’ve been unusually busy, so that’s really the haps of it. 

2—  aside from july/august, bc i was being extremely gay and seeing bmc live before it closed!!  the show was Fantastic, and i miss my bf.

👏  anyway! re:the actual blog,

3—  the brooke & chloe oneshot will be posted on ao3 for sure when it’s done, and either linked or posted to aliw!  it takes place before the (blog’s main) plot, and will do with their friendship :)  i’m not planning on drawing anything for it, but i am considering writing more for the au in general!  most likely nothing main plot, but i am all about writing some side stories n extras :3c

4—  frankly, i’ve barely made a dent in the storyline i have thus far. exposition is slow, and i switch between hyperfixations at random which causes periods of hiatus (f).  but right now i’m in that bmc swing, and i really, really wanna get somewhere.

i’ve been thinking about this since i put the blog on hiatus, but i’ve finally decided to change the format of story updates. instead of single panels and filling an update with those, i’m using comic page format now. this should be much easier (and probably much more fun) for me to work with. i’ve already gotten a couple pages in the works, and several thumbnailed.  

the next story update will probably be several pages long, but i do not plan on All of the story updates after it being as long. don’t wanna burn myself out!  also, it’s still an askblog, please send in asks when theyre open!!  asks will likely be answered the same way as always 👍

as for how that will effect old story-focused updates:  for the foreseeable future, it won’t.  i am thumbnailing past panels into Pages, but only with the intention to start numbering the new ones off that (as opposed to a bad estimation).  if they get released, it’ll either be just the thumbs, or won’t be for a long time, as redrawing full pages would cut into the time i have for new pages :0

i promise we’ll get somewhere, guys. i’ve put so much time and effort into this au it is my BABY, i’m gonna make content for it no matter how long it takes.

5—  exactly what it says on the tin, i’ve been thinking about opening a discord server for liw.  wip’s, sneak peaks, theorizing, a chance to interact?  i’m not sure, and i’d want to wait until i’m officially Off Hiatus to open it anyway, but what’re yall’s thoughts? 

ty for sticking with me n these poor kids ♥

[my-miraculous-headcanons]

The Chat Drawings

I have some hcs revolving around a one-shot I’m considering on writing to start off my writing in the ML fandom (before I move on to my huge amount of multi-chapter fic ideas.) In any case, this isn’t really how I assume the fans of Paris are like, but it’s an interesting idea to me.

Marinette doesn’t like how most fan art of Chat Noir is either just plain silly or literally making him out to look like some handsome, mysterious god of the night. There’s either shit comics featuring badly drawn pictures of him or detailed portraits of him looking all suave, no in-between.

It starts to really bother her the more she thinks about it, so she decides to contribute a different sort of illustration. She makes a sweet drawing of him just smiling really widely, wearing a flower crown and bathed in sunlight. He’s a dorky, lovable goof, and she feels like he should be portrayed as such. (AKA he’s not a flirt master nor is he just a meme.)

Obviously, Alya finds out, gushes about how great it looks, and begs to post it on the Ladyblog. Marinette reluctantly agrees, after hours of trying (and failing) to convince Alya that her work isn’t good enough.

Of course, Adrien, the boy who stalks that blog like a hawk, sees it immediately and he’s positively glowing in happiness. Then he sees the name of the artist, and he’s practically bouncing off the walls.

Most of the time, people who make detailed drawings of him either make everyday action scenes as seen from civilian eyes or draw him as this mysterious hero under the moonlight. He doesn’t know why— maybe it’s the black suit? The cat eyes? 

Who knows, but what he does know is that Marinette has a totally different view of him. Instead of cold white lighting, he’s in warm orange sunlight. Instead of smirking, he’s full-blown grinning. She even drew the setting sun behind his head, a little to the side, almost like a halo. It’s strangely personal, but very warming and flattering.

He’s a little surprised that she noticed that only one of his cheeks has a dimple, and he’s very surprised by the incredibly accurate depiction of his suit, honeycomb patterns and all.

Wait does Marinette maybe have a crush on Chat Noir?

(No, Adrien, you dumbass.)

(Okay maybe she does a little.)

Adrien confronts Marinette at school the next day and compliments her work, and asks her if she’s a fan of Chat Noir. Her answer is very honest, surprisingly, and she doesn’t even stutter this time. She’s more lost in thought.

“I think people don’t really wanna see how Chat really is, and it’s a little upsetting. I mean, I’ve only met him a handful of times, but he’s this goofy, dramatic, nice guy, and it’s a shame that everyone keeps trying to cover it up by either viewing him as this walking, talking shitpost or as some smooth Casanova, you know? So I’ve been... drawing some of my own interpretations. I, uh, I guess you could say I’m a fan. But I’m not a fan of how most people in his fanbase views him.”

Probably one of the first thoughts that comes to Adrien’s mind after hearing that is “I would die for Marinette, holy shit.”

The next thought is “wait did she just admit to having drawn more than just that one drawing?”

Adrien asks if he can see more and Alya being the best wingwoman in the world immediately takes over by yelling “LOOK AT THIS SHIT, CAN YOU BELIEVE SHE DOESN’T THINK IT’S GOOD ENOUGH TO BE POSTED ONLINE?!” The moment Adrien sees it he’s also yelling “HOLY CRAP MARINETTE THIS IS AMAZING?!”

One of the pictures is of Chat Noir sitting down at a cafe table in broad daylight chatting with a group of three little old women over cups of tea. 

Another picture is of Chat Noir sitting at a public bench, a denim jacket over his suit, sunglasses over his mask, slid down the bridge of his nose so he’s looking over the lenses, puckered lips smiling around the straw of his red and black smoothie. 

Another picture, and this one’s his favourite, is Chat Noir dressed as the Dread Pirate Roberts, wielding a saber, battling a made-up akuma that looks an awful lot like Inigo Montoya. There’s speech bubbles, “Who are you?” “No one of consequence.” “I must know!” “Get used to disappointment.” It’s clever, definitely something he would say.

Now Adrien, Nino, and Alya combined are trying to convince Marinette that she needs to put her work online. Alya even mentions that since she’s posted the first one, Marinette got several thousand notes and comments on it. 

Marinette wants to fight it, but now that she has three determined heathens on her back, she really can’t do anything. Alya sets up an account for her and posts more of her work, and she very quickly gains a fanbase. In fact, her follower count explodes the moment the art is posted, and keeps climbing overnight. 

She’s now known as the Chat Noir illustrator. It’s strange, she knows that her work isn’t overly amazing or anything, but it’s ridiculously popular, moreso than most Chat Noir artists. She supposes it’s because of her unique take on him. Everyone seems to adore it, and it’s like she somehow started a movement or something.

She’s not really surprised when Chat Noir decides to make a little visit. She is surprised when he visited her in her school library during her studying time, but the actual act of him visiting isn’t too surprising. That doesn’t stop her from telling him to get lost, because they’re in public.

He doesn’t get lost, if you couldn’t tell. Instead he takes a selfie with her, posts it on his social media, and has a 3 hour long conversation with her about everything and nothing. She gets no studying done. By the end, he concludes that either Marinette has absolutely no interest in him at all or she’s just really good at handling a crush, which is more than he can say for himself.

(Yeah, he had the ulterior motive to see if she had a crush on him. So what? He’s a little shit, and if that grin is anything to go by, he knows it.)

Six new drawings are posted that night, and he comes to realise that Visiting Marinette = Art Inspiration. 

Marinette is deeply regretting the hole she dug herself into. Deeply, deeply regretting it. 

Chat starts bugging her about recreating those drawing she made in real life and quite frankly she’d rather die, but saying that isn’t going to stop him. So he buys a denim jacket, a huge pair of shades, and a dark red raspberry smoothie filled with boba. Marinette didn’t expect to be ridiculously pleased with the image. It suits him.

Now not only has she become the Chat Noir Illustrator, but she’s become the Chat Noir Photographer, the two of them going out and recreating all of her drawings. She regrets this idea a little less, she thinks, after she takes a picture of him having tea with a group of little old ladies.

She’s finally on board with everything when they convince the fencing instructor to dress up as Inigo Montoya. It was the best photo they had taken. She been sucked in, it’s too late for her, she’s emotionally invested in this now.

Adrien, Nino, and Alya don’t help they’re encouraging it. Adrien especially, weirdly enough, he seems particularly enthused. None of them attempt to talk her out of all this and she’s not sure whether to be happy or disappointed.

Shit hits the fan when everyone starts assuming that Marinette’s now Chat’s Best Friend. She may have gone too far, she thinks, dangling in the grip of an akuma, formed to look like an oversized lemur. Maybe she should... not do this anymore.

I got a little tired with this but I still love it, so I’m just gonna post it. Tell me your own HCs, additions, thoughts, etc! 

[getdestroyed-staydestroyed]

F.A.Q

Why didn’t you draw an answer for the ask I sent you?

It’s important to understand that while asks are a fun thing for me to do occasionally, and a fun thing for yall to see: this is not an ask blog. Ideally I want there to be more pictures/comics/other content than ask answers at any given time on here. The thing is I get a LOT of them, often every time I answer one or post art of a character people send in 2-3 more. Between that I get a steady trickle of them constantly even when I don’t post. I could potentially spend all my time drawing ask answers but that’s not what I need to use my time for. If you send it off anon I’ll try to think of a verbal response at least if I don’t draw a response. If it’s on anon, your rolling the dice for the chance of a picture, I’ll just be honest with you here.  

Can’t you just make a separate ask blog then?

I do not have nearly enough time to further split up between running this main, and a potential competently new art blog. It wouldn’t be a smart use of my energy. I’m sorry.

Do you do art trades/requests?

I’m usually really stretched for time outside of my full-time job and other family/life obligations so it’s rare that I find the time to do trades. Usually I feel bad about them since I’m always getting my half done way later. I appreciate the genuine interest, but it’s just not really a feasible thing for me for the most part. As far as requests go I rarely ever do them, even if they have to do with my own characters. You’re welcome to send an ask suggesting something but there is ZERO guarantee I’ll draw it, just understand that. 

Are you open for commissions?

I currently am not. Usually when I open I do a quick “heads up” post with a hard date, followed on that date by the official opening post with all the info. You’ll have plenty of forewarning before I do. I also do substantial warnings before I close.

What art materials do you work with?

I actually answered already that in a previous ask right [here]!

What digital program(s) do you use?

Photoshop Creative Suite 3 (CS3) is the only one I use. It’s what I use to do my coloring, digital screen-tones, and sometimes text and speech bubbles. 

Could you do a tutorial on how you do [insert technique here]?

I’m flattered that you think my techniques or style are something worth emulating or trying to learn from, but at the moment I don’t really have the time to put together a comprehensive step-by-step of my artistic process. This is exacerbated by the fact that half of said process is done traditionally instead of digitally anyway so I couldn’t really screen cap stuff. Thanks for asking though, who knows, I might have time to try and slap something together in the future! 

