#wispier

[silverorchideon]

Decided to participate in @liekadae's DTIYS!

Decided to switch up the pose a bit, but I thought the DTIYS is a good way for me to hammer down an Etho design, because I have not drawn an official piece of Etho fanart ever.

[hinamie]

realizing i shld probably draw gojo more if only 2 practice distinguishing his hair from yuuji's

[koukaaa-descent]

the new guy in my head is kind of frightening but in a good way Help

[ataraxiaspainting]

There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined. 

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort. 

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be. 

Close to him.

[ihopeitruinsrocknroll]

wait in DP you know how some ghosts are Ancients like Pandora or Vortex etc?

Well what if after beating Pariah Dark, Danny doesn’t turn into the Ghost King until he’s older or something, but the act of power is enough to ‘promote’ him to the status of Ancient?

He’d probably control space cause that’s his secondary obsession, and hope is taken by Pandora, so maybe that means he could have protecting others as it instead?

Just, imagine Danny as Phantom turning more and more space-like. His hair gets wispier and looks more like a paintbrush swept the galaxies across his head, his eyes have literal black holes/ stars in them, and whenever he moves it looks like gravity can barely hold him.

this could pair into eldritch danny too, with him not ageing at all until Clockwork points it out to him. and at that point, he kinda looks like one of the elves in the mythical forests, flying and laughing.

but imagine this in the dcu.

The watchtower’s in space, and since the Infinite Realms spans across realities and multiverses, it’s not too far of a stretch to say that they could cross paths.

Now, there’s a fight on the watchtower, and the JLA are losing cause there’s not enough people.

Someone in the league cries out for help, and it’s a coincidence that Danny’s in the area. He basically just warps the people into blackholes ( they’re not dead, just basically in a thermos)

[emiliaoleary]

Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook.  There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way.  The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use.  I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines. 

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran.  If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it.  I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted).  I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.  

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be. 

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

​ It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

[quigzahhutt]

one(1) person wanted a snippet and obviously because I am so kind, I will give it :3

Liam Lawson/Logan Sargeant / (title pending)

Although they are both blonde, Juri’s hair is drastically different from Logan’s. His former teammate usually kept his hair choppier, chunky and frizzy– Liam always made fun of him, saying it looked like he plopped a mushroom on his head and called it a day. Logan's hair was wispier, fuller– longer and kind of wavy– buzzed on the sides, unlike Juri. Liam kind of wanted to tug on it– test if it's actually attached to him or if it's some sort of bizarrely realistic wig, because surely Logan's hair can't just look that good all the time. — — — It does, as it turns out. They're finally, finally getting into the car after what feels like days of pointless meetings talking about the same four things they had discussed just the day before. Logan had gotten first dibs, clamored into the small shared motorhome and instantly began changing into his fireproofs. It's not the most distracting thing on the planet; it comes with the territory, seeing your teammate practically naked. Liam doesn't really think twice about it as he busies himself by cleaning his helmets, labeling the visors and making sure they're sorted in the correct order. The part that does distract him, though, is when Logan runs his fingers through his hair after getting fully dressed, heaving a big, satisfied sigh at the comfort of being back in his race suit after a long and arduous winter break. He must notice Liam watching, because Logan shoots a toothy and somewhat uneasy grin in his direction as he laces up his boots. Liam has to shake himself, mentally noting that Logan's hair seems solidly anchored to his scalp as it tangles between his fingers, and then quickly ushers himself out the door because is it getting hotter in here?

this is for u @colors-of-feeling I'm so glad someone is excited about my works :') (and of course @lolexjpg it's almost impossible to write a LiLo fic without thinking of u)

(I hope y'all don't mind me tagging u!)

[spid3rpunksimp]

Hobie brown x Spider! gn! reader

Since y'all liked the first one so much, here's the second.

Masterlist

Please don't leave me.

part 1

A/N:This one's prob gonna be fluffy cause I couldn't handle it if it wasn't, I probably would cry

Warnings:Blood, Angst, fluff, A LOT of crying, pain, idk what else

Everything was silent.

Almost peacful.

Almost

Everything was black. Nothing was around me. Everything was so quiet, but I couldn't see anyone. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I wanted Hobie but I couldn't find him. I felt...nothing.

How could I have left him like that how could I ha-

You were brought back to reality with the feeling of your face, it was a slight stinging. You saw a simple light that you knew was Hobie. He was the only destination you wanted right now.

You ran towards it but it felt like quicksand, every time you took a step you fell deeper and deeper in. You felt tired again, you felt cold. You wanted to lay down.

"Y/N please...please."

Suddenly your eyes began to open as you looked at Hobie, holding you in his arms as the rest of the crew swung down. As soon as Gwen and Paveir saw you they put their hands over their mouths. Jess got a little closer to you before doing the same. You looked horrible. You had scratches all over your face. Pain washed over you again as you felt tears running down your face again. "Y/N stay with me okay, we're gonna get you to the hospital, everything' is gonna be ok-"

You cut Hobie off by placing your hand on his check, his mask still over his face. You placed your hand over the bottom side of his face and pulled the mask up, your mask was torn in every was imaginable, your face on full display, showing all your tears. As you pulled the mask off of Hobie's face you saw the broken look over his face as he examined your body. The body he would hold every night as you two would fall asleep together only for you to be back in your universe the next morning before he even woke up. The body he would make love with. The body he would kiss. It was dying right in front of him. The love of his life...was dying right in front of him.

"H-hobart.." you said in a wispier, your voice horse as Miguel attempted to figure out a way to get you out of here without causing more harm to your spine. You placed a hand on the side of Hobie's face, his warm tears hitting your hand, continuing to run out of his eyes as he felt your usually warm hands become colder and colder by the minute.

"Hobs...promise me something." you began before Hobie's eyes widened, denial hitting him like an asteroid. "NO, no no no your gonna be alright, love. Your gonna make it out of this and we're gonna go home and we're gonna go right back to loving each other like always, your gonna be al-"

You placed your bloody finger over his lips as you flung one arm over your stomach, looking down at the sting you saw the blood, everywhere. You looked back to Hobie and removed your finger from his lips, leaving blood on his lips as you began to speak again. "Promise me...promise you'll find another person. Promise me you'll live your amazing life and play your guitar and every time you d-drink tea, promise me you'll think of me."

"NO! Love, you're gonna be alright. You're gonna make it out of this, okay." Hobie said, tears pouring out of his eyes as he watched two lines go down your bloody face, tears pouring out of either side. "Love, we both know that's not true." you said as you gave Hobie a smile. Everyone was watching Hobie breaking, Miguel frantically trying to get more spider people over there, his watch glitching like crazy. Hobie cried as he leaned over you, holding you tighter and tighter. "Please don't go..." Hobie said, broken sobs coming out of his voice as he said it. You looked over to see Gwen and Jess crying, Paveir holding on by a thread. "I l-love you, Hobie brown." you said as you fell into the sleepiness that was holding you captive, the last words coming out in a shudder.

Everything was quite again

You felt guilty

You wanted to cry but you couldn't

It hurt so bad

You wanted Hobie but you couldn't

It hurt

. . .

So bad

. . .

. . .

You heard the sound of beeps.

Beep, beep, beep

You felt something warm holding your hard

He was crying.

He was in pain

You felt as your eyes fluttered open, the bright light blinding you for a moment as you adjusted to the light. The world around you getting more and more noticeable. Looking to the side, you felt a jerk as Hobie's brow, tear filled eyes looked up to you.

You put your hands over your mouth as you looked at Hobie, without skipping a beat he was soon hugging you tightly, not caring what stitches he would reopen. And you didn't care either. He was right, you were gonna make it out of this. "I thought I-" your raspy voice was cut off by a broken sob.

"Shhhh, don't talk, love." Hobie said as he placed a hand on the side of your head, pecking your lips once more.

"The doctors said your gonna make it, you've been out for a week, they say you should be mostly healed cause your body was healing while you were sleeping, that's why you were out for so long. Oh fuck I'm so god damn happy your alive!" he said as he kissed you once more.

You began to pull him into the bed, him not caring at all about what you were wanting, he would do it if it meant being close with you. "Sleep with me." you said looking at him through happy tear filled eyes as each of you laid down, holding one another tightly.

