#its so much easier and i sketch clean enough these days it works

[pyrriax]

more lavius for today 💪 (wip possible new pfp? we'll see)

#haunted ecosystem #the warmup i did made me giggle it looks so goofy but also it was a reminder Why i warmup first. #apparition sketchbook #lavius gets more traditionally fem details the more i draw him and i think its funny #ALSO the flowers are intended to be a reference to my fav movie ever (night on the galactic railroad) it'll b more obvious colored #ALSO bringing back how i used to draw on chickensmoothie of all things. erase those base lines and just use the sketch instead of lining #its so much easier and i sketch clean enough these days it works #finally broke the habit of petting lines to hell and back aside from like. the initial circle #honestly ive made so much progress just in switching to drawing humanoids #can i draw hands? yeah if i really want to. but also its objectively funnier to just use paw approximation instead since it reads

[le-trash-prince]

Some very rudimentary sketches of Perihelion’s interior.

I wanted the hatch to have a very distinctive look to it, and I couldn’t help but envision an archway as something evocative of a university building.

My thought is that corporate ships would have a very utilitarian design with a lot of hard, uncomfortable angles, stiff plastic and vinyl furniture, harsh fluorescent overheads, and zero character or warmth. Things that are cheap to replace and cheap to clean.

In contrast, because ART was “raised from a child,” I thought that its shipwrights might have put more care into their work and included some more architectural details, like arched hatches, which aren’t necessarily economical but are just kind of nice. The hatches are mentioned as sliding closed, so I envision the doors sliding down from the ceiling and taking up a much bigger space than the doorway—possibly even the entire wall for a section like this.

I also put indirect lighting that would run along the lower edge of all the ceilings, although this is just a flat view of the end of a hallway. The ceilings seemingly extend further than the walls to account for this, and I think the same space could also be used for concealed air vents and speakers. There would also be sconce lighting along the walls, but I haven’t made up my mind on how to depict them yet.

I think ART would have processes that adjust the color temperature of the lighting throughout a cycle in order to mimic the feeling of planetary daylight—at least when its humans are onboard (and sometimes it may passive-aggressively dim the lights when someone refuses to sleep). I think it would only have overhead lights in task related areas like the lab module and Medical. I don’t think MB would even notice this. But more sensory friendly lighting would be something that makes MB more comfortable on onboard ART even realizing why.

ART would also have small directional spotlights that it can point in people’s faces when it feels like being a particular ass.

I also drew up my idea for the padded couches in the crew lounge. I wanted wide, curved arms that would be comfortable to rest a head or back against. The fabric is a thick, woven material as opposed to the creaky vinyl of a corporate couch, and the padding is firm enough to provide good support (like a 6+ inch seat cushion as opposed to a 3 or 4 or god forbid a 2 inch cushion).

Multiple characters are mentioned as sleeping here, so I think it should be a comfortable, nappable couch without being a couch that is difficult to get up from in a hurry.

One thing I thought would be interesting is if the piping on the cushions used the same “space velcro” tech as sealable pockets, so all of the cushions would sit completely flush against each other. That way you could prevent objects or crumbs from getting stuck inside the couch, while also still having the benefit of individual cushions that are easier to repair or replace than the entire couch. Yes, I did spend my day off thinking about the piping on a fictional couch.

I also included some pylon things along the back of the couch in order to give some visual rhythm to the silhouette, since it’s so long. Honestly anything could be done with these, like having a touchscreen for whatever spaceship purposes, but I thought it would be nice to have some concealed speakers covered in acoustical mesh fabric. There’s still speakers along the ceiling in this room, but the couch speakers would be for the display surfaces rather than ART’s voice, since it can be confusing for some ppl to process multiple outputs coming from the same source. Also I think ART should have nice quality speakers in general, rather than the flat, tinny sort of wall speakers that are common in ship designs.

The toeboard of the couch is made from a sort of antique bronze material. The finishes that I generally associate ART with are titanium for practical purposes, and bronze for aesthetic touches.

The floor looks like wood but it’s a very durable, recycled composite material. I wanted the floor in this room to be a darker, more grounding color since it’s a lounge, but most of the ship probably has floors closer to the color of the walls.

The opposite side of the room has four chairs in the same style as this. I also drew the folding tables, so I might post those later. There’s a lot of other spaces I want to design as well, but I’ll have to see what I have time/energy for.

Anyways thanks if you read through all of this. I don’t generally draw unless I’m sketching a design for something I’m making. And I’m certainly not an actual designer, I just enjoy thinking about these kinds of things. And these are just my thoughts on what I think these things could look like. That’s all.

#the murderbot diaries #asshole research transport #murderbot #my stuff

[twisted-salt]

The Leviathan Club - Fem!Azul Headcanons

A/N: I just... really, really like her. She lives in my head rent free because the genderbent art I see on Twitter is imprinted on my brain. We love powerful business women on this blog. Please have some of my brain rot because I've been imagining her, post graduation owning her own establishment. An elevated Mostro Lounge, if you will. Pretend my banner is her, I don't have an artistic bone in my body so she cannot be edited together. We're doing our best.

Prompt: None really. Just random thoughts about post graduation life. Character(s): Azul Ashengrotto (fem), some Floyd and Jade Leech TW:

✦꒷ Azul owns what Idia Shroud tried to call the Mostro Lounge v2.0. In a sense it is similar to what the Mostro Lounge was in NRC but is located in a well populated part of a bustling City between the Nightlife district and the Classy neighborhoods.

✦꒷ This is to attract young adults from rich families looking for a taste of the nightlife without going to a full on club or rave. 

✦꒷ The Mostro Lounge had been her baby from its opening but during her 4 years, Azul had been sketching out this new club/lounge’s name and layout on the side. Always trying to one up herself. She landed on the name the Leviathan Club.

✦꒷ Azul makes many… “business” arrangements with various vendors during its building. Striving to use local produce and goods. Attempting to pick out the classiest plates and serveware. 

✦꒷ The Tweels are still with her, surprisingly enough (m!Tweels for my self-indulgent ass). They have a bit of a soft spot for their “tako-chan”-- a loving nickname from Floyd; she only lets them call her that behind closed doors. Afterall, she has an image to uphold.      ✦。Tweels are absolute puppies though in this AU. Resting their heads on her lap after a long week of work at the lounge.      ✦。They’re bouncers for the Club. She’s hired some rather experienced staff members to ensure her boys don’t have to work in the kitchen or behind the bar-- though they will hop over the bar or burst in the kitchen to help as needed.

✦꒷Idia helped build the Club’s security system. The cameras, the cards needed to get in and out of spaces off limits to the public, the hidden walls that need passcodes– he created all of them as a favor. The details to the “favor” are kept under wraps however. Only Floyd and Jade know of the inner workings.

✦꒷ She still makes contracts with those in the club that look like they’re struggling through something. (You call it ‘preying on unfortunate souls’, she calls it ‘being an outstanding member of the community’.)

✦꒷ There are opposing whispers about her character. Some say she is a soft spoken woman hiding behind the facade that attempts to make her the modern day mob boss; others say she is rather diabolical should you breach a contract, you’ll be sorry.       ✦。The truth is mingled between the two.       ✦。Azul secretly loves it when others underestimate her though. It makes it much easier to take them off the map when the fools misbehave. 

✦꒷Fem!Azul has a taste for the finer things in life. She’s a bit of a snob when it comes to things like tea and coffee and (especially now that she’s been on land for more than a decade) her shoes.      ✦。Wears black Johnny Chu’s, not as expensive as the one her old friend Vil Schoenhiet wore, but still classy, clean, and comfortable footwear.      ✦。The heel has been driven into the chest of men that found themselves in breach of contract.      ✦。She has an attraction to cool, crisp colors and still dresses herself in black or gray suits and skirts with a touch of purple somewhere in her jewelry or accessories to pay homage to her former dorm. 

✦꒷There are still a few items on the Leviathan Club’s menu that were on the Mostro Lounge’s menu like the infused water that Vil made so famous. There was a proud sense of nostalgia she had when creating the menu.

✦꒷Azul does join the stage on rare occasions if the band or DJ insists. She prefers slow melodic tunes to sing or entertain her guests. 

#azul ashengrotto #fem!azul #twstファンアート #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #floyd leech #jade leech #the tweels are still male because I LOVE THE IDEA OF THEM BEING SO SOFT FOR HER #IM YELLING AND I WILL NOT STOP YELLING #🧂salted originals

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 1: Trick

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022

now available on ao3 too

Trick HERALDRY - sketch (a coat of arms) in outline, with the colours indicated by letters or signs.

* * *

It was a weird town. The one he spent his whole life in, and sometimes he felt as if that life wasn't even the first or the last one, and yet was determined to never remember much about it or the motley part of its denizens. It was easier that way, for everyone included - he didn't remember faces or names, opting instead to distinguish preferences and calloused hands that held his steel-bodied children, much like those who came in his spark-filled abode never bothered to remember his name. They came and went, sometimes never to be seen again, and yet he remained, a seemingly-integral part of Hamlet's mill that churned adventurers instead of grains; he remained to keep parchment sketches of their weapons and gear measurements in an ever-growing stash that, to him, was far more morose than hastily cobbled crosses added to the Graveyard.

How much of his craft remained in the Estate...? On most days, he was too dreadful to actually count. 

Especially so after the parchment pile reached his waist.

The morning was still young and ripe for work when the door creaked, distracting him from tending to his forge. He took the gloves off and, to retain the dilapidated veil of politeness, wiped his calloused hands before offering one of them to the weapon which returned to his heated domain.

"Straight dirk, diamond cut, wedge profile. Custom pistol, guilder-rose engravings in silver," those weren't easy to forget. They've been here for a while, enduring longer than most. And while the blade was fixed and re-forged many times, the pistol has been guarded fiercely, and the most that the smith had the pleasure to do for it were the intricate hand-engraved carvings, based on provided sketches. Still, he knew the Dirk-and-Pistol good enough to chuckle, puffing out pipe smoke. "Isn't it too early for you?"

The recurring weapon wrinkled his once-broken nose - or at least, that part of it that the smith could see.

"Don't rub mo' salt in m'wounds, old man. Getting up at the ass-crack o' the day was bad enough."

Lush beard and moustache hid smith's smirk. The sun was up for a few hours at the very least, more than enough for him to start working on yet another blade, but he saw no reason to argue. Instead, he turned his hand palm up, waiting for the Heiress' crest to be dropped there. This set of arms was one of her bloodsucker hunters, and those always got good gear. He even started thinking about what could be changed in the blade to make it more efficient when a splash of colour interrupted his calculations.

Gemstones. Curious, he moved to his table and added oil to the lamp, watching as the glassy glint shimmered and shone against his blackened fingers, too clean to even be here, really, amidst the soot and mud. Part of the personal cut. So the request was from the man - not Heiress' weapons.

Peculiar.

He looked up from the gems, meeting the heavy gaze of dark bloodshot eyes. The expression was subtle, but they both had to deal with each other for long enough to understand some things without stating the obvious.

“Good. Now listen, I feel like I had to learn t’ spew fucking eldritch t’ convey this all t’ ya, so maybe ye’ll understand mo’ in this bullshite.”

“You have my curiosity.”