Can I tag your artwork/characters as “kin” or “me”?

Sure, that’s fine. It’s always important to ask though since not everyone is OK with it, so thanks for doing that. It doesn’t bother me at all though, so go ahead and tag away. 

I really like your art and you seem like a nice person; could we be friends?

I’m very grateful that through my art and my interactions on here that I come across as a kind and friendly person. Unfortunately I’m also a very strong introvert and I can gas out on the energy to talk to folks very easily. I’m grateful and so happy for the friends I have but I also have a LOT already too hahaha. It should also be stated that for anyone; introvert or extrovert, making friends completely depends on how you and the person connect or “click”. Some people you grow close to naturally and well...some you just don’t. There’s no way to force it, and there’s no way to just decide it. If I decline a request to share messenger info or to chat with you please don’t take it as offense. 

Do you accept fan art?

Yes I do! I only ask that you don’t involve my characters with any NSFW scenarios that have minors (under the age of 18), or any scenarios that involve or employ elements of racism, sexism, or transphobia. You better show me when you finish it though!

Can I make my own fan character from one of your races/worlds?

Go for it. I don’t have any hard rules or locks on any of my races since fan characters aren’t really canon within my stories anyway. Just like with the fanart, I only ask to see them when they’re done!

What are your inspirations?

There’s nothing wrong with that question in itself, but I don’t really know where to even start in answering it. Without being too long winded: it was mainly a beginning base of anime when i was younger that later evolved into several amateur/semi-pro/pro artists on this website and others. I don’t have too many published/professional American/European folks I could rattle off the top of my head. If you want a starters guide on who some of those online people are you can slog through the icons of people that I follow to the right on my blogs main page. 

How do I get a style like yours? / How did you get your art style?

It is absolutely imperative to understand as an artist that style is less of an aesthetic object, like a shirt that you put on and wear around, and is more like the personality of the person wearing the shirt. An artists style is inseparable from their identity. It’s a result of thousands of hours of absorbing media subconsciously, integrating what they like, and discarding what they don’t. It’s shaped by what they see, what they have access to, and what they don’t. It’s shaped by their surroundings, and upbringing. Explaining to you how I got my current style is as daunting as answering the question “How did you become the person you are today?”

My style will not be the same tomorrow as it is today. It’s something that’s organic and constantly growing and slowly changing (as it should be). As long as you keep exposing yourself to new things, new experiences, places, people, techniques, concepts, media, ect. you will in time have your own style.  

When are you going to do some actual comics and where are you gonna post them?

GOOD QUESTION, AND I DON’T BLAME YOU FOR ASKING. Ever since I finally finished commissions at the end of 2017 and got some owed art out of the way during the first month of January, I’m working on clearing out some of these asks with some answers. After that I’ll be refocusing on finishing Step-Monster Vol. II first which will probably get put up on my Deviantart (Don’t worry. I’ll put up a link here to it when it’s done). I don’t have a hard date for it right now but I’m aiming for late summer possibly, since I’m trying to do the entire last Volume II with all it’s chapters in one big go. 

After that I wanna start tackling small one-shorts at first before moving on to longer-form stories. By that point I plan to have a dedicated website for them up and a Patreon going maybe too! 

Pineapple on pizza: yes or no?

Yes, and if you say I’m wrong we’re gonna fight. 

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Five

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader

Summary: In which you have a break-up chat with Wanda and Peggy (and Jane).

Warnings: A little language, a lot of mildly depressing talk. Questioning your self-worth. Crying, crying and more crying - and angst, of course.

Notes: Fic was inspired by ‘Eyes Closed’ by Halsey. Jane as your wise little sister would be kick-ass, tbh.

IKTG Masterlist

The light drizzle has turned into a storm that is rapidly intensifying, sheets of rain sweeping across the streets. You’ve made it to your building in the nick of time and dash inside before you become completely soaked. You make a beeline through the lobby, heading straight for the elevators at the far end of the foyer. Stan, the elderly night guard, is reading comics behind his desk and tips his hat to you in greeting as you pass by.

Your hallway reeks of its usual rotten egg odour, which always seems to get a little stronger whenever it’s raining. You hold your breath and stride briskly to your apartment, fishing your keys out of your purse as you go. You let yourself in as quietly as possible — no simple task, given the fact that the front door squeaks loud enough to be heard from the floor below.

As expected, the apartment is mostly in darkness, save for the faint glow of the TV in the living room. As you shrug off your coat, you smile fondly when you catch sight of Wanda and Peggy. They are sprawled out on the couch, each occupying one end. Neither seems to have heard you coming in — which says something about how accustomed they’ve become to the squeaky door — utterly engrossed in whatever it is they’re watching. After you arrange your coat and shoes in the hallway closet, you pad into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water.

“Oh my god, Kim’s an idiot. Like, an actual idiot,” Wanda groans.

You snort, leaning against the kitchen counter, “What’d she do this time?”

Peggy lifts her head up, craning her neck around to look at you. “Y/N! You’re back!”

“How observant you are,” you remark dryly, shuffling over to the couch.

“You’re home early,” she continues, “It’s just turned half past nine, hasn’t it?”

“Again with the ‘stating the obvious’, Pegs,” you sigh. You climb over the back of the couch, glass of water balanced precariously in one hand, and sink into the space between them, crushing Wanda’s toes and Peggy’s calves in the process. The yelp in pain and grumble various curses under their breath as they shift around to make room for you.

Wanda extends her arms in a dramatic flourish. “Welcome to our crazy wild Friday night!” she says, “As you can see, things are going absolutely mad here. We’ve got pizza—,”

“She means ‘an empty pizza box’,” Peggy interrupts.

“—alcohol and the Kardashians, what more could you ask for?” Wanda finishes.

You snort and shake your head in amusement. “You’re a pair of old ladies, I tell you,” you mutter, taking in Wanda’s ratty t-shirt and messy bun, sharply contrasted to Peggy’s blue-and-white striped pyjama set. They’re about as opposite as night and day, those two, but somehow, they make things work.

“You look terrible,” Peggy informs you abruptly. Most times, you absolutely adores the way she cut straight to the point and never beats around the bush. Tonight, with you in your emotionally drained state, her words just make you feel that much more shitty.

“Gee, thanks,” you drawl, rolling your eyes with as much sarcasm as you can muster, “It’s so nice to be welcomed home by you lot,”.

“I thought you were staying at Loki’s for the night,” says Wanda, talking to you even though her eyes are back on the screen, watching the saucy, rich-bitch drama unfold.

“I thought that was the plan too,” you admit softly, settling back into the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. From the corner of your eye, you see Wanda redirecting her attention back to you when she notices your sorrowful tone. On your left, you feel Peggy’s stare practically boring a hole into the side of your skull.

“So what changed?” asks Peggy, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

You’re hesitate for a heartbeat before answering, and in that split-second, Wanda gets it. The girl can seriously read minds.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, putting a hand up to her mouth, “You guys broke up?”

You nod morosely, “Cheated on me with a girl called Sharon,”.

“Called it!” says Peggy, fist-punching the air triumphantly. The three of you tend to make bets over your love life — because let’s be honest, if you’re going to be such a train wreck when it comes to romance, a little bit of comic relief and lighthearted competition can’t hurt — placing wagers on how long you’d stay with a guy and the reason for your separation. You’re not in the mood for humour tonight, though, so you shoot her an unamused glare and she grimaces at her lack of tact, mouthing “Sorry,” at you.

“You okay? You wanna talk about it?” asks Wanda, sitting up and slinging her arm over your shoulder, “I would offer you pizza, but as you can see,” she gestures towards the empty box sitting on the coffee table, “It’s all gone,”.

You smile wryly and pat her thigh. “Nah, I’m good,”, you murmur, hoping to avoid getting dragged into a full-blown interrogation session with these two. After the events of today, you don’t think you have the inner strength to sit through one.

“You’re good as in…you’re good, or you’re good, you don’t want pizza?” Peggy asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms imperiously, because she’s known you long enough to know exactly what you say when you’re trying to skirt around an issue.

“The second one,” you sigh, conceding that she’s got you cornered. You know it’ll be easier to admit defeat.

“So you’re not good? What’s up, sweetie?” Wanda murmurs, immediately going all protective on you. “Upset about Loki?”

“Actually, no,” you reply. The conviction and clarity in your voice leaves them taken aback — in fact, you’re a little surprised yourself. But, as you turn over your answer in your head, you realise how true it really is. You’re not upset about Loki cheating on you. Well, not really. Sure, you’re pride’s been bruised, but it’s not torn to pieces, or anything. What you had with him was never going to be permanent, you knew that in your heart of hearts. If anything, you’re glad that it’s over.

Peggy seems to sense your weird mood. “You don’t seem too shaken up,” she says slowly, furrowing her brow as she appraises you.

“I—I am a little shaken up, but it’s not because of Loki,” you confess.

“What is it, then?” asks Wanda, a truly confused expression on her face.

“I—,” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “It’s a long story,”.

“Well, I’ve got no problem with you turning our wild Friday night into story time,” says Wanda, “You okay with that, Pegs?”

“I am rather curious to find out what’s up with Y/N,” she agrees.

You groan and bury your head in your hands. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” you tell them, voice coming out slightly muffled.

“Avoidance is not healthy, Y/N, you shouldn’t bottle up your emotions,” Peggy says, putting on the solemn voice she uses when you’re getting a talking-to.

You uncover your left eye and glare at her. “I should never have given you that line,” you mutter.

“You’re a therapist, Y/N! You know it’s—,”.

“Peggy!” you interrupt sharply, “Please, I—not tonight, alright? I’ve had a really long day and I just want to sleep,”.

“Okay honey,” Wanda soothes, gently rubbing her hand in wide, circular motions on your back, “Not tonight. But sometime?”

“But sometime,” you agree, nodding your head weakly.

“D’you wanna at least…tell us something? Put us out of our misery? I’m dying to know what’s got you so worked up,” Peggy pleads, half out of personal curiosity and half out of genuine concern for your wellbeing.

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and chew at it for a bit before replying. “I—I’ve been thinking about…them, and, specifically him a lot today. Well, mostly this evening. And—I don’t know. I’ve just been really reflective about things, tonight,”.

You sense Wanda and Peggy sharing a ‘look’, silently communicating above your head. You’re grateful that they don’t have to ask who ‘they’ are or who ‘he’ is. You’re not sure that you could keep it together if you had to say his name out loud.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it in the morning,” Wanda says softly.

“Whatever it is, you’ll get through this, Y/N. After what Barnes did to you, I think your heart can cope with anything,” Peggy assures you.

The three of you wince at the mention of his name.

“Yeah,” you murmur, moving to stand up, “Nothing can be as bad as losing him,”.