As you fell into dreamland next to each other, Jessica came by to see if Hobie was doing alright, only to see the two of you smiling, sleeping next to one another once again. Snapping a picture of the two of you, she sent it to Miguel say in it 'She's awake, and alive. You have to admit messing with this canon event was worth it.'

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

I LOVE THE ENDING SO MUCH!

If you guys weren't satisfied with the ending tell me and I'll think about writing an alternative ending.

Part 3 for after you're healed?

[polaroid-petals]

Stranger has the fluffiest hair in headspace, discounting Basil. Silky smooth, it’s light and soft, and it has an earthy aroma much like charcoal. It is slightly wispier than the rest of his ghost body, giving one the impression that it is weightless and eludes gravity, and it follows a slight gradient towards the tips despite being black as the night. On good days, when Stranger is particularly happy and the sun hits him just right, you may find sparkles in his locks that match his starlight-freckled blush.

While his hair doesn't require a lot of attention, Stranger does put in the work to take good care of it. It’s not so rare to find him at the hot springs working in all sorts of creams, balms, and shampoos to give his hair that extra little flair, and it pays off in it being even softer and smoother. It even seems to be immune to getting tangled, but don’t think that’ll keep Stranger from frequently brushing it.

If you ask nicely, you may touch it—just be careful not to stroke his ego alongside his luscious locks.

Unsurprisingly, Stranger quite enjoys anything to do with the hot springs. Nothing goes above a midnight visit to the rocky area where he spends hours simmering his sometimes frigid spectral body in the warm water and seeking out new ways to spoil himself. He's asked the Dreamer to research skin care and hygiene products so that he may improve his routine in the dream, even though it's rather futile as the ephemeral nature of his body means that most smells and products will have wafted off into nothingness only hours after he applied them. His hair seems to be the exception, holding on to its post-washing texture for days despite reclaiming its charcoal smell rather swiftly.

Omori often gets invited to join in on these bodily rituals. He thinks Stranger is stupid for it, but after seeing just how much he enjoys it when Omori assists with all these routines, he grew into the idea of helping out with Stranger's beauty routine a little more. Even if he thinks it's all just a con to get Omori clean.

A ghost can dream, and if his hobbies include softening his skin for a few hours, then who's to stop him?

Omori's hair, on the other hand, is so dark because it's one block of grease. Don't try to brush through it, the hairbrush and your wrist will perish. It's a surprise that his scalp doesn't smell that badly, but you probably don't want to bury your nose in his hair after a long period without any bathing. That boy's scalp is a weapon of mass destruction and could sell for millions on the black market for how much oil you can forage from it.

It's actually airier and fluffier when it's been freshly washed, and Stranger does his best to take Omori to the hot springs at least once a week to keep him clean, but it's an uphill battle against Omori's hair follicles, one that Stranger doesn't always win. That, and he gets bitten if he bothers Omori too much about his hygiene. Still, Stranger is one of the rare people who is allowed to touch Omori's hair, if he really must—and he uses every opportunity he gets to try to pluck the bugs out of his hair.

(The other is Sunny, whose little hairclips and accessories, which he leaves behind in Omori's short locks after a session of playing around with his hair, Omori happily keeps around.)

Surprisingly enough, Omori doesn't absolutely abhor these baths. In fact, the hot springs are one of his favourite areas to hang around, as he is drawn to the heat of the water and the tranquillising effects of the waterfalls clattering on his skinny shoulders. He can easily be bribed to tag along for a relaxing swim, and once he has melted, he'll let Stranger wash his hair and give him a quick go with soap and a sponge while he's at it. Maybe even use a soft brush to untangle his messy mop.

He claims to hate it, but his softened muscles and his mild temper for a few hours afterwards say otherwise. As such, it's one of Stranger's favourite ways to pamper Omori.

[amazingmezmer]

Note: You are welcome and encouraged to draw these idiots, just don't be weird

After way too long I've finally finished! My two iterators for @druidshollow off-string AU (if you haven't already go check it out it's cool)

Droplets and Clouds are "Twin" iterators, sharing a structure and most systems, though this wasn't accounted for in their inital design, so over the cycles, their can started to shift and lean, by the time of the gift they were already leaning about 10 degrees. Because they were so closely linked, as they designed their new bodies they made a system that allowed them to broadcast memories to each other over a short range. After some struggle the left their structure and begun exploring.

Droplets, also occasionally referred to as NGD or Nona, acts as the medic and fighter of the pair. He is impressively strong (Able to pick up and hold Dune for a minute) and pretty heavy. He ended up getting in a nasty fight with a White Lizard shortly after leaving their structure, causing severe damage to his face and due to structure instability He nor COBS could go and get his blueprints. Despite his issues, he's very friendly and willing to help anyone he comes across.

Clouds, also occasionally called COBS is the groups scout. They were designed with flexibility in mind and all of their joints have over 180 degrees of movement. They intentionally made their mobile body without a voicebox (because of issues with their original puppet they could only talk in a low wispier, so it wasn't a big deal) using modified scugsign and NGD to talk for them. They're usually a bit skittish at first, and understandably protective of NGD.

Additional Fun fact: Due to his damage, NGD's pumps don't work, so he uses an external pump, jokingly referred to as a "Sippy Cup".

[kaluxsims]

My Pride post this week is about facial hair...and then some. Beards, mustaches, sideburns, etc are generally associated with men and masculinity, but that's a fairly surface view. Almost everyone has some amount of hair on their face. We're mammals. Being fuzzy is kinda our thing. Hormonal levels and genetics can make that hair thicker or darker on anyone. Today's post takes @simstralia's unisex facial hair and expands on it, giving your sims a broader variety of fuzz for their faces. Like last week, I have more to say after the download.

First, I took the non-meshed beards from @krabbysims' Poppet V2 recolors of @withlovefromsimtown's Beardly set and enabled them for UF as well as UM. Now ALL sims teen and older can use them. Then, I made a few lighter, wispier edits too. They were made especially for sims just beginning transition, just starting puberty, or getting a bit fuzzier as they age. You can see a WIP preview of some of them here.

I wanted to have Body Shop previews for this, but work has been a little more involved than usual this week. The timing didn't work out. I'll try to add them in when I can.

Instead, here's a list of what's included:

NEW - stubble stache

NEW - very very wispy stache

NEW - very wispy chin patches

NEW - very wispy stache

NEW - very wispy stache + patch

goatee chin - "afro" texture

goatee chin - "straight" texture

goatee chin + sideburns - afro

goatee chin + sideburns - straight

sideburns - afro

sideburns - straight

goatee - straight

wispy chin

wispy chin + sideburns

wispy goatee

wispy goatee + sideburns

wispy lip patch

wispy lip patch + sideburns

wispy beard

wispy sideburns

wispy stache + lip patch

wispy stache + lip patch + sideburns

Phew. What a list! Everything is for all sims teen and older (UU), in Poppet colors, and binned properly. You can see previews of the previously existing stuff in Krabby's post. Keep in mind, I only did the ones that don't require meshes. I'm not that confident meshing anything other than clothes and now is not the time to try anything new. Maybe I'll do the meshed beards eventually. Dunno.

Download: SFS or MediaFire

Credits: @withlovefromsimtown for the beards themselves, @krabbysims for the Poppet recolors, @poppet-sims for the Poppet V2 palette, @simstralia for inspiring this in the first place, and @quartta for inspiring the very wispy edits (and for giving me permission to convert something that just didn't work out)

And now for my additional thoughts...

The "bearded lady" used to be a sideshow act, something to be gawked at, and I don't think we've come far enough from that. Women and AFAB people having facial hair is still something many people feel comfortable mocking. That can cause a lot of misery for cisgender women who have more facial hair than they'd like, and it can endanger the lives of trans people who have facial hair, wanted or not. Bigots always feel threatened by people who defy the status quo, and they're empowered when it's not seen as socially acceptable for women and AFAB people to have facial hair.

This isn't just a trans issue, of course. PCOS and other medical conditions can cause darker, thicker facial hair. So can genetics. So can old age. Some shave it off, some accept it, some love it. Frida Kahlo made hers part of her unforgettable and undeniably feminine image.