Dirk-and-Pistol... no, the man with them stepped forward, placing a piece of parchment near the lamp. The smith squinted to hide his surprise as he took in the sketch and the letters tricking it. Not satisfied with his lack of immediate response, the man continued:

“Party per pale Or and Sable, a lion rampant counterchanged, bordure Argent. The shield is eared top, French base. On top of it, affronted Argent knight’s helm crested with horsehair plume Gules.”

The description matched, which was even more peculiar. He wouldn't have assumed a brigand knowing blazon.

“Anything else?”

The man rubbed his temple in an obviously tired gesture and nodded after a moment:

“Two swords saltire, Argent.”

“Where?”

A finger in a battered red glove tapped another sketch, rougher and smaller, beneath the proper one:

“Behind the shield.”

The smith hummed, taking his own charcoal pen and after an affirmative nod from the thug, added his own notes to the parchment.

“Unusual.”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” the man grumbled in the tone of someone who was done with the world's bullshite about half of his life ago. "Should be 'bout a palm in size. We have a deal, ol' man?"

The smith nodded absentmindedly, checking the waiting list:

"Come back in a month," but a bag of coins landing on it cut his comparison short. He looked up again, only to be immediately met by irritation and a hand pressing the trick down and pushing it right in front of the smith with pointed stubbornness.

"Befo' All Saints day."

Now the crest made a bit more sense, even if the deadline was looming.

"The Long Crusade."

His only answer was tired grumbling.

They looked each other in the eye for a long moment, the weaponsmith made more impartial than even Death by his craft and the weapon he was suddenly reminded of having a fatal flaw of being a human.

Barely three minutes later, the brigand had already left. The smith held the parchment with the trick, eyeing the lines of something so unlike his usual orders. There was a bitter understanding somewhere on the bottom of his grey head that sooner rather than later, this parchment will meet others in the pile of "discontinued" order lines that were slowly devoured by time and dust.

Still, he thought, selecting the blank.

Still, this could let him see people again instead of inanimate weapons.

If only for a little bit.

#dd promptober 2022 #darkest dungeon #dismas #reymas implied #dd weaponsmith #the bloodied journal page || my writing #fanfic #a cookie to anyone who will understand the trinket based on description :} #dd highwayman

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw: voyeurism #not/sfw #bakugou birthday bash

[ahatintimepieces]

It Comes Down in Buckets

Before Luka and Hattie ended up in Subcon, they faced many challenges on the road as they adjusted to Luka’s curse. This is a lil gift for Mak, @doodledrawsthings, and their “””Coffeeshop au””” where Luka pushes himself a bit too hard while trying to make the day special for Hattie. Please enjoy!

Word Count: 7,678

The rolling waves tumbled against the velvet sand and the morning sunlight skipped across the foaming crests, painting them gold. Hattie’s grip tightened around the old bucket she had found as she inhaled the salty, fishy air. Standing at the patches of grass that separated the edge of the forest from the beach, she gazed out at the shore. Her sketchbook waited in her backpack, begging her to pull it out and to memorialize the look of the sea and snapshot the ebb and flow of surging waves, but she had work to do.

She had to find the prettiest seashells before anyone else so she could sell them for some extra cash. Every little bit helped.

Weaving down to the beach, the warming sand caught between her toes and kicked up with each flop and flip of her flipflops. She swung the dented bucket with rust stains as she hurried to the lapping tide. She stepped into the water and immediately squealed before jumping back from the cold. The foam receded, as if teasing her, and an impish grin spread across her features.

As the water crawled back up the shore, Hattie fixed her old baseball cap and then leapt into the ankle-deep wave. Her initial screech dissolved into laughter. Splashing around, her flipflops tossed clouds of murky dust up and the sloshing, icy water splattered against her leg. She placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose as she gazed out at the sliver of light where the sky paralleled the ocean. With the cascading crackles of the snapping sea rumbling around her, it was hard not to let her mind wander into daydreams.

She could picture it perfectly. A calm day at the beach. No time limits for her dad, no worrying about money, and he could finally rest. He could finally be happy again. And she could play in the surf and chase crabs, pretend to be a pirate finding buried treasure, or draw and paint next to her dad as he napped. She could picture it so perfectly.

But she glanced down at the bucket as it bumped against her hip. Its creaking handle brought her back to reality.

Hattie let out a huff before shuffling out of the grasp of the waves, where it would be easier to spot shells. But before she did, a playful crest rolled back to reveal the tip of a fancy looking shell. Gasping, Hattie knelt and carefully tugged the shell free and revealed what she always thought of as a mini conch, though her dad would probably tell her that it was whelk of some kind since it had a rounder top and thinner end.

After checking the inside cavity for any snail or sea critter by poking a cautious finger around to confirm it was empty, she held the whelk to her ear.

She grinned when she heard the ocean. But she was also standing in it so the shell could still potentially be a dud. Nevertheless, she placed it into the bucket, and it slid around as she went searching for more.

As Hattie combed the beach, a couple people showed up to lounge on the sand or wade in the surf. It didn’t get crowded, since it was a workday, but when she wandered towards the opposite side of the long beach, where the sand was cut off by rounded boulders that jutted out into the sea, she ran into a tourist screaming at a seagull.

“What’s wrong?” Hattie called as she hoisted her bucket overflowing with shells to the side to make it easier to sprint forward.

“That darn seagull took my stuff!” The tourist gestured angrily towards a seagull perched on one of the rocks surrounded by water. It bobbed its head around as it stood proudly over a grey camera. Sunlight glinted against the lens.

“I’ll get it,” Hattie offered without hesitation. She placed the bucket down and scrambled up the boulders.

“Wait, kid, you don’t have to!” He waved his hands across his chest, trying to get her to stop, but it was too late. She didn’t listen as she assessed the slippery boulders and slowly navigated her way across.

She came to the edge of the final boulder and eyed the gap between it and the one in the waves. The seagull cocked its head towards her and let out a squawk. Pausing, Hattie glanced around, trying to figure out how to distract the seagull.

Before she could, the seagull snapped its beak towards something behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find the tourist was waving a sandwich around. The seagull swooped over her, and she belatedly ducked as it soared over to the tourist. He yelped and turned on his heels before sprinting from the squawking bird.

Hattie tugged her cap down in determination before turning back towards the rock. She took a cautious step back before lunging from the boulder and vaulting onto the next. Grunting after she smacked against the rock, she scrambled up and grabbed the camera. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and nestled the camera between her sketchbook and Professor Popcorn. For good measure, she tucked her dad’s hoodie around it to keep it extra safe.

Once her backpack was zipped, she looped her arms through the straps and got ready to jump back.

The tourist had returned to his spot, hunched over and panting with his cap askew and white and grey feathers stuck to his vibrant orange shirt. She inhaled a steadying breath and leapt back towards shore.

She misjudged the distance.

Nearly sliding over the side of the rock, she scraped her knee against stone as she clambered and clawed. Panic squeezed her chest until she could finally find her grip.

“Careful, now!” the tourist called as she hoisted herself up with her heart pounding. She glanced towards the worried man and gave him a thumbs up before crawling forward.

Her stinging knee threatened to buckle when she first stood, but she gritted her teeth and pushed onward. She navigated back to the beach and dropped down onto the sand.

“Geez, kid, that was dangerous!” the tourist sighed as Hattie pulled out his camera.

“But I got it!” She beamed, holding it out proudly. Her smile faltered when she noticed the identical camera that hung around his neck. His chin tilted down as he followed her gaze.

“I was trying to tell you, I have a spare,” he said apologetically. “But, hey! Since you got it, why don’t you keep it? It’s great for preserving memories!”

Hattie pulled the camera back, appraising the contraption.

Preserving memories? No matter how much she sketched all the places she and her father had been, it might be nice to be able to just take a picture to quickly capture everything. She could take a picture of the sea, in fact. But she stared into the curved lens with growing dismay.

Flashes of headlights and blinding snaps. Posters with blurry images of her shadowy dad offering money for anyone who could capture the pictured creature, dead or alive. And, even when he shapeshifted, he was still so jumpy around cameras.

Maybe she could sell it at a pawn shop for a little extra cash? In the meantime, it might not hurt to keep it on hand…

“Oh, hold on,” the tourist exclaimed, startling her out of her thoughts. She tucked the camera back into her backpack and blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “You got quite the scrape there, let me help.” He motioned her over to his set up on the beach, complete with a towel and umbrella.

After the tourist helped her clean up and shared back-up sandwiches he had prepared, she let him choose one of the shells to take as thanks and set off to sell the rest.

She set up a little area at the top of the beach, halfway between the rest of the city and the parking lot for beach goers. After doodling a cute sign declaring her wares were ready, she caught the eyes of passersby and wove imaginative tales about the shells for anyone who came near. Since this wasn’t the first time that she had sold items that she salvaged while her dad worked, she had developed a good enough sense to get a read on personalities and how to appeal to them. Parents with children were easily swayed by silly stories about the shells. She even managed to convince a businessman walking by to purchase one since her wares were far cheaper than the nearby souvenir shops that sold the same shells. And, after all, hers were higher quality and, really, didn’t he want to support an aspiring entrepreneur? (It probably helped her chances that she practiced that word a few times prior to make sure she was pronouncing it right).

She bolted when she spotted some cops patrolling the area, though.

By the end of the day, she successfully sold more than half of her shells. She tucked the coins and cash safely into an inside pocket in her backpack, where her secret stash would help her buy food for whenever her dad inevitably got stuck in noddle form and couldn’t work. She had tried giving her earnings to him directly before, but he had only gotten upset, insisting she didn’t need to worry about money and it was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. But they both knew that he often pushed himself past his limits, and he couldn’t do everything himself.

She was just beginning to collect firewood close to their camp when footsteps tracked through the grass. Hattie froze, turning towards the sound and holding her breath. Golden light flickered between the trees and an approaching shadow broke into the small clearing.

“Hey, kiddo!” Her dad, still in his human form, which surprised her, jumped forward with a wide grin and his hands behind his back. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, but he was alert with enthusiasm as he straightened. A plastic bag crinkled noisily as it swayed behind him. “Guess what I got for our most important celebration tonight?”

“Celebration?” Hattie tilted her head, though his energy was infectious, and she cracked a smile.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is,” he teased, bringing his hand forward and adjusting the delivery cap he wore for his morning job of delivering papers.

“Payday?” she guessed, crossing over to their firepit and dropping the dry twigs and branches she found.

“N-no, kiddo,” he faltered, quirking a brow as he revealed a plastic bag with local dollar store logo. “It’s your birthday!”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him.

“Did you really forget?” His features fell and the worn creases on his face highlighted the underlining fatigue. “We talked about it, right? When we were-when we were moving.”

“Y-yeah,” Hattie said. She did sort of remember now that he mentioned it, but she hadn’t thought too much about it since they had other things to worry about. “I just forgot what day of the week it is.”

He didn’t seem to believe her but he accepted the excuse.

“Well, I got hot dogs and marshmallows,” he added quickly, pulling out a bag of large marshmallows for emphasis. If he sensed how she tensed, he ignored it and gestured towards the direction of the beach. “I thought we could start a fire at one of the communal firepits and have a cookout!”