—————————————————

You remember stumbling into the empty apartment after going to see Pepper. Happy had dropped you and your things off with a stoic expression on his face, going through the motions with meticulous efficiency. You walked around in a daze as he brought your things in, flicking on light switches as you went, feeling like the darkness was trapping you in. You noted the changes that Wanda and Peggy had made since your last visit, like the new blue curtains and the fluffy pink sofa cushions. For the last two years, you’d been primarily living at the compound, as per your contract, only visiting the girls every now and then to catch up.

You’d been grateful to at last be on your own, after spending a whole afternoon forcing yourself to hold it together in front of people you once thought of as friends. Alone with your thoughts, you finally allowed the dam to burst and the emotions to overwhelm you, collapsing in a heap on the living room rug as you sobbed your heart out.

Wanda had come home first. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she found you sniffling on the floor, curled up into a tight little ball. Peggy had arrived not ten minutes later and together, she and Wanda coaxed you into your bed.

As Wanda fussed about with blankets and pillows, making a little fort for the three of you to huddle in, Peggy had brought in several bars of chocolate, a few bottles of water and three boxes of tissues — “One for each of us,” she’d said. Peggy sat on your right and Wanda squeezed in between your left side and the wall, nestled against you like a cat.

You had haltingly told the entire story to the girls, pausing every now and then then to descend into the bottommost pits of SorrowLandTM  whenever a fresh wave of grief came flooding through your system. They had listened patiently, not once making a smart-ass comment or interrupting you as you recalled the whirlwind of a day you’d just had.

Afterwards, a very incensed Peggy had declared that she would be going to visit Pepper herself and demand some sort of compensation for you, as this heartbreak was most certainly not part of your contract. Wanda had already begun plotting ways of getting back at Bucky — though howexactly she thought she might be able to outwit a supersoldier and highly trained assassin you had no idea. Miraculously, you managed to talk them both out of their crazed plans.

Losing Bucky was akin to losing a very close family member, and your mind and body grieved as such. In the days following your return, you spent most of your time in your room sobbing your eyes out. You were certain that you could fill an entire Olympic-sized swimming pool with the amount of liquid leaking out of your tear ducts. In a moment of hysteria, you remember wondering how your body hadn’t shrivelled up like a prune from all the fluids it had lost in such a short span of time.

It had been difficult for the two of them — you were normally the emotionally calm and reserved one of the group (being a renowned psychiatrist specialising in victims of war does that to you, you suppose), and neither person had ever seen you this upset. Peggy and Wanda had seen you through horrendous breakups before, but even those paled in comparison to your separation from Bucky. They didn’t know what to do with themselves, didn’t know how to break you out of your funk and in the end, just decided to let you burn it all out.

What differentiated this breakup from all the other ones you’d had was the fact that not only were you betrayed by your lover, you were let down by a whole team of people you used to depend on. When you lost Bucky, you lost them all. Two years of your life, billions of priceless memories and shared moments — all tainted because of one encounter. You weren’t behaving as if you’d just lost one family member; your mind was reacting in the way it would if you’d lost your entire family, which, in a way, you had.

Bucky called you several times a day. He left you about a million messages. The day after you left, you remember being half-inclined to smash your phone against the wall, as it was buzzing almost non-stop. Sometimes you’d check your phone and see that you’d received missed calls from Steve, Sam, Tony, even Pepper, at one point — though whether it was actually those people calling you, or whether Bucky was just borrowing their phones, you never did find out.

When Peggy had gone and gotten you a new phone number, you nearly sobbed with relief.

Would’ve traded all for you, there for you So tell me how to move on Would’ve traded all for you, cared for you

On the fourth day of your self-imposed bedrest and grieving period, you were, without a doubt, at the lowest point in your life. You felt dead on the inside, utterly hollow and devoid of emotion. You were sick of crying, fed up with feeling like you were barely alive. You were burned out, a shell of the person you used to be. You hadn’t eaten a solid meal in almost 24 hours, yet no hunger pains plagued you.

You’re lying in your bed in a state of half-sleep when the door creaks open. Your head is buried under the blankets, so you don’t immediately see who it is; you assume it’s Peggy or Wanda coming in to check on you before they head off to work. The bed dips as someone perches on the edge. A hand gently tugs the blanket off your head.

Disoriented by the slivers of light spilling in through your curtains, you have to blink your eyes several times before your pupils get accustomed to the brightness. You stare blearily at the person sitting on your bed and, in your drowsy state, it takes you a while to make out their facial features, let alone get your brain functioning enough to recognise who they are.

“Jane?” you ask. You immediately wince; you sound like a frog, your voice croaky from disuse. You honestly can’t believe that it’s her — your little sister has actually taken time away from her precious research and flown all the way from New Mexico to see you. If your eyes weren’t already sick of crying, you’d surely be shedding a few tears.

Jane smiles and smoothes a hand over your head. “Yeah, sis, it’s me,” she murmurs, “Scoot over, will you? Your fat ass is taking up the whole bed,”.

With some difficulty, you manage to extricate yourself from the multitude of blankets wrapped around your limbs. Together, you and Jane rearrange your nest of blankets, creating enough space for her to burrow in next to you. You press your back against the wall and Jane kicks off her shoes so that she can crawl in. The two of you lie on your sides, facing each other.

“Sorry,” you snuffle, wiping your snotty nose on the edge of your sleeve, “I look like shit,”.

She chuckles softly, then reaches out to tenderly tuck the strands of hair clinging to your damp cheeks over your ear. “Yeah, well, what’s new, eh?” she whispers, “You think you look like shit, I think you look beautiful. A little busted up, but beautiful nonetheless,”.

“I feel busted up,” you mumble.

Jane doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes and waits patiently for you to continue. She knows you’ll tell her when you’re ready. She tucks one arm under her head.

“Where did I go wrong, Janie?” you whisper, your voice coming out wrecked and broken, “I—I tried, so hard. I wanted to make it work so bad—I—,”.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, shuffling closer and slinging one arm around your ribs, so that you’re pressed chest to chest. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers fiercely, “Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control,”.

“B-but…why would he do it if I didn’t do something wrong?” you ask thickly. Against the odds, a new wave of tears threatens to spill from your eyes. You brush the back of your hand over them impatiently, utterly fed up of feeling so broken and exhausted.

Jane sighs. “I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe—maybe he changed. You said so yourself, right? Bucky at the start of your relationship was different to who he was at the end. Maybe—his preferences changed too,”.

Over the past couple of days, you’d come to a similar conclusion, but hearing it from someone else seemed to placate your raging emotions, somehow. “Did he have to…y’know, break my heart like that?” you ask weakly.

“I don’t have all the answers, Y/N,” she says apologetically, shaking her head.

You snort, bemused. “Don’t astrophysicists have all the answers?” you tease.

Jane giggles, pleased to have gotten you in better spirits. “We do have all the answers, hiding out there, somewhere — that doesn’t mean we’ve found them all, though,”.

A moment of companionable silence passes. You scoot down the bed and rest your head on her chest. Listening to the steady thud of her heartbeat and feeling the gentle rise and fall of her ribs lulls you into a more peaceful state. You’re a little bit sleepy, but the cogs and gears are grinding in the back of your mind, trying to piece together the words and phrases you need to say, the stuff you need to ventilate.

“It’s just—things are different, this time,” you say quietly, running your finger over the design on her shirt.

She stays silent, letting you amble along your train of thoughts at your own pace. You chew at your bottom lip, wondering how best to phrase this.

“I couldn’t keep working there…anyway,” you tell her, “I—a professor at uni once told me that you can either be someone’s therapist, or you can be their friend, but you can’t be both. And it was pretty clear that I was becoming a friend, or more than a friend to everyone there,”.

You swallow nervously. You’ve never really voiced these thoughts aloud before, not even to him. “I…I was willing to give this up, y’know?”. You make vague, circular hand gestures as you figure out how to elaborate, “This—this therapy gig, yeah? I was willing to stop. I would’ve found something else to do with my time, maybe, work in the compound another way, but—I wanted to stay,”.

Jane rubs her hand up and down your back. “You really were in love, weren’t you?” she says quietly, “Loved him enough to throw away everything you ever worked for,”. You knew she didn’t quite get it. Though the two of you were sisters, Jane’s bond to her research was quite unlike yours. You’re certain that if she could, she would marry her work. She barely had any experience with long-term relationships, and so you weren’t quite sure why you were trusting her, of all people, to give you advice — but Jane was Jane, and she had a tendency to be right about these things.

You sigh, choosing your words carefully, to make her understand. “I was willing to trade it all for him, Janie. Everything I’d built for myself, my reputation, my skills — all of it. Just so I could stay with him,”. You hesitate, “Not because I loved it any less, but I knew that it would be too difficult to have them both, and he gave me all the satisfaction I got from doing my work and more,”.

She snorts in a very unladylike manner. “I should hope so,” she scoffs.

It takes you a while to get the joke, but when you do, you smack her shoulder forcefully. “Not like that,” you hiss.

“Okay, okay, I know what you mean,” Jane laughs. When she’s calmed down, she presses her cheek to the top of your head, “Why wouldn’t you be able to have both?” she asks.

“Well, I couldn’t have been their therapist any longer, and the hours I’d need to put in in order to run a functioning clinic would have been enormous,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be spending as much time at the compound and, seeing as I would be giving up my work to have more time with him, that seemed pretty pointless,”.

“Maybe you could’ve found a way to make it work,” Jane says, and from her tone you can tell that she’s already trying to come up with solutions, working out possibilities. “Just because the path isn’t clear, or the road is an uphill struggle, doesn’t mean that it’s not feasible. If you love two things, you should be able to have them both,”.

“Just drop it, Jane,” you sigh, not wanting to dwell on what-ifs and burden yourself with maybes. Already, you’re feeling the sadness welling up inside you from the brief discussion you’ve just had. You shrug, trying to brush those thoughts away with some indifference, “Guess I’ll never get to find out, huh?”.

“Guess not,” she echoes quietly. Another silence, then, with her voice so soft you almost don’t catch it, she says, “You did nothing wrong, you know that right?”.

“Yeah,” you mumble, even though you don’t quite believe it yourself. If she notices the lack of conviction in your tone, Jane doesn’t comment.

Something is still weighing on your chest and you decide that now is as good a time as ever to let it out. “I was there for him,” you tell her, “I was there for him, just him, y’know? I wasn’t…trying to make him who he used to be, wasn’t trying to make him anything he didn’t want to be, I was—I just—,”.

You cut yourself off as you feel a wave of panic rushing up your throat. You take a deep, shuddery breath in an attempt to calm your nerves, “I think everyone on the team had their own personal agenda when it came to helping Bucky. They were helping him, but ultimately, they were helping themselves, in some way,”.

“Even Steve?” she asks quietly.

You nod, albeit a little reluctantly. “Yeah. I think he kinda hoped that I could get him back to the Bucky he used to be,”.

“And you’re upset about that?”. There’s a confused undertone to her voice.

“No! Well, actually, yes, but that’s not the main point. The main point is that I—I didn’t!”. You laugh breathlessly, feeling somewhat delirious from lack of sleep. The fatigue seems to finally be catching up on you. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive. All I wanted was to make things better for him, to help him accept the person he’d been made into. I was there for him as he had become; the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes,”.