I really wish I could grow a beard or mustache. Not enough to take testosterone, because I don't really want the other changes that would cause. I deeply envy bearded femmes, because that's my ideal. I want to "do both", and defy the binary. I could probably buy something to glue on, but my skin is sensitive to the point of panic. Simply existing gives me a rash. I also know there are people who might kill me for breaking stupid cultural rules like that. I want to be a gender rebel and look like I imagine myself, but I also don't want my loved ones to suffer if bigots harmed me. I'm in a strange limbo, not really closeted, but also not really feeling able to be myself. I know plenty of nonbinary people share this limbo with me.

I drew a really basic mustache on before going to a drag show last week, but it melted. 😂 I wound up wiping it off on the way to the bar, and not bothering to draw it back on. The drag show, which would be illegal in some other states in the US, was so much fun. It was all drag kings, trans masc, or nonbinary performers. As dark as things are right now, events like that give me a bit of hope. Seeing other people gleefully breaking gender norms was something I needed more than I realized.

Again, my hope is that someday we can all just be ourselves and no one will feel like they have the power to punish others for not being what they see as normal. That's the dream, everyone being safe to be themselves.

[pearlynia]

One last time | words: 1003 | angst, death.

the horcruxes. They've been haunting them down since Regulus Black came into the order meeting, soaking wet and told them about Voldemort's horcruxes.

This is the last battle. After this, the war would be over. All they need to do is survive it.

People were shouting and shooting spells everywhere, James send the last spell to the deatheater he was dueling when suddenly, there was a green light on his left, coming to his way. Before James could even process what was happening, a person pushed James out the way and the green light hit them square in the chest.

James sent a spell to the deatheater that cast that spell without a second thought and apparated, taking the person with him.

As soon as they landed, Regulus fell on to James. They were in a little meadow, where Regulus and him agreed to get married and build a home after this war.

James stumbled backwards as the weight of Regulus fell on him. Slowly, James set Regulus on the grass, shaking slightly. The spell was a green light. James knew what it meant. But.. but it can't be. Regulus can't be- he can't- he-

"Reg?" James choked out, his voice breaking. "Regulus, love, please- please wake up" please, don't leave me please. James tried to shake Regulus awake but the boy remain lifeless in his arms.

Regulus's heart was no longer beating, James is sure his heart stopped beating too. Regulus was dead. Oh Regulus was- no no no no no no-

James thinks this is worse than dying, James was close to dying multiple times while fighting in the war. Yet this is beyond any kind of pain.

Please, he thinks.

Please come back, call me an idiot, yell at me, hex me, curse me, hurt me, kiss me, tell me you love me. Please, anything, just one last time. Please-

"Give him back" James' voice was barely a wispier "give him back to me, please" he asked to whoever was listening, the gods above or whoever.

The sun was going down, it was almost dark. James hope the sun will never come back up again. No sun should be allowed to shine without Regulus.

"give him back to me, give him back." James repeated the words over and over again. He doesn't know why he's doing it, it's no use he knows. But he wants his love back, his star, his whole world, he wants him back.

________________________________

James doesn't know much of what happened, he knows someone found him and Regulus. He doesn't remember what happened after. They had funerals, lots of them. But James doesn't remember much of it. He attended some of them but he didn't cry. Not a single tear.

Regulus's funeral came around but James doesn't know what he's supposed to feel. All he felt was empty. Sirius was weeping in Remus' arms, his boyfriend was softly whispering in his ears.

James didn't sob or cry, he just stared blankly into nowhere. They had won the war, Voldemort was dead. They saved the world but James lost his. For James, he lost the war the moment his world fell into his arms

Maybe in another universe he'll still have his world in his arms, sitting on the couch in there beautiful home. They would get married, get a cat and have kids, just like they said they would.

Maybe in another universe, war wouldn't exist, maybe they would be muggles. But no matter what universe it is, James knows for sure that Regulus would always be his. In every universe and every lifetime.

_______________________________

James laid down on their bed, they were just here that morning before the battle. Regulus was laughing at something James said and calling him an idiot. Oh James would do anything to hear that laugh one more time.

The sun goes down and rise up again. But James never did, he went down and never came back up. James didn't have his world to shine for anymore. James doesn't think he'll shine again.

Every day James would come out to their little meadow and wait for his star to come back, he imagine one day Regulus would, he would come back to James, smiling wildly, and they would make up for the days they missed together. But of course, it never happened.

And every night James would talk to his star, telling him how much he misses him and tells him about his day. The star only shines a little brighter in response. But James smiles everytime it did.

Time passed, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. But James never did fell in love again, he never felt truly happy, never stopped waiting for his love, ever again.

________________________________

Centuries passed and on a sunny day, a boy that smiles so bright like the sun, and a boy that is beautiful like the stars, walked hand in hand. They came across a little meadow with a house near by. It all felt familiar, they stare at it for a while, and they knew.

"This is it isn't it?" The sun boy asked, grinning.

"We don't even know if it's for sale!" the star boy replied.

"Well I can offer them as much money as they want." The taller boy replied with a shrug.

The other boy just huff a laugh and not long after, they were living in a home with a little meadow near by.

What they'll never know is that centuries ago, two lovers just like them dreamed of the life they were living. But never got it, at least not in that lifetime.

--- In every universe, every lifetime, the sun and the star found each other and falls in love. ---

[ryuzakemo128]

Solar Eclipse

Chapter One: Stranger Than Fiction

Pairing: Joel Miller x Oksana 'Gorgon' Uvarova

Content Warning: No Outbreak, Age Gap (Joel is 45 and Oksana is 24), Sexual Content, implied drug and alcohol use, Swearing.

Words: 9518

Masterlist - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Credit for the Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Leaning on the door frame on the front door, door open, the audacity she had of calling ME pup. “What’s the matter, pup? Can’t sleep?”

The bedroom, dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the lamp from her desk. Which was on the left-hand side of her bedroom door. Along with battery powered nightlights in the shape of various animals and dinosaurs. Placed in odd places around the entire room.

The bookshelf with the vinyls of different subgenres of heavy metal. The record player itself being on the night stand a few paces from her bed. Right next to the portable heater. Which would have been shoved in her storage closet at the end of the hall. She felt cold that morning. Forgetting to put the heater back into the storage into the closet.

The bed itself, enormous, draped in black velvet, the posts carved into the shapes of snarling wolves. Walls adorned with paintings and posters of the same raven-haired beauty, some showing her in various stages of undress, others in action poses, weapons drawn.

Above the bed, a large fan whirred quietly. On the door of her wardrobe, a collection of knives and swords glinted menacingly in the dim light. She knew each one intimately, having spent hours honing them to perfection. The scent of leather and metal hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the faint sweetness of the incense burning in the corner.

The thick metal chain choker wrapped around her neck with the carabiner in the centre. The white tank top she decided to throw on. Which looked to have been cut into more of a crop top. Pulling on a pair of dark blue tiger printed shorts with her favourite black lace thigh high stockings underneath. Hands encased in fishnet, fingerless gloves. Her trusty combat boots waiting for her to put them on were at her bedroom doorway.

Her hair colour, a burnished copper with highlights of platinum blonde and auburn. Furthermore, her hairstyle is a combination of layers and textures, creating a voluminous and dynamic look. The top section of her hair is cut shorter, with choppy layers adding height and movement. Her hair cascades down, transitions into longer, tentacle-like strands that frame her face and extend past her shoulders. The ends of her hair thinned out to create a wispier, almost ethereal look. Coloured highlights of a deep blue on the ends.

The lip piercing, the multiple lobe piercings, industrial (a barbell through two points in the ear cartilage), helix, and tragus piercings. In addition to those, she has a double Labret ring lip piercing on her bottom lip. The venom tongue piercing she recently got in addition to the others.

A thick, studded belt worn loosely around the hips with a large skull belt buckle in the middle. Laid discarded on her desk after deciding she didn’t feel like wearing leather pants that day. Beside it, a black leather collar with spikes along the edge, adorned with a small silver bell.

The tattoos she has decided to have in the last few months consisted of a raven taking flight on her left forearm. The death's head hawk moth on the left side of her collarbone. The Luna Moth on her right ankle, with the date of her parent's divorce above it in cursive. On her left wrist is the Ouroboros tattoo, symbolising eternity, and the cyclical nature of life. The most recent tattoo she got is a full sleeve of various mythological creatures on her right arm. The intricate details of their scales, fur, and feathers looked like they could come alive at any moment.