“What about our camp?” Hattie gestured to the little circle of rocks they had set up a few days ago when they first decided to settle in this city.

“It’ll still be here,” he promised. After tucking the marshmallows back into the bag, he walked over to her pile of wood and searched for the longest and cleanest sticks.

“But the beach is out in the open,” she pressed, nervously fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Don’t you need to change back?”

“Of course not!” he insisted with a little more force than he probably intended. In a lighter tone, he waved his hand dismissively with a smile plastered across his face. “I can hold it together long enough for your birthday. Come on! Let’s have fun!”

He placed a few sticks he deemed worthy for hot dog and marshmallow roasting into the plastic bag and then motioned for her to follow.

“But—” she hesitated.

“You know, I used to do this when I was a kid,” he jumped enthusiastically into the memory, not giving her a chance to argue. She frowned but grabbed her backpack and the bucket that still had the leftover seashells.

Hey, if they were going to be on the beach, she might as well keep an eye out for more.

“Any time we went camping, we would grab a bunch of hot dogs and marshmallows. Of course,” he added a bit quietly as they walked through the woods, “usually we had buns and graham crackers and chocolate. But I did snag some ketchup packets from the restaurant!” He beamed proudly.

Hattie forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at the reminder that he had worked two jobs that day, trying to get enough money together so that they could find a motel to stay at sooner than later. She considered giving him the money she had saved, but she didn’t want to cause him more grief especially since she could tell he was masking his exhaustion. Maybe she could hide the money where he would find it with his things? She could pass it off as him misplacing the bills!

Though, both of them had become increasingly vigilant when dealing with money in the past couple years. He would have noticed if that much went missing in the first place.

“Here we are,” he gestured to the firepit closest to the forest the second they walked onto the sand. “Sit tight while I get the fire going.” There was wrapped firewood next to the pit, all ready for them and their cookout. His water bottle was also leaning against one of the logs, indicating that he had stopped by before running to get her. While he finished setting up, Hattie gazed out at the sea.

The water mirrored the stretch of twilight. Orange-pink rays of dwindling sunlight lingered on the horizon and the occasional star twinkled in the darkening sky. Crackles and pops that came from the growing fire behind her mingled with the surging waves before her. And when her dad joined her side and held out his hand, she smiled as she took it, keeping her gaze locked on the horizon.

“It’s like that one picture in the book at the library in the last town,” she whispered, craning her neck back to meet his warm golden gaze. “The one with the watercolor illustrations!”

“It is!” he agreed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“I want to paint something like this one day,” she admitted, turning back to the sea.

“I bet you can, and sooner than you think.” His smile permeated his voice. He gently tugged her hand and nodded towards the firepit. Despite the lines under his eyes, he did seem happy, and that was good enough for Hattie.

“Okay!” She joined him on a log, and eagerly waited for him to pass her a stick he doused with water to keep it from burning.

Her dad filled her in on his day as they roasted the hot dogs. He got her laughing with a few jokes his coworkers shared, and she nodded knowingly when he told her about some of the customers he had worked with. When he asked about her day as he broke open the bag of marshmallows, she explained that she was looking for seashells and presented the bucket with her findings.

“Quick, if you have twenty seashells and I take five, how many do you have left?” he quizzed.

“F-fifteen!” Hattie blinked, hesitating only a moment as she registered the question.

“Good girl,” he praised, passing over a marshmallow.

“If you bought one bag of marshmallows for tonight, how many marshmallows will you have tomorrow morning?” She blinked up at him, trying and failing to conceal her growing smirk.

“Hmm.” He speared his own marshmallow as he gave her a wry grin. “That’s a tough one, why don’t you give me a hint?”

“Zero!” She pulled her burning marshmallow out of the fire and quickly blew on it.

The flames dissipated into a plume of smoke, leaving a burnt crust behind on the marshmallow. Without waiting, she popped it into her mouth and the gooey burst of molten sugar melted on her tongue.

“Becath I’ll eat ‘em all!” she declared through her sticky mouthful.

“Just don’t choke!” He chuckled before putting his arm around her and giving her a side squeeze. She immediately snuggled into his side, comforted by his warmth.

As they worked through the marshmallows and the night cloaked the beach, Hattie pulled out the hoodie and tugged it over herself. The hoodie was far too big since it was her dad’s but despite the floppy sleeves and how it was more like a dress on her, it was cozy and kept the night chill away. She became even cozier when her dad plucked her up and enveloped her in a hug.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered as he nuzzled his cheek against hers.

“Hap—erm,” her cheeks flushed since she had almost wished him a happy birthday back. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Okay, I have one more surprise,” he said, arching back and stretching his arm maybe a bit farther than a human arm should, and rummaged around the plastic bag.

She leaned over, trying to peek and his other hand moved over her eyes.

“Don’t look!” He shifted around a bit before Hattie felt something lower into her lap. “Alright, now you can.” He pulled his hand away and she immediately glanced down.

Watercolors. A plastic palette of watercolors rested in her lap with a tiny brush snuggly tucked into a divot on the side. A single golden ribbon was taped on for the birthday wrapping. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the things she could paint, all the things she wanted to bring to life with water-soaked pigments.

But how much did he spend on her?

“Well?” he prompted with an edge of nervousness. “Is it okay?”

“I love it.” In one swift movement, she hugged the palette before swiveling around and burying her face into his chest. A lump threatened to lodge in her throat, but she swallowed it as she hugged her dad.

“Oh, Hattie.” He leaned over her and held her tightly. “I’m glad. I know it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised, grasping his shirt.

He did so much for her, sacrificed so much just to take care of her, and now this? She wished she could do more to help.

After a few moments of lingering in his embrace, she pulled back while rubbing at her eyes.

“Everything oh-ahem.” Her dad suddenly pulled his hand away from his task of brushing her hair back. She wrinkled her nose as she blinked up at him.

He held his hand behind his back and his nervous, forced smile revealed his growing fangs.

“Dad,” she shuffled out of his lap, “you need to change back.”

She glanced around the beach quickly, relieved that there was no one nearby to see him.

“No!” He winced when an edge of a reverb tainted his voice. He cleared his throat and waved his other hand dismissively. It had completely turned ebony-violet. “I’m fine! I can hold it for a little long—” he stalled as he glimpsed his other hand and snapped it behind his back too, “—longer.”

Hattie frowned with her brows drooping. His irises radiated golden light as his pupils faded.

“Please. I know I can—” he faltered, pulling his hands back and holding them out before himself. His fingers trembled as they dripped, trying to reconnect. He bit his lip and grimaced when his lengthening fangs jabbed him. The familiar, purple-singed shadows spread from the expanding tips of his chestnut hair.

“It’s okay,” she insisted, turning around and rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to start cleaning up so that they could head back to camp. She knew he was probably more exhausted than he let on.

“But it’s your birthday,” he whispered in such a broken voice that she felt a world of guilt press against her shoulders.

“And I can still spend it with you as a noodle!” She kept her tone light, giving him a smile strained from her concern.

The gold had encased his eyes and his teeth became backlit by a surging light in his throat. He considered her with tight dismay before scowling.

“No!” He pushed to his feet. “No, I can do this!”

“But, Dad,” Hattie called anxiously, unable to do anything but watch as he paced by the bonfire.

He held his hands out in front of himself, clenching them as he stared daggers into his purple palms. During his pacing, his legs began to quiver, and he paused, hunching as his hair began to drip. His fingers merged into mittens, taking on a gloopy appearance and Hattie thought that that was it, that he would just start getting bigger. She opened her mouth to try and get him to focus on saving his clothes, but the words died in her throat.

“Stop changing,” he wheezed in a wavering voice. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he strained to keep a human shape. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, snuffing out his golden light. The flickering fire cast twisting shadows against his trembling form. His arms lost all pretense of having bones and flopped down like limp noodles. His legs buckled and he thrust out his hand to catch himself.

“Something’s wrong!” Hattie hurried to his side, reaching out as his mitten hand clenching the sand lost its shape entirely and expanded into a puddle.

“N-no,” his reverberating voice gurgled behind globs of dripping purple that stretched across his mouth when he parted his lips. “I can do this!” But just as he said that, he grunted and lurched forward. Viscous liquid oozed from his shoes as his legs melted.

But they didn’t form a tail.

They just pooled out uselessly behind him.

“Dad!” Hattie placed a hand on his arm, but it collapsed under her touch. He let out a strangled cry as his whole arm gave away and he slammed against the beach.

He continued to melt despite his groaning and straining. The trembling shadows spilled from his clothes and into the sand. Panic seized Hattie’s chest as she feared she was going to lose him to the beach. Glancing around frantically, her gaze fell onto the bucket, and she lunged for it.

“Hold on!” Hattie called as she dumped the shells out and slid over to her father, who had gone eerily silent as the pooling liquid oozed and spread.

She dropped the bucket into the sand and quickly tried to shove waves of the viscous liquid inside, catching particles of sand with it. Once half of him filled the rusted bucket and kept spilling out, she righted it before scooping up purple globs. She tossed handful after handful of the soupy remains of her father into the bucket. The trembling sludge sputtered and splashed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes when she saw some liquid darkening and fading into intangible shadows that disappeared into the sand, gone for good.

“Stay with me,” she whispered in a cracking voice as she scooped up every last bit that she could.

After wringing purple from his shirt, pants, and the edges of her sleeves which had tumbled into the puddle a few times, Hattie searched for any of her father’s features in the goop squelching against the edges of the bucket.  

“Dad?” She lightly prodded the thick surface of the liquid and it shivered. A muffled groan bubbled up, though no golden light from his eyes or mouth followed. Hattie sighed, sitting back in the sand as she convinced herself that the fact that he had groaned meant he was still there. But now just as soup. In a bucket.

They’ve been through worse, right? This, too, should pass?

“Okay, you just sleep while I clean up,” she muttered as she pushed to her feet.

She collected their things and put out the fire, all the while glancing at the bucket as the goop settled. Once she had the plastic bag slung over her shoulder and her birthday gift tucked into her backpack, she slowly picked up the bucket.

“Oof,” she huffed as she heaved the bucket up, wincing when droplets splashed over the side. “Why is magic goop so heavy? That’s stupid,” she grumbled as she slowly made her way across the dark beach and back to their camping area. As she paused multiple times to give her arms a break and catch her breath, she swallowed the rising lump in her throat and pushed onward.

*

Luka groaned and on top of the usual reverb that came with his noodle body it sounded oddly like the gurgle of a garbage disposal choking on water. He blinked tired eyes and the golden glow rebounded against the daffodil-yellow inside of Hattie’s baseball cap.

Oh. Had he shrunk down and dozed while Hattie was shopping? That didn’t seem right. Actually, what had he been doing before this?

A surge of panic bubbled up as he recalled trying to hold onto his humanity at the beach. He remembered the tighter he held the form, the more it slipped through his clenched fingers. He heard a slosh of thick liquid when he tried to lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t even turn his head! His eyes darted around frantically, catching the rim of some sort of curving, metal wall in the corners of his vision but he could only really look straight up at Hattie’s cap.

“K-ki—” he sputtered as some sort of gunk trickled into his mouth. Expelling wet coughs only caused more of the viscous goop to slip in. His anxious attempts to move coupled with his hyperventilating only increased the panicked sloshing that sounded like puddles disrupted by pricks of rain.