“He’s an idiot,” Jane mutters darkly.

You laugh, despite yourself. “I think I might’ve been the only person to really understand that you needed to accept him as an all-inclusive package, y’know? I mean, Steve kinda got there, in the end, but—but for a long time, the only person Bucky could talk to, about anything and everything, without fear of judgement, was me,”.

Jane makes a little noise of understanding, like she’s mulling over what you’ve just said. “And so…” she prompts, encouraging you to round things off.

“I guess…maybe this is selfish of me, but I just want him to think about everything I did for him,”, you sigh, “If he replaced me that easily, I just don’t think he appreciates, or appreciated me as much as I thought he did,”. The confession makes you feel lighter, as if you’ve shed some of the weight that’s been bearing down on you for the past few days.

“So what’re you gonna do about it? You gonna talk to him?” Jane asks.

You groan resignedly, “I don’t know how to move on, Jane. I—yeah, I’ve had breakups before, but never like this. So—maybe sometime I’ll see him. But I can’t face him right now,”

“But you will?” she prods, “Closure might do you some good. It’s unhealthy to hold onto the past too much, y’know?”

You arch one eyebrow and tip your head back to look at her. “Anyone ever told you that you should be a therapist?”

“I did learn from the best,” she jokes, poking you in the ribs. You stick your tongue out at her. She scrunches her nose at you and flicks your forehead.

“Go to sleep,” Jane whispers, after she sees you trying to hide a yawn, “You look like you need it,”.

“‘M not tired,” you mutter, even as you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle another one.  

“Uh-huh, sure,” she says, rolling to face the other way so that her back is pressed against your chest. She takes your arm and drapes it around her waist, “If you’re not gonna sleep, I will. By my body clock, it’s still 5AM and I should be knocked out,”.

Your eyes are already beginning to slide shut as you press your cheek to the space between her shoulder blades, inhaling Jane’s comforting vanilla scent. “G’night Jane,” you murmur, “Thank you,”.

—————————————————

After assuring Wanda and Peggy that you’re completely fine after your breakup with Loki and promising (multiple times) that you would tell them everything else in the morning, you retire to your room to get some rest. The events of the day have finally caught up with you, and the cumulative emotional toll is making you feel utterly spent, both physically and mentally. You strip off your work clothes, dumping them into the laundry basket in the corner of your room, before crawling into bed in just your underwear.

You set an alarm for 6AM, mentally cursing yourself for agreeing to meet with a patient so early in the morning on a goddamn Saturday, of all days.

In your exhausted state, sleep comes blessedly easily. As your eyelids begin to droop, your last dregs of your consciousness sadly notes that your current situation is nothing new to you. Freshly broken heart, moping over your failed relationship and wallowing in self-pity as you analyse your frankly depressing dating history. It seems that you have a knack for picking boyfriends cut from the same material.

As always, the last thought you have before drifting off to sleep is of Bucky. Tonight, it’s the way his eyes had shone with unshed tears when you said “I love you” to him before he left on that mission.

Now, if you were to see him again, you’re not sure whether or not you would change it to ‘loved’.

—————————————— Tags are open, but I’m only accepting requests via asks or PMs. Tag requests from replies/comments will be ignored.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 26)

This is PART 26 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 26 is written by @ghostcat3000  

[Part 25]

Neptune is not a large town. A person could drive around and hit all the important corners in a little over an hour. They wouldn’t even need to speed. On one side, the ocean and the bended pines, the glassy, silvery wide half moon of a cove, surfers bobbing out to greet the waves, ducking their heads under the spume-curl. The other side—dry canyon brush, curved roads and boxy one-level ranch houses, stuck in some 1980’s decor time warp. To the south, all the poors and college kids living together in what passes for the hood in Neptune; chock full o’ check cashing places and liquor stores, always on the brink of conversion to cold coffee cafes and farm-to-table restaurants. Northside: formerly trailer parks and large undeveloped plots, now home to several boutique farms and wineries.

Most of them are closed now, all those grapes drying on the vine. Only one still in operation; the Van Vliet Winery. Running, not on grapes and weddings, but promise. The promise of power, the chance to get finally end up on top and win. Miles from Neptune’s center but seemingly a world away—no lights, no reception, only darkness and an occasional ribbon of warm wind—the epicenter of the revolution.

“Yo, Rubster. You have a great ass but HOLY SHIT, do you talk a lot.”

Ruby sighs and spins around, her long arms hanging loose at her sides. “Point is, we are out in the middle of fucking nowheresville. Our phones don’t work. We’re completely cut off from civilization. The pink zombie apocalypse could be happening, like, right now, and there’d be no way for us to know.”

“In the vineyard, no one can hear you thcream,” Sean lisps, then coughs, spitting down into the dry dirt beneath them. Somewhere between here and the tunnels, he appears to have lost another tooth. He brings up his hands to his face and rubs his nose with his palms; a frantic up and down scratch.

Dick flicks the back of Sean’s head with his free, non-gun-carrying hand. “No one asked for your input, douchecanoe. We're the ones with the firepower. Your job is to lead us to the girl and hope you get a plea deal.”

“What are we going to do when we find Katie? We can’t call for help and who knows when Logan will be back.” Ruby spins and stops, holding her cell phone at different angles. “Seriously what is the deal with the reception?” She casts a withering glance at Sean. “You realize this means you can’t call anybody either? You are not good at being bad guys.”

Sean shrugs. “The thell phone tower died. About three monthth ago. The community took the Van Vliets to court. Apparently, it wath never thupposed to be there tho it never got reactivated or whatever. We uthe the landlineth.” He tightens his lips together and looks away.

“Cell phone tower?” Ruby frowns.

Sean jerks his head forward, sighing with something like relief. “We’re headed right for it.”

Dick peers into the darkness. “That’s a tree, dude.”

“No. It’th not. It’th a thell phone tower dethigned to look like part of the foliage. It died. We don’t know why.” He rubs his nose again.

Ruby takes out a pair of binoculars from her Veronica bag. She peers through them, the wrong way around. “Is Katie near the cell tower?”

Sean doesn’t answer, keeps trudging along, rubbing his nose. Dick shoves him.

“Hey, numbnuts. Talk.”

“Yeth.”

Ruby lurches alongside Sean. She’s taller than he is, so the effect is predatory but also comical. “You had her here the whole time? Why?”

“Yeah, dude. Why run the risk of having her be found by the people you’re hiding her from? Where's the foresight?” Ruby and Sean stop walking near-simultaneously, turning slowly towards Dick.

“Hey,” Ruby says, stretching the vowels like a rubber band, approaching Dick. “You feeling okay?”

“Totes McGoats. But seriously, so much of this whole super soldier plan doesn’t make sense. You’re a sleazoid drug dealer-” “Video director,” Sean hisses.

“Sleazoid drug dealin’ video director. Who is more likely to be snorting the merchandise than selling it amirite?” Dick sniffs for effect.

“He’s got a point.”

“I’ve been clean for two months.” Sean pauses. “Okay, one.” He resumes the violent nose scratching.

Dick puts the gun down at his feet, digs around his front jean pocket, pulls out his weed and papers, and quickly rolls up with an exacting efficiency. He lights the joint and takes a deep drag, pausing to look at his fingers, smell them and shrug. “None of this adds up. You’re a joke, bro. You know who else is a joke? Your pharmacist. Mad Scientist Barbie creating super soldiers by day and clubbing with the rest of the ‘09ers at night? Her brother? Pass. Liam Fitzpatrick? As a recruiter? According to Logan, that guy is a psychopath who can barely run a mob, much less a globetrotting merc-creation operation.” He pauses to laugh. “That rhymed. Boss.”

He licks his teeth and takes another hit, “The whole using the near-abandoned winery as a base of operations is solid. I’ll give you that. This place is isolated as fuck and if anyone stumbles over here by accident, they’d be easy to contain. Throw ‘em in the tunnels. Wait. Are there..whatchamacallit...floor plans for the tunnels? There's gotta be a bigger section we missed.”

“Floor planth?” Sean’s eyes trained on the gun at Dick’s feet.

“Yeah, like a room where, if this wasn't a weird ass Bond-meets-Living-Dead movie type of winery, but like a romantic comedy with Ryan Reynolds as me and I’m at a wedding and I found the perfect underground room full of wine barrels to bang the bridesmaid played by the hot Swedish chick in Mr. Robot.” Dick pauses to do some pelvic thrusts and mimed ass slaps. He stops and points at Sean. “Blueprints. That's the word. How much you wanna bet we find a whole room of pink goo coffins up in that bitch? Whaaaat.”

Ruby motions to the joint burning between Dick’s pinkish fingers, “Can I have some of that? Keep talking.”

He passes the joint to Ruby. She takes a hit and nods. He returns her nod with a slower nod.

“This operation is half genius and half muy ‘est-too-pih-toe’. The parts don't match. Taking a little girl as a hostage. That does sound like a mob thing. Intimidation and whatnot. Is it long-term though?” Dick squints and grimaces. “Not really. But keeping her here, keeping her close? Knowing exactly where to hold her so that she’s not easily found? By the people providing you with the goods? I don’t know, bro. That’s next level.”

“It wath my idea,” Sean says smugly.

“Sounds fake but okay. The Irish mobster? Chhhyeah, again I'm gonna say no to that too. I can see House of Pain getting into guns to go with his drugs but soldiers? It's too… ambitious.”

“This isn’t working on me like it is on you,” Ruby says, still nodding but returning the joint back to Dick, whose narrowed eyes are nearly shut from the exertion of his thoughts. “Why Nice Guys?”

“Why Nice Guys? Dude, that's one of the parts I don’t get. They won’t be loyal, like all good soldiers need to be, all they want is revenge. But what would Fitzpatrick know about that? I think what really happened is Toothless and his pals decided to…what do you call it when you try to make stuff cooler?”

He snaps his fingers and Ruby jumps up.

“Ooh. Innovate?”

“Yeah. That. Like I said, not smart. Know your workforce.”

Sean sighs. “I read Flowerth for Algernon. It doethnt end well.”

“Whatevs, nerd. There’s got to be better options. Like cops. Neptune’s got plenty. Or actual soldiers maybe. Like Logan. You just gotta get ‘em all here at once. Dump the goop on them and BOOM, army, yo.”

“Dick.” Ruby says, her eyes going wide.

“Whoa. This is some good shit, right. I feel like, smart.”

“Can I be high too?”

“Shut it, Sean. Unless you can explain everything this-” Ruby bats her eyes at Dick. “...wise man is saying, you’re not allowed to speak.”

She takes the joint back from his outstretched hand and blows the smoke back in his face. “And what about this terrorism stuff happening in San Diego? Are they stealing cops?”

“Maybe it’s the mercs.”