Pale translucent complexion with undertones of blue and purple. Delicate features with high cheekbones, elfin ears, and a pointed chin. A small nose with flared nostrils and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes, the colour of a solar flare, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. The colours of her eyes were a mix of orange, yellow, red, green, and blue.

The makeup she decided to wear consisted of a contrasting matte black upper lip with a metallic or shimmery silver lower lip. She would put on black liquid eyeliner afterwards to make the colour of her eyes stand out further.

Her breasts, they were much, much bigger than both of my hands could hold, and the way they bounced slightly with every step she took. As she usually went without a bra on, it was always a delightful surprise to see them in all their natural glory. Always amuses me to see her either half-asleep or drunk. Especially if I came over to tell her to turn the music down so I could pass out in peace.

Leaning on the door frame on the front door, door open, the audacity she had of calling ME pup. “What’s the matter, pup? Can’t sleep?” The smell of whisky, vodka and weed wafted into my nostrils like an unwelcome symphony of a genre I didn’t particularly like. “I thought you didn’t work on weekends, bub.” She taunted a little more, the joint in her right hand, taking a deeper drag. Blowing it away from me instead of in my face. Though I doubt it was done out of courtesy or kindness on her part.

With a smirk she switched the music off entirely, “Better now pup?” she asked raising an eyebrow at me. Though, I have a surprisingly good feeling, she’s about to invite one of the guys that usually came over on Saturdays to fuck her. I didn’t know what came over me. I didn’t just want to have her in that way. Finding myself wanting her to myself. Every part of her.

It wasn’t like the guy would be upset if she didn’t call or tell him to come over, I have a feeling their relationship is more like a casual fuck buddy kind of deal. Though, it never quite explained the perpetual vibe of the eighties that came from her. It did leave a sour taste in my mouth when the guy left her one hundred and fifty dollars the next morning. Along with another part of his own stash of weed. Like it was a trade of some kind. She enjoyed it enough, as the jars of cash she saved from it were any indication.

She could also be getting ready to meet up with someone else tonight, until I found out she was actually planning to get another tattoo. Something inexplicable welled up inside of me. I didn’t, I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why I felt this wave of jealousy and possessiveness. It came down on me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

The tattoo she planned to get is a snake. Made to look like it was weaving itself around the right collarbone. A snake inside a sea of colour, like it was overdrawn with blue and green to recreate the ocean without stepping inside of it. She had been eyeing the design for weeks. Each night she'd sit at her desk, sketching it out, perfecting the placement, the way the scales would catch the light, the way the snake's eyes would look eerily realistic.

Oksana, or Gorgon as she liked to be called, was a creature of the night. Her lifestyle was a constant party, a whirlwind of ink, music, and fleeting romances. The mismatched furniture from thrift stores, flea markets, garage sales, posts from sites from people that were getting rid of things they didn’t want.

The typewriter on her desk, coloured led lightbulbs with a remote to change the colour of the bulbs, the organised chaos of paper stacked up in different desk organisers and a phone book of numbers of people she spent time together with. The way she'd look at me, her eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on her full lips, it was like she knew exactly what was going through my mind. The way she'd twirl the joint in her fingers, like she was playing a game with me. I didn’t know if she was flirting or just toying with me, or both. Most of the time it feels like both.

As she grabbed out cash for her dinner and her tattoo from one of the jars. The tinking of her spiked wristband on the glass was like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. Pulling out several one hundred dollar bills out of it with a concentrating frown on her face. Her black leather wallet next to her.

“You’re not planning on seeing anyone tonight, are you?” The question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. She stopped for a moment, her eyes meeting mine. Surprise flashed across her face, and she let out a small laugh that sounded forced. “Pup, you know I don’t make plans. But if you’re asking if I’m going to get some ink done, yeah. Why, did you want to come along? Unless you have plans already, pup. Though, I would be surprised if you don't. I thought men your age are busy or something. Before you get weird about what I said. My mother is three years younger than you. My mother had me when she was eighteen.”

I asked about her mother, trying to keep the conversation light. “Your mom was a young'un, huh?” I replied, trying to ignore the jab at my age.

Oksana shrugged, her smile widening slightly. “Yeah, she was wild. More than me, even. But she also married a guy who was pretty bad. She ended up leaving the guy, though. Remarried the neighbour back in Russia. More of a dad than my real one was by a mile and a half.” As she pulled her jacket on to get ready to leave. Shoving her cash into her wallet.

I nodded, trying to ignore the pang of regret that twisted in my stomach at the thought of her with someone else. “I might just do that. Tag along, I mean. Nothing better to do tonight anyway.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. She raised an eyebrow at me, a hint of amusement in her eye. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tattoos aren’t exactly my usual kind of party, you know?” She grabbed her keys from the teal-coloured bowl by the door. “You're high as a kite. You're not driving." I said, taking them from her hand.

Her car was larger, bulkier, and bigger than I assumed she would drive. A black Dodge Challenger hellcat with a set of custom rims that looked like they could slice through steel. The engine roared to life, the sound echoing through the quiet night. The vibrations sent a thrill up my spine as I slammed the door shut. She leaned back into the seat, a smug grin on her face. “You know how to handle a beast like this, pup?”

I smirked, taking a look at her, “I can handle you, can’t I? Not that much different from that now, is it?”

“Cheeky one aren’t you pup?” she smirked. She lived like she was going to die tomorrow. It both frustrated me and made me want to live. Even at my age now. She is the wildfire to my dry grass. Waiting, wanting to be set alight by her fiery nature. Her fiery inferno. Her car was cleaner than her house. Something I didn’t find too surprising considering her usual habits. It smelled faintly of leather and mint gum. A stark contrast to the smoky scent of her home. According to the gossiping older women I could hear from my house. She inherited the house from her grandparents who moved here during the 1980s.

They were upset when they found out she was moving in there instead of her younger brother, Sergei. Who they just lusted over from what I had seen and heard. Though they weren’t too pleased when they saw her moving in. Her brother was much more to their taste. Young, fit, and had a smile that could charm the pants off a saint. But no, she was the one that got the house. I never knew why she chose to stay, though. It was because she liked to be closer to me. To annoy me, or to see me, as she said, get my panties in a twist.

The house was part of her grandmother's farm, "Its a sea of ducks, geese, chickens and other farm animals. And a sea of plants and flowers she had planted herself." I thought to myself, remembering the first time I saw it. It was like a small oasis in the middle of suburbia. The engine's roar grew louder as we pulled out of the driveway, the headlights cutting through the darkness. She threw the gear into drive, and we peeled out onto the street.

As Oksana got her tattoo done, I sat in the chair next to her, watching the needle dance over her skin. The buzz of the tattoo gun filled the small, intimate space, mingling with the occasional clank of metal on metal. The artist, a burly guy with sleeves of ink himself, worked with a focused precision that was almost mesmerizing. His eyes never left the canvas of her skin, his thick fingers guiding the snake into place. She didn't flinch once, not even when the needle hit the sensitive spot on her collarbone. Her eyes remained closed, her breaths deep and steady, as if she were in a meditative state.

I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions as I studied her. The way the snake's body curved around her, the way the blue and green inks blended to create the illusion of water, it was... beautiful. It was a stark contrast to the hardened exterior she presented to the world. It was like seeing a side of her that no one else got to see. The vulnerability was intoxicating. I found myself wanting to reach out, to trace the ink with my fingertips, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap.

Oksana's eyes fluttered open, and she caught me staring. "You like it?" she asked, her voice low and raspy. I nodded, unable to find the words to describe the way it made me feel. She smirked, "Thought you'd be more of a prude, pup."

The tattoo artist, noticing the tension in the air, cleared his throat. "Alright, we're all done here." He wiped the excess ink away, revealing the completed piece in all its glory. She sat up, stretching like a cat that had just woken from a nap. The way her muscles moved under her skin was hypnotizing. She looked over at me, her gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Thanks for coming with me, Joel. I know it's not your scene."

She paid for the tattoo which included a nice tip that made the artist's eyes widen. He was a man of few words, mostly because he was busy with his craft, but also because he knew better than to pry into his client's personal life. Oksana stood up from the chair, her body moving with a grace that was surprising for someone so rough around the edges. She pulled on her shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to her skin from the sweat that had built up during the inking process. The new tattoo looked even more impressive with the fabric of her shirt hugging it.

