#while writing this I forgot the word ‘rectangle’

[of-pale]

Vergil finds a new hobby

Hobbies were a luxury, an indulgence Vergil could scarcely afford throughout his stormy existence. He was accustomed to a life of constant movement and perpetual fight for survival, each step a calculation to outmanoeuvre the demons relentlessly pursuing him. Now, however, his circumstances had drastically changed and he had to figure out how to stop and truly live. It was a strange concept, but with his brother's office as a place of sanctuary he could always return to and an abundance of free time to spare, he had to embrace just living.

Not quite sure what to make of it, he fell back on his old habit of reading. Yet, according to the members of Devil May Cry, his ‘obsession’ with books hardly qualified as a hobby; more seen as a chore or a sinister ploy to seek out power. Though some tried to encourage him to explore new hobbies, their suggestions often fell flat and failed to pique his interest.

Of all people, it was Nico who managed to recommend a compelling diversion—a DVD of a vintage painting show titled 'The Joy of Painting'. Its familiar appearance drew him in, like staring at nostalgic pieces of a bygone era he could scarcely recall from a lifetime ago. She told him to give it a shot since ‘it was all the rage back in its hay day for a reason’. Glimpsing through fragments of the show, it appeared to be a worthy time investment where his attention to detail would surely pay off.

On a day when Dante was out terrorising some unfortunate ice cream parlour for its special deal on strawberry sundaes, Vergil seized the opportunity to relax uninterrupted. After setting up the canvas and the paints, he followed Nico's instructions to play the show on the DVD player—apparently a technological upgrade to the VHS players he vaguely remembers. It felt somewhat humiliating to follow instructions that seemed to be written for a child to comprehend:

press the tiny button next to the rectangle;

place the circular thing inside the pocket that slides out;

wait till the devices figures out its head from its ass;

on the remote, use the buttons with triangles pointing up and down to select an episode on screen;

oh yeah, that sideways triangle in the middle there is the select button;

It wasn't far off from describing an infant's toy where different shapes are passed through their respective holes. ‘That's right, the square goes into the square shaped hole. Yeah! You got it!’

Perhaps, there was still hope for him as he successfully followed the instructional cookie trail, simple enough for a four-year-old to navigate, and managed to play the show on the old TV. Settling comfortably in his seat, he paid close attention to the screen. The hosts' serene attitude and passion was contagious, and the painting process itself proved to be rather soothing. Although Vergil wasn't exactly a skilled artisan, the show catered well to artists of all levels. It was something he could improve upon and, as odd as it was, he now had all the time to spare for it.

“I'm gonna wash the brush and we’ll just blend that out. As you know, we wash our brushes with odourless paint thinner and we have a lot of fun.” The host dipped the brush into a bucket on the side. “Just shake off the excess,” he lightly shook the brush, following up with a practised motion of rhythmically smacking it against the leg of the easel stand. Almost chuckling, the host said one of his signature phrases, “And beat the devil out of it.”

Vergil looked down at his brush... menacingly.

[brighttears]

Filth

Joel Miller x f!reader

One use of y/n, no physical description other than having hair

Summary: You and Joel are on the road, heading to nowhere in particular, but going there together, though you're nothing more than partners on the road. It takes a risky yet intriguing move by you in the face of danger to urge Joel to explore your relationship a little further, and it leads to you touching for the first time, then much more than that, and feeling things neither of you have ever felt before. Aka: you have wild sex in the dirt

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: violence, starts with suicide of a stranger but basically porn with plot (minors dni!), unprotected PiV, Rough sex, hair pulling, lots of biting, multiple orgasms, creampie, brief sub!Joel but almost all just dom!Joel, possessive!Joel, Joel is just extremely horny (I think that’s it on that front? but pls lmk if I forgot to anything!), pet names (darling, baby)

A/n: like 7k of this is just smut ok. Idk what came over me. Anyways Im so fucking terrible with multi parters but now I have three chapters written, I’m writing like Joel Kerouac and his fucking scroll I stg I just have like 20 pages to rewrite to be presentable and split into parts. So welcome to part one of filth. Btw sorry if the formatting is weird my wifi’s down so I can only use my phone

series masterlist

—

“Come on, keep up.” Joel says, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You trot to his side as you approach the building—a large and wide, run down brick warehouse by the side of the road. It’s the first thing you’ve come to in a long while, walking down the empty road, surrounded by trees. Joel slows his steps as you come closer, and you follow his lead. There’s a large metal door on the side and the only windows are around the front, a thin rectangle of glass block windows high up on the wall. Joel glances back at you as he pulls out his gun, and you pull yours out to raise it in two both as you reach the door. 

It’s surprisingly silent as Joel pulls it open, but as you pause just outside, you hear a faint shifting. 

“There’s somethin’ in there.” Joel says quietly. He looks back at you, “Stay close.” You nod, and he starts with slow steps inside. The room is big and deep, and you can barely see, but you catch the glint of a doorknob on the other side of the room, and you walk towards it with quiet, careful steps. 

Joel stops to turn to you, “Ok. You stay right behind me—” Suddenly, you see movement behind him, and the beginning of a screaming growl before you raise your gun and shoot. An Infected falls dramatically at your feet, its face splattering on the concrete ground. Joel looks at it, then at you, his eyes wide and brow pinched sternly, and he whispers angrily, “What the fuck was that?”

“You didn’t see it, it was behind you,” you start but Joel cuts you off. “You don’t just go shootin’ at anythin’ that moves.. We don’t know what else is in here. Could be full of Infected. Could be full of Clickers.” There’s a silent pause before you reply, “Doesn't sound like there are.” Joel sighs, glaring. 

“Don’t shoot unless I tell you to. Got it?” 

You nod shyly, somewhat embarrassed now. 

“Jesus.” Joel says under his breath, shaking his head as he looks head at the door. When he looks back at you, he states firmly, “Stay behind me.” 

You nod again, and start back towards the door. You enter an office room, those same glass block windows shedding much more light into the smaller room. There’s a desk and a chair at your side, a fake plant set by the windows next to a line of filing cabinets. The room is pretty much untouched. Nothing of value, even before the apocalypse. Behind the desk, next to a pasteful, plain painting caked in dust, is another door, slightly ajar. There’s shuffling inside, then stillness, and you can hear very faint, fast breathing. 

“There’s a person in there.” You whisper to Joel. 

“How do you know it’s a person?” He looks back at you skeptically. 

“I hear breathing. It’s fast, but they’re trying to be quiet. Infected don’t do that.”

Joel pauses his eyes on you, considering, then looks back to the door. You approach slowly, and Joel nudges the door open with his foot, announcing, “You’ve been found out. Come out into the light where we can see you, hands up.”

There’s more breathing, faster now, but no movement. 

“I said, come out, into the light, hands raised.”

Finally, they step out into the line of light—it’s a woman, absolutely terrified, with a bite mark on her shoulder. It’s fresh, and infected. Thick, tangled dark hair farms a pale face, piercing blue eyes bugging out of her head as she stares at you. She grips a gun in her hand, but it’s pointed at the floor. Her breathing is rapid. 

“Drop the gun.” Joel demands. After a pause, “Drop the gun.” 

The woman squeezes her eyes shut, flinching, then drops it, her hand shaking, and it thuds on the carpet. 

“Kick it to me.” She pauses again, and Joel repeats himself harshly, “Kick it to me.” She does it without opening her eyes. Gun tsill trained on her, Joel leans down to pick it up and then shoves it into his belt. “Now give me one good reason not to shoot you.” He says as he straightens. The woman’s eyes fly open, and she looks petrified. Her lips try to move, quivering, but she’s unable to speak. 

Joel cocks his gun, but you put your hand on his shoulder, “Wait.” He glares at you with wide eyes, but you step towards the woman, lowering your gun to your side. He clamps his hand around your arm, but you shrug it off, not even looking at him as you walk up to her. When you get to her, you see that her entire body is quaking. 

“Hey.” You say in a soft tone, “What’s your name?” She stays silent, wide eyes staring. You continue, attempting to be friendly. “My name’s Y/n. It’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you.” You keep your voice as soft as you can and shake your head lightly, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” You shift closer to her side, trying to keep her eyes on you instead of the barrel of Joel’s gun. 

Eventually, she swallows, and speaks, “Maggie.”

“Hi, Maggie.” You reply with a light smile, continuing slowly, “We saw that Infected in the other room. Looks like he got you, huh?”

She swallows again, then nods. “Yeah, I–I was alone,” her voice tremors, “and I didn’t see him, n’…” she trails off, swallowing hard again and blinking at you. 

“Yeah, we almost didn’t see him either. I’m sorry.” She stares back, a deer in the headlights. You take a breath before continuing, “I think… you know what has to happen now.” Maggie closes her eyes and pauses, then nods vigorously. “Look,” you start again, “I wanna give you an option. We can do it for you. You can close your eyes, it’ll be quick.” You raise your hand, holding your gun out in your open palm, and she looks down at it. “Or you can do it yourself.” You say quietly. “It’s up to you.” 

This wasn’t planned. You just couldn’t bear to see her go in the state she was in, is still in.

Maggie looks up at you, down at the gun, then back at you. “I… I wanna do it myself.”

“Ok.” You whisper.

Slowly, she takes the gun out of your hand, then raises it shakily to her temple, wide eyes glued on yours. She’s still shaking. She pauses. 

“It’s ok.” You assure her, slowly nodding, then slip your hand into hers. Maggie nods vigorously again, trembling, and you squeeze her hand. She squeezes it back, then the trigger, bang, and slumps against the wall and then to the ground, her hand slipping out of yours, the gun thudding with her. 

You look down at her, swallow, and pick up your gun. 

“Can we go now?” You say to Joel. He looks shocked, though trying to hide it, then nods. 

“Let’s go.”

He walks quickly back outside, and you struggle to keep up. He’s obviously pissed, but there’s a strange look mixed within it. He continues quickly past the building, then suddenly stops, turning to you. 

“What the fuck was that.”

“I don’t know, I just, she just, she looked so scared, and you—you asked her for a reason not to shoot her, but she couldn’t speak, so I just wanted to give her a chance—”

“That was stupid.” Joel glares. “Walkin’ up to someone who’s infected, someone with a gun—”

“She dropped the gun, and the bite was fresh.”

“You don’t know what she was gonna do.”

You cut him off, defensive, “She was scared stiff. She couldn’t have done anything if she wanted to.”

“Why the fuck did you give her your gun? She could’ve shot us both.” He shoots back fiercely. 

“She wasn’t going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was looking in her eyes. She knew she had to die. There was no reason for her to shoot us.”

“You don’t fuckin’ know that! Even if she didn’t, havin’ no reason hasn’t stopped people before.”

“You had a fucking gun pointed at her. If she had even flinched, you would have shot her.”

Joel looks at you, then down, shaking his head. “That was fuckin’ stupid.” He takes a breath, then looks back down the road, and starts walking back along it. Following beside him, you glance at his face. On it you see a mix of anger, confusion, but maybe a hint of recognition, of understanding as he mulls it over. Then, that strange look from earlier, something else you can’t place. 

After a while, he stops suddenly, turning to you, “Why’d you give her an option?”

You pause, then shrug, voice shy, “Well, she had to die, and she knew that… but… I don’t know…”

“‘You don’t know?’ That’s the answer you’re going with?” He responds, irritated. 

You take a breath. “Because there’s not much choice left to be had anymore, with anything. She’d gotten this far, which mean she’s had to do the same kind of shit we have, and she was just so fucking scared, and I just wanted her to have some kind of say in how she went. I wanted her to be able to go with some kind of dignity.”

“Was it that, or did you just not wanna get your hands dirty?”

“I’ve shot people. I can do that.”

“That’s not what I was askin’. I’m askin’, were you doin’ it for her, or were you doing it for you?”

“For her.”

“So, you could have shot her, but you chose not to.”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then says, “If I told you to shoot her, would you have?”

“Yes.”

Joel pauses again. “If I told you to, you would have done it, no hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’?”

“Yes.” 

“No hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’.” He repeats. 

“Yes.”

“Just cause I said so.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, the both of you just looking at each other, before he asks, “If I told you to shoot me, would you?”

“…Why would I shoot you?”

“Just answer the question.”

After a moment, you reply, “Yes.”

There’s a longer moment of silence before Joel says, “Get on your knees.”

“…What?” You ask quietly. 

“Do as I say. Kneel.”

You pause, then do. “Are you going to shoot me?” You ask, voice still small. 

“Close your eyes.”

“Are you going to shoot me?”

“Close your eyes.”

After another moment, you do. You’re blind now. It’s quiet. The wind gently brushes over your face. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. You repeat the mantra in your head as the seconds tick by. 

“Open your eyes.” Joel’s voice is much closer now, and when you open your eyes, he’s squatting in front of you, face less than a foot from yours. 

Your breath hitches. 

Silence. 

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, searching, you don’t know what for, but searching. You feel naked. Exposed. Still blind, though your eyes are open. You’re lost, no idea what to do, or what Joel will do next. I trust him. 

“…What is it?” You ask eventually, voice coming out quieter than you intended. 

He stares into your eyes for a long while, and then his lips move, but he stops. Eventually, he says, voice quiet but strained, “I want something from you.”

“What?” You nearly whisper. 

He pauses for another long while, then, quiet, desperation in his answer, “Everything.”

“It’s yours.” You whisper back almost immediately. Your mind swirls, velvet ropes twisting around each other, your gaze frozen on Joel, so close to you. “You can take it. Anything. I’m yours.” You answer like you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask, and only now do you realize that you have been. 

Joel lips part and he lets out a soft breath, and then he moves his face closer, lips merely inches away, and while your eyes are trained on his, you feel his knuckle brush gently over your cheek. 

Then, he kisses you. You breathe in as soon as his lips meet yours, your mind bursting and melting as they slip between yours, tasting him, sweet and heady. Quickly, he deepens the kiss, passion pressing into your mouth, and then pulls you forward, tugging his arms like a hook around you to pull you into his lap. You straddle him, his strong hands immediately going to grip your sides, and you comb your hands through his hair. Joel lets out a soft moan, the sound shooting a jolt of electricity through your body, and you press yourself closer. When he slides his tongue between your teeth, you open yourself for him, hands sliding around his face, through his hair, just, all over, messy, eager, starving to finally touch him. He lets out another soft moan, your lips parting with it before he brings your them back in, kissing you slow but passionate. 

As you push and pull your hands around his head, Joel’s neck relaxes, letting himself lean and fall with your touch, his hands traveling over your sides, your back, your hips. You feel him relaxing under you, letting out more breathy moans; he’s being submissive, you can feel it, his defense falling. Big bad Joel is putty in your hands. 