“Maybe. Oh shit. Delayed reaction.” Dick turns to Sean in a slow heel-swivel. “He said community. The community sued the Van Vliets. What community? There’s no community for miles.”

Sean has been shuffling away from them, backwards, in the direction of the dead cell phone tower.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ruby barks.

“My new tooth thtub is quite sharp.” Sean holds his hands up, they are free of tape. “And you're not going to shoot that gun and draw unnecessary attention to yourself. See you later, moronth.”

He runs for less than a minute. No more, no less, twenty seconds of scurrying and poof. Like a climactic comic book panel, he drops out of sight. Dick doesn't even have enough time to pick up the gun.

“What the fuck.”

Sean’s scream is high, hysterical and also, muted, dampened. Ruby and Dick hesitantly approach the sound.

“The ground ate him.”

Dick gulps. “Are we in a horror movie now?” Absentmindedly, he pinches the ends of his joint, puts it in his front pocket, and picks up the gun.

The closer they get to Sean’s screams the more they see that the part of the road they thought was road was not. It’s a hole, leaves surrounding the edge of the drop. At the bottom, sits Sean, his leg twisted underneath him in a backwards L-shape. His screams are thinning out, turning to whimpers. Next to him is a man, eyes wide and surprised, a sharpened pole going through his neck like a kebab.

“That sucks,” Dick intones.

“Yeah,” Ruby breathes out, a hand at her throat.

“Get me the fuck out of heeeeere!”

Dick leans down to look into the pit. It’s not as deep as he’d previously thought, maybe ten feet. There are roots sticking out of the edges, like little grasping fingers, useless to someone falling in; nothing to stop the descent or hold on to. At the bottom of the pit there is a single line of stakes. Sean managed to miss it when he landed. The other man, not as lucky.

“It’s like those things that cops lay out in the road to blow out tires.” Ruby kneels down alongside him.

“Oh yeah, but like huge.”

“It's kind of cool.”

“What the fuck! There’s a dead body in here. I know this guy. GET ME OUT.”

Ruby takes out a pair of eyeglasses from her bag and puts them on. She peers down into the pit. “I don’t see a ladder. Do you, Dick?”

“Nope.”

“COME ON.”

“Sorry, Stubby. We can’t get down there.”

Sean’s whimpers become sobs. Ruby digs into her bag and pulls out a small pack of kleenex, she throws it in. “I guess since you didn’t know about the Death Pit, you’re less in the know than you thought.”

“What she said.”

Ruby shoots Dick a baleful look. “Sean. We can’t get you out right now. But you need to keep your part of the bargain. Tell us where Katie is so we can go get her. Once we do that, we’ll come back with help. Okay?”

A small, broken little yes rises up. Ruby straightens up and dusts her hands. “Where are we going?”

“Thraight ahead. To the thell phone tower. Thereth a thmall cabin behind it, hidden in the pineth.”

“Thank you, Sean. I promise, we will come back.”

Ruby takes Dick’s arm and they walk around the pit. Dick leans in and whispers in her ear. “We’re not though, right?”

“Ugh, you smell like pee.”

Dick does his best Blue Steel. “Are you negging me right now? ‘Cause it’s working, babe.”

Without discussing it, they start walking by the side of the road. Shoulder to shoulder, tight and quiet. Before long, Sean’s whimpers can barely be heard; ahead of them, where the taller trees give way to a small clearing, there’s the faint sound of music. Dick points the gun in front of them, completely focused.

“I wish I had a gun too,” Ruby murmurs.

“I wish I had a crossbow. And a red turtle shell.”

Ruby shushes him, but holds his free hand tight enough to hurt. They arrive.

Up close, the disguised cell phone tower looks less like a pine tree and more like an enormous mascara brush. At the top of the tower, jutting out from the fake greenery are the metal arms, useless and rusted. A tiny white cement house sits at the base of the cell tower, a squat square behind a locked fence.

Dick tests the strength of the fence. “Should we bust in?”

“No, we need to find the house where they’re keeping Katie.”

The music they’d heard from the path comes from behind the trees. As they get closer, the melody becomes recognizable.Tell it to my heart, tell me I’m the only one, is it really love or just a game? a woman moans, with the urgency of a UTI at Sunday brunch.

“That is not cool.” Ruby whispers and straightens the set of her shoulders, as if preparing to charge, walking towards the trees and the darker darkness beyond them.

The cabin is painted in shades of muted browns and grays, and seeing it, head on, it looks tiny. It isn’t until they’re right up to it, that they realize that as narrow as it is in the front, it goes deep. It’s mostly dark, except for the windows which glow dimly behind red curtains. There's a pick-up truck parked there, the tire tracks in the mud behind it showing a large curving last minute turn.

The song ends. A few moments later, it starts again. Dick and Ruby nod at each other and approach the front, silent and fast. Dick gets there first and when he puts his hand on the handle of the screen door, he turns to Ruby and holds up his hand. Stop. She doesn’t. When he steps inside, she goes right after.

The walls are wood paneled and the floors are hardwood as well. Bob Ross-style paintings hang on the wall and an incongruously cheery beige-and-brown plaid couch facing the door, a red velvet pillow stitched with the words Shattered Dreams. Across from the couch, a TV set to a Spotify playlist with only one song, Tell It To My Heart blares. Free from the outside vista, the volume is even more unnerving.

Dick goes over to the television and picks up a remote, looks at the buttons, then points it at the screen. Ruby rushes over, “Don’t-”

He clicks it off. “What?”

A telephone rings out shrilly. Dick shoots into the floor and both of them jerk into high-pitched screams, the sound dying in their throats at the next ring. And the one after that.

“Should we answer it?” Ruby asks, throat dry.

“Fuck no.”

A fourth ring.

“Or maybe yes. Man. I’m too high for this shit.”

“Me too. Give me the gun.”

He hands it to her. Five rings, six, seven. They follow the sound of ringing to a console table in the hallway. It’s got a lime green rotary phone on it; cheerful and strange and utterly terrifying. The ringing stops. Dick picks it up anyway. Even a few steps away, Ruby hears the dial tone. And three soft knocks.

“Whoa, did you hear that?” Dick knocks three times on the receiver. “Hello?”

“No, Dick. It’s coming from down there.” Ruby rushes down the hallway and Dick follows behind. There’s three little knocks again, coming from the last door on the left.

“Whoever you are,” Ruby’s voice pitches a little higher. “Name yourself. We're armed. And dangerous!”

“Yeah, we know kung fu, sucker!” Dick chops at the air with his hands and kicks out.

“Stop it, you buffoon.”

A soft voice, as soft of those knocks says, “Ruby?”

“Katie?! Sweetie? Are you okay?”

“The door is locked. I can’t get out.”

Ruby bends her head and peers at the padlock.

“Hold on, honey. Auntie Ruby will be right back.” She turns to Dick, hands him the gun, saying “Stay here. Put the thing on that keeps it from shooting. Keep her calm,” before rushing down the hall, bag jingling.

Dick slips the gun in his waistband and leans in to speak through the door. “Hey there. What’s up?”

“Hi. Who are you?”

“I’m Dick. Uh, Ruby’s friend.”

“I’m Katie.”

“You okay in there?”

“I’m a little hungry.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we can get a burger or something after this?”

“Okay.”

Ruby returns with a little straw and a hammer. She hands Dick the hammer.

“Step aside.”

She removes a can of air from her purse, shakes it furiously and sticks the straw in. Angling the straw into the lock, she sprays until she drops the can. Using the hem of her t-shirt, she picks it up and sprays some more until the lock goes from silvery to white. Ruby grabs the hammer from Dick and brings it up high and down hard, just once, on the frozen lock, which splits in two pieces and onto the floor.

“Look at you, Rubster McGruber!”

They high five.

“Veronica Mars isn’t the only one with skills,” she drawls, flipping her hair.

With a flourish, fingers spread like a spider, Ruby pushes the door open. Inside, in an old fashioned wheelchair that leans slightly to one side, sits a young girl with long, wavy blonde hair, big brown eyes and a tiny, pointed chin. Ruby bends down and hugs her fiercely.

“How long have you been in here?”

“I don't know. Usually they let me move around the house. But this morning, Andy wheeled me in and said I had to stay here all day. Then that song kept playing and it was horrible.”

“I know, that song gives me nightmares. There's always someone murdering it at Karaoke and not in a good way. Who’s Andy?”

“The man that brings me my food. There's a lady too, Julie. She helped me with bathroom stuff.”

“Gross.”

Ruby kicks Dick in the shin.

Down the hall the phone rings again. They stop and listen, barely breathing. It rings six times, and stops. Dick puckers his lips into a silent, extended no which transforms into a wide grin.

“Hey, I’m remembering that this place sucks and we need to get out of here, pronto.”

“Yeah, let’s. We should use that nightmare phone to call the cops.”

“You can't,” Katie says. “You need a code to dial out.”

“Of course there is. Honey, can this wheelchair get you to the front door?”

“No. They took away my real chair.”

“I see. I’m going to carry you out then. Dick, hold my purse. We’re gonna hotwire that car outside and save this little girl.”

“You got it, hot stuff. You sure you can handle it?”

“I'm stronger than I look. Let's go.”

They speed through the house, Dick leading the way, Ruby close behind with Katie in her arms, and go out the back, through a small kitchen that smells strongly of paint.

It’s cooler outside and when Dick opens the driver’s side door, a very pink Liam Fitzpatrick tumbles out right out onto the ground, eyes open and dried froth around his mouth, dead-as-a-doornail dead.

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit!” Ruby repeats after Dick, then looks at Katie. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, dad says that all the time.”

“Cool. Cool. Dick, open the passenger side door. Quickly. Katie, sweetie, don’t look at the corpse. At least I think it’s a corpse.”

“It is.” Dick kicks Liam’s body. “Ouch.”

Ruby places the girl into the car, Katie uses her arms to shift to middle of the front seat.

“Dick, check his pockets for car keys. And grab his wallet too. There might be something important in there. Clues and whatnot.”

“Do I have to?” He throws Ruby’s purse next to Katie.

“What?” Ruby says, clicking Katie’s seatbelt in place.

“I said, you have guns, lady. What do you do to stay in shape?”

“Boxing and modern dance.”

Liam Fitzpatrick looks different than his picture in the paper. His hair graying at the temple and while generally trim, the skin on his face sags at the jawline like a bulldog. A pink-hued bulldog, bloated and shockingly bright. One hand clutches the air, a claw, the other is pressed tight in a fist. Near the knuckle, there’s a tiny bit of metal. Dick swallows the nerves and unpeels Fitzpatrick’s swollen fingers back like a gross banana. In the center of his palm are the car keys.

Inside the house, the phone starts ringing again. Staring at Fitzpatrick’s lifeless eyes, Dick sees his own reflection and with every ring, feels less and less like himself. Like he’s disappearing into the sound of the ringtone.

“Did you find them?” Ruby stands next to him, hands at her waist. She blows her hair out of her face and widen her eyes meaningfully.