Oksana also paid for takeout, even though I protested a little and ended up agreeing on a 50/50 split. We drove back to her place in relative silence, the sound of the engine the only constant. The adrenaline from the tattoo parlour still buzzed through her veins, making her restless. She was like a caged animal, needing to expel the excess energy. When we arrived, she practically leaped out of the car and into her house.

By the time I got in, she cleared off the kitchen counter and the dishwasher hard at work. Cleaning the dishes from the night before. The kitchen looked better than it did a few hours ago. As she cleared off the rubbish away to prevent me from getting up and doing it for her. "You don’t need to do that, I got it," she said, her voice a little too cheerful for someone who had just endured a few hours of pain.

Once the kitchen was deemed ok or what I should say, deemed clean enough to have dinner on. She placed the takeout containers on the island bench and got out two plates.

Good God.

Even her dishware was mismatched, no two are the same colour, size, or design. I assumed she bought them. Until I noticed the pottery wheel, clay and other things in her backyard shed. Hinting at the fact she made the plates, bowls, and other dishes herself. It explained why she was able to make a modest sum from her pottery as well as her job. Though I never did find out what she does for work.

Until I found out yesterday.

I wish I didn’t see it.

I didn’t mean to.

I was looking at other porn when I stumbled upon her onlyfans page. I didn’t know what came over me when I decided to look further. For some reason I felt the urge to continue to peruse around it. Pictures of her in various stages of undress, pictures of her in different outfits from different eras, videos of her undressing in front of the camera and other things like first person penetration videos, videos of her playing with herself and videos of her riding a plastic cock of various sizes, girths, textures.

From what I’ve seen from her, she had that entrepreneurial spirit inside her.

Wandering into her office, it was set up nicely, the three monitors, the two pcs set up and the layers of porn magazines I saw in her magazine rack. The galaxy projector on top of the desk and the camera beside it. The erotic posters framed and hung on the wall.

Various bottles of perfume inside a second worn out make up bag beside the one with all her make up inside. From what I’ve seen so far most of the more expensive ones were sent to her from her fans. Notes attached to them of how much they loved her content and how they hoped she liked the gift. From the amount of use they seemed to have. She loved them. Including the ones that didn’t cost as much or last as long as them.

She sipped the mead she bought that morning, well it was more like she bought more mead this morning. Her bar fridge full of various drinks, from mead to vodka. Only she didn’t touch beer and wine. She said she didn’t feel mature enough to drink either one of those things. She also said she felt like she hadn’t reached an age to even consider liking it either.

“I’ll gift it to someone else, that’s not an issue, I just don’t like the taste at all.” She said taking a sip of her mead.

I raised an eyebrow at what she said, “You don’t drink beer or wine?” I couldn’t help but ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Tried it once or twice, before deciding to never touch it again. The taste of it overpowers everything else. Regardless of what one someone says to try out.” She said eating her spicy potato noodles, the spice bringing more of a flush to her cheeks. She didn’t care or notice how she ate with gusto. Her appetite larger than her body frame would suggest.

“I think it’s pretty cute,” she said with a smirk suggesting that she knew what I was thinking about. “For someone who’s double my age, you have a wonderfully wild imagination there. Pretty hot. I don’t do anything related to it with someone I know. It just muddles things up and causes emotional mess. Now I mean, in front of the camera stuff. I don’t mean not having a relationship that’s different.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart raced at her words. “I get it. Separate life, separate place.”

“Kind of hard to do this job and have a relationship though, most guys wouldn’t handle it. I do mean it like that because of the nature of my work. Jealousy is a dangerous thing to have when it comes to it though-”

I cut her off with a laugh, “I’m not most guys, Oksana, I have seen worse things than a woman enjoying herself as she gets herself off in front of a camera.”

The visible and audible sigh as her shoulders relaxed, taking another sip of mead, “Good to know. You have no idea how weird guys get when they find out about it. They get possessive, jealous and take it to another level of weird. And weirder than you might think or even assume by the way.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, I know the type. I’ve seen enough of that to know what you mean. Though I’m surprised you still tell them even after you know how it’s going to go.”

“Some of the guys I went out with they were fine with it for a while. Then it’s like an internal switch flipped and suddenly they’re no longer alright with it.” She says like an exasperated, seasoned veteran who’s seen it all before. “If you ask about what I do for work I’m not going to turn around and lie about it. I can’t lie. I’m a bad liar. I hate lying and everything that comes with lying.”

By the time we finished dinner, Oksana told me I was allowed to crash there considering the guy that usually came over had other plans that night. “By all means crash in the spare bedroom. It’s the only normal looking room in this house.” She said showing me the spare room. “I didn’t want to spook any potential guests with all my weird shit.”

The guest room had a queen size bed, with charcoal grey sheets with matching pillows. A thick black comforter over the top. A print of the painting called, ‘Starry Night.’ By Vincent Van Gogh placed above the bed. The walls painted lavender and the soft plush carpet a dark chocolate brown. The green lava lamp on the bedside table next to the bed and the black curtains to block out the sun.

The incense of mint burning on the other bedside table. Filling the room with a sweet aroma of mint. A refreshing change from the rest of the house. The floor is clean, the bed is made. The indication she is used to having guests over at her place. The kind that she fucks and forgets.

I didn’t want to be another one of those guests.

I wanted to be much, much more than that.

More from her than just a quick fuck from her. More than just a night of excess, pleasure and a good time. If I were to fuck her, like I plan to, I would rather do it inside her own bedroom. Regardless of how much of a mess it can be at times. It felt more intimate. Real. A connection from my world to hers.

Just my own thoughts on the matter.

My own thoughts on it.

Mine.

The word continued to echo in the back of my mind. I stared at her as she got ready for her bath inside of her bedroom. The image of her naked body burned into my retinas. Posed in various ways. Posted on her onlyfans. A strange feeling of wanting to claim her. To have her for myself. To be the only one to make her moan, writhe and squirm in pleasure as I pound into her dripping wet cunt.

I knew this wasn’t just lust speaking into my ear. It felt more like a deep connection, something I hadn't felt in an extraordinarily long time.

A connection deeper than just being neighbours and acquaintances we had.

She grabbed a towel from the linen closet. The charcoal-black coloured towels, bed sheets, hand towels and bathrobes. They all felt and looked expensive with a gold embroidered G for ‘Gorgon.’

The bathroom itself is surprisingly clean, the black tiles gleaming under the artificial lights. The bathtub was a deep clawfoot tub with a shower head attached to the wall. Matching black soap holder, toothbrush holder and towel rack. The smell of mint filled the room from the candles she had lit around the bathtub. The steam filled the room, creating a sense of comfort and warmth. She stripped off her clothes without a care in the world, revealing her tattooed body. She stepped into the tub, the water was a dark purple, almost black, thanks to the bath bomb she had dropped in.

I know she told me to make myself comfortable.

But how could I make myself comfortable with someone who I desired more than I would ever care to admit. Even to her. Even to myself. Someone who is so incredibly open about her sexuality and at the same time so closed off to the idea of a romantic relationship with someone. No matter what I did to try to shake the images of her from inside my mind. All it did was make the image sink further in.

The podcast she listened to in the background, listening to a podcast about serial killers and their origins. Odd choice for someone to listen to, though if it were anyone other than her. It would have been more of a red flag. Her strange fascination with things other people would keep away from. Things deemed too dark or too much for someone ‘normal’.

Nothing is ever normal about her.

From her job to her inherited farm. Nothing about her is ever normal. Added to her charming nature. My mind went back to when I first met her. She didn’t know how to approach me at first.

“Hey. My name is Oksana Uvarova. Most people call me Gorgon. I just moved in next door. I wasn’t sure what to bring over to introduce myself with. So, I brought over a thing of fudge just to say hello. I hope you like it.” That is what she said to me when I opened the front door and saw her there. Her thick Russian accent indicating she moved here from overseas.

The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes, a mix of orange, yellow, red, green, and blue. Pulling in me in with a fiery intensity and never letting me go. And then there was her hair, a wild mess of curls that looked like they hadn’t seen a brush in weeks, but somehow, it worked for her. She was wearing a t-shirt that was a few sizes too big for her, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing her inked arms.