You keep moving over him like this, then start planting kisses over his cheek and jaw before you move your lips to his neck. Wet and sloppy, your tongue travels over his neck, relishing in his flavor–pungent, earthy, salty with caked sweat, but it doesn’t make it any less palatable. It’s him. With your chin pressing over his collarbone and chest as you advance around his neck, his beard scratches your temple, breath warm in your ear. You lower your hands to ball his jacket in your fists over his shoulders, keeping him there. 

Joel’s hands tighten around your sides and he breathes out, “Shit.” More whispers of moans come out of him, his hands back to sliding all over your torso, and he breathes out, “God,” before his grip hardens, rubbing cupped hands up and down your sides, and then he moves his chin down to nudge your face away, grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling you back in to kiss you, rougher, hungrier, immediately pushing his tongue past your teeth. One of his hands reaches up to clutch your chin, squeezing your cheeks to hold you in place. He slides the grip around to the back of your neck and bends it to get at your neck. 

He kisses, then starts to bite, as if he’s claiming you, and you melt at the idea, your mouth falling open. To be his. He bites harder, sure to leave a dark make. There’s no one to see it, but if there were, they would all know. You’re his. Joel uses his nose to slide your shirt away so that his mouth can reach your shoulder, biting again before he brings his tongue to lick a flat line along your collarbone. You moan, your entire body buzzing. He kisses hungrily, his tongue on that sensitive spot along your neck, just above your collarbone and next to your throat. He nips it, then moves back to the side of your neck, almost opening and closing the entirety of his mouth around your skin, sinking his teeth in like an animal. 

You feel his hands start to slide under your shirt, running up and down your back, his mouth still pinching your neck, enough for it to hurt, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want him to. You want him to do as he wants. Mark you. Own you. 

His thumb lays along your jaw as he holds you open for him, and then he slides it up, his palm over your ear with his fingers around the back of your head to pull his lips back into yours. Eager, frenzied, fervent. Joel’s hand slides from your side to your thigh, squeezing it while the other falls to the collar of your shirt, tugging, and you’re pulled further into his mouth, hands gripping his shoulders, just for support, just to hold on. 

His grip moves to your ass, squeezing, while his hand continues to tug at your shirt, the fabric digging into the back of your neck as you hear the sound of fabric ripping, and you let out a quick moan, your mouth opening with it as your neck is tugged down. Slowly, dramatically, he licks back into it, his tongue hooking around the back of your top teeth to keep your mouth on his as he continues to rip the fabric of your shirt, finally tearing it fully in half. As soon as he does, he pushes forward, leaning you down so that his mouth can travel past your chin to drag it wetly down over your sternum. He kisses down the center of your chest while his hand caresses your breasts, the other still simply clutching your ass. 

With every part of you squirming, you grip his jacket in balled fists. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched; and like this, never like this, by someone like Joel, no kind of animal like him. Tilting your head to the sky, you moan, eyes closed, brow drawn up, shivering both from his touch and the breeze over your bare chest. 

Joel drags himself back up, sliding his hand back up to your neck to slowly pull your faces back together. He looks at you under lids half closed, his teeth almost barred. He bites your lower lip, then his teeth come back down over your neck, biting it unrestrained, mouth open, teeth on either side, as if he was trying to take a piece out of you, and then both hands go down to start to grind your hips over his. A cold fire runs over your skin, engrossed completely in him, mind spinning, him all around you, every part of his body against yours. 

Joel moans into your skin, and you relax your body, letting your arms fall lax around his shoulders, allowing him to move you as he pleases. Let him do what he wants with you. Let him have you. Feeling it, Jole moans again, deep and low as he sucks a breath in through his nose, inhaling you. His fingers curl around your jeans at your hips, tugging them, almost unthinkingly, just tugging. In response, you lean your head down to push him away so that you can look down to start unbuttoning your jeans for him. When you look up, you meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and in the most erotic way possible, you feel like you’re being boiled alive. He’s looking at you like prey, like he wants to rip you apart, full of lust, of need, and he nearly growls as he leans his lips back onto yours, and you wrap your arms back around his shoulders. 

With your jeans undone, Joel slides a hand down, and his fingerw press into you already soaking through your underwear. Instantly, his touch instantly pulls a loud moan from you, breathless. He moans right back, deep and low as he sucks on your bottom lip, then opens his mouth again over yours to kiss you harshly, his hand smoothing up and down between your thighs. Your fists bunch the fabric over his shoulder again, moans cascading from your open mouth, and Joel leans back to watch you. 

You open your eyes to him and moan just at the sight, his mouth open and dribbling both of your spit, his cheeks flushed, still looking at you under half lidded eyes, looking like a wild animal as he feels over your wetness, and your body rolls into his touch. He slides his hand up from between your legs in a line up to caress your chest again, your own cum trailing over your skin. His other hand keeps hold over your hip, grinding you down over his hips again. Right from under your core you can feel his hardness, and you release a shaky breath, a deep craving boiling up in your chest. Joel’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as the contact rolls from between you, his mouth falling open wider as a moan falls through a deep breath. 

His hand falls fast from your chest down to the band of your underwear, tugging it as he his mouth goes back to your neck, now doing nothing more than sliding his tongue along it, then bites down again as he begins to rip apart the next piece of clothing. He brings his mouth back up, both hands gripping your hips now to pull you down and grind, his bulge firmer now, making deep contact right against your opening through your jeans. With both of your mouths open, your lips brush and bump, breathing moans into each other’s mouths as he moves you over him faster, almost bucking into you as he holds you down, rolling your hips back and forth. 

With a deep growl, he grabs the fabric of your underwear, ripping it down until it pulls away, exposing your pussy for him to slip his hand back onto, sliding all of his fingers up and down as he continues to grind, each pull gliding his fingers farther in. Your moans louden helplessly, your heart pounding. Joel’s forehead rests on your chin, mumbling things you can’t make out. The hand from your hips reaches for your hair, bunching it in a fist to find your mouth again. He breathes hotly into it, mumbling unintelligibly before he slides his tongue back in. You’re almost throwing your hips over him, both his hardness and his hand making sweet contact with your pussy as your tongues find a rhythm in each other's mouths. 

Your hands fall to fumble with his belt, undoing his jeans with haste, and Joel’s breath quickens, going back to clutching your hips before you’re even done, moving desperately against you. He lifts you up and you get the message, moving swiftly with him to remove your boots and jeans, the remnants of your underwear flapping against your leg at the one spot that they’re still attached over your thigh. As you climb back onto his lap, you slide your hands eagerly over his chest, hooking your thumbs around his shirt to lift it up. Joel lets out a breathy, loud moan as you do, then hurriedly pulls it over his head to toss on the ground before he pulls your hips back towards him, placing you down on his dick. 

A loud moan skids from your throat as he enters you, and he takes no time to start pumping himself into you, loud as he tugs and rolls and pulls. Your hands slide over his back and into his hair, combing and clutching as you’re lifted up and down over him. His firm cock fills you repeatedly, his body warm and powerful around you. 

Joel has his mouth back on your neck, kissing and licking and biting, your skin sore, the stumble on his cheek scraping against your throat. He becomes rougher, controlling your hips with his hands gripped so hard it hurts, but you relax your body again, rolling with his movements, allowing him to take you as he wants. Joel leans back and your head falls to look down at him, and he still has that hungry look on his face, wet and flushed, breathily heavily and leaking low moans. Your own voice becomes louder as you take in his expression, and he lifts his hand to clamp around your mouth. He looks back down, his head against your chest as he watches you coming up and down over his thick cock. He lets out a long moan before wrapping his arm around your waist, pushing himself father into you, keeping his hand on your face with your head leaned over his shoulder. He picks up his pace, mouth on your neck again, the sensitive skin abused at this point, but pain has never felt so good, and you let your moans loose into his palm. 

The pleasure builds as he thrusts himself deep inside you, faster, and you whine into his hand. Joel lets his mouth come off your neck, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, letting out loud, breathy moans. His arm comes back around from your waist to close around your hip again, bringing you down harder at him, widening his thighs to go deeper, hitting your limit repeatedly, and you nearly cry out.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel breathes out, “you feel so good.” His voice jumps with the beat of his body as he repeats, “Feels so good.” 

He lets go of your face to bring it back to his, kissing wet and rough, sucking and licking, your teeth clicking together. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he says again, though it comes out almost like a whine, muffled in your lips. He starts moaning more, going harder, faster, and it starts to hurt your hips, but he keeps a relentless pace, griping so hard you know your waist will be covered in bruises—another mark from him, he’s claiming you, your his, and you know it, and so does he. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, wrapping his arm around your back and his hand back over your mouth to hold you close as you cry out moans. 

The pleasure is almost too much at this point, but he’s fucking you, finally, so you take it, and his moans grow louder, sounding almost pained, like he’s trying to hold back though he’s already fucking you in such a desperate manner. As he hits your limit, sweetness slicks its way from between your legs through your body and up into your mouth like he’s plunging sugar up through you, and you clamp your legs around him, knees on his sides, twisting your ankles around his waists as your toes curl and your eyes screw shut. You cum around his dick, thigh shuddering around him. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Joel breathes out, as if you had a choice. You're almost screaming moans into his hand when he doesn’t let up, fucking you relentlessly through your orgasm, but he still doesn’t stop, only going harder. As he keeps going, you feel tears start to ball up in the corners of your eyes, falling down your cheeks to meet your spit already wetting his palm. You grip the hair on the back of his head, body wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. Joel let’s go of your mouth, wrapping it around the back of his neck to tug your face down into the crook of his neck. 

“Bite down,” he tells you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, pushing you further and further, and you obey, closing your mouth around his trap. Joel moans loud, a deep breath puffing out his chest against your body, and he squeezes your ass hard, tugging your onto him while he bucks up into you. His fingers in your hip nearly reach the bone, fucking you animalistically, like he himself can’t stop, is unable to stop fucking you. His breaths are ragged, and he makes another sound like a moan and a whimper, once again sounding pained, and he moves his head up to press against your neck, mumbling things you can’t understand into your wet, bruised skin. 

He pauses, slowing, almost stopping for a moment, but not even long enough to catch any sort of breath before starting back up again, rougher, urgent, hammering into you, moaning loudly. He bunches your hair into a fist with his hand still pulling and tugging you over him. His movements become frantic, aggressive, needy, and he pants into your neck. 

“More,” Joel breathes against your skin, sounding more like an escaped thought, and then he jolts into you, starting to simply press your hips down on his cock. More, he wants more, and you don’t know how much more you can take, but you’ll give it to him. His moans come out like whimpers, pained, but he wants more, more, more. 

That deep euphoria starts to build inside of you, and you know you’re about to cum again. You release your teeth from his shoulder, almost pressing your lips to his ear as you grip his hair, forearms tight against his back, holding tight, and you tell him, “I’m so close,”

At the sound of your voice, his movements and breaths start to slow a little, seeming to put effort into speaking, “I know,” then slowly, carefully, pressing deep inside of you, he says, “so, so close.”

You whimper loudly, and he takes it as a sign to start fucking you faster, like he’s starving for it, like he needs it more than anything. That feeling grows inside of you, an incredible pressure that feels like it can’t twist any tighter, and you moan gutturally, almost completely overwhelmed. He’s all over you, all around you, his spit, his breath, his hands, his dick deep inside of you, all you can smell is him, all you can taste is him, all you can feel is him. He makes a groaning, moaning growl, somehow fucking you faster, and he holding tightly onto your torso as your body jolts against him. 

He slows then, letting out another growling, groaning sound, and his grip loosens slightly, only for his fingers to dig back into your skin. He reaches up to pull your head back by your hair, looking at you with almost glazed eyes. They move down from your eyes to your lips, and he pulls you into another kiss, his tongue pressed into your mouth as he moves slowly inside of you. 

Just when you thought he had finished, he starts moving faster again, but more deliberate. Purposeful. Did he cum, but what’s more? He kisses you deeply, holding you as close as he can, arm pulled around your waist with his hand pressed firmly against your back. He keeps himself attached to you as if he can’t pull himself away, like he’s physically unable to let you go. 

He moves faster again, movements becoming more frantic, almost primal, keeping his mouth on yours. He pulls back to let his forehead press against yours as he fucks urgently, then starts mumbling incoherently again, like he’s unable to speak properly anymore. Joel pushes you farther, farther, his movements aggressive, clutching at you like he only wants to take more of you, like taking you is the only thing that matters, the only thing that exists, the only thing he can physically do. He starts moaning again, breathy but loud and jolting from his throat, breath hot into your open mouth as he fucks faster, leaving bruises in a pattern of his fingertips. He stops his mumbling to reattach his mouth to neck, simply holding his mouth around your skin, teeth digging to the beat of his hips, claiming you, and you feel yourself close to cumming for the third time. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, and he takes his mouth back to yours, kissing you again, sucking your lips. 

Then, in a low, quiet voice, he says, “I’m… greedy… I need… more…” 

“Everything, take everything,” you reply, out of breath, and his throat starts back up with moans, leaning his forehead against your cheek. You bring your hands over the sides of his neck, pulling his head back to look at him, but his eyes are screwed shut, his teeth bared slightly, like he’s in pain, but then he opens his eyes to meet your gaze and he looks so incredibly desperate. As he watches you, he adjusts his hands on your hips, moving harder, pumping into you relentlessly. He looks to have forgotten everything other than you, held onto him, like he’s lost himself completely in you. Need. Need. Need. Your body almost hurts, that place for pleasure almost abused by now, and yet, you feel yourself drawing closer to another climax, and you cry moans, still focused on his face. His movements are frantic, taking more, moving as fast as he can with wild intent. He closes his eyes, lips searching for yours again, and you give them to him, your tongues instantly meeting. His hands slide around your torso, nails scratching down your sides, shifting the, around your ass, your back, your hips, your stomach, up your front, clutching your breast, moaning and touching and kissing as if he knows nothing more than this. Like he was made for it. 

He pushes you father, taking you deeper, filling you to the brim, and you feel yourself so close, the pleasure more raw, so you pull your lips away to tell him again, whining, “Joel, I’m so close, I’m so close,” 

He keeps his eyes closed, then barely gets out, “Just a lil’ more, baby, just a lil’ more, please, please,” and you couldn’t refuse if you wanted to. And then you feel it, that wave of euphoria flowing back through your body, taking that route from your pussy through your thighs, up your chest and shooting into your head, and it’s completely overwhelming this time, and you hear yourself crying out jagged, long moans, eyes squeezed shut and leaking tears. You feel nothing else, only him, all you know is him and this feeling and his arms sliding and clutching and pumping into you as you bounce on his cock. You feel like you’re going to burn, like you’re not even human anymore, but he doesn’t stop, only going faster as your entire body trembles around him. You hold onto him helplessly as he fucks you violently. 