Dick dangles the keys up to the light.

Inside the house, the phone stops ringing, after five rings this time.

“Is this a countdown?” Ruby swallows. “Don't forget his wallet.”

A phone chimes, closer at hand. A cell phone.

“Dick. Your phone is ringing. Answer your phone. Dick?!”

“What?”

He throws Liam’s wallet at her.

“Your phone!”

He pats his pockets and pulls out his iPhone. The screen reads Unknown Number. Dick hits answer call and locks eyes with Ruby who holds her clasped hands to her mouth.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Uh, is this Dick?”

“Uhyeeees.” Dick nods at Ruby, who nods back, and pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

“Hi, um, I’m Detective Leo D’Amato. We haven’t met.”

“I know you. You’re the dude Veronica was working for. You can’t intimidate me, dude. I know my rights and also that you’re EVIL.”

“What? No. Listen, I’m in the hospital. My partner, Wei Breitski, shot me and left me for dead. I have reason to believe that he’s either running or helping to run some kind of drug operation out of Neptune. Is Veronica okay? Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah, she left with your dirty partner to go find the antidote for the pink goo for Wallace?”

“What? I’ve been trying to call her. I need to speak to her. This is very important. She has to-”

“Wait. How do I know you’re not playing us?”

“Yeah!” Ruby yells.

“Who’s that?”

“Ruby.”

The phone cuts off abruptly. A moment later it rings again. A facetime call.

Dick accepts and Det. D’Amato’s face fills the screen. Half of his face is swollen and he’s got bruises around his eyes, like a panda mask. He’s wearing a hospital gown and is lit in the sad, sallowing way of hospitals.

“You look like shit, bro.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

“How did you have my number?”

“Veronica gave me a list of contact numbers, you were on it.”

“Aaaaw, Ron Ron.”

“Barf.”

“What did you say?”

“Barf. Veronica told me to say that in case you called her Ronnie, Ron Rons or Ronniekin.”

“Bitch knows me. What can I say?”

“Charming.”

“Was that Ron’s too?”

“No, that was me. Look, you don’t have much time. The so-called street uprisings I was told to investigate turned out to be bogus. Falsely reported incidents meant to distract us from the real problem. The-”

Leo’s face freezes.

“Dude, I can’t hear you? See you?”

“-You have to tell Veronica-” Leo cuts out and back in again. “The soldiers will get a modified formula, a refinement to make them dumber, more compliant, less likely to question things.”

“WHOA, I have a solid plan for that. I got this super weed and I’m going to smoke them all up and make them smart again.” The screen freezes on Detective D’Amato’s look of open-mouthed confusion. It unfreezes. “Okay, you do that. I’m going to call in my boys in San Diego and also the couple of guys at the Neptune PD who aren’t-” D’Amato freezes again. “Get as far from that winery as possible. Don’t let-” Freeze. “Pink.” Freeze. “Touch-” Freeze. “Got that?”

“Like almost none of it, dude.”

“Great.”

Ruby snatches the phone from Dick. “Hey, you. I’m Ruby. Give me proof that you’re one of the good guys. How do we know you’re in a real hospital, even? You could be lying.”

D’Amato does a reverse shot and gives them a shot of his hospital room.

“Not good enough. Show me your ass.” “Excuse me?” The phone returns back to his face in time to catch a raised eyebrow.

“Your ass. Show it. If you’re really in a hospital, you’ll be commando under there.”

“Like me!” Dick offers.

“Fine.”

Leo jostles out of frame and there, frozen on the screen, a pale ass cheek.

The Face Time call drops.

“Fuuuuc-I mean-udge,” Ruby looks over her shoulder at Katie. “The battery on my phone crapped out. Can you call anybody?”

Dick goes through his phone list. Logan, Veronica, everybody—nobody picks up.

“Okay. Veronica’s cop friend’s partner is evil. We knew that. She might be dead. I have to save the world.”

“No. Logan is with Veronica. He’ll protect her with his life. Oh no.”

“Oh no.”

“He’ll protect her with his life!” They shout simultaneously and run to the pick-up truck.

They drive back towards the barn by following the tire tracks out to the main road in silence. When the main buildings of the winery become visible, they kill the lights and go off road, wobbling slowly in the dark towards the barn.

“What are we going to do?” Katie asks.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But Dick might drive you into town. I have to stay.”

“Fuck that! You need to go. I’ll stay.”

“Dick! Language.”

The door to the pick-up truck opens suddenly. Before any of them can scream, the wide-eyed blonde puts a fingers to their lips.

“Shhhh. I think I lost him but he’s insanely fast.”

“Daddy?”

Rooks takes off the wig and leans over Ruby to hug Katie tight. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Where were you? I was so worried.”

“I’m okay, Daddy. There’s bad stuff happening.”

Dick glances at Ruby over their heads. She rolls her eyes and shrugs, in a what-can-you-do? sort of way, then grabs the fabric of Rook’s shirt and shakes him to attention.

“Rooks.” Ruby whispers. “We’re going to give you the car keys. You have to get Katie out of here. Dick and I need to stay and kick ass. You got it? You and I will never be okay, you know why, but go, take care of your daughter. Don’t fuck this up. Also, you owe me a leather jacket.”

“Oh man, you don’t want it. That monster... grabbed it and uh, got intimate. I left him with it, used the moment to get away.” Rooks dries his eyes. “Wait. What? What’s going on?”

“You have to go, guy. NOW. And, uh, gimme that.” Dick grabs the wig from Rooks. “I might need it.”

“Katie, sweetie, you think you can tell your dad how to get back the way we came?”

“Yes.”

Ruby hugs her and Katie, softly says, “Thank you.”

“You got it, kid.”

They watch them drive off in the dark.

“You know what’s weird.” Dick says, stroking the blonde wig in his arms as if it was a Persian cat.

“What?”

“All these people, all these freaks, you, Logan, Rooks, Sean… They’re are all connected to Carrie in some way.”

“You think I’m a freak?” Ruby’s big eyes catch all the moonlight.

“Oh, I know you’re a freak.” Dick shimmies around her, grinding and whisper-singing UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ.

She doesn’t move at all, her arms folded tight across her chest.

“In high school, you used to say I smelled like wet bathing suit.”

Dick laughs. Ruby doesn’t. He stops.

“You said I would die alone in a dress made of banana peels.”

“What? Dude.”

Dick kicks at a patch on the ground.

“I was an asshole and didn’t know shit. Okay? I paid for it. Believe me. I’m sorry.”

They walk towards the barn. In the distance, there’s a howl. The Pizmonster can’t be too far behind.

“Okay. We have a gun and a hammer and we are super fucking smart.”

“Fuck yeah. So what do we do?”

Ruby swats at a buzzing insect near her ear. “We look for those landlines, plural, that Sean mentioned. I know they said that all the wires were cut but they're all, like total liars, so there has to be another one like back at the cabin. Maybe in another one of the buildings?”

“Right.” “And we keep an eye out for Logan. Protect him.”

Dick nods. “You’re a cool chick, Rubster. But I got to tell you, Logan will never quit V-Mars. She’s his… heart.”

Ruby breathes in. “I know. But I have my part to play. ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do’ and all that jaaaaaazz.”

“Yeah. Man, I’m hot. Are you hot?”

“No.”

Dick holds his hand up, the nerve endings on his fingertips are dancing with electricity.

“Hey, Dick. Look, isn’t that Veronica’s dad’s car?” They move towards the car in a low-to-the-ground undercover crouch and peer in the window—there’s nobody inside. There is no sign of anyone around, no footsteps or voices. Only wind.

“There’s a note.”

On the dashboard, in left-slanted all-caps letters—I HAVE YOUR FATHER, MS. MARS.  DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @cheshirecatstrut  Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, November 1st.

[bealg23-blog]

What’s In The Bag? (Part 1)

Summary: Sam finally finds out what’s in Amarus’ bag.

Characters: Amarus, Sam, Dean, Amber Ashley

Warnings:Language

Word Count: 1697

A/N: My first attempt at writing a story please let me know what you think.

Part 1

Ok, so how should I begin this? I have been around for a very long time and I have seen a great deal of many things come and go. I am, at heart, old fashioned. Some may even say eccentric.... er.. nevermind I'm getting side tracked. I tend to do that quite often, or at least that's what I'm told. I think most people just don't pay attention.

I've been told that I need to write a story about myself and how I've come to be in the current predicament that has been bestowed upon me. Personally, I think it's just the story of my life as it were, but then again, that's what I'm doing isn't it? Plugging away at these terribly small buttons or keys or, whatever. Why are they called keys anyway? They don't unlock anything. Or maybe they unlock everything. Never really thought of it that way. I fear that I'm losing your interest with my drabble but, I implore you to bear with me, for behind all the, some might say, silly, pointless, and often times randomness that is my entire existence there is an absolutely brilliant story full of mystery, suspense,  love, loss, yada, yada, yada.

"Amarus, this sucks!" Sam stated as he painfully tries to make it through the about me portion of Amarus's newly formed social media account.

“Sam aren’t you the one who suggested that I should do all of this in the first place?” Amarus stated with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Yeah but….” Sam started before being interrupted by Amarus’s pointer finger pressing on his lips.

“Great! Then there's no reason why I shouldn't post this then.” He replied with a smirk on his face.

“Heya Sammy, Amorous.” Dean greets the two, walking through the door of the motel they’re currently residing in with a little pep in his step and a beautiful young lady accompanying him.

“Dude, you said that you were going out for a bit to track down leads on the Muskgraves estate.” Sam responds, grasping at the chance to get away from Amarus.

“What? I tracked down a few leads. As a matter of fact that’s where I met….. Amber right?” Dean turns to the girl with both fingers pointing at her.

“It’s Ashley” she replied with a scowl on her face.

“We had lunch together and as it turns out, Amber…”

“Ashley” she interjected.

“Ashley happens to be a tour guide at the Muskgraves estate.” Dean answers with a smirk on his face.

“Dean it’s almost midnight…” Sam begins to state the obvious.

“Yeah.” Dean answers with a grin on his face as Ashley begins to blush and hides her face with her hands.

“You said that you and Amber… I mean Ashley, sorry, we're having lunch together.” Sam continues.

“Sam, my dear boy. Dean is trying to hide that fact that he tracked down leads for about a hour or so which lead him to the closest watering hole, met….. Ashley, and they spent the remaining, oh I would venture to say, ten hours or so conversing amongst each other about how she just got dismissed by her significant other and drowning her sorrows in pints all the while Deanna here has been filling her head with flights of fancy leading her to believe that he is truly in fact God’s gift to women. Ah, lest I forget….” Amarus begins to rifle through his bag. “I went to the apothecary...er, pharmacy, and got the medicine that you requested.” Amarus pulls out a pill bottle from his bag with Valtrex written on it.  ”The man behind the counter assured me that the nasty business should clear up in a few days oh, and Deanna? A personal suggestion…be more mindful in the future of where you're poking your popsicle my dear boy.” Amarus ends his rant with a childlike grin on his face. At which point Ashley begins to make her way to the door with a disgusted look on her face.