“Dad?” Hattie’s sleepy voice responded.

“H-help I’m—” he gagged on a particularly large glob.

“Hold on!”

He tried to spit out the gunk and a heavy droplet plunked against him. He shivered from the sensation but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Relief swelled when the cap was removed and Hattie looked down at him, with sunlight filtering through the trees. Squinting at the sudden light, he tried to squirm around.

While not happy, she at least looked safe and sound. She wore his delivery cap, and he could see the dangling strings of his hoodie. If the sunlight was any indication, he must have slept through the night. He grimaced, hoping she hadn’t been too uncomfortable or cold without his coil to protect her from the elements.

“What’s going on?” he forced out, feeling like he was talking through a wad of bubblegum.

Hattie sat back, making it harder for him to see her at his angle. He twisted to try to get closer.

“You’re in a bucket,” she answered tiredly. When she glanced up and realized she was wearing his delivery cap, she jolted and swiftly took it off.

“A bucket?” he echoed in distress. His eyes shifted around as he glimpsed the walls and the occasional splash of purple-black goop if he moved too quickly. He blinked.

“Oh my god, I melted.”

“Yeah,” Hattie sighed as she rubbed her eyes with the baggy, purple sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Um.”

No.

“I’ve been better.” He winced, realizing all the gunk that was getting caught in his mouth was himself. Fantastic.

“Do you need anything?” she prompted with hesitation as she glanced around. “Like water or something?”

“I need to get out of this bucket!” He pushed his eye against the rim, and he felt himself ripple. “Here, dump me out! I can try to—” he coughed, “—pull myself back together.”

“I lost so much of you on the beach though,” Hattie objected. “And y-you just disappeared, like the goopy stuff turned all shadowy.”

He caught the crack in her voice, and frowned, both from hearing how part of him just up and evaporated—okay, a lot of him if what was left of his monstrous noodle form could fit inside a tiny bucket—and from how much he had frightened her.

“I can’t stay like this, though,” he argued. “I have work! And you can’t stay in the woods on your own!” He shifted around, trying to figure out how to stretch his neck or anything but his neck and everything was gone! First, he lost his body and now he lost his monster body? This wasn’t fair! He couldn’t live like this!

In his frustration, he tried to will himself to have arms or hands or even his tail would work. The goop bubbled and frothed, and he grunted from the strain, but he could do it! He could pull himself together!

“Stop!” Hattie commanded. He yelped as he felt small hands jut into the goop and scoop up his features.

He felt himself spread out and winced as strands dripped back down into the bucket with heavy plops. It was like the world and his body were spinning around him, disconnected and far from his grasp as his head remained stagnant but stuck. After blinking and spotting Hattie’s thumb acting as a barrier as trickles of him slipped through the cracks of her fingers, he grounded himself in her frustrated blue gaze.

“If you keep hurting yourself, you’ll just make it worse!” Her nose scrunched up into a hard scowl, but he heard the lump in her throat underneath her irate bite. “Just stop!”

“Sorry,” he gurgled quietly. Her brows furrowed even more, and he added as gently as he could, “I’ll rest, kiddo. I’ll take it easy.”

“Promise?” She stared him down.

“Promise,” he breathed out, slumping.

She lowered him back into the bucket and a soft bloop sound was followed by flickers of drops as she pulled her hands out. He hummed to relieve some distress as he tried to force himself to relax.

“Maybe you just need sleep,” Hattie offered. She grumbled a bit, but he could tell she was trying to soften her tone.

“That’s usually all it is,” he agreed.

He did feel a similar exhaustion to all the times he pushed his time limit and got stuck in noodle form. Only this was much worse. Even when he was a human, he wasn’t sure he could ever remember a time he was so tired that he couldn’t move his muscles.

Leaning his eyes against the rim of the bucket for some semblance of security, he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be stuck like this. But even if he did eventually turn back to monster-normal, he had a sneaking suspicion he really screwed over his already sparse shapeshifting time.  

“Do you want me to put the hat back over?” Hattie lifted her cap into his view. “To help you sleep?”

“No,” he said a little quickly. She lowered the hat and he added, sheepishly, “I know I can’t see much from here, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Okay. Go to sleep. Let me know if you need anything.” She scooted over to their campfire, and he heard the click of the lighter.

He sighed but tried to let the distant crackle of flame and the low tap of Hattie sketching on paper lull him into a semi-relaxed state. His eyes closed into tiny slits and as he dozed, a gentle and continuous rumble bubbled up from within.

“Dad?” Hattie whispered after a stretch of time, scooting back into view and looking down with her hair slipping from behind her ear.

“Hmm?” His eyes cracked open, slowly registering the rumbling sound. In his peripheral vision, the surface of the ebony-violet goop rippled steadily.

Hattie cracked a grin.

“You’re purring!” she said in slight disbelief before exploding into giggles.

“I’m—?” he began before he recognized the familiar and involuntary purr. A dusting of faint gold emanated from beneath the surface of the goop as he blushed.

“The whole bucket is shaking!” Hattie covered her mouth as her laugh trickled out in mirthful chimes.

Despite himself, Luka smiled, glad to hear her laugh.

“I guess it looks pretty silly,” he admitted, imagining the bucket wiggling around. Though now that he was becoming more alert, the rumbling slowed to a stop. In their absence, he realized how comforting the vibrations had been.

Hmm. Maybe the purring was a way to pull himself back together? It wasn’t something he could force or speed up, though. Typical.

“Do you want any food?” Hattie perked after she calmed down from laughing. “I was roasting some hot dogs.”

“I’ll try a bite,” his eyes and mouth shifted up and down in an affirmative nod that sent tiny waves splashing against the side of the bucket.

He couldn’t really tell if he was hungry, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to eat but he would do anything that would help him replenish some energy.

When Hattie returned with a torn piece of a hot dog, Luka opened his mouth and let out a gurgling, “ah.”

With a giggle, she gently lowered the hot dog as close as she could before dropping it. He felt the hot dog plop down and coughed. Hattie winced in apology as he closed his mouth and pensively chewed.

“I’m fine,” he said after a thick swallow. He couldn’t feel the lump of the hot dog anymore but in the past few years of dealing with his magic, goopy body, he learned to not ask questions he couldn’t answer and near the top of that list was wondering what the heck replaced his melted digestive track.

Hattie fed him a few more pieces and he swallowed the dismay of not being able to feed himself. Even though he had grown accustomed to relying on Hattie for help when his chameleon paws couldn’t work with delicate silverware, the familiar sorrow from the early days returned now that he didn’t even have hands.

After what he was certain was a late lunch, he napped on and off as Hattie remained nearby. When he would check in with her, she would present her latest sketches proudly, and even had one completed work in watercolor. It was a scene of the ocean, and while her sketchbook paper wasn’t meant to hold so much moisture, causing it to crinkle and warp when it dried, she excitedly explained that she was going to do other paintings exactly like it, but all showcasing the ocean at different times of the day. He told her that he was eager to see them, overjoyed that she was having fun with her gift like he had hoped she would.

If only he had been able to save up enough for a motel in time for her birthday, or at the very least, if only he hadn’t melted on her. But that was really his fault for pushing himself so hard.

He had just so badly wanted to make it special. She hadn’t even remembered her own birthday! What else was he supposed to do? Let himself turn into a monster? She deserved to have her actual dad on her birthday.

“Hey, Dad?” Her voice drew him out of his sinking despair.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he shifted his eyes in the bucket, trying to find a position that best allowed him to see her.

“What should I tell your boss?” She held out his phone, which was lit up with messages with letters in all caps.

Luka groaned.

“Can you read the messages for me?” He mentally prepared for the nerve-wracking ordeal of trying to explain himself without admitting to his boss that the reason he couldn’t make it to work was because he turned into a bucket of silly putty.

With Luka directing her, Hattie responded to the understandably angry but maybe harsher than necessary texts from his boss at the restaurant. Once that was done, he let out a heavy sigh, accidentally blowing a bubble in the goop, which shortly popped and splattered. He flinched when a drop landed in his eye.

“Do I have anything from the newspaper office?” Luka asked, dreading the thought of not only the manager getting upset when he found out no one had delivered newspapers in the morning, but of all the people who would no doubt call to complain about empty doorsteps.

“No,” Hattie replied slowly.

“Really?” Luka wasn’t sure if he should count that as good or bad. Either way, he was probably out of a job. “I’ll need to start looking for something else.”

“Why?” Hattie scooted closer, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked down at him.

“They’ve probably already decided to fire me,” he lamented with his mouth sinking and gurgling in the gunk.

“Nah.” She glanced away, tapping around on his phone.

He blinked up at her.

“Nah?” he repeated. When Hattie kept her gaze down and her lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “Hattie? What did you do?”

“I maybe did your deliveries for you?” she offered guiltily.

He stared at her.

“You what?” he sputtered, causing his sludge to ripple as panic seized him. “By yourself? Hattie! You just turned eight! My route is a couple miles long, and you would have had to bike before dawn! There are child labor laws! What do you mean you did my deliveries?”

“I had help!” Hattie hurried to explain. “I ran into a nice tourist I met yesterday, and he gave me a map and delivered half of the newspapers for me.”

“You worked with a stranger?” Luka demanded, shifting around in the bucket. “Harriet Princeton, you are not supposed to talk to strangers!”

“So, I’m only supposed to talk to you?” She threw her hands up in the air.

“No! I mean—that’s not the point!” he faltered, sloshing around as the bite in her words stung. Bits of goop splattered over the rim and Hattie jolted.

“Stop freaking out!” She helplessly tried to grasp at the stray droplets. “I can’t lose you again!”

He paused, tensing. Well, tensing as much as he could as a viscous liquid.

“Wh-what do you mean lose me again?” he pressed tightly.

“I thought you were gone when you melted,” she said with a cracking voice. She hugged her legs and rest her chin on her knees. “I thought I didn’t get all of you in time and you were gone, and I just wanted to help because you’re so tired all time but—” she trailed off in a squeak as tears filled her eyes.

“Hattie—” he shifted towards her, but the goop sputtered as he instinctively tried to reach out to his daughter. Liquid stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Hattie, look at me please.”

She turned and revealed tears streaming down her cheeks.

Gold blurred his vision, but he pressed on.

“I’m sorry,” he began in a congested voice, thick with gunk and reverb. “I know you were just trying to help, and I appreciate it! But I don’t want you worrying about my jobs or money. You shouldn’t have to.”

His voice cracked and all too late, he realized that the reason he sounded so congested was partly because of the golden tears filling the bucket. They glittered in the goop, separated like oil drops in water. His breath hitched and the goop swelled.

“But I can—” he tried to continue as the tears slipped out and the goop splashed up when he instinctively tried to wipe them away with a hand that wasn’t there.

“You’re spilling!” Hattie interrupted, jolting upward and hurrying over, placing her arms around the rim but the added tears were causing his anxious sloshing to spill over. “Stop crying!”

“What?” He jolted, shifting his eyes around and catching glimpses of purple and gold staining her sleeves. Her dismayed features above him only encouraged his tears and he made a muffled sniffling noise as panic surged and his tears swelled.