For a split second, it seems as if he’s stopped moving and it makes some sort of sound come out of you, right in the middle of rapturous orgasm, but then he changes how he takes you, not just pushing into you now, but painfully gripping onto your hips to pull you down over him. You try to relax your body again for him, letting him move you, slower, pulling and tugging you down over his cock over and over and over again as you cum.

“Oh, god,” he says, breathing heavily. His moans sound nearly anguished, as if he’s still somehow holding something back, like he’s trying to keep this going as long as possible. 

All he wants is more. You can tell. Nothing else. Only more. He starts to quicken his pace again, bouncing you in his lap, aggressive again, fingers digging into you. You feel like you can barely take anymore, but you want to, and you can tell that he’s going to keep going until his mind or body breaks, taking you until he can’t anymore. And you’re his, all his, for him. He moves like he can’t control himself anymore, purely wanting more, more, more. 

Joel presses you down hard over him, fitting every centimeter of himself inside of you as starts thrusting to that limit again and again and again. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, like he needs you to be completely his, and if you had room to talk, you would tell him, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours. 

His fingers crab and claw at you, and you feel things you’ve never felt before, that you couldn’t even describe, and it feels so otherworldly good. He kisses you frantically, like he can’t get enough, moving like he can’t possibly go as intensely as he wants. His tongue probes, digs, licks. There’s no stopping now, it doesn’t even feel like an option. Your body is a mess, mush in your stomach with some other substance filling the rest of you, something created by him and, naturally, for him. You feel yourself about to cum on him again, surprised that your body can still function like this, you’ve never been able to go this long, but he makes you, Joel takes you there. 

He mumbles more against you lips, and you can barely understand it, but you hear him say, “God, oh, god, so good, so good, please, I need it, I need you,” and his words alone are enough to push you over the edge again, and you tremble, almost vibrating around him, legs still locked around his back, and he moans loud and quick as you cum on his throbbing, bucking cock. 

He grips your body like he wants you to implode you around him, and you just might if he doesn’t stop. Your orgasm is longer than any one before, and the long moans you let out are almost gargled in your throat as every muscle in your body shudders around him. He’s almost like a god, creating this feeling that you didn’t know existed. With your head tilted up, Joel kisses and licks your throat, breathing raggedly, sounds never ceasing to come out of him—simply sounds, almost words but not quite, and he wraps his arms around you, keeping you held tightly onto him as you squeeze helplessly around his cock. 

If you could speak, despite how close you are to your absolute limit for everything, you would beg, for more, anything, everything, for him to get what he needs, all you want for him is to get what he needs from you. You gasp as the complete euphoria blossoms and pours over you, almost an unbelievable wave of pressure and pleasure, and you think, this is like heroin on steroids, a kind of euphoria that prods repeatedly through your pussy into every part of your body. And from the way he’s going, you know this must feel just as good for him as it does you. As the feeling encompasses you, you’re like a rag doll in his arms, though your hands grab and claw at his back, your fingertips feeling like they’re vibrating as they press into his skin, then climbing through his hair to bunch and clench in your fists. With your chin hooked around his shoulder, Joel continues to pour mumbles into your neck. You’re not human beings anymore, just piles of pleasure attached onto each other. You have no control, and neither does he, fucking you like an animalistic machine, violently, his arms fumbling to wrap you tighter, going deeper, faster, harder, and you’re both crying out at this point. How much more does he have, how much longer could he possibly keep going? For god's sake, he’s in his late 50’s. 

You grasp onto him, crying and clawing and squeezing and gripping. “Oh, god,” he groans out against you, bucking frantic and chaotic, and this must be it, he must be at the top of that cliff, about to crash down from this record breaking climax. He cries out one final, long, guttural moan, falling into whimpers as he thrust as deep as humanly possible inside of you, becoming slow jerks as he finally pumps the rest of his cum inside of you. 

Eventually, it slopes into just twitching and shaking, him pinned deep inside of you. Joel’s body starts to relax, releasing his grip that leaves behind throbbing prints. You lean back on him, muscles exhausted, and look over his face. You begin sliding your hands around it, feeling over his cheeks, brushing your fingers over his wet and puffy open mouth, your thumbs over his eyebrows before pushing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders heave with deep breaths, looking back at you through half lidded eyes, dazed. Now suddenly gentle, his hands slide up your thighs and over your sides, gliding up your ribs before falling back down to rest over your legs. 

Joel lets his head fall forward, resting in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, and you brush your hands through his hair as you both catch your breath. 

You are an absolute mess, and so is he, both coming back down to planet earth in each other's arms. Eventually, both of your breathing starts to slow, coming into an even rhythm. Lazily, he slides his hands back up and down your sides, and you keep your hands in his hair, petting him like a dog. You keep your eyes closed, being in nothing other than this moment, nothing other than in each other's arms. One of your arms slings over his shoulder, brushing your other hand over the side of his head. 

Joel raises his head slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder, his nose leaned into your neck, and he lets out a deep sigh. You sigh after him, then start planting kisses over the top of his head. When you pull his head back to look at him again, he looks like he could fall asleep right here in your arms, but, with your eyes open again and now actually grounded back into reality, you start looking at your surroundings, and anxiety starts to bubble up as you realize that you are in the dirt on the side of the road, completely out in the open, and completely naked. 

“Joel, we need to get up,” you tell him, still scanning around. You cup his face in his hands, looking back down at him, but he seems to be mesmerized. “Joel, we need to get up.” You tell him again, then finally recognize realization in them. 

“Oh, shit,” he whispers as his eyes widen, and you pull away from each other, him removing himself from inside of you, and, having to use each other for support and balance, you pull each other up to your feet, wobbling. 

With his warm arms still wrapped around you, Joel sighs, looking over your face. You desperately wish you could just stay like this, standing here in the dirt, looking like Adam and Eve, but you say, “We need to get dressed.” As you look around at the ground, searching for your clothes, you realize that your shirt is now unwearable. “And I need your jacket,” you add, “I don’t have a shirt anymore.”

“Wha’d’you mean, you don’t have a shirt anymore?” Joel looks at you with his brow pinched tiredly. 

Your lips tug up shyly when you remind him, “You ripped it in half.” 

“Shit.” He says, his lips tugging up with yours, then looks down at the scattered clothes. “I did, did’n’ I? Sorry, I just got so caught up in you. Did’n’ really mean to.”

“It’s ok.” You reply quietly, smiling back up at him. 

“Shit,” Joel breathes out with a smirk as he totters over to pick his jacket off the ground, coming back to bring it around your shoulders. He holds you by your biceps in front of you, looking over your face with another slurred “Shit,” before pulling himself away as you both stumble around after your clothes. You shove your arms through the sleeves of his jacket before finding your boots and pants, realizing the other detail of your shredded underwear. 

“God damn it,” you chuckle to yourself as you pull your pants back on, then sitting to do up your boots. When you look up, Joel is leaned over his boots, pants on but not buttoned up. You grab his shirt off the ground before hobbling over to him, holding it out to him. As he straightens back up, he gives you another smirk as he takes it from his hands. You step a little closer, looking down to do up his pants for him. When you step away, he’s frozen, still holding the shirt in his hand. 

“Never had someone do that for me.” He says, smirk fallen from his face, and you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek with a smile. When you pull away, he chuckles, then pulls his shirt back on. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He says as he pulls the hem around his waist. 

“By now, I think I have an idea.” You smile back at him, and he chuckles again before bringing you back against his chest, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. “God, you are somethin’ else.” He says, lips teasing yours. 

“Says you,” you smirk, pulling away. 

He looks down at you, chuckles, then looks back down the road. “Alright, we really gotta get going. We’ll find some clothes somewhere along the road.” He leans down to pick his pack up and sling it around his shoulders. “We already got a guardian angel lookin’ over us the way we were screaming out here. Jeez, we really did get carried away.” He turns to walk back down the road, looking at you over his shoulder with his hand offered out. 

“I’ll say,” you reply as you grab your back and trot up to stride next to him, slipping your hand into his with a smile. 

Swinging your hands at your sides, he smiles and chuckles. “Jesus, I really wasn’t expecting that from myself.” He lets go of your hand to instead link your arm over his. He hums a deep sigh, then says, “You make me feel dangerous, dangerous things.” You look up at him, twisting a smile around your face. He glances down at you, smirks and chuckles, then tugs you into his side as you walk. “You wanna know somethin’?”

“Yeah, what?”

“The first time I saw you, I knew you were special.” He chuckles lightly, “I was like, ‘Jesus, she’s pretty.’” He chuckles again, “‘I could fall for her if I’m not careful.’”

“Well I’m glad you weren’t.” You smile. “You wanna know something?”

“I do… what?” He asks, looking back down at you. 

“I’ve been wanting you to do me like that since the day we met.”

He pauses, looking at you, “No kidding?”

“No kidding.” You say, grinning, fluttering your eyelashes, hardly able to believe what’s in front of you now, that Joel feels the same way, that he wants you just as bad as you want him. “Jesus, I haven’t smiled this much in a long time. My face hurts.”

“That not just from smilin’.” Joel smirks down at you, and you feel your face going hot. Suddenly, he spins you around to hold you in front of him and leans into another kiss, then moves his head down further, biting your neck lightly. It’s painful, and you shiver, but smile. “Look at’chou, all marked up my me.” He whispers against your neck, and your eyes fall closed, another hot shiver running through you. “You’re mine.” He teases his lips along your skin, “Always gonna be a little bit mine.” He rubs his lips over your neck lightly before whispering again, “I want you. So I’m gonna mark you up,” you feel him smile against your neck, “make sure everybody knows. This cute lil thing over here? Nobody touch. She’s all mine.” Heart fluttering, you chuckle lightly,. “N’ I’m all yours.” He breathes out over your neck, heating up your entire chest, then plants a simple kiss. “And you know what? I don’t want just a little bit of you.” He bites lightly again, “I want all a you.” 

“I told you,” you breathe out, only able to get words out like that, “everything. You can have everything. I’m yours. All of me.” 

Joel nearly growls, whispering more against your neck, his hands sliding up your waist, “You have no idea how bad I wanna take you again, right here.”

You smile but shy away, grabbing his hand to pull to keep walking. Part of you wants him to, despite how ruined your body already feels; you’re obsessed with him at this point, but you try to keep yourself reeled. “Not here.” You tell him, “We gotta keep going. Find somewhere before it gets dark. Besides,” you bump your side against him, “I’d be shocked if you could get anything else out of you now.” Joel chuckles and you squeeze his hand, changing the subject, “I hope we find a town somewhere up ahead.”

Suddenly, you hear dogs barking, a lot of them, and Joel tugs you into the tree line. He pulls you to face him, his face now entirely serious. He raises a finger to his lips, “Shh.” Dripping with anxiety, entirely caught off guard, your eyes are wide as you look at him. You nod. You have no idea what these dogs mean, but it’s a threat, and your hand instinctively goes to your gun on your hip. He sees your hand move, then shakes his head no. 

“Don’t move. Be silent. And follow my lead. Ok?” He whispers sternly. 

You nod, brow pinched with anxiety, but you’ll do anything he says.

[misty-moth]

Day 3 of the @cy-inky challenge o(*>ω<*)o

(ps: thank you for making the challenge, I’m genuinely stoked to have this writing inspo)

Today it’s Issac’s turn, and writing fluff for him is an honor and a privilege.

Divider by y2kgr4ph1cs

Isaac fluff, 500 words, prompt: “Don’t smile at me like that.”

Today’s chores flew by, and you found yourself with far more spare time than usual.

You’d been living here in the mansion for a few months now, and while you will certainly go to visit Isaac later, you didn’t want to distract him from his routine for no reason. Besides, now was a great time to reorganize your room.

With cleaning in full swing, you came across your purse that you’d traveled back in time with. It lay abandoned in the back corner of the closet and you almost felt pity. There just wasn’t any use for anything in there during this time period.

You brought it out, nostalgically rummaging through it. You wondered briefly if there was any juice left in your cell phone. You held onto the power button for a few seconds, and sure enough— nothing. Something so useful from your time, thwarted by a lack of reception and charging cables.

You stared into the screen, wondering if there was really a point in keeping this silly little rectangle. Throwing it away felt strangely wasteful, but it isn’t as if you could donate it…

Wait— would Isaac think this is neat? Sure, you couldn’t show him any cat videos, but the inner mechanisms might interest him.

Decided, and now having a valid excuse for visiting your favorite vampire, you are soon knocking on his door.

“Oh, hi,” he opened the door, puzzled but smiling. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, but can you come in?”

You nodded. “I have some extra free time today. I’m not intruding?”

“Of course not.” He made room for you to enter. “I was just tinkering with an old watch… it seems more broken than it’s worth, though…” he was muttering toward the end.

“Actually,” you smiled, “I have something else to tinker with if you’re interested?” You placed the phone in his hand.

He immediately began twisting it into different angles. “Is it some sort of mirror? But it seems too hefty… hang on, is this from the future?”

“Yes, it is. I forgot I had it with me, and it’s out of battery, so I figured you might like to dissect it,” you shrugged.

He politely mumbled, “but what if I break it?” His hands betrayed him, however, as they continued investigating the few buttons and noting every tiny screw holding this contraption together.

Does he really think you could say no to his excitement?? His happiness had become your heart’s kryptonite. “Don’t worry, it’s all yours. The best use for it now is letting you have some fun.”

You grinned. You almost mentioned that it was an “Apple” phone, but decided to give him a day off.

He finally looked up, and you felt your smile soften at his earnest expression.

A blush crept onto his face, and he averted his eyes back down to the phone. “Don’t smile at me like that,” he murmured. You tilted your head questioningly, and he sighed. “Come sit. Let’s dismantle technology together.”

Writing Masterlist

[crashtestdummy1003]

this came to me in a dream. its about the dca x my self insert btw. Mainly moon hes my bbg, sun is just here bc I wanted to write the silly guy

TW for nausea and feelin icky, some cussing

Forgot to count the words and at this point I refuse to, mobile tumblr is being a biotch to me rn

(I made this all up on the spot based on like 5 seconds of a dream I had, it was written in my tumblr drafts with no beta reads, we die like men in my blog)

Running, they had been running. Glancing down, Ange saw that their sheets were wrapped around their legs in random patterns. Yeah, that checks out.

I just wanted to nap (my y/n x sun and moon) ((mostly moon))

Ange laid on their bed in the dark, eyes cracked open slightly. What time was it? Their mouth was dry and hands sweaty, brows furrowed so hard their head hurt. It took only a few seconds for their dream to return to them.

But what had they been running from? They couldn't remember now, the little details already slipping their mind. Their bed felt so soft compared to its usual stiffness, and they just wanted to sink back into it.