“Thanks, Douchebag!” Dean responds, quickly trying to catch up with the young tour guide.

“It was my pleasure Deanna.” Amarus replies as Sam hides his face with his hands.  

“You take great pleasure in making his life hell, don't you?” Sam states, looking out the window at Dean pleading Ashley to stay. “You know she's probably our only shot at getting in there.” Sam states with a sigh.

“I could get in there.” Amarus responds rifling through his bag.

“What are you looking for now?” Sam states watching comically.

“My laptop!” Amarus responds perplexed.

“Well did you check the library?” Sam jabs, knowing that Amarus take great pride in the boasting of his bag of wonders.

“This is not the time for jokes or puns about my awesomely astounding bag. How would you know anyway you've haven't even seen my library or even asked about it. You know, I could have a moldy tomb or something in there. To be frankly honest, I don't even know what's in there.” Amarus responds harshly.

“There's a kraken in there.”  Sam quips, at which point Amarus scoffs and disappears, his bag falling to the floor. Sam began to chuckle a bit knowing that he can so easily get under Amarus's skin when others cannot. Sam turns back to the window to continue watching Dean and Ashley and pauses for a moment looking at Amarus’s bag. A smirk grows on his face as he reaches for the tarnished buckle. “Finally” He whispers to himself reaching for the buckle.

“Holy fucking mother of what the fuck!” Sam screams trying to pull away from the bag but is being held in place by a giant tentacle. “What the hell? Dean?! Amarus?!” Sam yells for assistance as the slimy tentacle draws him towards the bag. The whole world begins to go dark the closer to the bag Sam gets drawn before there's just a void of nothingness. As Sam comes to he's puzzled by his surroundings. In front of him is a desk with one lone chair and some dusty scrolls and a few well worn books.

“Wha… where am I?” Sam asks himself, taking in the surroundings.

“Oh, my dear boy, why did you have to touch my bag?” Amarus states holding his head in his hands.

“Where am I?” Sam asked looking around puzzled.

“My library.” Amarus responds.

“How did I..” Sam started.

“You touched my bag without my permission.” Amarus cut him off clearly upset. “I only had one request when we met: Do not touch my bag unless you ask first.”

“Amarus seriously, where am I?” Sam asked gathering his wits.

“Sam you touched my bag. So my kraken did what it does best.”

“Transports people inside? That's kinda pointless Amarus.” Sam cut him off in a smart tone.

“No, the kraken was going to eat you. Thankfully, I decided that…. that wouldn't be the best of options for anyone.” Amarus responded with a smirk on his face.  

“Your library?” Sam asked again.

“Yeah, books, tables, display cases, what did you think it was?” Amarus asked comically thoroughly enjoying Sams bewilderment.

“All of this is in your bag?” Sam asks starting to grasp the reality of his situation.

“Of course, where else would you keep things?” Amarus asked with a now serious tone.

“You know what…… nevermind. How do I get out of here? We don't have time for this. We have the Muskgraves case and Dean's dealing with Amb…”

“Ashley” Amarus interjects.

“Whatever, we have more pressing issues.” Sam continues.  

“Pressing issues? The issue at hand here is that you're in my library.”  Amarus responds now with his eyes skittering around the room.

“Amarus we have to go like right now.” Sam states not knowing exactly where to look. “Come on just zap me out of here.” Sam begins getting quickly frustrated with his predicament.

“Oh, of course! Just zap you out like I'm some magical genie that can do that.” Amarus answers walking off clearly very frustrated.

“Amarus, oh come on really? I didn’t mean it like that.” Sam replies watching Amarus continue down the hall. “How do I get out of here?” Sam asks himself aloud.  

“Hey Sam,” Sam nearly jumps out of his skin after hearing the whisper from behind him only to find Amarus standing behind him pointing at a ladder. “Hey Sam” Amarus goads.

“Don’t you dare.” Sam warns.

“Need a ladder?” Amarus replies, laughing hysterically while starting back down the hall. Sam groans a bit at the terrible joke that he saw coming from a mile away and then oddly enough looks at the ladder, clearly seeing that he would need two or three of the 15 foot ladders to even reach the ceiling of the vast room. So he decides to look for a better solution.

Amarus’s library was a vast rotunda with several halls branching out with a massive tank in the center to house his kraken. While deciding which hall to start down first, Sam notices a bust on the desk with the lone chair.

“What is that?” Sam asks himself noticing a familiar pendant upon the bust. He quickly goes over to the bust and eyes the necklace upon the bust and quickly realising that  it was the Samulet.  “You’re not supposed to be here.” Sam says to himself while carefully removing it from the bust and placing it in his jacket pocket.  “Well I’m not going to get anywhere just standing around.” Sam says to himself looking upon the several different halls that made up the library.

“Hall of the Winchesters?” Sam asks himself, beginning to head toward the hall when Amarus pops back up in front of him this time.

“Of all the halls in my vast library how did I know you were going to choose this one?” He states excitedly. Sam stares at Amarus suspiciously.

“Amarus, I’m a Winchester. If anyone would be allowed to enter the hall of Winchesters, it would be a Winchester, wouldn’t it?” Sam asks.

“Now’s not the time to be rational, Samuel.” Amarus quips with a smirk on his face. “Wanna go inside?”  Amarus asks pulling the door open.

Tags:

@sofreddie

@winsister91

[jaymysteri0]

Television designer and winner of the Aspen Comics Talent Hunt Chris Callahan had a comic book debut with The Misplaced, about love, death, and the limitations of Paradise published last week. He writes,

Before we get to the step-by-step, full-proof, never-fail, extensively researched formula for how to break into comics, I’d like to tell you a quick story (names redacted to protect the innocent) about how it’s impossible to break into comics…

I have two friends relevant to this article. Person A has been grinding on the con circuit he sells a fair amount of books at each show he does, he’s run several successful Kickstarters, and he has a small but loyal fanbase that buys everything he self-publishes. Far as I know he’s never had a “paid gig” in comics. Person B has had a couple series put out by a major publisher, and he recently wrote something for one of the big two.

Of the two people in question, it’s Person B who feels like he’s still trying to break into comics. After all, his paid work is sporadic, and he’s not really making a living at comics yet.

In truth, “breaking in” first boils down to you and how you define “in”. After all, who’s to say a creator with his own self-published book slinging floppies at the local con isn’t “in” comics?

If you read no further in this article, read this: Do not make your definition of breaking in something out of your control. If you won’t feel like you’ve made it until you’ve been discovered by Marvel, you’re setting yourself up for a lot of frustration that won’t be productive. Marvel does the hiring, not you. Don’t give someone else control of your goals.

No two people I know, or have observed during my time as a con rat, became a comic pro in the same way. The twists and turns and possibilities are too varied. But all of them that went from “I wanna make a comic” to (in one case) working on a TV show based on their comic checked these boxes…

Step 1: Produce Content

Obviously, right? Nope. I went to a “breaking in” panel at a con a few years ago. The moderator started by asking, “How many of you have a comic or portfolio with you?” Only about half raised their hand. “To everyone not raising their hand, you should leave and spend the next 45 minutes making something,” the moderator said. Fun fact: I was one of the people that didn’t raise his hand.

The point was taken, though. No one will hire you to write a comic, draw a comic, or letter a comic until you’ve already demonstrated the ability to do so. Incidentally, no one can impulse-buy a comic from your table at a show if you don’t have any books on said table. Even in the world of crowdfunding, you have to at the very least produce SOMETHING that convinces people to back it.

If you’re a writer, write. If you’re an artist, draw. Don’t wait for permission. Trust me, never once has a Marvel talent scout walked up to a random person at a con and said the following: “I don’t know you, but you seem pretty cool, I bet you can spin a good yarn, wanna write Spider- Man?”

Step 2: Put that content where people can find it

For me, it was posting Misplaced artwork on Twitter that finally got me some attention. Ironically I was posting art before there was a story. They were just random pieces of art with a rough thematic link. But friends kept commenting with things like, “I can’t wait for this book!” So I immediately started writing the book.

Twitter was my ticket, but like I said above, no two people follow the same path to a creative career. The main point here is to “put it out there” via a means you control. There are various web comic outlets. Or if you have a full digital comic, comiXology could be the way to go. Even your own site. You’ve just got to make that content you created available.

Other means of putting it out there:

– If you have a self-published floppy, get a table at your local con. Shelf space at a shop or distribution through Diamond both have barriers to entry. All a table requires is a fee.

– If you’re going after work-for-hire, get your way into a bigger con, print up some copies of your sample work, and politely go table to table and ask the various publishers if you can leave something behind. Check the company’s site or Twitter; most will let you know their process. I have a near yearly tradition of leaving something behind at the BOOM booth at SDCC. Alas, still waiting for a call. I’ve never had any success with this angle, but I know some who have and it’s always worth a shot.

– Finally, enter talent hunt competitions. I won the Aspen Comics Talent Hunt a couple years ago. Top Cow runs one regularly. Any opportunity to put your work in front of people is one you should take. There’s a direct link from me deciding to enter the Aspen Comics contest to being a contributing artist in The Stranger Things Artbook this year. Put your stuff out there any way you can.

Step 3: Tell people about that content you produced.

This step could be its own book, but it’s also arguably the easiest. If you’ve made the comic (Step 1) and gotten yourself a table at your local con (Step 2), then someone at some point during that show will walk by and ask, “What’s this about?” Answer that question, and you’ve completed Step 3.

It gets trickier from there, though. For the most part, people don’t want to be sold to. Starting a conversation about things relating to your book is much more effective. Find your fans where they already live. Seek out means to discuss your inspirations and interests, in person at conventions, online in forums… Introduce your content in context, and it’s much more likely you’ll be introducing it to a future fan.

And of course, who could forget social media? Friends, it is dark and full of terrors. But on some level you’ve got to do it. Twitter and Instagram are still the best places to connect with other like-minded folks and interject yourself and your work into the conversation. Get on Twitter/Instagram, follow everyone relevant to your book, and engage with editors/comic journalists/other creators. Reply to their comments, and share the tweets you think are worthwhile. (Just play it cool. Nobody likes a cyber stalker that likes every post they make.) And just like above, don’t pitch, converse. The soft sell sells harder.

BONUS Step 4: Sticking Around

Be chill. Be easy to work with. It pays off.

In my other life, I’m a TV graphic artist. I basically come up with the logo and general “look” of a show. I’ve done work for all the major networks, most recently redesigning the logo and

associated graphics of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade broadcast for NBC. Trust me when I tell you, I am not the best logo designer in the world. Honestly, I’d say I’m average. But the producer loves working with me because I meet deadlines, I solve problems instead of creating them, and I don’t let my creative ego get in the way of the final product. Sometimes that tips the balance in the hiring process.