“Dad!” she yelped. But her own distraught features cleaved through his squishy, melted chest.

“I-I can’t! Give me a moment!” Twisting away, he tried to lock his eyes on something to ground himself, but in his panic, he kept attempting to turn and wipe his tears. The spilling goop sloshed uncontrollably.

“Try to laugh!” Hattie begged. “Tell me a stupid joke!”

“Ah, uh.” He pressed his lips into a tight line as he struggled to think of something. “Um. You know what? This situation really pails in comparison to—uh—that one time we teleported into that bear den!”

“What?” Hattie furrowed her brows. But it looked like her tears halted in confusion.

“P-pails, like a pun? It’s a joke. It’s supposed to be funny. Please laugh,” he said weakly. He blinked and let out a tight exhale as he felt himself calm and the rest of the goop start to settle.

“That’s a stupid joke.” Hattie sniffled as she leaned back and slowly lifted her arms, revealing sleeves soaked with purple sludge.

“I got buckets of them.” He added a sardonic, “ha,” as the gold ebbed. While a few dancing droplets of tears wiggled in his goop, now that he was calmer, trembling splashes no longer spilled over the rim.

Hattie wrung out the sleeves. He flinched at the droplets that pelted his face and sent ripples along the surface.

“That’s even worse,” she sighed, though a small smile found its way onto her features. She tugged up one of her sleeves and gingerly reached over and wiped at the edge of his eye.

He grunted, squeezing it shut but when she pulled away, he watched her flick a golden droplet towards the grass. He sighed, blowing a few bubbles.

“Please don’t do my job tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We’ll be okay.”

She nodded slowly before thinking better of it.

“Only if you promise not to push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” he said tiredly before he yawned. Sludge dribbled into his mouth, and he sputtered.

“Sleep.” She poked the goop. He shifted his eyes next to her finger, which was the closest he could come to giving her an encouraging nuzzle.

“What about you?” he asked, staring up at the canopy of leaves. There was still sunlight trickling down, but it seemed fainter.

“I can eat soon,” she shrugged.

“Wake me if you need anything,” he muttered, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

Did he even have eyelids at this point? Maybe it was more that his eyes were sinking. Might be more apt.

Hattie promised to, but he had a feeling they both knew she would deal with any problem on her own before waking him. Frowning, he supposed the best thing he could do for her would be to recover as swiftly as possible.

He settled into the bucket, and soon enough, the sludge began to ripple as he automatically purred. He caught Hattie’s stifled snort at the vibrating bucket before he fell asleep.

Night blanketed the forest by the time he woke up again. Still purring, he blinked as he felt something shift. The rippling rumbles of goop seemed to be tightening and when he moved to lift his head, he peeked over the rim of the bucket. Relief swelled inside as he spotted Hattie’s back. She was drawing by the fire, safe and sound.

Edging backward, he tilted his head down, blinking at the vibrating goop as it slowly re-solidified into shape. After a moment, he lifted his noodle arms and wiggled his chameleon paws. Funny, he was actually relieved to see them for once. Once his tail formed, he heaved out a sigh. There wasn’t a drop of him left behind in the bucket, but now he took up less volume.

“Kiddo,” he called softly, floating up to the rim of the bucket and placing his hands on the edge, curling his tail beneath himself.

“Dad!” Hattie gasped when she saw his familiar form. Scrambling around, she darted over, and he flew up into her embrace.

“You’re tiny,” she muttered into the plush fluff around his neck. His tail waved back and forth as he returned her firm hug.

“I’m sure I’ll get back to normal size,” he guessed. Probably. After a long enough rest without using his shapeshifting.

Moments passed until he caught a low grumble coming from Hattie’s stomach. He craned his neck with a smirk.

“In the meantime, are there anymore marshmallows to share?”

“I ate them all. Remember our math quiz? Zero left.” Hattie said without missing a beat as she turned back around and brought him to the fireside. “Just kidding, I saved you some.”

“That’s my girl!” His tail waved harder as he chuckled.

He extended an arm towards the bag, noting that he couldn’t really stretch it like usual, and made a grasping motion. Hattie plopped the bag into her lap, still using an arm to hug him, and they both took turns popping the confections into their mouths.

Yes, after a week’s worth of rest, he would grow to his usual massive size and when he could shapeshift again, he would have to deal with the consequences of missing so much work. But until then, he and Hattie would take it day by day and one marshmallow at a time.

#ahit coffee shop au #doodledrawsthings #ahit prince #ahit hat kid #my writing #*kickflips into ur tumblr experience wearing rubber fishing suspenders and a cap that says 'words want me. ghost dads fear me'* #Me: Bucket's haunted #You probably: What? #Me not breaking eye contact as i grab a pail and head for the exit: Bucket's haunted #this got very long whoops #but i hope its a fun read! #thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #red dead redemption #rdr2 #fic #smut #my work

[wiltkingart]

hi wilt, sorry if this is a weird ask, but do you have any advice on working faster? ive been drawing for a while, but i feel like even relatively simple things take me a long time to do well compared 2 other people. But whenever I try and force myself to work faster, i think my art suffers for it. I'm just drawing for myself rn, so there's no outside pressure or anything, im just unsure how to draw/paint faster without sacrificing the quality of what i'm working on.

i can speak from my personal experience, at the very least!

first off i want to preface that taking longer than other people to make art isnt a bad thing at all. some artists that i admire a lot have said that they take days or weeks or even months to make a single art piece. the fast paced pressure of being a modern ‘social media artist’ does us more harm than good, i think. and there’s really nothing wrong at all about taking your time, especially if you like your art better when you go at your own pace.

personally i have gotten significantly faster at art over the past 3 years, but that wasnt ever actually my intention. in fact my goal was just to simplify my sketches to make the whole process easier on my hand. but by simplifying my sketches, i ended up cutting back severely on the amount of time it would normally take to overwork and cleanup my sketches, as well as reducing the amount of time i needed to clean up my work while coloring. so it became a positive side effect of my original goal, rather than my main focus.

for example, this is what my sketches looked like in 2016

i would spend so much time and effort on them that i would often end up just using the sketch as lineart and coloring underneath.

lots of artists do this, and it isnt bad at all! but this was very stressful on my hand. i literally got tendonitis so bad i had to see a physical therapist and rethink my whole life, and i was hardly able to make actual paintings because it would take so long and the rendering/cleanup process was hell. in 2017 i tried to mitigate the problem by letting myself be messy in both the sketch + painting process. thus the start of the wiggly era.

but it wasnt enough. i still didnt like how much time i was spending on cleanup/rendering. so began my 2018 journey to simplify my sketches and i forced myself to do this by completely removing my ability to use pen pressure by using the binary tool. i also started laying down silhouettes first, which is something i still do to this day.

i’ll admit it was a rough period of time, but i kept at it! i liked how i had more freedom and maneuverability with the painting phase. and eventually i adapted to it and became more comfortable with it and my art started to look and feel decent again.

i became so comfortable with it that i decided it was time to set aside the binary tool and go back to my good old friend the marker tool, because i missed having the ability to make sketches that looked good on their own too. but by now i had the ability to quickly and effectively make sketches that held the bare minimum information i needed to work with.

and right now im really happy with my current art process. its super flexible and im satisfied with splitting up my time as 10% sketch 90% color/painting. plus my hand pain is at an all time minimum! so i guess what im trying to say with all this is that as long as you’re happy with your process and your art, it doesn’t matter how slow or fast you are. if you’re not happy with your process, then by all means try new things. but i dont think speed is in any way an indicator of skill.

“im just unsure how to draw/paint faster without sacrificing the quality of what i'm working on.”

if you dont want to change the way your art looks then there’s no need to force the issue. but if you are still interested in trying to speed up your work, there will most definitely be a dip in quality for a while while you figure things out and learn new techniques, as i think ive shown with my journey. but that dip will be temporary.

as far as how to speed up your work, ive only shown my approach to it and there’s dozens of different ways to do it. some people force themselves to do 5 min / 1 min / 30 second figure studies. other people use multiply/overlay effects to speed up the coloring process. its a highly personal matter and i would recommend asking other artists or looking up tutorials! best of luck and i hope this helps in some small way.

#long post #very very long post lol im so sorry #ask wilt #anon

[fenheart87]

Sprint Challenge: 3.31.21

I am aware this is a day late but it's finally done!

"Dude, how did you mess this up?!"

 "I did everything you told me to!"

 "Bro, obviously not! Now we have a sleeping beauty who didn't consent nor a way to wake her up! Our grades are gone and maybe our magical career period! We don't even know if she's a witch or a human!" Nino's voice rose with his stress to a higher pitch, hands clutching his short curls, his hat long forgotten on the floor when he first entered the room. 

"I know this Nino!"

 "Adrien. Dude, bro I need you to think very carefully and tell me what you used for this potion."

 "I don’t remember the exact order but I wrote down most of it on this paper. I used all the ingredients listed, like you told me to." The blonde pulled the page from his spell journal where it was tucked and passed it over for observation.

 "Okay well half of these would kill a human, vampire or any type of sea related being. So she's magical somehow at least."

“Because that makes me feel better…” The wind based wizard muttered.

“It should! It means she’s sleeping and not dead, you dummy!” The childish insult slipped out before he could help it and the blonde drew back as if he’d been slapped.

“I’m the dummy? You’re not much better if you can’t reverse the spell you gave me!” Adrien snapped, moving from his seated position to start pacing as the stress was finally hitting him. Even Plagg, his familiar, seemed to be judging his newest failure.

“Dude, chillax. I promise we can fix this, it’s just going to take some time… Hopefully no one puts up a missing poster.” The Earth affiliated wizard-to-be moved from the couch where the young woman slept and started to pull together the ingredients used.

“Nino! Seriously?!” 

“Adrien, I got you. It will be fine, now I need your help to recreate this potion so I can figure out a reverse or cure depending on its… Potency.”

Adrien grumbled but made his way over to the workbench, picking up Plagg from the back of the couch on his way. Using the hand written instructions they measured out the ingredients and consulted other books on the different effects mixing the ingredients would have. In the midst of their research a knock sounded at the door. Nino left his blonde friend to answer the door. Pulling the heavy oak open revealed another teen slightly taller and muscular, his hair was a contrast to his dark robes being black faded to teal tips. His hand were raised and empty to show he was non-threatening.

"Hi, I have a somewhat awkward question but I'm looking for someone and hoping you may have seen her? On the petite side, blue black hair in pigtails and wears a ladybug cloak?"

"Sorry can't say that we have, what's her name? We can keep a look out for you."

"That'd be great." The stranger smiled.

"Hey I found something that could help." Adrien piped up from the work table,  drawing the other males attention inward.

"Oh thank God you brought her inside."

Now they were both concerned and eyeing the newcomer with suspicion. Between the two, being an air and earth affinity that knew each other from boyhood, they had countless hours of spellcasting and mock fighting techniques that were being geared up to use against this stranger.

“Ah, that didn’t come out right. Her name is Marinette and her familiar Tikki has been looking for her all day. Usually she’s too busy taking care of everyone else that she forgets herself and well, falls into a mild coma to recover. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fall asleep this deeply though....”