Groaning, Ange fought their urges and sat up, stretching their arms behind their back until they felt a few pops from their back and shoulders, humming quietly as they relaxed. Their glasses were still on their face, one side hanging below their ear. After fixing the frame's fit over their ears, the human dropped their hand to their side. Their hand fell on something cool and smooth on the bed beside them; their phone. Two taps on the screen revealed the time, 2:48 A.M.

No wonder everything felt hazy and weird, they'd napped for six hours after their last shift. Rubbing their eyes, Ange reached to their left, where their drawing tablet was usually charging on their bedside table. They could stand to draw for a little while, at least until it came time to get ready for their next shift at the daycare.

Their hand fell through the air, not making contact with anything.

With a jolt, Ange uncovered their eyes and looked over the walls around them. Even in the dark, they could see the silhouettes of a few peices of furniture- a desk, what looked like a dresser, and a bookshelf- that didn't match the furnishings of their room at home.

A quick glance at the wall before them and Ange could see a dim glow illuminating a large rectangle set in the wall. A door, hopefully leading to a familiar place. Okay. Weird.

They began to stand, but the moment their knees straightened out the world tipped sideways. Their vision blurred and swam uncomfortably as a darkness creeped into their periferals. The ground beneath Ange's feet felt like the floor of a ship, swaying with invisible waves. The bed felt so far away.

Wherever here was.

Stumbling, they took a step towards the door. It was directly in front of the bed, not to the left like it should have been. One agonizingly slow step after the other, they made their way to the door. They needed to get out of here.

After what felt like an eternity, Ange fell against the door, using the solid surface to steady themself. Closing their eyes, they rested their forehead against the cool door and took shuddering breaths, trying not to inhale too deeply. Their lungs were on fire, but it felt like if they breathed too deeply they would throw up the mac and chesse they had at lunch.

Ange was never the type to get sick; they couldn't remember the last time they threw up. Where had this nausea come from?

Maybe that mac and cheese had been a bad idea, they thought, their hand falling to the doorknob. They needed to stand straight up. The longer they leaned against this door, the heavier their eyelids grew.

Reluctantly, Ange leaned back and gripped the door knob, but it turned without their input. Stumbling back just in time to avoid being smacked by the door, their eyes widened.

"Oh, Sunshine!" A cooing voice came from a good three feet above Ange. They snapped their gaze up to meet the familiar face of the Superstar Daycare attendant. The round face of a sun half-covered by a cresent moon was surrounded by triangle shaped rays that spun and shifted into and out of the attendant's faceplate as he talked.

"You're supposed to be resting! You had quite the spell earlier." The robot tilted his head at the human, his white optics staring into Ange's hazel eyes. The human flinched from the eye contact, the attendants eyes a harsh flash of light in the otherwise dim room. The only thing combating the white glow was the light spilling in from the open door. It was already giving them a headache, only now amplified by their astigmatism reacting to the brightly and sudden light. They raised a hand to cover their eyes, squinting, but five large silicon-cased fingers caught their wrist.

"Not speaking? That's okay! I can speak for both of us!" Sun took Ange's other wrist in his other hand. "Oh, you must have just woken up! I'll bring Moon back to put you to sleep after I check on you." He began to walk, or rather drag, them back to the bed. The human squirmed, but their vision swam and their stomach flipped at all the movement, forcing them to follow Sun's nonverbal commands.

"Where-" Their voice came out as a rasp, and a lump rose in their throat. "Where are we?" They asked weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, that's not important!" He spun his rays cheerfully and picked the human up by their wrists before plopping them back in the bed.

"Sun." Ange croaked, their throat burning. They swallowed, hard, and tried to push through. "This isn't, uh, this.. this isn't the.. daycare..?" They ended it with an unsure lift of their voice.

"What an observation!" Sun clapped gleefully. "No, we're not in the daycare, Sunshine!" He sat on the edge of the bed, tilting his head and grinning. (Well, he was always grinning, but Ange could tell when it was genuine after months of working with him.)

"Somebody's.. house..?" Ange added, unsure. The robot's sharp rays spun again, faster this time with a few loud clicks. He just leaned his head to the side, so much so that his long torso bent until he was looking sideways at the human.

Ange narrowed their eyes, leaning back into the many pillows piled onto the bed. Once they were laying down, their body felt almost normal.

"Don't play with me." They growled, trying to be somewhat intimidating.

A dark giggle from Sun proved their method ineffective.

"Oh, you are so cute when you try to be serious!" He chuckled, reaching a large hand forward and pressing his finger against their nose. "Boop!"

Ange felt their face heat up. They pushed his hand away, the movement causing their arm and wrist to tire much easier than they'd have liked.

Grinding their teeth together, they hissed out, "Stop treating me like a kid. Tell me what's-" another rise in their throat they had to swallow down- "wh-what's going on-" They sputtered out, voice cracking in the effort to not puke all over Sun and his(?) room.

"You can learn all of that when you're better, my friend! I'll get you some water, and then Moonie can come out to sing you to sleep!" He giggled again. "Oh, maybe not sing. You know how he is!"

Ange couldn't find the words (or energy) to respond, watching Sun stand and walk to the door. The light from the hallway outlined his body as he reached the wall.

"Oh, and Sunshine-" He rested a hand on the door, turning to face Ange, then spasmed. A flash of black appeared in one of his optics and his hand on the door tensed, fingers curling, before it threw the door shut.

Ange flinched, eyes widening as Sun grabbed his head and muttered frantically, sounding something along the lines of, "No, no, no, they're not ready yet!"

Ange curled their legs to their chest, sucking in a breath. Immediately they regretted it, feeling an itch in their throat before they started coughing. It wasn't even that bad, but they were out of breath after the ten seconds it took to stop. They only looked up when they heard the daycare attendant speak again.

"Moon, you--!" Sun hissed, his voicebox crackling as if he wanted to add more. Before he could finish however, his sunrays started to fold around his head and tuck themselves into his faceplate.

Moon was coming out, Ange realized. Could he always do that? Turn out the lights on Sun? Take control of a part of his body? They'd only seen the attendant change once, and it was just as shocking the second time around.

Sun's poofy jester pants split in half along each leg, likely held there with a wire outline (or something, Ange wasn't very good with robotics, they just guessed). They were replaced with a pair looping over in the opposite fashion, stars replacing pinstripes.

The attendant's optics flashed black, to white, to black again before landing on the darker color and staying there. A red pinpoint of light was visible in the eyes, looking almost like it was floating in the darkness.

The last change was Moon's hat, unfolding and popping up from a compartment behind his head. The robot's recently upright posture was now downturned, hunched with his arms swaying at his sides.

The red pupils in his eyes snapped to Ange, his head unmoving.

"Moon-" Ange sat up, then hissed as their body screamed to lay back down. They ignored their body's warning. "What was that?" They muttered, unable to raise their voice any higher. This was already exhausting.

Moon chuckled darkly, but not another crackle came from his voice box. Ange shifted where they sat uncomfortably. The only thing they could see was the robot's red pupils glowing dimly.

Until they vanished. Shit.

The human knew he could turn his eyes off without hindering his ability to see, something about being a security function? Ange never really listened when the head mechanic explained things like that, but now they wished they had heeded the warnings.

Moon was practically invisible now, and without his voice to tell Ange where to look, he was impossible to find. The human narrowed their eyes and swung their legs over the side of the bed. Just as they began to put pressure on their feet to stand, a voice came from behind them, freezing them in their tracks.

"Oh, no, no." It chastised them in a tone they hadn't been spoken to with since they were young. A click of the tounge and a synthetic sigh followed as a large pair of hands slipped around Ange's waist. "Thats a bad idea, Angel."

Ange flinched at the touch and yelped, jumping away as fast as possible. As soon as they landed, a wave of nausea hit them, tenfold what they had been feeling when sitting.

They doubled over, one hand on the knee for stability and the other covering their mouth. A slight whimper slipped through their fingers as their face scrunched up in pain.

A soft creak sounded from where Ange had just been sat. A patting noise, muffled by pillows and blankets. The quietest jingle of bells before Moon was silent again.

Ange could only imagine how he had perched himself on the bed - he never was one to sit normally. Despite the climbing lump in their throat, the human almost laughed aloud at the idea of the daycare attendant doing some kind of handstand on the bed.

Though, that also meant he was closer to them now. Ange squinted, adjusting their glasses to try and find Moon's outline in the dark.

They just about jumped out of their skin when his eyes were re-illuminated, just inches from their face. They hissed a quiet "son of a--" and put their hands where they could only assume Moon's shoulders were, in a feeble attempt to shove him back. Immedietly their arms began to ache, as if they had just worked out, but they refused to release the pressure.

The robot hardly moved an inch at first, but seemed to decide on humoring the much weaker being's attempts, taking a small step back and humming in the sinister way he always did.

Ange's head was spinning, and it felt like they weren't getting enough air after all that excitement. They closed their eyes for a second to blink, and the next thing the knew a pair of familiar hands were cupping their face, stopping them from falling over.

"I told you standing was a bad idea. Naughty, naughty~" Moon hummed, turning over the human's face in his hands. His tone lacked something, though. He wasn't trying to scare them this time. He tapped their cheek softly a few times. "You never listen, starlight."

"Yeah, well-" Ange cleared their throat, wincing as it burned. "Yeah, well, its hard to.." They swallowed, wincing again. "Its hard to want to stay in the same spot when you're.. when you're trying to scare me-" God, this was painful. It was a little more bearable now, though, with Moon acting as a physical support.

Cool metal digits slid from the human's cheeks down their neck, then jumped to their wrists. Moon kept his gaze on their face, though, watching as they shivered under the cold touch.. He gently held their wrist, tugging softly. His other hand stayed securely under their chin.

"You need to lie down. You need to sleep."

Ange shook their head no, even as they fought back a yawn.

"Angel." Moon began their name, a warning. Ange narrowed their eyes, but then quickly opened them again. They didn't want to close them for too long.

"Tell me what happened first."

Another synthetic sigh, annoyed. Moons eyes searched Ange's for something as he seemed to mull it over.

"..Sun found you. You were unconscious in the break room after your shift." He began, slowly.

Ange nodded along, silently urging him to continue. They already knew that part. Thank the gods Moon could see in the dark; if they had to push verbally they felt as if they'd throw up.

"Your body temperature was rising rapidly. So we brought you to the nap area to keep a better eye on you." As Moon spoke, he traced circles and stars onto the human's hand.

"We had maintenance, so the daycare closed for the night. We tried to wake you up, but-" He chuckled lightly. "You can guess how that went, cant you, starlight?" Ange nodded weakly, something knawing at their stomach (besides the nausea-).

"We got worried, so we asked Vanessa for a favor." Moon said, and Ange could just hear the sly smile he had on his face right now. "She owed us one, after that night with the naughty boy."

Ah. This was Vanessa making up for the security breach a few months ago. Ange hadn't been there for it, they had plans that night, so they only knew a few details. At least now the bots were allowed to leave every now and then, if they were supervised.

Wait.

"This is Vee's house?" The human asked, followed by a big yawn they couldn't suppress. Another chuckle escaped Moon, and Ange felt both of his hands move to their lower arms, maneuvering them towards the bed. He didn't answer their question.

"Now will you sleep?" There was an edge of annoyance that had been seeping into his tone, likely from Ange's obvious exhaustion that they were ignoring. Caring, but still annoyed. Ange rolled their eyes and nodded. They still had more questions, but those could wait until they woke up again.

Every motion felt like it was done underwater. Moon helped the human into bed, surrounding them with pillows and blankets.

As they were being tucked in, Ange fluttered their eyes open a moment.

"Why was Sun acting so weird?" They whispered.

Moon put a Bonnie plush next to the human, taking a moment to think beforehand.

"Hes worried about you."

Another pause.

"..and he says sorry for treating you like a child."

Ah, the boys were talking in their head again.

"Moon..?"

A sigh. "Yes, starlight?"

"How did you... change.. without Sun letting you?"

The attendant paused, then brushed some hair out of Ange's face, the tips of his silicon coated fingers tickling their skin. He ran his hand down their neck a few times, almost petting them as he decided on what to say.

"...it was already pretty dark in here." He said, definitively. No more on that. Sun and Moon never liked to say much about how they transformed. "Now get some sleep, starlight. Sun will be back to normal after we charge, and you'll see him then."

Ange only yawned in response, their eyes falling shut on their own. The last thing they remembered that night were the cool fingertips running gently along their chin, and the hum of a distant lullaby.

The end, get outta here

[meestahrel]

I'm writing this down ASAP before I forget, because I just had a stupidly vivid dream and it was insane.

It starts off as a POV and later turns into a video essay on YouTube from a guy with a voice and tone similar to HTwo's.

A guy dressed up as spy (just dressed up, no mockup weapons or anything wlse) and his friend go to a some kind of gathering similar to a comic- or anume- con, but quite a bit amaller and all the merch shops are actual buildings qith everything wlse being under clear aky.

He hoped he would find a shop where he could buy apy's weapons to add to his cosplay, and in the very first one, tucked away in the furthest corner there was a shelf with watches.

Like filled with them. Every single row, with none of them taken.

Guy takes it, and looks at it.

It's the shape of the apy's watch, the glaas vompletely covees the top of the watch, and underneath it is like aome semi-tranaluacent plaatic at the bottom half with buttons painted over, and underneath that layer, you could see a sequence of gears, getting progressively larger with the last one being flush qith the wall of the case, ao you could touch it, and the firat one being impossible to to swe, cuz the wheels are arranget in a shape of a spiral and are progressively getting amaller

He touched the gear and he turned invisible. He walked towards the counter, but he realised that he ACTUALLY qas inbisible.

He got super wxcited, ao he ran out of the shop, still invis, turned right, which was the opposite to the way he came, and hippity-hoppittied around the building, briefly turning visible halfway, but quickly touching the gear again, and turning visible the second time only at the ahop entrance.

He walked in, and said something like: " Man, I'm sorry for running out with this thing like that i just got so damn excited" - while taking it off and putting it in the counter -" how does it do it's thing?"

The cashier(a guy with short blond hair, in a white shirt with red stripes like the american flad but vertically and without the blue rectangle) say:"Oh don't worry, that happens sometimes, and thanks for getting ba-" -when he takes the watch he looks surprised and more confused probably -"i don't know how it works, i don't remember seeing those in the soread sheet, what was on the price tag?"

15 bucks.

The guy gives the money, puts on the watch and goes out while turning invisible.

He walks out, and turns right again, this time going further after turning at the first corner if the building, turning viaible once as well, the time was about 20 seconds? I dunno, i don't remembee already.

Thien, while inviaible he bumps into a little gir, turning visible and catching her at the last second.

The girl looked very... Beaten? Smhting like that. Cuts all ovee her face and arm, qith her right arm missing, and the left one holding onto a walking atick that you usually see old people have, like a metal pipe with tqo bent pipes at the end forming a cross section and having rubber corka at their ends.