I had a hard time finding the right words to say to her, after what it felt like an eternity, “Nice to meet you, Gorgon. I’m Joel Miller. Thanks for the fudge by the way. I was about to have a piece of cake with my whisky. But I have feeling this would go much better with it. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

Ellie showed up at the door, “What the hell is taking you so long?” She barged in, her explosive energy on full blast. Her eyes fell on the fudge. “Oh, you have a visitor?” She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“She yours?” Oksana asked me curious about her.

“This is Ellie, my daughter. Ellie, this is Oksana, our new neighbour.” I answered. I had adopted Ellie months prior.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Oksana greeted her with a warm smile, her eyes lighting up. She handed the fudge to me and stepped aside. “I’ll let you two catch up. I have some things to unpack anyway. Joel knows where to find me if he needs anything.”

As I watched her retreat to her house, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. I knew I needed to set some boundaries, but the way she looked at me made it difficult. Ellie grabbed the fudge from my hand and took a bite, her eyes widening in delight. “This is amazing, who made it?”

“Gorgon did El.” I answered with a smirk on my lips. The glass Tupperware container on the kitchen bench as I grabbed my bottle of whisky from the refrigerator. Pouring some into a glass to drink with the fudge.

“Mm, she’s got skills. Maybe she can teach me how to make it. Can I go say hello?” Ellie asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Not today, El. She’s got some serious unpacking to do by the look of things. How about tomorrow? That way she has some time to settle in on her first night and bombard her with a welcome committee of two. That way if you want to help her and hang out with her, she’ll be more likely to say yes.” I suggested to her. Hopefully, it would keep Ellie from crossing any boundaries Oksana may or may not have known about prior.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But I want to know everything about her tomorrow, deal?” Ellie said with a cheeky grin, already planning our next visit in her head.

To think that first meeting would spiral into spending time in her house like this. If someone told me this would have happened years ago. I would have laughed at them and called them an idiot for thinking that would have happened. Now that it had. I didn’t know whether it was a blessing or an oddly timed curse.

“You doing ok in there pup?” Oksana questioned noticing my silence from the bathroom. Her voice echoed in the hallway, filled with a hint of concern.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just getting ready for bed,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. The truth was, I was anything but casual. The images of her in the tub, the water a dark purple hue, her skin glistening with beads of sweat and water droplets was something I couldn’t easily shake off.

“Pup. I know something’s up. What’s the matter?” Oksana asked, stepping into the bedroom, charcoal bathrobe tied around her.

Her eyes searched mine, and I realized she could see right through me. The silence grew thick, and I knew I had to say something. “It's just... I can't stop thinking about what I saw on your OnlyFans, Oksana. It's messing with my head.”

“I warned you pup. Not for the faint of heart and all that.” She soothed with a hand on my cheek, her thumb brushing against my bearded cheek. Her eyes searched mine, trying to gauge the extent of the mess in my head. “Did you want to talk about it, or did you want to sleep on it?”

“I don’t know, I just- I just need to get it out of my head.” I confessed, frustration lacing my voice. She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s just- I’ve never felt like this before. Watching someone I know, someone I care about, do something so intimate with herself. It’s... I don’t know, it’s fucking with me.”

“You sound like me when I found porn at eighteen.” Oksana chuckled. “Though the type of porn I watched the first time was more like cuckholding and I went across it once. Fucked me up a little when I found out it was my ex.”

Her words didn’t help to ease the tension in the room, but the way she talked about it so casually made me feel less like a creep. “Is that a common theme with you?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light, despite the images playing in my mind.

“The exs, the porn or the good looks?” She questioned with a wink.

I couldn’t help but laugh, “Maybe a bit of all three. But I’m more curious about the porn theme. It’s not every day you find out your neighbour is a porn star.”

“I know right? Almost like it was written straight out of a badly filmed porno of some kind.” Oksana replied smirking at me. “You know the kind that have poor image quality that you have to squint in order to see what the hell is going on.”

“So, you’re saying it’s like the kind of porn you make?” I quipped back, trying to lighten the mood even more. She playfully threw a pillow at me, which I caught easily.

“You’re a sly one, Joel. But yes, something like that. I guess it’s not the most conventional job, but it’s honest work, and it pays the bills. Plus, I enjoy it. Can’t say everyone can say that about their job.” Oksana pointed out the photo on the wall. “That is what my first ex looked like just to give you an idea.”

The photo was of a man in his mid-thirties, with a smug smile on his face, muscular arms folded across his chest. He was standing next to a motorbike, wearing leather pants and a sleeveless shirt. The resemblance was uncanny to the type of guys you’d see in a biker gang. “I can see the appeal. But what happened with him?”

“He went on and on about needing more ‘space’ to do what he wanted and how I was too ‘clingy’. But what he really meant was that he was tired of being married and wanted to bang every groupie that threw themselves at him when he went on tour. He was a musician, not a good one, but he had a decent fan base. He played the guitar like a fucking amateur, had a shit band and an even shittier personality to go with it. But somehow, he had fans that threw themselves at him, probably because he had a good dick and knew how to play it up on stage. I caught him with his dick in one of them and that was the end of that.” She said with a roll of her eyes. “I was nineteen when I started dating the guy and I was twenty-two when we divorced.”

I nodded, placing the pillow back on the bed. Her honesty was refreshing, but it didn’t make the situation any less complicated. “And what about you? Any serious relationships?”

“Not since that entitled prick left. Mostly casual ones I know won’t last too long and won’t mind living somewhere else.” Oksana answered honestly. “I did have an encounter with him recently if you wanted to hear about it.”

“I’m all ears, Gorgon.” I replied, my curiosity piqued. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her robe slipping open slightly, revealing the top of one of her breasts. She didn’t bother fixing it, instead, she leaned back, making herself comfortable.

“Sweet. I had this bottled up for three days and it’s been weird thinking about it since it happened.” Oksana replied wiggling her hips a little more to get more comfortable, “I was looking at some nice lenses for my camera, you know the big bulky thing I keep in my office? The one that looked like that could break your foot if you dropped it?”

I nodded, remembering the camera that looked like it could be used for professional shoots. “I know the one. What happened with your ex?”

“I was looking at camera lenses that gave the soft blurring look without having to edit it in post. Which can take ages if you don’t know what you’re doing. It was for the, you know, for those intimate shots that really make the eyes pop, and the background just fade away.” Oksana showed off the lenses she bought that day, still in the box. “And I swear, you could have been able to smell the guy before you even saw him. It was like he doused himself in an entire bottle of cologne, if you were there your eyes would be watering from the smell and your lungs would want to collapse from the sheer fumes of it all. He walked into the shop like he owned the place. And you know what he said to me?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement as she leaned back into the pillows, her long legs stretching out on the bed. I sat on the edge of the bed, eager to hear the story. “What did he say?”

She recanted what he did to her, slapping her hand on my shoulder, bringing me in closer to her, her lips close to my ear, “’How about I ditch this chick, and have you re-enact that porn scene you did last week?’ As if he could just weasel back into my life after what he did.” She pulled away to give me my personal space back.

The image of her with another man was a knife twisting in my gut. Jealousy boiled in me, a potent cocktail of anger and possessiveness. I tried to keep my voice calm, not wanting to show how much it affected me, “What did you say to him?”

“I told him to get fucked and leave me alone. No way in hell I was going back to that guy. You nuts? He had his chance two years ago and he blew it. It’s not my fault that he ‘regrets’ it. Not my problem either.” Oksana’s voice was filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance, her eyes narrowing at the memory. She leaned back into the pillows, her hand playing with the sash of her robe. The conversation had taken a sharp turn into her personal life, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it was as if she enjoyed sharing these intimate details with me.

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the distant echo of Ellie playing her guitar in her room. “Thankfully, his new girl dragged him away afterwards after she spotted me. She had more sense than he did.” She added in with a snort.

I chuckled, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, “There’s not much to tell. My ex-wife and I had our issues, but she’s mostly out of the picture. Nothing too dramatic, just two people who realized they didn’t belong together anymore.”