“So uh, my dude…” Nino carefully spoke, shifting slightly so his wand was easier to reach.

“Luka, you might know Juleka? She’s my little sister.”

“Oh, we have potions class together! Juleka never said anything about a brother though.”

“We’re always around each other so no need to miss or talk about each other. So where did you find Sleeping Beauty? Last I knew she was sketching for Mendelvie’s class.”

“Uh, well…” Adrien shared a look with his best friend and decided to come clean with a sheepish countenance. “Funny story, I was making a potion for class and found the last ingredient I needed near where Marinette was sketching… She asked for something to drink and I gave her the wrong jar…”

"Well whatever you put in it definitely worked to get her to sleep but she's not under a sleeping spell. This is for Bustier's test right?" Nino nodded and let Luka in the room, closing the door behind him. "So the version she wants you to make is the hardest version out there and almost no one can make it. Which is the point, it's a test to your abilities to see what your second affinity could be or help pick a specialization. May I see the ingredient list?"

"Sure. So what year are you?" Nino shuffled the ingredients list over and went back to the Wildflowers of the Forest tome to compare.

"Third year, my apprenticeship starts soon." Luka glanced over the ingredients list and paused noticeably, scanning the ingredients on the table. "Are these the exact ingredients you used? Everything looks and smells the same?"

"Yeah, everything's here." Adrien double checked each jar and sprig, only hesitating on the belladonna blossoms. "I used pink ones instead of the purple."

"You sir, are a very lucky accidental genius." The older wizard sighed and the tension seemed to finally melt away. "Your mix up saved her life and created a sleep tonic. Marinette is half Naga and that much belladonna apparently helps her sleep because she has venom sacs that are potent enough to absorb the deadly part."

"We don't need to tell Ms. Bustier do we?" The wind wizard asked nervously. 

"Probably, there are other Naga students and I know several other reptile species that could benefit from it. Also incase of a sneak attack the chance to study cures would be invaluable." Luka clapped a gentle hand on each of their shoulders before moving to pick up the still sleeping student. As Marinette yawned she exposed her fangs that were bared as a defense while in her sleeping state, her tongue flickering along Luka's jaw to bury her face in his crook of his shoulder.

"That's kind of creepy but cool…" Nino remarked, starting to clear up the research mess.

"It helps that she knows me, Nagas much like their snake counterparts can taste the air to smell."

"Oh my Gods, Adrien dude! You should totally get with Kagami!"

"What?" The blond was looking at the other like he was crazy with his outburst.

"She's a Naga, they taste air, yanno wind? The only thing that's between your ears?"

"Did you just-" Adrien turned towards Luka who politely coughed carefully to hide his laugh and not wake up the still slumbering girl. "Did he just call me an airhead?!"

"Well I'll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything. Jules knows how to find me." With that parting remark he left the squabbling younger wizards to clean up and compile a report for their grade. With a quick glance around, the wizard opened a secret passageway and took it as a shortcut to near where Marinette's rooms were.

"Mm, my mate… warm and safe, good mate…" Marinette murmured in her sleep and it took everything in Luka to not drop the sleeping girl like she just dropped that bombshell. That was something to unpack at a much later date and when the mixed Naga was awake.

#lukanette endgame #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fen's plunny corner #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #lovebugs and snake charmers #fantasy au

[nightmarewritings]

A Vincent Sinclair /AFAB Gender Neutral reader fic I started at like 4am a few days back and pretty much only wrote in the early hours of the morning or late at night. Basically I had watched the clips of Vincent stepping on people and it got me thirsty so I wrote.

Not worksafe!

Captivated

Vincent gently pushed you backwards, his hand cradling the back of your head as he lowered you to the floor. You belonged to him and if he wanted to he could have so easily smashed your head against the hard floor like a watermelon, but Vincent couldn’t get another muse as easily as he could a melon.

Your head met the soft fabric of his discarded jacket, and you stared up at him, wide eyed and curious. You had been his for several months now, and while you had grown terribly fond of the artist, you could never quite figure out what he was thinking, or if he even really liked you as anything more than just a model.

“Vincent... What are you doing?” You asked nervously as he pushed your knees apart, your underwear on full display. Vincent had seen you naked more times than you could count, capturing your likeness in a variety of poses and artistic mediums, and it wasn’t like you were allowed to wear much clothing anyway, but you still couldn’t help but feel your face warm up. It was just such a lewd position to be in...

As you expected, Vincent said nothing. The closest you received to any kind of reply was his thumb tracing your slit through your underwear.

Your hands went over your mouth, stifling a gasp that threatened to slip out. Vincent stopped, grabbed your wrists, and pulled your hands away from your face, setting them down on either side of you. Whatever he was planning, he wanted to hear every sound you made.

Vincent stepped back from you, standing at his full height and admiring you from a higher angle. Your body aligned so perfectly with his aesthetic sensibilities, the kind of person he had imagined during his sleep as a young man, urging him from the darkness to create breathtaking works of art.

He lifted his boot, and they looked different to you than usual. Had Vincent cleaned his boots? Why?

Your question was answered when he brought his boot down on your crotch, just barely hard enough to make you feel the sole pressing down lightly. He held it there, watching as your eyes trailed their way up from his boots to his mask, the expression he had underneath was completely imperceptible.

Your mouth opened, likely to again ask what the hell he was doing, only to close quickly again once he started to move. Vincent pressed his boot against your core, grinding the sole into your underwear, twisting the material until it was a ripped and tangled mess.

It felt so strange, so unlike anything you had ever felt before, and every time the rough material of the toe rubbed against your clit your breath hitched. It was painful, but not in a particularly bad way. As unusual as it was, you were beginning to get off to the slow motions of his boot.

Your hips tilted upwards, making it all the easier for him to continue his ministrations, watching every little movement you made and committing it to memory. He would undoubtedly be sketching his recollection of the event later.

“V-Vincent, please... please....” You tried to beg, but no further words seemed to come in mind, your brain felt as if it was filled with fuzzy static, barely able to form words at all. Your weren’t sure if you liked what he was doing or not, but the effect it was having on you was undeniable.

Vincent tilted his head, taking in an all new angle for him to view your pleasurable torment from. You looked a mess, your pupils blown wide, drool inching its way past the corners of your lips, and your cunt soaking through your underwear. He could see how close you were to your climax.

So he pulled his boot back, cutting you off from the sensations it caused. The look you gave him was one of disbelief and hurt. You knew Vincent could be a teasing bastard, but stopping just then just seemed low.

Your opinion of him quickly changed, however, when he turned from you, removing his mask to make taking off his sweater easier, before stripping the rest of his clothing off, putting his mask back on, and turning to face you.

He crawled on top of you, wax mask almost pressed against your face. The few pieces of clothing you had still clinging to your body were ripped away like paper, leaving you completely bare before him. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second as he slid his cock inside your willing cunt, taking in every minute detail of your expression, every sigh and moan that escaped your lips, even the slight twitch of your nose was catalogued in his mind.

Your hands were wrenched from their place on the ground, and wrapped around his shoulders, a placement you didn’t mind in the least as your hands played with his waxy hair.

He moved slowly, savoring the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, warm and inviting, calling him to go deeper, to press his hips as close to your own as possible. A subconscious part deep in his mind screamed at him to breed you, to keep you tied to him forever, to make it further evident to everyone around that you were his.

Vincent rocked his hips against your own, pulling out just enough to make your eyes roll back with every subsequent thrust. They were slow, but powerful, forceful.

Your fingers worked their way up his hair, wrapping around strands and sections until you reached the base of his scalp, pulling his hair and causing him to speed up, the wet sounds of his cock stirring into your depths filled the room.

Vincent’s hand slid between your bodies, going further south until he reached your clit. He began to rub his thumb gently in circular motions, making you arch your back and fuck upwards, impaling yourself further on his cock, wanting to feel everything he could give you.

His free hand moved to his face, lifting his mask just enough to expose his mouth, which latched on to yours, denying you even that small glimpse of his face.

Vincent’s tongue shoved its way into your willing mouth, entwining with your own and taking in the way you tasted. His lips were surprisingly softer than you expected, the parts that felt scarred and torn barely registered in your mind. All you wanted was him, every part of him, even the scarred parts, the pieces that showed he faced adversity and hardship, but survived whatever life had thrown at him and brought him into your life. You didn’t care what he looked like, you were too enamored.

All his earlier efforts paid off, and you came around him, your orgasm hitting you hard and making you see stars as every little sensation came together at once.

His hips began to lose their even pattern of motion, all reason and logic for his thrusts lost to the pure pursuit of his own pleasure. He steadied himself with a hand beside your head, speeding up and deepening the kiss he shared with you. Vincent’s body was pressed as closely to yours as humanly possible, and with a moan muffled against your mouth, he came inside you, hips continuing to piston until he was completely spent. He pulled his face away from your own, a shared trail of saliva the only remaining connection between your mouth and his own mysterious face.

His hand pulled away from your sensitive clit, fixing his mask before going to your back. He rubbed softly, gentle motions that made you almost ignore the feeling of his cock softening inside of you. A quiet, almost sweet sounding, hum came from behind his mask, and you realized how exhausted you had become.

You nuzzled your face against his mask, whispering a “Thank you.” to the artist who held your heart as captivated as he held the rest of you. Your eyelids became heavy, and you soon fell asleep beneath him, feeling comfortable and safe for the first time since arriving in Ambrose.

#vincent sinclair #house of wax #slashers #vincent sinclair x reader #horror #not worksafe #Lite Work #revisions? 2nd draft? whats that? #this is pure self indulgence #Vincent steps on someone and my brain goes 'god I wish that was me'

[primasveraas-writing]

As Family Does - SWR

In snippets, Hera experiences the ups and downs of motherhood, and all the wonderful relationships her son has with family near and so very far away.

WORD COUNT: 2206

XXX

Kanan

A sharp, desperate cry, and Hera’s world changed forever.

Jacen Syndulla was a testament to his parents’ strength long before he came into the world. He emerged bloodied, during battle and war, but the galaxy suddenly recentered itself around this tiny, helpless being.

Hera should have been used to this kind of change by now- in less than a year, her whole life had been broken and reformed in more ways than she could count.

And yet- so much of it was good, Hera thought, as the squirming baby was placed on her chest. This love she felt was so familiar, after carrying her son for 9 months, after loving his father, after being family and foster mother to Ezra and Sabine. She felt it in every cell of her body, so much that it was hard to breathe.

“You did it, Hera,” Zeb said, sounding rather choked up. Hera nodded, numb to the rest of the galaxy, save for her child in her arms, and realized that there were hot tears on her face. She sobbed, her whole body convulsing, and that hurt, but she didn’t care. She’d faced greater pain and been awarded less joy at the end of it all.

The baby wailed again, and Hera gasped- the boy’s eyes had flown open, revealing a clear, vibrant blue. His skin was tinted green and his features were already sharp, sure hallmarks of his mother’s identity but his eyes- they were Kanan’s eyes.

She never thought she’d see them again, and she sobbed harder. Even with the hormone changes that came with pregnancy, it had been a long time since Hera had cried this much. She felt Zeb’s hand on her shoulder and the love in the air. She cried tears of happiness, as new parents do, and tears of sorrow because Kanan wasn’t there to meet his son, nor Ezra to meet his baby brother.