This girls cane had three ends, but pipes at the bottom didint crosa, they had their wnds qelded together.

Ah, she had that cane cuz ahe had only her right leg.

She was looking lost and so the guy asked where is aomeone is looking after her, and if she's looking for them.

The girl, who he was supporting by holding her under her hands so that ahe could stand easier, pointed behind him, which was a turn right if we look from the direction he came from.

There was a café with a bar and a dining hall all under a huge umbrella of square shape, i forgot the word for those.

The guy picked her up with his left hand and her cane with his right hand.

As the cafe got closer, he noticed that to the left there already was a fence painted qhite, qith a fence gate flush with it, so the fance made a turn at the very corner of the cafe, made aome distance from that turn and cafe, in the middle of that distance was a fence gate, and then there was a noter turn if the fence and it was going in the same direction as it was before the first turn.

At the entrance stood a woman wearing blue, she was a bit high a nd drunk, but recognized the girl and waved to qhich the girl responded.

For some reason the guy almost dropped the girl on the floor accidentally, but caught her at the last second, and that woman ran super close at that time window cuz she definetly wasn't at the cafe entrance anymore(it's still pov up to this ooint)

They talk and there was a time skip right as they started.

Then it skipoed to the guy having the drink IN that cafe with his friend from earlier with who he came here, friend looks like Wolfgang from DST.

Then something exploded outside, people startung running out, and on the cliff that was right behind that fence from warlier(yes there qas a cliff now idk how) there was a dude screaming some kind if demans and throwing explosives down.

The friends retreat with the crowd out of the café, then the guy says "go without me I'll catch up" to his friend and turns RIGHT out of the crows that was running LEFT.

The voice narrated as he immediately turned invusible, got through the fence gate, and ran in between some trees and immediately cut to some time later, where the guy has to the top of the cliff.

First, let me explain the layout a bit.

The cliff is straight up a wall, parallel to the white fence.

When i said "wall" i also meant thati it's thin.

From above it would look similar to if you were to put an eraser with it's long thin sude in the table, with it's rectangle side parallel to that fence.

Now, imagine that at the very top of that eraser there is a rectangle cut out in the middle of the ling side, in such a way, that this cutout is only visible from above, so it's like fully in the eraser still.

Okay, now, on one side of the rectangle , in the middle of it there like another little cutout that like breaks the wall.

And on the ither side if it, there are two such cutouts that are on opposite ends of that rectangle.

In that main cutuot, there were growing pumpkins (aomehow idk) and the side with two cutouts was directed at the convention, and in one of those cutout was the guy that was throwning ecplosives, and in the other was the rope leading down from the cliff, and anothe rope in the sole cutout on the opposite side.

The main guy got on top and was in the main cutout, and the explosives guy was for some reason already at the sole cutout and looking down the cliff as if looking for something.

Our guy picked up a long pumpkin(don't ask I'm confused) aneaked up on the wxplosives guy, and hit him as hard as he could with that pumpkin, making him atart falling forward, then the explosives guy's feet exploded, he screamed, and heard the only frase of the narrator that i could remember.

"And that's how I invented charging."

...

..

...

WHAT THE ACTUAL F**K WAS THAT.

[squadrah]

Originally I was trying to keep these all within the same price range, keep most gifts made around the same time, and give the same amount….it was hard so I gave up and had my OC just get whatever amused them. I also tried to keep them impersonal or things you’d just overhear someone at a bar just mention or could be implied to like. Also I believe they value different things from price, quantity etc so really it just got more and more personalized till I kinda forgot the whole thing. Also there were originally pictures with everything but tumblr doesn’t like that so please settle for my descriptions. Also sorry for poor spelling.(I’ll send you some of the pictures privately and you can post them with their sources if you so desire.)

Risotto: Risotto receives three small gifts wrapped in simple black paper with golden bows. The first is a surprisingly heavy rectangle box inside is a set of 4 stainless steel knives two of the knives possessos hollow insides for one another to rest in. One of the non hollow knives serves as the center for the two hollow ones, while the last knife merely serves the purpose of a more filling edge for the largest hollow blade.

The other two gifts appear to go together. One is a small booklet about felting for beginners with several patterns to begin with, the other gift is a set of small supposed felting tools and cutters along with a plethora of colorful felts snug together.

Formaggio: Formaggio's gifts almost gave away what lies within with how closely they’ve been wrapped in obnoxious orange paper. The first gift is a small bowl with odd looking groves around, once wine from Gelato is poured in it reveals the shape of a cat.

The second and oddest shaped gift reveals to be a white cat with brown paws holding two strays likely for holding random objects.

The last gift was a simple light pink pillow with the words ”Are you kitten me right meow?” 

Prosciutto: Prosciutto received a dark purple gift basket with only a red satin scarf hiding the contents inside. The most notable item was two 8 oz boxes Ospina estate coffee “premier grande cru”  a very well known and expensive brand. The other was a black cup with a white skull at the very bottom. 

Pesci: Instead of wrapping his were put into a reusable burlap sack with a minnow swimming towards a fishhook drawn on it. Inside sat a tea spender with a shark fin on top, next were two tuna cans one filled with blue tuna themed paper clips the other appreid to be some kind of emergency kit with bandages, a pencil, matchsticks, a fish hook, along with miscellaneous small items. Lastly, a crab shaped pocket tool.

Ghiaccio: Ghiaccios gift were simply put in a black duffle bag with blue writing reading “Hold on let me overthink this.” Leading to a sad bag getting kicked before being ripped open. On top of everything is a box of A. Morin Dark chocolate tasting box underneath sits three resistance bands, two sets of four weighted bangles one set of five bounds the other ten. Another small set of kettlebells weighing 15, 25, and 35 lastly, new white punching bag gloves with odd triangles poking out of where the knuckles sit. Later that night it is revealed there is a set of 3 workout dice hidden in one of the pockets.

Melone: Melones gifts were wrapped a purple robe inside the arms of a giant (6.5) pink teddy bear with a brown bowtie. Inside the blanket sat a book of how to mix tea along with 18 small tins of dried separated ingredients supposedly for said tea. Lastly three non alcoholic drinks (three spirit social elixir, three spirit liviner, and Acid league Proxies pastiche)

Illuso: illusos gift was placed in a flat dark blue box on top of which sat a random assortment of local restaurant vouchers. Inside the box sat a necklace with blue sapphires, red rubies and diamonds . (exact words from a sight describing said necklace because I can give no justice.: An Important Sapphire, Ruby and Diamond Fringe Necklace by Bulgari. Set to the front with fourteen oval-cut sapphires (100 carats total approx., Burmese unheated, Gubelin certified) and diamond clusters interspersed by cabochon rubies and diamond trefoils, suspending eleven similarly-set graduated tassels, to the circular-cut diamond and cabochon ruby necklace, mounted in 18kt yellow gold. Signed Bulgari, made in Italy, circa 1965.)

Sorbet: Sorbet's gift was in an assorted set of neutral tones paper with bright colored ribbons attached. The first gifts were a set of two black and white coffin planters with a small bag of soil attached. Next was a small wooden box with gold certified playing cards with possibly an American president on the backs of them. Lastly, was a flat cardboard containing 5 million lira.

Gelato: gelatos’ gifts were in a simple ice chest bursting with colorful wrapping paper peeking out of a very fancy bottle of Limoncello ( D’Amalfi Limoncello Supreme). Buried underneath where night shot glass with an X on half O on the other half, “Whiskey bullets' ', and a black flask with" I finally quit drinking for good. Now I drink for evil.” written. At the very bottom was a set of steel knuckles with each ring shaped like a card suite.

This was amazingly detailed and fascinating! Thank you, holy heck, you put so much effort into this and I loved it, and now I get to share with everybody! <3

[confusedsoulrambles]

Reading ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’ by Ocean Vuong (tabbed quotation - part 1)

‘I am writing because they told me to never start a sentence with because. But I wasn’t trying to make a sentence—I was trying to break free. Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.’

‘Out my window this morning, just before sunrise, a deer stood in a fog so dense and bright that the second one, not too far away, looked like the unfinished shadow of the first.’

‘You can color that in. You can call it “The History of Memory.”’

‘Every history has more than one thread, each thread a story of division.’

‘What is a country but a borderless sentence, a life?... What is a country but a life sentence?’

‘How, in my screeching delight, I forgot to say Thank you.’

‘I was having a panic attack. And you knew it. For a while you said nothing, then started to hum the melody to “Happy Birthday.” It was not my birthday but it was the only song you knew in English, and you kept going. And I listened, the phone pressed so hard to my ear that, hours later, a pink rectangle was still imprinted on my cheek.’

‘Monarchs that survived the migration passed this message down to their children. The memory of family members lost from the initial winter was woven into their genes.’

‘When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?’

‘You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.’

‘What do we mean when we say survivor? Maybe a survivor is the last one to come home, the final monarch that lands on a branch already weighted with ghosts.’

‘What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.’

‘To say possessing a heartbeat is never as simple as the heart’s task of saying yes yes yes to the body.’

‘How I fled my shitty high school to spend my days in New York lost in library stacks, reading obscure texts by dead people, most of whom never dreamed a face like mine floating over their sentences—and least of all that those sentences would save me.’

‘In the village where Lan grew up, a child, often the smallest or weakest of the flock, as I was, is named after the most despicable things: demon, ghost child, pig snout, monkey-born, buffalo head, bastard—little dog being the more tender one. Because evil spirits, roaming the land for healthy, beautiful children, would hear the name of something hideous and ghastly being called in for supper and pass over the house, sparing the child. To love something, then, is to name it after something so worthless it might be left untouched—and alive. A name, thin as air, can also be a shield. A Little Dog shield.’

‘I came to know, in those afternoons, that madness can sometimes lead to discovery, that the mind, fractured and short-wired, is not entirely wrong.’

‘“Hey.” The jowlboy leaned in, his vinegar mouth on the side of my cheek. “Don’t you ever say nothin’? Don’t you speak English?” He grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was only nine but had already mastered the dialect of damaged American fathers.’

‘Some people say history moves in a spiral, not the line we have come to expect. We travel through time in a circular trajectory, our distance increasing from an epicenter only to return again, one circle removed.’

‘The past never a fixed and dormant landscape but one that is re-seen. Whether we want to or not, we are traveling in a spiral, we are creating something new from what is gone.’

‘None of us spoke as we checked out, our words suddenly wrong everywhere, even in our mouths.’

‘No object is in a constant relationship with pleasure, wrote Barthes. For the writer, however, it is the mother tongue. But what if the mother tongue is stunted? What if that tongue is not only the symbol of a void, but is itself a void, what if the tongue is cut out? Can one take pleasure in loss without losing oneself entirely?’

‘Our mother tongue, then, is no mother at all—but an orphan... Ma, to speak in our mother tongue is to speak only partially in Vietnamese, but entirely in war.’

‘Two languages cancel each other out, suggests Barthes, beckoning a third. Sometimes our words are few and far between, or simply ghosted. In which case the hand, although limited by the borders of skin and cartilage, can be that third language that animates where the tongue falters.’

‘For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.’

‘for how can there be a private space if there is no safe space, if a boy’s name can both shield him and turn him into an animal at once?’

‘Because gunshots, lies, and oxtail—or whatever you want to call your god—should say Yes over and over, in cycles, in spirals, with no other reason but to hear itself exist. Because love, at its best, repeats itself. Shouldn’t it?’

‘You were born, the woman thinks, because no one else was coming. Because no one else is coming, she begins to hum.’

‘It’s a beautiful country, she’s been told, depending on who you are.’

‘A woman stands on the shoulder of a dirt road begging, in a tongue made obsolete by gunfire, to enter the village where her house sits, has sat for decades. It is a human story. Anyone can tell it. Can you tell? Can you tell the rain has grown heavy, its keystrokes peppering the blue shawl black?’

‘But which land? Which border that was crossed and erased, divided and rearranged?’

‘A world where there are no soldiers or Hueys and the woman is only going for a walk in the warm spring evening, where she speaks real soft to her daughter, telling her the story of a girl who ran away from her faceless youth only to name herself after a flower that opens like something torn apart.’

‘The white-haired man raises a glass and makes a toast, grins. Five other glasses are lifted to meet his, the light falls in each shot because the law says so. The shots are held by arms that belong to men who will soon cut open the macaque’s skull with a scalpel, open it like a lid on a jar. The men will take turns consuming the brain, dipped in alcohol or swallowed with cloves of garlic from a porcelain plate, all while the monkey kicks beneath them. The fishing rod cast and cast but never hitting water. The men believe the meal will rid them of impotence, that the more the monkey rages, the stronger the cure. They are doing this for the future of their genes—for the sake of sons and daughters.’

‘The brain of the macaque monkey is the closest, of any mammal, to a human’s.’

‘Macaques are capable of self-doubt and introspection, traits once thought attributable only to humans. Some species have displayed behavior indicating the use of judgment, creativity, even language. They are able to recall past images and apply them to current problem solving. In other words, macaques employ memory in order to survive.’

‘Who will be lost in the story we tell ourselves? Who will be lost in ourselves? A story, after all, is a kind of swallowing.’

‘The rain keeps on because nourishment, too, is a force.’

‘Everything good is always somewhere else’

‘We sidestep ourselves in order to move forward.’

‘1964: When commencing his mass bombing campaign in North Vietnam, General Curtis LeMay, then chief of staff of the US Air Force, said he planned on bombing the Vietnamese “back into the Stone Ages.” To destroy a people, then, is to set them back in time. The US military would end up releasing over ten thousand tons of bombs in a country no larger than the size of California—surpassing the number of bombs deployed in all of WWII combined.’

‘I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess what I mean is that sometimes I don’t know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like a sound. I touch the world not as myself but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet? Can you read me?’

‘When I first started writing, I hated myself for being so uncertain, about images, clauses, ideas, even the pen or journal I used. Everything I wrote began with maybe and perhaps and ended with I think or I believe.’

‘Sometimes we are given only two choices. While doing research, I read an article from an 1884 El Paso Daily Times, which reported that a white railroad worker was on trial for the murder of an unnamed Chinese man. The case was ultimately dismissed. The judge, Roy Bean, cited that Texas law, while prohibiting the murder of human beings, defined a human only as White, African American, or Mexican. The nameless yellow body was not considered human because it did not fit in a slot on a piece of paper. Sometimes you are erased before you are given the choice of stating who you are.’

‘What a terrible life, I think now, to have to move so fast just to stay in one place.’

[strawberryteaprincess]

The Class Group Chat: Part 2

(sorry for not posting yesterday. i forget date .-.)

20 03 Thursday

Alya: i need help

Alix: hey alya. sup?

Alya: anyone know how to solve question 5 on the math homework?

Alix: WE HAD MATH HOMEWORK????