Aside: How did I get into TV design and land such a high profile gig, you ask? Once upon a time I created a bunch of fake logos and animation samples, I put those on my site, and I emailed a few production companies. Sound familiar? Create a reel (step 1), post it online (step 2), email to inquire about openings (step 3)—and fifteen years later I’m still “in” (step 4).

The Results and Final Thoughts

Don’t aim to write the next Walking Dead; franchises like that are lightning in a bottle. Don’t aim to write superheroes just to get Marvel’s attention if you’re not a fan of superhero comics. Write a cool book or create artwork that you love, and you’ll probably find a couple other people that love it too.

I don’t know how far you’ll get, and I don’t know how fast it will happen. An editor might hit up your DMs. A comic friend might get a paid gig and bring you on board. You might post ten pages on Webtoons and a development exec from Warner Brothers wants to option it. Who knows?

Just repeat the phrase: “Make it, share it.” If you put enough content out there, good things will happen.

If you want to be a creator, always be creating.

[ratchimerasvat]

RP Master Post

I really like roleplaying, and I was thinking about doing a RP blog for sometime now.

I have experience in RPing, I like to describe scenes and make paragraphs. The problem is that I do not have the habit of writing in english, so mistakes will be inevitable. And that's why I have not tried to play yet, but somehow Fethry is pushing me to try new things out of my comfort zone!

RULES

-Briefly, it is simple; be a nice person.

-I do not require any specific type or style of text, size, etc; just keep in mind that I’m not a native speaker.

-Crossover friendly!

-It is not necessary to have a tumblr for your muse; Just tell me who’s your char and I'll consider the messages in character. Wanna start a scene being a random guy in the street? Okay, describe him. Wanna play as a cartoon version of yourself? Describe yourself.

-I'm okay with playing on tumblr, by chat, by discord, or by morse code; Just let me know we'll find a way. Also it is not necessary to be a public RP, I am okay with private games.

-Do not kill my character. Other than that, fine. Yep I’m serious. If necessary I will put the appropriate trigger warnings before the scene.

-If I take too long to reply - I forgot - please ask me for an answer.  No, it does not bother me.

- Like in a comic, each interaction will be its own scene; it will not be part of a continuous timeline and some incongruences may occur.

ABOUT MUSE - Fethry Duck

My version of Fethry is mostly based on the comics I post here on the blog (Mostly Italian/Brazilian stuff). My intention is to make believable interactions, trying to stick to the canon as much as I can (but of course each author sets different canons).

Scene Type 1: This tumblr is written by a person who ‘s helping Fethry in a marketing maneuver so he can be hired to work in the Ducktales reboot and realize his dream of being a television star. Fethry has managed to knock down the tumblr a few times and that is why he does not post anymore without supervision, but he "helps" and reads the posts. So makes a lot of sense to start a RP about someone using tumblt to interact with him, like if you're a fan of a famous actor sending messages to him, or something like it.

Scene type 2: Interact with the character in a traditional way. Fethry currently lives in Duckburg, but lived for many years in Italy and Brazil. He can be seem at Donald's house practically every day. (If necessary, I'll play Donald when it makes sense - but I prefer to interact with someone else's Donald).

He is a reporter and blogger and his main source of income comes from several freelancer works for Uncle Scrooge. Fethry is emotional dependent of Donald and tends to be very attached to new friends and people whom he finds interesting, which – of course – leads to problems.

He is an artist and can draw, paint, write and make comics, but his methods are often chaotic and destructive. He is seen as infantile and immature by many people, but he pretends not to notice it - he is an excellent actor when motivated, and knows how to hide his feelings and to fast talk people into doing what he wants – he can be very manipulative. He also loves to read, to learn and know the basics of almost any topic.

Usually he is extremely hyperactive, friendly, talkative, full of energy and happy, but there are times things get darker. His father and brother don’t like him and he hardly ever sees his mother, whose he miss; Fethry has some diagnoses and is a psychiatric patient who needs a doctor surveillance and to take some pills - and sometimes he forgets to do it. He has panic crises, and sometimes he gets rather dysfunctional, paralyzed with an absurd dread that he will be left alone and forgotten by his family. When he finds a new exciting hobbie he can enter in manic behaviour, forgetting to eat, sleep or do pretty much anything else until exhaustion finally wins.

[alexdrawsagain]

was supposed to upload this ages ago......

92 Truths                                

Tagged by  @willhernandezdraws​

I am not as open about my life as some would like. However, I feel sorta comfortable with these since you have no idea if i’m telling the truth or not.

I love that ambiguity.....                                                            

Rules: Write 92 truths about yourself then tag other people

LAST…

[1] Drink: Great Value Apple Juice

[2] Phone call: People call me.

[3] Text message: The phone company texted me that i paid my phone bill

[4] Song you listened to: Long hot summer night: Jimi Hendrix

[5] Time you cried: N/A

HAVE YOU EVER…

[6] Dated someone twice: No

[7] Been cheated on: No

[8] Kissed someone and regretted it: No.

[9] Lost someone special: Yes.

[10] Been depressed: Yes. However, I can’t spend my time feeling sorry for myself and often have to push through it to get $#!t done. It feels like running a marathon but you’re exhausted at the beginning. Or piloting a jalopy of a spaceship that sputters and throws sparks throughout the journey.

Sometimes it gets better. And there are many days where i’m fine and then it hits me like a sack of bricks.

[11] Gotten drunk and thrown up: Never gotten drunk.

LIST THREE FAVOURITE COLORS…

[12]  Green

[13] Neon Blue

[14] Dark Red

IN THE LAST YEAR…

[15] made new friends: @willhernandezdraws @therandomninjakitty @the-solar-surfer.

[16] fallen out of love: No.

[17] laughed until you cried: More like until I started coughing.

[18] found out someone was talking about you: Fight me in the streets you wuss.

[19] met someone who changed you: Yes.

[20] found out who your true friends are: All the time

[21] kissed someone on your Facebook list: No

GENERAL…

[22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them except for Will and Dre. I now use a backup facebook account to talk to them.

[23] do you have any pets: No.

[24] do you want to change your name: No. But I do like it when people use my full name for a change.

[25] what did you do for your last birthday: Ate some cake and went back to work on chores.

[26] what time did you wake up: 9:00 a.m.

[27] what were you doing at midnight last night: Passing out while reflecting upon the changes my life is going through.

[28] name something you cannot wait for: This list could be a mile long. But the biggest thing on the list is getting started on the drawing for the third issue. Laying out all the groundwork is taking longer than I thought.

[29] when was the last time you saw your mother: Today.

[30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: That I could have my own place that I own.

[31] what are you listening to right now: The Dance of Hours from Fantasia

[32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: I don’t think so.

[33] something that is getting on your nerves: Another mile long list. Loud drunk people who party until 2a.m. blaring their music next door is a good start.

[34] most visited website: Tumblr. Or Amazon to do a lot of virtual window shopping

[35] elementary: Got in trouble a lot for daydreaming and being called an underachiever.

[36] high school: Got way better and way worse at the same time.

[37] college:  I have no idea how to describe this. A rollercoaster? A non stop exhaustion iron man race? A bunch of new experiences. Severe disappointment. Leveling up art skills. Discovering new art? Sadness. Just a lot of stuff.

[38] hair color: Black.

[39] long or short hair: Long enough to put my fingers through.

[40] do you have a crush on someone: No.

[41] what do you like about yourself: My hair now that i finally grew it out to a length i always wanted.

[42] piercings: None

[43] blood type: Red

[44] nickname: Everybody calls me Alex

[45] relationship status: single.

[46] zodiac sign: keep your witchcraft.

[47] pronouns: He/him

[48] fav tv show: Pushing Daisies

[49] tattoos: Hell no.

[50] right or left hand: Right.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIRST…

[51] surgery: Some stitches.

[52] piercing: None.

[53] best friend: I have no idea.

[54] sport: frisbee.

[55] vacation: Mexico

[56] pair of trainers: Something that had lights in them.

RIGHT NOW…

[57] eating: finished eating breakfast.

[58] drinking:  apple juice

[59] I’m about to: go outside

[60] listening to: the dance of hours again

[61] waiting for: My motivation to kick in.

=--------------------------------

[62] want:

[63] get married: First I have to find the lady, dude.

[64] career: Comic book artist and writer.

WHICH IS BETTER…

[65] hugs or kisses: I’ll take both but i’ll be honest, i don’t really hug anyone outside of requisite times of the year and family gatherings.

[66] lips or eyes: Eyes.

[67] shorter or taller: I’d love a lady to be shorter than me since most of the ladies around me seem to wanna date sequoia trees. But Jack Kirby’s stories of a shorter superhero being in a loving relationship with an amazon of a woman have warmed me up to the idea of a taller woman considerably. Also Greg and Rose.

[68] older or younger: Either but within reason.

[69] romantic or spontaneous: Both.

[70] nice arms or nice stomach: Both.

[71] sensitive or loud: I honestly do not know the answer to this one.

[72] hook up or relationship: I’m a relationship man. People are not paper plates you use once and toss out the next morning.

[73] troublemaker or hesitant: I’d like someone who is restrained in polite company but when it’s the two of us we’ll be two hell raisers blasting AC/DC and freaking out the norms at 2a.m.

HAVE YOU EVER…

[74] kissed a stranger:  No

[75] drank hard liquor: No

[76] lost glasses/contact lenses:  Yes. I thought someone stole my glasses but they were actually wedged inside my locker.

[77] turned someone down: No.

[78] sex on first date?: No thanks.

[79] broken someone’s heart?: No....? I mean if it was someone who liked me but never said anything and I never knew about it I guess that’s a possibility.

[80] had your own heart broken?: Let’s not get into that right now......

[81] been arrested?: I’ve been in the back of a squad car once. But that was for my own protection rather than because I was being arrested.

[82] cried when someone died?: Yes.

[83] fallen for a friend?: I don’t want to answer this......

DO YOU BELIEVE IN…

[84] yourself?: My personal creed is that nobody is going to do my work for me. Whether that be chasing dreams or doing things that are difficult for me. Meaning I have nobody but myself to blame for my success or failures.

[85] miracles?: I believe in luck and coincidence.

[86] love at first sight?: No.

[87] Santa Claus?: No. Even as a kid no matter how much I wanted to believe in it. I knew for a fact my parents got me my stuff. They didn’t lie to me. They just asked what I wanted and often bought it in front of me so the belief system wasn’t there at the beginning. I do like the idea of Santa as a mythological figure though..

[88] kiss on the first date?: I would totally be down for that but the problem is getting the first date. And i think that both parties need to be on the same page for that. 

[89] angels?: Like Q.84, there is no higher power watching out for me. The only one who’s going to get me out of a jam is me.

OTHER…

[90] current best friend’s name: I actually do not know off the top of my head. There are people in the running but I barely see them. Ask me this like 7+ years ago and this would have been easy.

[91] eye color: Dark Brown

[92] favorite movie: Raiders of the Lost Ark.