But still- she knew Kanan loved her and he loved their son. She knew Ezra would too, when he came home. Their love was still with her, even if they were not.

That would be enough for now. Hera had her son and her beloved’s eyes, and the love needed to carry her through this and darker days.

Chopper

Hera knew- despite her avoidance of the fact- that Jacen couldn’t stay with her forever. She wasn’t the only one in the Rebellion with a young child, but she was the only general with a newborn. Somewhere in the galaxy, there had to be a safe place for her son, and she would find it. But for now, she kept him the best she could, even if it would only be for the first months of his life.

The fear and the exhaustion of war were heightened by bringing an infant into it. They threatened Hera in her lowest moments, but then there was Zeb, putting Jacen back to sleep in the middle of the night before she could get out of bed, or Kallus quietly filling out her rising piles of paperwork when she was too busy or too tired to do it herself.

It was okay- a new challenge, a new routine, and an ever-constant show of their resilience. She witnessed love and community in all parts of her life, from her kid pilots offering to babysit, to the Organas sharing some old baby toys and clothes. Even the most unlikely of figures rallied around her, and for that, Hera was grateful. Sometimes, she would even have time to herself.

One of these calm afternoons was spent completing mission reports while Jacen slept, which Hera boldly presumed would last long enough for her to catch up on everything she had to do. As soon as she dared to hope this, however, a mechanical whirr indicated the presence of Chopper- and serenity rarely, if ever, followed him.

Where is the new one? He asked, disregarding the fact that Hera was very clearly busy.

“The new one- you mean Jacen?”

He’s new. Her droid was very matter-of-fact about this statement.

“He’s a baby, Chop,” Hera amended, and the astromech beside her warbled in disagreement.

He has not been around very long. He has not done many things either. Therefore, he is new.

“Whatever you say.”

Chopper didn’t humor her further, only groaned in complaint, and waited for a response. Hera rolled her eyes, but obliged. “He’s down for his afternoon nap. Same as yesterday. Why?”

She received no reply, other than a broken lament that the little one took too long to recharge, then her oldest companion rolled off and out of sight. Hera sighed and turned back to her work.

Later, Hera glanced at the chrono and readied herself for her son’s cries, but the Ghost remained silent and lonely. She crept down the room towards the pilot’s quarters, the door still open so that she might reach Jacen faster. Perhaps she would find him still asleep, and she could clean or shower with the extra few minutes to herself.

She instead discovered her baby wriggling happy on his cot, Chopper looming over him. One of his mechanical arms was extended, dangling Jacen’s favorite tooka in front of him. Chopper made gentle sounds, and Jacen grinned up at him.

So Chopper had a heart, beyond the occasional moment of mercy. Hera hid her mouth with her hand, ignoring the wetness in her eyes, and watched the scene from the doorway.

Zeb

It might not have been fair to blame a baby for picking favorites before he could talk, but Hera still shook her head as Zeb passed back Jacen, who wailed the second he left the Lasat’s arms. Zeb chuckled at the reaction, scratching at the back of his neck, but shrunk instantly at Hera’s glare

“Aw, com’on,” Zeb tried while Jacen furiously kicked against Hera. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. Nobody holds a candle to ya, Hera.” He finished the statement rather ungracefully, as Hera relinquished Jacen, plopping him back in Zeb’s arms. As soon as she did, Jacen giggled, clutching at Zeb’s fur and gurgling happily, his woes entirely forgotten.

“You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to the one who feeds him,” Hera said dryly, regarding Jacen with her hands on her hips. Zeb shrugged, looking vaguely sheepish.

“I’m just softer than ya, that’s all,” Zeb assured her, snuggling Jacen against his chest. When Hera raised an eyebrow at him, he laughed in surprise.

“Lasat kits like to sleep on their parents,” he explained, “but some of us like to say that they prefer the Lasat with the longest and softest fur.”

“Well, you certainly have me beat there,” Hera conceded, and Zem hummed in agreement, rocking Jacen in his arms. He babbled cheerfully, and Zeb laughed again. “Maybe nobody holds a candle to Uncle Zeb, either,” she said, her tone hushed, and Zeb froze. “We’re both lucky to have you.”

Zeb didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he shifted Jacen to one side and slung his free arm around Hera’s shoulders. She leaned into the embrace, and Zeb pulled her closer.

“We’re family,” he said gruffly, his voice suspiciously thick. “Of course I’ll take care of you both.”

The admonition sent warmth flooding through Hera’s chest, and she sniffed. That was what she’d count on through it all- her family and their love, unfaltering.

Sabine

Each of Jacen’s milestones- his first smile and wave and babble of a word- came with the reminder that Kanan wasn’t there to witness them too. Her son had just started to lift his own head when the anniversary of his father’s death passed, and Hera realized with grief weighing on her heart that even the idea of Kanan would be unfamiliar to Jacen for the first years of his life.

Her sorrow at the fact that “Dada” wouldn’t be among Jacen’s collection of first words (which included “Mama,” “ship,” “no!” and “Chop”) was expressed to Sabine during an exhausted and teary conversation. Together, they concluded that Kanan would have made a great dad, if he didn’t collapse from the stress while doing it, and the two women held each other until the talk turned back to recollecting fond memories at laughter at what once was.

In one of the biggest shocks of Hera’s life, the grief became lighter and easier to carry. She knew it would never leave her, but at least she didn’t bear it alone.

When Jacen turned one, she declared it a happy occasion and resolved not to spend too long dwelling on those not present to celebrate with them. There were still wistful smiles and comforting hugs, but as luck would have it, she had Zeb, Alexsandr, Rex, and Sabine all with her to mark the occasion, and that was a happy blessing on its own.

Jacen destroyed the small cake Alexsandr had made for him with pudgy fists, smearing it all over his face and onesie. Hera laughed, trying not to think of the possibility of finding uneaten food in Jacen’s diaper again, and their small family celebrated, and it was good.

They exchanged presents before everyone had to return to their respective duties. Mother and son received a collection of toys and bigger clothes, and Hera was even gifted a nice bottle of wine for her to enjoy after surviving a year of motherhood.

At the end, when it was just her and Sabine sweeping crumbs off the floor of the galley, the young Mandalorian presented her a final gift. An intricately bound book, made from sketch flimsi and filled with page after page of illustrations. It told a story, in few words and in brilliant, dynamic colors, of a Jedi, a hero, on quests to make the galaxy a better place. The Jedi wielded a blue lightsaber, and although he could be grumpy, he was deeply loyal to his friends, and he always came in to save the day. His face was unmistakable, his demeanor kind and familiar.

“So Jacen can know his dad,” Sabine said, and her voice was carefully measured. “I never thought I’d illustrate a kid’s book.”

Hera had no words, so she threw her arms around Sabine instead, murmuring her thanks through her tears. Sabine accepted the hug, squeezing Hera just as tight, and they stayed that way for a long while.

Ezra

Jacen grew and grew until he no longer fit in her arms- or rather, he wiggled out of them every time Hera tried to pick him up. He started to beg to learn how to fly as the war drew to a close but it wasn’t until after the Battle of Endor that Hera felt the skies were safe enough for her son.

Sabine teased her that Jacen inherited his recklessness from both sides of the family. Hera couldn’t bring herself to disagree, but she looked around at her friends and family- Mandalorians and Lasats and spies and galactic heroes- and thought that her child’s thrill-seeking tendencies came more from his company rather than his blood.

The conclusion of the war didn’t mean the end of the fighting, but peace was at last on the horizon and her fellow rebels begun planning their lives in this new, free galaxy. Hera could be a mother full-time now, and not have to worry if each goodbye to her son would be her last.

She thought that this would mean fulfillment- and in many ways, it did. The galaxy was entering a new age, but there were too many things left behind for Hera to move on completely. Much of it, she would never get back- but for some, there remained hope of rescue.

She saw so much of Ezra in Jacen. His energy, for one, and his innocence. His optimism, too- Jacen was a happy baby and nothing short of an ebullient child. Hera and Kallus liked to joke that his smile could light up the galaxy. It was impossible, when gazing into Jacen’s blue eyes, not to see the hope and love of another boy who once looked to her as a mother. They had so much in common, these children of war, but their biggest similarity was those who loved them.

Sabine was the first one to teach her the bittersweet pride of a child leaving the nest, and she came to Hera again to tell her that she must go. Hera had fear and love and faith for her, but little surprise when Sabine promised to bring Ezra home. With a blessing and a plea to stay safe, she hugged Sabine tight and watched her set off into the galaxy again.

When evening fell, and Hera was alone again, Jacen approached his mother and snuggled into her arms. As much as she tried to protect her son, he always seemed to know when she was sad.

Hera didn’t think that she’d ever be complete without Kanan, without Ezra, without everyone she’d lost in a lifetime at war. But she was not alone, she knew- she had her son in her embrace and a family in every corner of the galaxy. That, for now, was enough, and she had hope that she would see them all again one day.

#hera syndulla #kanera #jacen syndulla #star wars rebels #swr #sw rebels #swr fanfic #kanera fanfic #sw rebels fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #sabine wren #zeb orrelios #rebels #rebels fanfic #star wars fanfiction #hera syndulla fanfic #fluff

[madfantasy]

Hi, I hope your day is going well :)

I'm about to experiment digital art for the first time, and I'm a little nervous... do u have any tips (maybe about the art program ecc.)?

And where should I start as a beginner?

Hello dear🌟

Thank you, and congratulations on the new experience and I hope you find it thrilling! I'm not a tech savy or hardly know enough to use the full capacity of what those programs offer. But I can tell you few things about it, specially based on my practice coming from a traditional background.

But first, talking about art software; there's alot. Depending on what device you're using for a start. My main mane is Sai paint tool 2, and Clip Studio Paint, both PC windows solo and both are not free, so I recommend MediaBang. Its the closet professional free software out there I think. Can be used on all systems, windows android and iOS, if I'm not mistaken. So if you got a pc and android phone, you can easily draw on both with a drawing tablet that works on pc and android! (I only tried it recently tho so I can't tell its a smooth working method)

I was going to recommend you FireAlpaca too as it stood as a replacement for Sai for years but now I downloaded to test and it turned out to be another 'simpler'... mediaBang 8l

I think its a very simple nice way to get you started, its not cluttered and you can find labels easily, now I spent some time on it. It has wonder stabiliser, actually the best on any other software I used. I know it can be a help to get your strokes more clean but there will be ways the debate of not over using them so you wouldn't relay too much on them, which I think its valid, but we are dealing with computers here that has to process everything we move in a certain way, and if your normal strokes on it looks much awful on screen than what you normally do on paper, than some stability tweaking is much better than continuing frustration. (But that's just me side tracking)

The easiest steps into making digital art with any app would be:

Finding a favourite Brush. You can almost use one brush throughout the whole drawing process by minding the size and the density of the brush and really keep tweakingit to your liking. But of course, it can be much neater, and easier, to use a brush for each purpose. Using a hard ege brush like ink to draw lines or sharp edges. Using a soft brush to add shade or color or blend, you can use an airbrush. For blending colors, you can always use watercolour brush, smudge, or blur.