Alya: -_-

Max: @Alya You need to use the Pythagoras theory to solve for c before finding the area and then using it to find the area of the rectangle.

Alya: ohhhh, thats what i do?

Alix: WHATS THE MATH HOMEWORK?!

Alya: pg 103 of our textbook, numbers 1-10

Alix: 10 questions?!

Alya: and they have kids

Alix: what??

Max: She means they have sub-questions.

Alix: DOES MADAME LAURENT WANT TO KILL US?!

Lila: actually, she's MADEMOISELLE Moulin now. She got divorced a few days ago.

Alya: SHE GOT WHAT?!

Max: Are you sure Lila?

Lila: at least, thats what i heard from aurore

Adrien: Hey guys! what are we talking about?

Alix: WHO KNOWS HOW TO SOLVE QUESTION 1A

Adrien: Oh, it's a quote from the extract on line 5 of the first paragraph

Alix: what extract???

Alya: Adrien, its 5.4 litres

Alix: THANK YOU!

Adrien: oh, you meant for the math homework

Adrien: I thought you meant the literature homework

Alix: WE HAVE LITERATURE HOMEWORK????

Alya: WHAT?! I DIDN'T KNOW!

Max: You didn't? I did.

Lila: oh, i did too but my rare illness needed a surgery so i was unable to do the homework

Adrien: oh the lit homework isnt that long Lila. im sure youll be able to finish it if u start now

Lila: ... thanks adrien

Adrien: anytime 😇

Marinette: why are all of you chatting so late 😑

Alix: MARINETTE, WHATS THE LITERATURE HOMEWORK?!

Marinette: um, i dont remember. pg 18 i think?

Alix: THANK YOU!

Lila: @Marinette actually marinette, its page 27.

Marinette: i dont remember being the one who asked

Lila: wow mari u dont have to be so mean

Alix: Wait, so what page is it???

Adrien: actually Lila, marinettes right. its page 18. u should check ur sources before giving Alix the wrong info. just some friendly advice :)

Lila: ...

Lila: oh, thank you babe

Marinette: COUGH COUGH, EXCUSE ME???

Lila: oh, i didnt tell u. adrien and i are dating

Adrien: no were not

Lila: yes we are

Adrien: no were not

Lila: yes we are

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Adrien: no were not

Alix: STOP SPAMMING THE CHAT AND TELL ME THE ANSWER FOR NUMBER 1B!

Marinette: oh, well bi is sandstone while bii is convergent

Alix: ??????

Max: She means for the geography homework.

Alya: WHAT DID U JUST SAY?!

Adrien: wait, we had geography homework?!

Lila: oh, i knew about that one too, but i like i said, my surgery took a lot of time so i couldnt do it

Alya: why dont u stop texting and start writing then???

Lila: ...

Alya: u know what, why am i even online?!

Alya: Marinette, whats the geo homework?!

Marinette: page 54, numbers 1 to 15

Alya: FIFTEEN?!

Marinette: Mr. Lavigne gave us this last week. why have none of u done it -_-

Rose: wait! whats all this about homework???

Kim: wait, we had homework? 😨

Alya: IF ABSOLUTELY ANYONE KNOWS WE HAVE ANY HOMEWORK LEFT, TELL US ALL NOW

Juleka: has anyone else done the biology homework?

Alya: MERCI LE DIEU. something ive done

Alix: ERROR! DID U JUST SAY BIOLOGY??!!

Kim: WE HAVE HOMEWORK???? 😱

Marinette: yeah, its an essay on the alimentary canal

Alix: Marinette im freaking pissed right now so quit speaking chinese and tell us the homework in english

Marinette: -_- that was english dummy

Alix: MAX!

Alix: TRANSLATE NOW!!!

Max: Write a 200 word essay on the digestive system.

Alix: Lord have mercy

Lila: oh, i couldnt do that one either because of my surgery

Alya: WAIT, IT WAS 200 WORDS?!

Alya: I THOUGHT IT WAS 50!!!

Nino: why the heck are you all still awake

Alya: Nino you better not tell us we have more homework

Nino: more homework?

Nino: oh, u mean the ones due tomorrow?

Alix: TOMORROW??!!!!

Rose: please tell us whats due Nino!

Nino: wait a sec, im reading the chat

Nino: oh, well, all the ones you've mentioned actually

Nino: due tomorrow

Ms. Bustier: I just saw the notifications from the chat and decided that you students need a reminder. Please remember your Literature, Mathematics, Geography, Biology and Physics homework are due tomorrow.

Juleka: oh no. im not done with my physics

Marinette: wait, physics was the diagram right?

Marinette: i totally forgot! im not done!!!

Adrien: 🙀

Rose: @Juleka im coming to ur house. we arent sleeping tonight

Alya: @Nino I AM COMING TO YOUR HOUSE. UNLOCK YOUR DOOR!

Alix: @Nino PLEASE LET ME COME TO!!!

Nino: @Alix sure but hurry up, im locking my door a few minutes after alya gets here

Kim: @Nino can i come too????

Nino: @Kim sure, just hurry

Max: Nino, if I may, may I attend this impromptu event? My assistance may be needed.

Nino: yes please

Adrien: @Marinette can i come to ur house? pwease??

Marinette: sure but ya better hurry up

Lila: wait, why is adrien going to marinettes house

Lila: hello?

Lila: does no one think thats suspicious?

Lila: guys?

Ms. Bustier: Lila, you've done all your homework?

Lila: actually ms bustier, due to my surgery, i was unable to do any of my assignments. its very disappointing and im incredibly sorry. i wish there was more time for me to get it done.

Ms. Bustier: Oh, it's okay Lila. Just send a scanned copy of your discharge papers to my email and I'll take care of the rest.

Lila: my what?

Ms. Bustier: The papers that tell me you've been discharged from the hospital. I'll send you my email if you need it.

Ms. Bustier: Lila?

Ms. Bustier: Are you still there?

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (3/?)

For @peachworthy (The tale continues!) Part 1 here, Part 2 here

Link’s doing his best to tip toe in. It was a long night at the café he’s currently working at and he doesn’t want to wake Rhett. True, his roommate’s hours are strange (to say the least) but it’s always been ingrained in Link to be as respectful as possible.

Mrs. Neal raised her boy to be polite and one of the heights of good manners is not charging into the house you share with someone else in the middle of the night, raising a ruckus.

But as Link edges towards his room, he notices a glow coming from the living room and finds himself unable to not take a peek. Maybe Rhett left the television on?

Yet when he gets closer he sees that while yes, the television is on, it’s not because Rhett forgot about it. Rhett is actually in front of it, but not watching it. Instead his eyes are downcast and…wet.

A light sniffle comes from him and he runs the back of his right hand beneath his nose as if to wipe at it. Link can just barely make out a paper in his left hand when Rhett senses him.

Rhett turns and blinks, folding the paper up and clearing his throat, doing his best to sound amiable even despite the clear note of tears in his voice, “Oh! Hey, man! Didn’t know you were home.”

“Yeah,” Link says softly, “Had to stay late. Boss wanted to do a deep clean on the place after we closed,” he then adds cautiously, “You okay?”

Rhett looks back to his letter than to Link again as if internally debating something. Finally he comes back with, “Yeah. Kinda.”

He holds the letter up, “Got a message from my Momma.”

Link can only offer a sound of acknowledgement, not certain where to go from here. Rhett shifts about on the couch and Link takes it as a signal for him to come over, so he does, sitting across from his friend.

Rhett lowers the letter, but plays around with it, turning the carefully folded rectangle of paper over and over in his hands, “First time I’ve heard from her in a long time.”

“Good?” Link feels stupid and kind of helpless, but he’s trying and this is the only thing he can think to offer. Rhett sniffs again, but his lips twitch as if to smile, as if he recognizes that Link is doing his best, “I suppose. Looks like my brother got married awhile ago. Dad’s alright, stuff like that.”

“I see.”

“They’re still living in the same place. Mom changed jobs, but she likes the new one more. They adopted a dog and-and…” he sighs and just tosses the letter on the nearby coffee table, linking his fingers together to tuck his hands behind his head.

He lets out shaky breath, eyes directing upwards towards the ceiling as if to stave off more potential tears, “They’re fine…”

Link licks his lips, feels awkward and awful, and can only manage to say Rhett’s name before Rhett’s hands lower and he curls in on himself – his tall lanky form growing small as he whispers to the floor, “…totally fine…without me.”

That alone breaks Link. Without a second thought he moves over, draws Rhett close and hugs him tight. The bigger man lets himself be held, lets Link gather him up like a small child and rock him as he silently weeps.

Link murmurs nonsense into his hair for a while, little things like ‘it’s alright’ and ‘it’ll be okay’ and he doesn’t know if he’s doing more harm than good until he feels Rhett’s tense body begin to uncoil, begins to hear his breathing smoothing out.

Once he feels like Rhett’s doing better, he releases him – gets up and finds some tissues, a wet warm washcloth and a glass of water. He offers it all silently to Rhett, who takes it – using the washcloth to wipe his face clean, the tissues to finish up the job. He finishes more than half the glasses of water before he mumbles, “Sorry about that.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for, bo.” Link doesn’t know where the endearment comes from. He hasn’t used it in ages and just as he’s about to explain it, Rhett lets out a broken bubble of laughter, “‘Bo’? Oh, man…haven’t heard that in an age.”

Link offers an apology but Rhett waves it off, “Nah, Link. I…I like it. I’ll be your ‘bo’.”

And then he turns vulnerable green eyes on him as he asks quietly, “Mean…if you’ll be mine.”

This is, of course, when Link knows his crush is over. It’s over because he’s now completely and totally in love with Rhett and he swallows thickly, even as he nods, “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good.” Rhett nods to himself as if they’ve just made a blood pact or something and he looks at the television which is just showing some random commercials. He gestures to it, “How’s about we watch something, huh? Get our minds on something else.”

By ‘our’ Link recognizes he probably means himself in particular, because Rhett can’t possibly know about the revelation Link’s just had, yet he feels a little too…seen. He bites his bottom lip hard and – even though he knows he shouldn’t – finds himself playing the part of devil’s advocate, “We can – or you can tell me if you plan on writing back.”

Rhett sits up straight, eyes wide, and Link wouldn’t be surprised if the man snaps at him. Link feels like a total jerk – just because he’s realized he’s in love with Rhett doesn’t mean he should hurt him this way, and, he knows that’s the real reason he said what he did. A sort of, ‘please-push-me-away’ move.

But he did anyway and now he braces for an argument, an insult – something. But then, much to his surprise, Rhett says hollowly, “I don’t know.”

Link presses his luck, “Mean, if she wrote you…think it means she misses you…”

Rhett snorts, “Doubt it. Probably just felt a bout of guilt. Thought she should reach out to her black sheep son.”

“Or maybe she wants to hear from you,” Link offers, “Know you’re alright.”

“Yeah and what am I supposed to write?” Rhett grumbles, “‘Hey Ma, I’m doing good. I filmed a three way yesterday – how ‘bout you?’”

“…a three way?” Link repeats, but Rhett continues on as if he didn’t hear him, “It’s not like I can tell her or-or any of them what I’ve been up to. I don’t think many parents like to brag about their kid’s accomplishments when that accomplishment is DPing a woman while making out with a guy at the same time.”

Link wants to ask what ‘DPing’ is, but he thinks he has an idea and it’s probably best not to get too in depth (pun not intended) on that, as he instead takes a different route, “It’s not like you have to tell her about your job. You can just say you’re in LA, you’re healthy, you got a fantastically handsome roommate named Link…”

That makes Rhett laugh, but in a good way, some of his ire easing, “‘Fantastically handsome’, huh?”

Link spreads his hands out, “What can I say? I’m truthful.”

Rhett chuckles some more and shakes his head, “Nah, I mean – sure, I can tell her all that, but if we…if we do reconnect, I’m just-? I’m afraid it’s going to come up.”

“Thought you said you aren’t ashamed of what you do.”

“I’m not,” Rhett affirms, “But she’s my mom. They’re my family. You know that and I know you get why it’s not something I want them to know about…”

“Well, I mean, I could tell you to get another job, but if this is what you like doing-!”

Rhett gets up from the couch and starts pacing, “It’s not that I like doing it. It’s that I’m good at it. And, like I’ve told you – good money, good co-workers,” he sighs and his pacing picks up pace, “I mean, granted, I’m getting on in years and I can’t do this forever and I always did plan on getting out when I, y’know, found someone.”

Someone not you, a thought hisses in Link’s ear and he almost physically swats out at it as Rhett continues, “‘Cause it’s not like I’d want to be in a relationship and do…what I do. It’d feel sorta unfaithful to me, albeit I know some people in the biz who are married and their partners are fine with it, but for me…”

Rhett stops pacing and flops down on the couch, groaning, “…and it’s not even like I can show off. I can’t show someone one of my films with pride and be like ‘look what I did’! Not my folks, not my theoretical other half, not-!”

“Me,” the word leaves Link’s mouth and he’s sort of shocked it left him. Rhett is shocked too, head whipping in his direction at the declaration and Link’s mouth just keeps working on its own, disconnected from his brain, “You…you can show me. If…if you want.”

The last comes out almost silent.

And Rhett just…keeps looking at him.

Link can hear everything. His breath. Rhett’s breath. The ticking of a clock some place. The television show whispering some medical mumbo jumbo. The air conditioning. His heart beat. All of it. He hears it all and then he hears a tentative, “Yeah?”

And Link just nods.

*I swear the next part will have some kind of sex. I know it’s weird that I’ve had 3 parts of a fic now about pornstar!Rhett and no porn but it’s coming. I just…got lost in feels here.

[rosy-cheekx]

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

-

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

-

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

-

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

-

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

[secondhand-trash]

A/N: hello uwu welcome to the first part of Miya Osamu’s bento saga! Ngl I think I have way too much fun writing this and drawing the illustration to go with it hhhhh I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 987

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the comments, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

-

Osamu insisted on making bento for you every single day you had to go to work, but you were almost certain that it was more for his own entertainment than it was for you. 

Not that you mind. Whatever his motive was, you were the one who got to have good food down your stomach and there was no way you would complain about it. What was the point of having a chef boyfriend if you don’t abuse his talents a little?

Hastily pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your arm, you were tripping your way to the door of your apartment as you made a quick mental note of all the things you needed to bring with you to work.

Stupid alarm, why couldn’t you just rang a little bit louder?

You threw your shoes onto the ground before clumsily shoving the shoehorn down. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you fumbled through your things with your other hand on the door knob.

Phone, wallet, files... Alright.

“Forgot something?”

You were one foot out the door when the amused voice of your boyfriend rang behind you. Snapping around in panic, you let out a sigh of gratitude when you saw Osamu’s grinning face and the bag in his hand.