“I wish my parents went that route.” Oksana’s voice was low, filled with a hint of sadness that hadn’t been there before. She looked down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Found out he was seeing other women when I called his motel room during one of his business trips. I heard another woman's voice in the background and well, it went downhill from there. Though hard to imagine a ten-year-old getting the ire of a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants at the time.”

Her words hung in the air, and I felt a twinge of pity for the little girl who had to deal with such a shithead of a father. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Oksana.” I squeezed her hand gently.

“Don’t worry about it. As I said before. I traded him in for a better dad when my mother remarried.” Oksana smiled grabbing her phone and showed me a photo of her mother with her stepfather.

Her stepfather was a burly man with a thick beard, kind eyes, and a warm smile. He had his arm around Oksana’s mother, who was petite in comparison but had a strong presence. They looked happy together. The kind of happy that was earned through hardship and finding each other.

“I helped her pick out the wedding dress. Well, me, my twin sister and younger brother helped her pick one out.” Oksana murmured. Her voice was filled with fondness, and I could see the love she had for her stepfather in her eyes. Her mother looked beautiful, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“They look happy together,” I said, returning the phone to her.

Oksana nodded, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “They are, he has been more of a father to me than my biological one ever was. And my sisters and brother, they’re great too. We’re all a little... different, but that’s what makes us work. My twin, she’s a doctor. Go figure, right?”

We shared a laugh, the tension breaking into a comfortable silence, she shifted closer to me. Her robe slipping further open to reveal the intricate tattoos snaking down her torso. I swallowed hard, my eyes tracing the ink, feeling a primal need to touch her. She noticed my gaze and took my hand, placing it on her bare skin.

Her body, soft like velvet, warm like fire, smooth like silk and addicting like heroin. Feeling the heat radiating from her skin onto mine. Powerless to resist any longer. The electricity between the two of us. Like a magnet pulling me closer to her. Her hand remained in mine.

No longer enough now.

I need more of her.

I want more of her.

I want to peel back that robe from her body and touch more of her warmth. I want to kiss her neck, to feel her pulse race under my lips. But I don’t move. I’m paralysed by fear of losing this friendship. Of scaring her away. But the way she’s looking at me, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else, something I can’t quite place, it’s like she’s daring me to make a move.

“Joel, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Oksana’s voice breaks the silence, her thumb still tracing circles on my palm.

“Just... thinking,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. Her eyes searched my face, looking for something.

“Thinking about it pretty hard from the look of things.” Her lips hovered near mine like an enticing piece of chocolate I accidentally left on the counter only to have Ellie eat it while I wasn't looking.

Taking a deep breath as I looked into her eyes and back at her lips again, breath hitching in my throat like a grip tighter than a vice and a heart beating faster than a drum in a death metal concert. “I can't help but think about you, Oksana. In ways that I probably shouldn't.” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you scared pup?” Oksana asked me getting closer to me. The heat from her body getting to an intense level.

Placing a gentle kiss on my lips just to test the waters, a taste of mint from her toothpaste and the lingering taste of the mead she was drinking earlier on her tongue. A question rather than a demand, a gentle caress rather than a hungry bite. She waited for a response from me, to give her permission from me. Waiting for me to allow her to go further.

Oksana’s breath was warm against my face, and the scent of mint filled the air around us. I could feel her pulse quickening in her hand, matching the rhythm of my own heart. “Oksana... I don’t know if I can handle this... if I can handle you,” I admitted, my voice hoarse with desire.

“Pup, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to wait. We can wait.” Oksana kissed me on the forehead.

The fire inside of me was burning. Out of control. Her touch set me on fire and now. Now I couldn’t get enough of it.

She gently lets go of my hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my hand as she did, “I don’t want you to be afraid, Joel. I want you to want this as much as I do. If we’re going to do this, it needs to be because you’re ready, not because you think you need to or because you’re curious about what it’s like to fuck your neighbour. It has to come from your own comfort level.”

Her words resonate deep within me, my heart hammering in my chest. I nod, understanding the gravity of what she’s saying. “You’re right. I need to think about this. I don’t want to mess up what we have.”

“Take as long as you need to.” Oksana smiled at me before she left, closing the door behind her. She walked to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

I sat there, staring at the floor, feeling like I was about to jump out of my skin. What the fuck was I doing? This woman was my neighbour. She’s seen me at my worst, and here I was, practically drooling over her. I groaned as I got ready for bed. Thinking about what happened moments before. Thinking about the kiss. Thinking about the way she looked at me. Thinking about the way she touched me.

The way she left without making it seem like it was a big deal made it a big deal to me. Her words echoed in my mind as I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as I replayed our conversation. Her hand in mine, the way she smelled, the way she talked about her exes so casually. It was like a fucking punch to the gut. But it was the way she talked about her job that really got to me. She enjoyed it. And why wouldn’t she? She was good at it. Too good at it.

Too good at it in the sense that she had the power to make a man's head spin with just a look. She wasn’t just a pretty face with a great body. She’s intelligent, she had a good heart, strong, and she had been through hell and back. And here she was, living her life on her own terms, making a career out of something she enjoyed. Despite the stigma hanging around sex work in general.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand the jumble of emotions coursing through me. The desire to claim her, to have her only for myself was overwhelming. The reality was, she didn’t belong to anyone. And she never would. She was a free spirit, a wildflower growing in the cracks of concrete pathways and sidewalks. Like mother nature taking back its rightful place in the world. Taking over the abandoned buildings left untouched by humans.

The sound of the running water from the bathroom grew louder as she turned the shower on. I could imagine her, the water cascading down her body, washing away the day’s stresses. The image was too much, I had to get out of the room. So, I got up and went to the kitchen, trying to find something to drink. The mini fridge was full of mead, whisky, vodka, tequila, and gin. Nothing to drink for someone who’s trying to clear their mind. But then I remembered the bottle of whisky I had brought over from my house. It was hidden in the pantry, buried behind canned foods and dry goods.

I grabbed the bottle and a glass, pouring myself a generous amount. The amber-brown liquid burned as it went down my throat, but it helped to clear my head a bit. I leaned against the counter, taking in the quiet of the house. The only sounds were the shower and the occasional creak of the floorboards.

All because of a woman half my age had kissed me like I was made out of glass. Afraid I would shatter under her touch. I took a deep breath, feeling the whiskey warm my chest. I needed to get a grip on myself. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had feelings for someone, but it was the first time in a long time that I’ve felt like this. Like a teenager again, trying to decode the unspoken cues of a girl I liked.

Once she came out, she was dressed in deep purple pyjamas, “I’m sorry if I overstepped and made you uncomfortable.” She whispered the concern for me remained. “Also, there’s water in the fridge if you need it. Go easy on the booze pup. It’s not worth the hangover. Goodnight Joel. Thank you for driving me to the tattoo parlour. It was amusing to see you there.” She walked to her bedroom, across from the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

I woke up on the couch, with Oksana placing homecooked breakfast on the coffee table in front of me. “Hey there, sleeping beauty, you sleep well?” she asked. She must have put two blankets on me when I fell asleep on the couch last night. Two thick, heavy, large fluffy pancakes, maple syrup in a serving jar and a cup of black coffee. As well as a glass of water and a jug of water beside it. As well as aspirin in case I needed it.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks for the blankets.” I said, my voice still a little groggy from sleep. The smell of the pancakes filled the room, making my stomach growl.

“I would like to think that you would have done the same thing for me.” Oksana smirked, as she went to eat her own breakfast after switching on the television on and setting it to a low mumble in case one of us had a splitting headache.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, the light from the television flickering against my face. She had set the scene like it was a movie, the morning light peeking through the blinds casting a soft glow on the room. The smell of the pancakes and the coffee is absolutely heavenly to my senses.

“Thank you for this, Oksana. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” I said, trying to hide the fact that my stomach was doing backflips at the sight of food.

“You’re welcome. Nonsense. It was no trouble at all.” Oksana replied from the kitchen. “Besides, you need to eat something, breakfast is an important meal of the day.”

I took a bite of the pancake and moaned in satisfaction. It was fluffy, and the maple syrup was just the right amount of sweetness. The coffee was strong, and it helped me wake up more than the shower did.

She seemed to be getting ready for someone to install something into her home, most likely more security cameras or another security system to help her feel safer and more secure. Monitors broadcasting the camera footage in the second office she had converted the third spare bedroom into.