“Urgh, thank you Samu...” you said, leaning over to give him a quick peck on his lips as you took the bento from his hand. It was still warm to touch and the thought that you would still have your handmade lunch to look forward to even though you weren’t having the best start to your day gave you just a little boost of morale.

“I tried something new with the bento today,” he sounded very proud of himself and it only fuelled your anticipation, “have a good day at work, remember to eat.”

-

“Urgh..” stretching your arms outward, you let out an exasperated groan at the knots on your shoulder. You had been slouching over your keyboard all morning and your already decaying muscles were screaming for you to just take a break. 

Looking up from your cubicle to check the office’s clock hung by the corner of the wall near you, you felt your dying spirit perking up just a little when you saw that the tiny hand had already strike past the 12 the top.

Finally. Lunch hour.

Pulling out your bento that was put away neatly under your desk, you could not contain your excitement as you untie the knot of the bag.

He said he tried something new. Would it be a new side dish? New ingredients? 

This was all too exciting, Osamu deserves a big fat kiss when you got home for giving you a will to live through work. You thought to yourself, smiling as you open the lid of the bento box.

...

You froze in place as you stared at the bento, and then slowly put the lid back on.

In a good distant away from your office, the phone of Onigiri Miya rang.

“Hello, this is Onigiri Miya.”

“Samu...”

“Ah, (y/n)!" the young owner perked up when he heard your familiar voice from the other end of the phone, “what is it?”

“About the bento...”

“Oh yes! What do you think?”

“Samu, I love you,” you took a deep breath, “but what is that?”

“Charaben!”

You paused. Usually when people say character bento, you would think something cute. Like animals, or cartoon characters. But what he had arranged...

“I saw this mom’s blog about how she tried to communicate with her daughter through each day’s bento and I want to give it a try,” he said while you had a million questions running through your head, “do you get what I’m trying to tell you?”

The call fell into silence but even through the phone, you could feel his anticipation of your guess. Slowly opening the bento again, you stared at the visual that you could not began to understand.

“Um...” you were feeling slightly uneased by the wonky looking piece of carrot on the potato salad and the two pieces of boiled egg on top did not help at all, “is that a face?”

“Yes!” Osamu chimed happily, “and the ham pieces are supposed to be fingers!”

What the fuck... Your eyes travelled to the long pieces of ham with a small section cut out at the tip. Oh, those were the nails.

You gulped as you looked at the two pieces of seaweed near the eyes. Were those sweat? The face seemed... distressed? Because of the empty space in the square? Your head hurt at how clueless you were at whatever he was implicating. The seaweed rectangles on the rice was far too abstract for you to understand.

“And something is missing...?”

Osamu hummed in delight at your guess, “and?”

Two rectangles... and the hand was holding onto it? Wait. Wait...

“Is that the fridge?”

“Yup!” he didn’t hear the sigh of relieve from your end as he continued, “I was trying to tell you to buy ice cream on your way home because I saw that out freezer was empty last night.”

Ah, so that was supposed to be his face? “Oh... ok...” you said, not really knowing how to react.

“It’s my first try, so maybe it’s not very good.”

“No, samu, it’s great-”

“But I’ll keep trying, so just look forward to it!”

Hm?

“Is there anything else? Because the shop is starting to get busy and I should really get back.”

“N-no,” you replied, “that’s all.”

“Oh ok,” he said and you could hear the sound of doors being slide open, “I should go, remember to buy the thing before you get back, yeah?”

“Of course, goodbye samu.”

You let out a heavy breath when you ended the call. Holding your chopsticks in hand, you stared at the face on your bento.

And then stabbed right into its eye.

[miyaoniku]

secret keeper [oikawa x fem!reader] [soulmate!/mafia! au] pt. 3

[author: chae]

a/n: heyo i finished finals and i had a two week break so here ya go :))) also my schedule is more packed starting in january so updates for secret keeper are still questionable because, as i said before, this is entirely unplanned and i am going with whatever my mind spits out. so basically updates come whenever my brain decides to not walk straight into a wall called writer’s block

also, happy new year! since it’s still 2020 for me as of me writing this, this is my last update of 2020 :)

warnings: this is a mafia au so :))) expect some form of violence, mentions of drugs/alcohol, strong language at times, things like that. honestly just expect everything because i have no idea what i’m going to write

THIS IS UNEDITED (I KINDA RUSHED THIS CHAPTER SO I MIGHT ACTUALLY GO BACK AND CHANGE SOME STUFF LATER ON RAAAA)

~*~

“some things are better left unsaid.”

[soulmate!au] [mafia!au] [oikawa x fem!reader] 

masterlist | prev | next 

You have never wanted milk bread so much in your life. 

You were supposed to be in your apartment, snuggling under the thick, warm covers, falling into a deep slumber. But instead, your soulmate who you had met just a little over an hour and a half ago was pulling you by the hand somewhere. It had occurred to you that you were basically allowing a stranger to take you to an unknown location, but at that moment you preferred your stranger of a soulmate taking you somewhere over dealing with whoever was following you - even if you were wary of your soulmate. 

He took a few turns until the two of you arrived in front of a small apartment complex. He tugged your hand, quickly climbing the stairs and walking to the last door on the level, taking out a pair of keys. The keys jingled as he inserted one into the lock. You noticed that attached to the keyring was a chain holding a small rectangle. The door unlocked and he pulled you in, closing the door behind him. 

Based on the exterior of the complex, you didn’t expect the interior of the apartment to look so different. The room was clean and tidy, and oddly seemed like an apartment fitting for a mysterious person such as himself. It had a modern feel to it, with sleek furniture and a few modern plants in the corners. To your right a short, glass coffee table sitting on top of a square of carpet, situated in front of an expensive television. Three sofas surrounded the coffee table, with end tables in the corners between them. Straight ahead, you saw two bookcases against the wall, a threshold of what seemed to lead to a hallway, and the white countertop of what looked to be an equally modern styled kitchen. Your admiration for the interior design only lasted for a few seconds, as you heard your soulmate exhale a small sigh.

His shoulders seemed to relax a bit once the door clicked behind him. The grip he had on your hand loosened before he pulled away, threading his fingers through his hair. 

"You really are an interesting person, having a gang follow you like that." He said, curiously glancing in your direction. 

"How did you know I was being followed?" You asked. 

"I thought I saw someone when we initially parted. Turns out they were following you and not me, so I went in the direction that you left in and there you were, standing under that lamppost like someone stranded on an island." he shrugged, slipping off his shoes and setting it on the shoe rack. “Besides, shouldn’t you be more concerned about why a gang is following you in the first place?”

You paused for a moment before answering his question.

“It just surprised me that you noticed and came for me. That’s all.” 

Your answer wasn't necessarily a lie. Considering how hostile he became before the two of you parted, you hadn’t expected him to rush towards you after realizing what was happening. If anything, it made you question who he really was. How had he known that it was specifically a gang that was following you? What were his motives for helping you, even if you were his soulmate?

Your train of thought was cut short when he resumed talking.

“It’s probably safer for you to stay somewhere else for a while. They most likely have someone stationed near your home.” he suggested as he plopped down on the sofa.

“That's a bit difficult. I barely brought anything with me, and I don't exactly have anyone to stay with.”

“You could stay here for the time being.” 

“And why should I trust that you won't do anything?” you asked as you leaned against the back of the sofa.

“I don’t go out of my way to help just anyone. Besides, I already got what I wanted out of you.”

And yet it still feels like you want something else, you thought.

“Still, it’s hard to trust someone who hasn’t given me their name.” you responded, crossing your arms. He looked at you from his seat and stifled a laugh. 

“If you weren’t my soulmate, I would have thought you were a sly little minx.” he said, smirking in your direction. "You haven't told me your name either." 

“... L/N Y/N.” 

If he had any sort of reaction when he heard of your name, you couldn't pinpoint what it was. His eyes stared into yours, as if he were searching for something. 

“Well, Y/N-chan,” he spoke, his lips forming into a smirk, “my name is Oikawa Tooru.” 

He stood up and walked past you to the doorframe. He opened the door slightly, just enough to see outside. It seemed to have snowed a considerable amount since they had stepped in the apartment, and the wind seemed to have picked up as well. 

“You've got two options.” he said, turning his gaze back to you. “You can tread out there in the snow and face that gang by yourself, or you can take my offer and stay here until you figure out your… issue.”

Your eyes were fixed on the falling snow outside as you thought about what he said. His offer was definitely the more appealing of the two, but there was still something that nagged at you. 

“I’ll stay here, but I do have a question.” 

���Which is?”

“You said that you ‘don’t go out of your way to help just anyone,’ so why are you helping me?”

“Can’t I be a good soulmate?” he asked, sending you a fake smile. 

“You don’t seem the type to willingly offer hospitality.” you replied bluntly, thrown off by his sudden friendly demeanor. 

“You’re an observant one.” he said as he closed the door shut. “I’d like to make sure that my secret is safe with you. From that point of view, it’s probably beneficial for you to stay here so you can watch over your secret.” 

So in other words, you’re making me an offer I can’t refuse. You shrugged at the thought before giving an answer.

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Tooru-kun.”

if you would like to be added to the taglist, dm/send an ask to  @miyaoniku​ :)  (or on another platform that you know me from *squints at mutuals*). you’ll get a reply from me confirming that i added you to the taglist :))) (if i forgot you i’m sorry just shoot me another ask/dm jhgghasfdghsfdhk)

taglist!: @chromaticstudio​ @elcie-chxn @lonely-andromeda​ @sannunah28 @shiroyukippe @asdfghjkl7things @pockyxx @tsukkiwaifu16 @ak-may 

[i-do-be-writing-doe]

Yatchi x reader

First of all - wow, I'm alive. I haven't posted in forever because I have been working on another big writing project and the manditory exquse that I have school. I'm sorry if my grammar or spelling is dreadful. I'm on a pc and there is no autocorrect. Anyway. It won't be bad if i tell you what the story is about. I got really into crochet recently so I had the idea of Yachi being a croceter (if that is even a word) too teaching Y/n after they see the things she made. I just thought it was cute. Of course, the fic is gender nuteral, as awlays.

_____________________________________________________________

It was the fist time you are going to your girilfriend Yachi's house. You have been dating for a month now and she is even sweeter than you thought initially when you met her. She is just so pure and kind, it's amazing. You two take off your shoes at the genkan and go to her room. It is very cute and there are a lot of stuffed animals. She tells you to sit anywhare and you choose the bed. There are some things catch your eyes - animals that have a very different texture to all the others. You ask her about it:

- Yachi, why do theese stuffed animas have a different texture than the others?

- I made those. They are croheted.

- You can crochet? That sound so cool! Can you show me how it's done?

- O-oh! Of course. Let me get my yarn and hooks. - she gets up and there is a blush visible on her cheeks.

She gets the supplies and makes something that look like a chain. And she is fast. In a miute or so there is already a small rectangle is forming. Somehow Yachi is already done and facenes it. Then she makes a ring and starts to do repeating movements. Before you know it there is a little ball. The possibilities seem endless, especially when you see all the things she has made. All of that makes you ask your girlfriend something:

- Can you teach me, please?

- Huh? You mean... Teach you ro crochet?

- Yep. You're allready a good teacher and this looks fun and useful, so why not?

- Ok! I'll teach you!

- Cool! What do i need to do.

- First i need to teach you about the basics.

In fron of you are, you guess, the essential supplies. A big needle, things that look like safety needles but safe, hooks, yarn, scissors. Yachi explains all of the things and all about yarn in general. The next thing she teaches you is the start of a row project - the little chain things you saw her make.

Like that, you kocked down all complete begginer things. Now all you have to do is practice. The best part is that you're having fun while your girlfriend shares her hobby with you:

- This is really fun! - you say with a grin on your face.

- It is. I also often do it to relax and unwind. It's just so nice when you sit down, put some music on and just crochet away.

- Thank you for teaching me. I cant wait to finish my project. Where did you find this weird ball thing?

- I just thought of it myself. it was just the easiest thing i could give you. Also, before it's fully done i will need to teach you how to sew it together. That is what the big needle I showed you is for.

- Makes sense. I was thinking earlier how will I attach the limbs to the body. Sewing wasn't really what came to mind. I just need to finish the ball and make the hands and feet.

- Yep! You're a fast learner Y/n.

- Am I? I think you're just a great teacher.

- You really think that?

- I'd be lost without you, and you know it! I don't how I can repay you for all the times you've helped me with tutoring.

- It's honestly ok! I love helping you!

- Wait- Am i done?! I am. Can you show me how to close it of again?

- You forgot to stuff it. - she laughs a bit.

- It seems I did...

- Here, let me help you.

_____________________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed. I tryed to make it as free of crochet terms as possibe for all of the peopke who don't know them. And just FYI the safetypin looking things help you mark where you start making stitches. Very useful.

[mcrmadness]

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors. 

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

[witchy-lili]

Sander Sides Coffeeshop AU! Part 2

Well I didn’t expect part one to get that much attention..

Thank you all :)  Trigger warning : Hum, alcohol ? I guess ? tell me if I have to put something in there ! 

The first one was originally just a simple shitpost, but seeing this positivity encouraged me to write more ! So have that ! Oh and, use this song for a certain part of the chapter. Enjoy~

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

Damn was this a tiring day for the owner. Logan closed the cafe’s door after the last customer, not even turning the key, before dropping down on one of the angle sofas, sighing loudly. He lifted his rectangle glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired, but now wasn’t the time to sleep.

The cafe, as much as he loved it, wasn’t enough income to maintain a stable life. He wasn’t in debt, lord knows how much he hated seeking help from others. “I always counted on myself, why change now ?”. The day was not the only time he was behind a counter. After closing his eyes for a few seconds, he stood up and went to look in his bag and looked at the hour on his phone. Eleven twenty four pm. It started at one am. He had enough time to freshen up. And so he went out, his blazer on his shoulder walking under the moonlight after putting the key in his pocket.

Home sweet and dearly home. It wasn’t much, just a simple black and white apartment with hints of deep navy blue. Hanging his blazer on the hook present on the back of his door. A soft creature came, rubbing against his legs, calmly purring.

-Well hello Plato..

The cat answered with a soft meow as Logan gently patted his fluffy cream fur which composed the majority of his body. The face, tip of the tail and paws being darker, almost black, but the cherry on top was the two icey sapphires eyes, as cold as his master’s. Only the hue was different, Lo’ having more greyish eyes. Speaking of the devil, he walked up to the living room connected kitchen, taking out a can of cat food to pour it into one of his little fuff ball’s bowl then filling the second one with water.

-There you go, you cuddle head.

Question remained, why would someone who struggled with money have a pet ?

Logan was always in control, trying his best to think about the most logical and brainey solution to a problem or way to improve his life, but even he could not just walk away from a crying kitten under the rain. He remembered the day. He was still a college student, his life was a wreck, a twelve sided Rubik’s cube with the colors constantly changing every single time he moved them. It was the same period he decided to close himself off and focus on school work but even he couldn't stay unmoved by a crying dirty kitten under the rain.

He smiled thinking about it again, all the nights worrying about Plato, putting him in his sweater while he was studying just to keep him by his side, all the books he read to learn how to properly take care of a cat, all the scratches he got, but also all the kisses and head rubs. Logan absentmindedly looked at the clock. Almost midnight.

-Shit.

Who thought he could lose himself thinking about how much he loved his companion ? Now he had to be fast. He’d usually take the time to enjoy the warm water on his skin, usually hugging himself in the process, trying to emulate the feeling of a long lost embrace, but now it was pretty late. He needed to go. Where ? Well his side job. Logan quickly dried his dark chestnut hair before putting on an elegant uniform. A white shirt buttoned to the top under a navy vest and a pair of jeans. Simple but efficient. Just like he always did.

The dark haired man arrived in front of a bar’s backdoor. Just on time after a really painful sprint considering he wasn’t the athletic type. He entered and went to the changing rooms, just to put down his bag and finally go to work. That was the program, but apparently the strawberry blonde seemingly pissed man bursting in. Only a thought crossed Logan’s mind “Oh for fuck’s sake.”.

-Oh my god Lo’ you’re here i thought i’d never see the light of day !

-..Pretty normal considering it’s past one am. -Now calm down. i’ll make you a quick drink and look for your gloves, your makeup is perfect. Just go sit down.

He walked towards him clutching his arms, the barista cringed at the contact but kept a straight face before finally realising that his friend was in a long cherry red all sparkly dress and same colored heels.

-You got a representation tonight Roman ?

-Yes and it’s an ever-loving catastrophe ! I can’t close this fucking -but amazing- dress by myself, i don’t know where my gloves are and i start in five minutes ! Jesus, am i sweating ? Am i sweaty ? Is my makeup dripping ?

The usual scenario, Logan sighed before kindly pushing his friend away and turning him to, first of all, close the dress, having to stand on his tiptoes to reach the end. Roman was already a bit taller than him, but with those heels, phew, how could he even walk in these ?

Such a drama queen. Literally and mockingly. He tapped the performer on the back before straight up going to his dressing room, the gloves were just here, sitting on the edge of the mirror. Pretty sure Roman missed them because of his stress. He then went to the bar, discreetly pouring him a bottom of whisky and coming back with the two items. Blondie jumped on his heels to hug him again, making his poor friend spread his arms to avoid damaging the gloves or spilling the drink before giving them after the embrace.

-You are a lifesaver you nerdy coffee man !  

-Don’t mention it. I have to get working, good luck.

Finally. Putting on a black apron, he came behind the bar and started serving the clients. Tonight was going to be busy. Why ? Well, Roman was performing, his angelic sultry voice brought everyone in. The lights dimmed in the club, only the stage was illuminated. The singer walked in, projectors reflecting against his strass covered dress and gloves. Claps and whistles welcomed his grand entrance as he took the microphone, glazing over the room. Logan gave him a nod and a thumbs up to encourage him. The instrumental started to play.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LqbV36OhtQ&ab_channel=CalebHyles

Where have you been? Been searching all along Came facing twilight on and on Without a clueWithout a sign Without grasping yet The real question to be asked Where have I been?

The tone always sent chills down Logan’s spine. He often heard him sing, but he could never not be surprised by his talent. He forgot himself, slowly breathing, calmed by the jazzy tone of the song. Forgot himself so much that he didn’t notice the new customer sitting at the bar and calling him for the last few seconds. The barista shook his head and turned, starting his usual pitch… -Sorry for that. What can i… ...only to be met with the amber gaze of a familiar face. The man of this morning. What was his name again ? Janice ? Janelle ? Jamil ? Logan’s eyes became cold and stern again, along with his voice. -..serve you. -Looks like i was right. You’re not as boring as you seem to be. -Do you want to drink something ? I have other clients. The man in the melon hat turned his head left and right with a smirk. He was the only one sitting at the counter. -A Snakebite, if you know how to make it right. Logan raised a surprised eyebrow. It was literally two ingredients. He was clearly mocking him.  Without a word, he took the honey flavored whiskey and lime juice and put them in the shaker with some ice before energetically, well,shaking it and straining it in a shot glass, putting it in front of the snide individual then turning back to look at his friend. -Delightfull isn’t it ? I’ve rarely heard such a sultry and heavenly voice at the same time. -Well, it is Roman. They looked at each other for less than half a second before having their attention taken by the singer. Roman got compliments and flowers thrown at him at the end of his performance, and after some quick talk with fans, he sat down at the bar, sighing happily. -Damn that felt good ! Sooooo~, how are my two favorite boys doing ? Logan seemed surprised and pointed the curious man.

-You know him ?! -Yeah of course you dummy dumb ! I was the one who gave him your cafe’s address ! Ain’t he the loveliest ? -My my, thank you Romie, you’re going to make me blush. His eyes were still on Logan, still mocking him, he could have sworn even seeing this snake of a man quickly stick out his tongue to taunt him. Well. Looks like this was going to be a long night.

--------------------------------------------------------------- Surprise surprise ! You probably realized by now that I was really inspired by the talented Caleb Hyles with his “Beneath the mask” cover for this song. I just love the atmosphere. Hope you lovelies enjoyed this piece of writing ! 

[akeshuu]

Ikerev HC

Fenrir going to the Land of Reason with MC to meet her friends

Also MC is from our time period, because a) I forgot whether she was from the 18th or 19th century and had no internet to check it and b) I’m a lazy dumbass and couldn’t stay historically accurate regarding scenery, inventions, etc. anyway.

So. EXCITED.

Alice had spent long hours talking about her friends and family back home in the Land of Reason. Fenrir knew that she loved him and her new home in Cradle, but it was also obvious how much she missed some aspects of her old life. Especially her friends.

Alice was happy most of the time, but he had caught glimpses of the shadow in her eyes whenever something reminded her of her old friends, the regret that sometimes found its way into her heart for leaving without a single goodbye.

A few months had passed and those moments had begun occurring more and more

So, of course, Fenrir decided to take matters into his own hands. He spoke with Ray and arranged for them both to be free for the next month.

When he told her that he was sending her to the Land of Reason, at first Alice was confused. Last time he had done that, it was to protect her from danger. But why this time?

“We’re going together,” he assured her. “I know you left without saying goodbye and you miss everyone from your old life. So we’re going to spend a month with your family and friends so you can assure them that you’re doing alright and see them once more. Sounds good?” When Alice just nods, overwhelmed with happiness at the thought, Fenrir smiles and embraces her.

Alice didn’t regret her decision to stay in Cradle, even for a second. But for some reason she had thought that once she had made a choice, it was final. If she decided to live in this magic Wonderland, she had to abandon her home forever.

But there was Fenrir, the love of her life, who had seen right into her heart and found a way to erase her worries and gift her with even more happiness than she thought possible.

Thus they found themselves in the garden at the next full moon, with quite more luggage than necessary. It was mostly Seth’s fault, though. At first MC had taken only a small bag with necessities, since most of her things were still in her old apartment. They only needed to get Fenrir’s stuff. But seeing how little she had planned to take for an entire month, Seth switched to panicked-big-sis mode and packed an entire suitcase in the span of mere minutes. However, he did remind her to get her friends and family gifts from Cradle, so she was grateful.

“Ready?”

“I should be the one asking. Prepared to fall into the rabbit hole into an entirely new world with no magic, where you aren’t allowed to shoot guns?”

“I’m ready for the fight of my life!”

The Land of Reason sure wasn’t as epic as he made it sound, but it was reassurance enough.

Although he hadn’t really expected the fall. Why hadn’t he expected it? Alice warned him beforehand. But boy, that didn’t make sense. She had fallen into Cradle from the sky. So why were they falling out Cradle as well? Shouldn’t they be, I don’t know, flying towards the sky or something?

Magic is weird.

It was late when they found themselves in the park, so they headed towards her old apartment for the night.

On their way, Fenrir was taking everything in and always asking questions. He knew her world was different, but it was another thing to see it for himself. “These weird rectangles all people seem to be holding. Are those the smartphones you mentioned?” “Was this fast thing the car you once told me about? It does indeed seem more comfortable than a carriage.” “Those screens are lighten up and are moving! How the hell does this work without magic crystals?”

“…I don’t actually know. I’ve always been bad at this stuff.” (same, Alice, same. Let me fall into Cradle and forget that science is a thing)

You decide to meet your friends first, because you know it’ll be easier to explain them the whole situation. (and because I only wanna write their meeting with her gang, which was meant to be a shameless self-insert with my friend group, but I got tired writing it)

After they wake up the next day, Alice texts her old friends she hadn’t used a phone in months, what is this? in their group chat, that has hundreds of missed messages, many of which aimed at her or regarding her disappearance. She ignored those for now, still feeling that ping of guilt, and asked to meet them all at their usual spot, which was a little playground with some benches, surrounded by grass. It was where they had played as kids and later on kept as a hangout spot, since barely any people went there anymore. Right after he message was sent, her friends freaked out and texted her back, mostly in all caps, asking where she had been. Alice didn’t respond for less than ten seconds, but her phone was already ringing.

“WHAT HAPPENED, GIRL? WHERE WERE YOU? IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?” It was a bit overwhelming, but it was nice hearing her friend’s voice.

“Hey, Rhia, I promise I’m fine. I’ll explain everything later”.

Fenrir placed a soothing hand on her knee and offered a smile. He knows how much she hates making people worry and could practically feel the anxiety pouring out of her in that moment.

An hour later, they were walking towards the place. They’re still a few minutes early, but MC knew her friends well enough to guess that they’ve all talked to each other previously and decided to go early so they were all together when she arrived. Fenrir held her hand during the whole way and didn’t say a word. She had a lot on her mind and he gives her the space she needs to sort those thought out.

As she thought, the others were already waiting for them when they arrived. Two girls and one boy. Fenrir had heard about them already. They lived in the same neighborhood and had always been together. Many people had joined and left their group, but in the end, they were the four that always stayed, always chose each other before anyone else.

Until Alice had left them to live in Cradle without saying anything. From what he had heart, Fenrir was sure that they would acknowledge her happiness and understand and respect her decision. She didn’t seem that confident, though.

“We thought you had been kidnapped! Murdered even! And now you come with a boy? Did you abandon us for some stupid boyfriend?”, one of the girls, probably Rhia, from what he knew, screamed at her.

“I was actually kidnapped at one point,” argued Alice. Probably not the best way to start the conversation.

All her friends froze, not knowing whether it was one of her usual jokes or something real. Fenrir spoke up, hoping to break at least some of the tension. “Hi, I’m Fenrir. Indeed her boyfriend, but definitely not the one who kidnapped her.” And then softly, only so Alice could hear him “Do you want me to leave you alone for this?” She shook her head and so he stayed.

She started her story. She told them about meeting Blanc and falling down the rabbit hole, discovering that the fantasy land from “Alice in Wonderland” was real, albeit a bit different than the book. She told them how she was stuck there for a month, but then didn’t want to leave when she had to. Told them of the world and the armies and all her adventures there.

“Thanks for listening to everything. I don’t know if you can believe me, but I promise that-“

“Of course we believe you”, the boy, Kian, said. “We made a promise when we were kids, remember? If something supernatural happens to one of us, the others have to hear them out and believe them. Or at least believe that they believe themselves.” The last part wasn’t that reassuring, but the fact that they all remembered that silly children’s promise was all she needed. (here comes the self-insert. It’s a promise I have with my friends, because we’re all obsessed with magic and stuff and honestly, it’s the best thing)

“I do believe you” her other friend said, a girl with green hair. That must be Lena. “And I respect those little mind tricks. Letting us know how much you enjoy the world, adventures and new friends, but skipping out on all details on your boyfriend so we don’t assume you’re just ditching us for some boy”

Fenrir tensed at that. He had never thought about it that way, but her friends hadn’t been there when they had fallen in love. Of course they would assume the worst. He himself wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him he would find another person to be his partner in crime. There had never been someone equally as important to him as Ray, until he met Alice. She was their Ray, but they had lost her for a while and didn’t know why.

“I know you’re all mad that I disappeared, but I also know that you’re worried because you care. Because of that, I wanted to assure you that I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve got an amazing home, awesome friends, a job that makes me happy and all in a world that feels more like home than anything here ever has. So you don’t need to worry about me. I’m doing it for myself, not for him. However, I do love Fenrir. I’m pretty sure I always will.”

That was enough for them to accept it. They all offered her a smile and Fenrir could almost see the tension falling off her shoulders. Keeping Cradle a secret seemed to be more of a burden to her than even he had noticed. Now, she glowed with newly discovered freedom and Fenrir could feel his heart responding to it with a wave of warmth.

Her friends had accepted Cradle and, seeing the loving looks they gave each other, their relationship as well. However, there was still much they had to know about Fenrir. And so, they took turns asking… Or rather, testing him. Luckily, he was cool with it, amused even and Alice seemed to share his feelings.

“Weapon of choice?” “Guns” *sparkling eyes* “Swords are more badass” *angry mode activated*

“Did you know that Alice loved ghost stories so much, she had a notebook where she wrote down all her favorite ones, but doodled silly ghosties around them, because they were “too scary otherwise?”, this was supposed to be a way to embarrass Alice, but eventually lead to teasing Fenrir. “Well, I might’ve skipped that part for his sake?” “What? Too embarrassed to let him know you’re scared of your own interests?” “More like, I think that even the silly ghost doodles would’ve scared the shit out of him”

“Will you protect Alice at all cost?” “I’ll always be there if she needs me, but honestly, I’m not sure she needs it. She’s so badass, even our king is scared of her at this point” *flashback to that one time Alice took all his books out of his room and used them to close off the entrance to the place where all the cats meet. No one knew how she had managed to bring that a good hundred books into the city without anyone noticing. Whoever had helped her kept silent to this day*

“Do you accept that Alice is allowed to speak and be as friendly as she wishes with whomever she wishes and you, even as her boyfriend, have no say in it?”

Alice responded before Fenrir can: “One, he knows I’m not his property and can have my own friends. Two, I’m pretty much the only girl in the whole Black Army, so if that was an issue, we would’ve had a fight ages ago. And three, even if he gets jealous sometimes, he has no right to control my friendships in anyway without being a hypocrite, because I know he and his best friend were making out in high school.”

“Wait, who told you about that?” *baby was confused, he hadn’t told her yet*

“A girl never tells her secrets” *actually, it was just a pure guess*

Yeah, her friends loved him at the end of the day. There was no need to worry this much.

Now Alice could return to Cradle without all the guilt. And who knows, perhaps they could come visit every now and then.