The guys walked into the room, carrying heavy boxes filled with security equipment. one of them called her over, “Ma’am, where do you want us to set these up?”

Oksana showed them where the rest of the security system was in place, talking about what she had in mind, her voice a mix of authority and allure. The men looked at her with a mix of admiration and a hint of fear. She had that effect on people. While also showing them what she had set up already in terms of monitoring camera footage.

They worked efficiently, setting up the new equipment with minimal disruption to our morning routine. Oksana's confidence and knowledge of the tech impressed them, and they quickly fell into a rhythm of nods and grunts as they followed her instructions. Meanwhile, Ellie emerged from her room, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar faces and the faint scent of freshly baked pancakes.

“Good morning, Junior. Pancakes are ready whenever you want them. Along with watermelon juice in the fridge.”

Ellie’s eyes widened at the sight of the food, her stomach rumbling audibly. “Thanks, Oksana!” she exclaimed, rushing to the table.

The morning filled with security tech guys installing a new system, Oksana's house buzzed with an unusual energy. Oksana, unfazed by the chaos, went about her day with a grace that seemed almost rehearsed. She walked around in her fluffy pink slippers, her hair wrapped in a towel, giving instructions and pointing out spots for cameras with the confidence of a seasoned director.

By the time they were finished, Oksana flicked through the manuals to understand how to work the system and looking online for what amount of hard drive storage she would need to save camera footage as well as the audio. It was clear she took her privacy and security seriously. “You think this will be enough?” She looked over at me, holding up a 4TB external hard drive.

“Should be plenty. Unless you’re planning on starting your own reality show, I’d say that’s more than enough.” I said with a smirk, taking a sip of my coffee.

With a sense of profound relief washing over her, she couldn’t help but let out a gentle sigh, one that carried with it the weight of a decision well made. The primary concern that had been weighing on her mind was the cost factor; she knew all too well that venturing into the realm of purchasing electronic devices with a larger capacity than the one she had just acquired had the potential to significantly exceed the financial boundaries she had set for herself. The hard drive she had chosen was a delicate balance between her storage needs and her financial comfort zone. It was a compromise that she had contemplated thoroughly, and now that she had made her choice, she felt a burden had been lifted.

Carefully, she proceeded to connect the sleek, compact device to her computer, eager to embark on the setup process. As she did so, she couldn’t help but appreciate the simplicity of the task at hand. The instructions provided were clear, concise, and easy to follow, which was a stark contrast to the complexities that often-accompanied other aspects of her life. Technology, in its purest form, offered a sense of predictability and order that she found quite soothing. Most of the time, she mused, it was a realm where she could exercise control without the interference of emotions or the potential for misunderstandings.

The hard drive clicked into place, and her computer recognized its presence with a soft beep, prompting her to initiate the setup process. As she navigated through the on-screen prompts, she found herself feeling a peculiar fondness for the silent obedience of her digital companion. It was a refreshing change from the tumultuous interactions she sometimes faced in her personal and professional spheres. The straightforward nature of technology meant that she didn’t have to navigate the murky waters of interpretation or guesswork; it simply followed the commands she inputted without question or protest.

This uncomplicated dynamic was something she found particularly appealing, as it allowed her to focus on the task at hand without the distraction of potential conflict or confusion. It was a world governed by logic and precision, where the outcome was solely dependent on the accuracy of her actions. The comfort she derived from this predictability was not lost on her, and she found herself smiling slightly as she continued with the installation.

The process was indeed a straightforward one, and she appreciated the intuitive design that allowed for such ease of use. Each step she completed brought her closer to the satisfying conclusion of the setup, and she felt a sense of accomplishment growing within her. Technology, in this moment, was not merely a tool but an extension of her own capabilities, one that she had mastered and could manipulate to serve her purposes effectively.

As the final stages of the setup unfolded before her, she couldn’t help but reflect on the times when technology had been less cooperative. There had been moments of frustration, of course, when a device had malfunctioned or when she had encountered a problem she couldn’t solve. But those instances were outweighed by the numerous occasions when the harmonious relationship between human and machine had made her life more manageable and efficient.

And so, with a quiet satisfaction, she watched as the final prompt disappeared from her screen, signalling that the hard drive was ready for use. She took a step back, surveying her work with a nod of approval. It was a small victory, but one that reinforced her belief in the power of technology to simplify and enhance the human experience, provided one had the knowledge and patience to navigate its intricacies. With that, she closed the lid of her computer, already planning the various ways she would utilize the newfound storage space. The cost had been justifiable, the setup had been a breeze, and she was left with a sense of satisfaction that she had made the right choice.

Though in the back of my mind, my thoughts remained on what happened last night between the two of us. Leaving me reeling from it and thinking about whether I want to still pursue a relationship with her.

What should I do?

Go for a relationship with her despite the fact she’s half my age or call it quits and continue our relationship just as friends?

[ghostly-hitch-hiker]

Puberty Speedrun (pt 3)

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here!)

Synopsis: Danny wakes up a lot older than when he went to bed. Shenanigans ensue (eventually taking him all the way to Gotham).

After breakfast and a rather long, headache-inducing conversation with Tuck and Sam, Danny was standing in front of his bathroom sink, trying to work up the nerve to go ghost. They’d come up with no possible explanations for his Puberty Speedrun (as he had affectionately and derogatorily dubbed the situation – at Tucker’s encouragement) and everyone agreed his best bet was to question Clockwork or Frostbite in the Ghost Zone. Danny just had to go ghost.

The problem was, Danny really wasn't sure what his ghost form would look like. He hoped it would still look like his younger self. It would be easier to explain, in that there would be nothing to explain. Danny Fenton could disappear for a little while, and it would be fine as long as Danny Phantom didn’t. Also, you know, still young Danny Phantom would come with the added benefit of not dealing with whatever potential similarities there were between himself and Dan. It would be a win-win! 

Danny inhaled, and let the transformation overcome him on the exhale. Eyes squeezed shut and lungs deflated, Danny used his last breath to whisper, “Please be normal, fifteen-year-old Phantom.”

No such luck. Danny peeked beneath his eyelids to look in the mirror and practically collapsed in on himself with disappointment. 

His ghost form had also aged, and this time it was even easier to tell the differences between his aged up self and his alternate evil future. He must’ve been even older than he first thought. For one thing, Danny just looked tired. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if it really was palpable in his reflection, but Danny looked like a man far too used to a smaller body. The way he slumped in on himself did not have the same effect in this older form; this body or lack thereof did not want to diminish itself and disappear the way he had once been able to as a teenager. It was strangely pathetic. Danny straightened some and continued to stare. 

Who would’ve thought ghosts could get wrinkles? They weren’t obvious, but as he stared at his own ghostly visage, he had remembered seeing them in the mirror in his human form and disregarding them. It was a bit harder to miss them now. 

Danny had always expected that as his ghost form aged, he’d start looking more and more like Dan. His reflection was both comforting and distressing in its shattering of his expectations. Black sclera. Green irises. White hair, still not flaming, but wispier than usual. Worry lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes. Slight frown lines around his mouth. His jumpsuit was the same as it had always been: simple black and white with the stylized DP. Ears slightly pointed. He opened his mouth, and yup. Those were fangs. 

If he were prone to romantic thought, he could imagine how this version of him could survive in frescoes and statues for thousands of years. There was something chiseled and stony and worn in his face and his shoulders. If Danny had actually lived the years it looked like he had, he might have even been handsome. As he was, he looked out of place. Lost.

Danny grimaced and looked away from his reflection in favor of peeling on his left glove. The scar tissue on his palm was just as gnarled and vibrant as ever. Good to know that the physical reminders of his death stayed just as fresh, he supposed. With his mental inventory of his appearance complete, Danny pulled his glove back on. It was time to head into the Ghost Zone.

---

And that’s the end of chapter 1 folks! The entirely of the first chapter is now on AO3, and chapter 2 is in the works. I’ll post chapter 2 updates on tumblr throughout the coming week, and the entirely of it will drop on AO3 next Sunday. Thank you for reading!

[zumurruds]

'a few of the wispier pets' babygirls polite way of calling himself thicker than a bowl of oatmeal...

i desperately need to see the army that was required to lift brick shithouse damen in a litter

[facks-stories]

Psst Fack

*wispier* Yea?