Using layers. One of the best things about digital art is the ability to use layers. You can use as many or few as you like. The starter layer can be the sketch, you lower the opacity and add a new layer on top to ink or define the sketch, when you done you can hide the lower layer by clicking the eye icon and you got yourself a squeaky clean mess, heh. You can also using the blending mode with layers. Let's say you want to add light to your painting, you add a new layer and set ilthe blending to "Add". Then choosing light orange color you draw the sun beam or light up few areas as you like. You can experiment with all of the blending modes as each create a different results and helps tie picture together.

Using Filter. It can help you adjust the picture to the desired hue, saturation and contrast. There's all kind of ways to fiddle with these, you can always Google them to have more understanding of what you're doing. If not, do what the rest of us surely do; slide those bars mad till everything looks pretty, hehe

This is just me nitpicking, but I love to erase with my favourite brush instead of using the eraser, cuz then you keep the pictures harmonious with brush strokes even when you erase something it wouldn't stand out too much in the picture and doesn't introduce unwanted contrast within the drawing's lines, if I'm making any sense. Anyway, you can do that simply by clicking on the transparent square near the colors.

The things the software vary the most on is textures and endless ways to editing the pic, and of course, how smooth the program works with brush strokes and editing them and huge files of canvas. But it all will come in time and you can learn about them easily to find what suits you the best by experimenting on them!

Here's links to more random art tips if any could help:

Art-ing attitude +Simple colour theory

Expressions and posing

Blur and blend

I hope this is of help in any way and I haven't confused you more x'

Wish you all the best, and cheering you on🙌🔥

#ask #art tutorial #yes its #lucius malfoy

[bonny-kookoo]

Enticing Girl (JJK x Reader) 🎀(☁️)💜🔞

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Good Girl AU!, Fluff, Smut, slight comedy, only a teeny tiny little bit of angst

Warnings: Fluff, it’s so soft pls, GG and JK being best puppy-parents, Dom! Jungkook, Sub!Reader, Dom/Sub themes, mild DDLG themes, usage of toys (the vibrator pt.2 lol), oral (fem. receiving), Squirting, Subspace, Soft aftercare king ‘Koo, GG scratches his back and he thinks it’s funny, GG is clumsy and has to go to the ER, nothing too bad, but she’s kinda on a lot of pain meds, Jungkook being whipped, GG talking without a filter and he loves it

Summary: Jungkook never wanted to see you in any kind of hospital ever again. This time however, it ends way differently than last time, and he couldn’t help but feel almost overwhelmed with emotions.

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl || Pretty Girl || Charming Girl || Enticing Girl || Bad Girl || ???

Taglist: @sweetenedcooky @ggukkieland @btsismybias22 @darkgvk @daddypkj @flowerprincess24 @crazylittlemay @zeharilisharaban @teresaisla @tangledsparkles @dammit-jjk

"What the fuck!" Jungkook laughed, as he pulled you inside the small diner, his cotton zip hoodie already soaked with the rain from outside. You hit his chest playfully at his cursing, making a few lone costumers and a waitress snicker at your antics, and your own cheeks redden. Your boyfriend shook his head like a wet dog shaking his coat, making you whine as the drops fell onto you, as he laughed, kissing your cheek. "Sorry, sorry. Lets sit down." He said, walking to a small booth in the corner, where he simply threw his soaked clothing onto the seats, making you click your tongue at him. "Ah come on now, sit down and be a good girl now while I get the menus." He said, making you huff as you sat down, cheeks still ablaze because of his words.

Alex had made a little fun about it the last time you spoke with her. The fact that you seemed trained like a dog to his very command as soon as he would utter these things to you in a way that always included you being 'his good girl'. You had told her time and time again that no, you were not whipped for him, and yes, you could be independent and go against his words. You had yet to prove that, however. It wasn't like you wanted to go against him, however- your nature didn't allow you to. As someone who liked to be taken care of in the most nurturing kinds of ways, you wanted to see if Jungkook would take on that role of a partner who would simply comply with these needs. So basically, what you were doing, was pushing and pushing, until you'd demand something he couldn't give. Of course you could just plain straight tell him what you wanted, but you craved him to do these things naturally, not because he would feel like he needed to do them in order to make you happy.

Jungkook had noticed your behaviour as well. Instead of using that to his advantage, he'd gone around the world wide web and done research, simply because he felt like he'd read about this entire situation before. He knew about things like subspace, a mindset you slipped into easily during sex whenever he would push your buttons just right- these days even without any sexual nature in his gestures. The funny thing was, that Taehyung had actually told him to search up some things, 'maybe it could be helpful' he'd said. And it had been, he decided after he'd found a lot of information about what this could mean for you as a person. Were you someone who regressed, but simply didn't know? It could be. Or maybe you weren't. He'd ask you about that later on.

When he'd come back to your table, you slowly put your phone away as he sat down, looking at the menu. "Anything catching your eye princess?" He asked as he looked over the dishes as well, trying to decide what he wanted for himself. You hated making decisions, always waiting for Jungkook to do tell you whatever he would get as an example to go by. He noticed that, as you began to shuffle around in your seat, slightly sucking your upper lip in between your lips to chew on the skin in frustration. He clicked his tongue, hand reaching out to pull your lip out of its danger of getting seriously hurt as he looked at you. "Don't do that. Let me get the sunny side up eggs, and you'll take the pancakes. If you wanna switch we can, sound's good?" He said, and you nodded, glad he took the burden of the decision from you.

It was still early, your first morning of yours and Jungkooks shared week of freedom from your work. You'd taken the days off at the same time to spend some well deserved time together without the need to get up early in the mornings, or stay up late to wait for the other to finish their shift. Today you started with getting breakfast together, the weather however had switched seemingly out of nowhere, making you both regret walking to the small diner instead of taking the car.

It didn't matter to you, however- the fact that Jungkook had desperately tried but failed to shield your form from the sudden downpour from above with his zip hoodie made you feel as if you were stuck in a romantic drama full of cliches and happy endings. It felt magical, in a way, as cheesy as it sounded.

Once the food arrived, Jungkook thanked the waitress as she set the plates down, his hands already reaching for the cutlery as you gently pulled yours towards you. The small restaurant slowly filled up as the time went by, squeaking shoes and the laughter of a foreign family walking in breaking the silence around everyone. Jungkook watched you as you started to dig into your pancakes, smiling a bit as he slowly began to eat as well. "Is there something you wanna do today?" He asked you, as you looked at him, shaking your head. Today you really wanted to just embrace the simple fact you could both be lazy. He nodded, instantly moving his finger over your lower lip as some crumbs failed to make it into your mouth in time, swiping across before pushing a bit, his own lips turning upwards a bit as he noticed how you complied without thinking much, letting his finger inside your mouth to welcome the stray crumbs of food that were supposed to end up there in the first place. You really were sweet.

"The lets go home after the rain clears up and take a nap, sounds good?" He said, and you nodded again, already hyped at the vision of him and you curled up on the couch, windows opened to let the cool air in as you both slept for as long as you wanted. For others it may seemed to be a pretty dull plan for the day, but for you both it was rare to be able to be lazy. Jungkook had just recently found his dream job at a tuning workshop as an airbrush artist. He'd been a bit hesitant, yet after a bit of reassurance from your side he'd finally agreed to send in some of his own sketches and practices he'd collected over time. They had almost immediately agreed to take him under their wing despite his lack of knowledge concerning actual work experience. That had been the big reason why he'd always stayed late, being given extra lessons in how to actually work with professional equipment. He loved his new job, you'd noticed that instantly, yet he had also felt bad that you always stayed up to wait for him to come home despite having to get up early in the mornings for your own job, constantly finding you asleep on the couch rather than in his bed where you should rest. The week of freetime came as a beacon of hope that things would get a bit easier since it showed that you both had settled into your own jobs well enough to receive short-notice freedom just by asking kindly.

It was also good for the both of you since you would be finally picking up your dog the next day, your vacation probably filled with chaos and happiness- and you couldn't wait.

"Come on, lets go take a shower while we can throw the clothes in the wash." Jungkook said as he stepped into the apartment you both shared, making you smile happily as you skipped into the bathroom, already pulling your sweater over your head. Jungkook came inside soon after, picking up the clothes you had simply thrown onto the tiles as you stepped out of your pants. "Since when do we make such a mess princess?" He said as he accusingly stood in front of the sweater in front of his sock clad feet, arms crossed in front of him. You looked at him for a moment before you pouted, picking it up with mild attitude and throwing it into the open washing machine, making him sigh as he caged you in with his arms on either side of you, chest against your backside. "And since when, pray tell, do we have such an attitude?" He grumbled, his voice low as he spoke close to your ear. You squirmed a bit, trying to duck your way out of your current situation, but he'd easily caught onto your plan by grabbing your wrists and holding them onto the edge of the washing machine, keeping you in place. "Hm?" He pressed, as you simply shrugged your shoulders. "Huh. I see." He said, as he suddenly detached himself from you, leaving the bathroom.

"Jungkook?" You asked meekly, peaking around the corner of your living room where he'd sat down, on his phone. He hummed an answer without looking up, aknowledging your questioning call of his name, but not giving you full attention. Did you get too far? "Aren't you.. you know, gonna shower too?" You asked, and he nodded, still not looking at you.

"I'll take one after you're done." He simply said, and the corners of your lips turned downwards at that, almost asking why, before your mind connected the dots.

He was punishing you.

You stepped back inside the bathroom, ridding yourself of your undergarments before stepping inside the shower, cleaning yourself. Until today, Jungkook had never really punished any behavior other than when you didn't speak clearly. He'd always simply taken it as you being a bit impish that day, as if you were just in a funny mood. This was new to you, and you didn't know if you were happy with it or not, simply because you could not clearly figure out if it was for the right reason in your eyes.

You stepped outside the shower, eyes widening at the fluffy sweater and sweatpants, as well as underwear he'd set out for you on the sink. He maybe gave you the silent treatment, but this simple gesture made your heart melt. He really was too sweet for you. Grabbing everything and slowly dressing yourself, you dried your hair with a towel until it stopped dripping, as it slipped from your hand, falling to the ground and taking some stray items next to the sink with it. You didn't look as you tried to catch it from actually meeting the floor, hand failing to reach the fabric, but instead squeezing something else, that made you take in a sharp breath, instantly dropping whatever you had in your hand just now.

Small red droplets fell to the floor as you squeezed your hand, whimpering a bit, careful not to be too loud to catch Jungkooks attention. You panicked a bit as you saw the amount of blood collecting in your palm, on the white tiles the razor you had accidentally grabbed in your fast movement. You grabbed a freshly cleaned kitchen towel from the bag of recently cleaned things such as oven mitts and the dogbed Jungkook had bought second hand. You wrapped it around tightly, but it still seeped through, making you sigh out. Nop, you had to get him.

“Jungkookie..?” You timidly asked, leaning against the doorframe as he turned around from his spot in front of his TV, pulling down his headset.

“Yeah Princess?” He asked, raising his eyebrow in a silent question at your form.

“So uh..” you started, trying to ignore the angry throbbing of your hand. “Let’s say uh, purely hypothetically, you cut yourself accidentally in your hand, when should you like.. you know, see a doc?” You asked, biting your lip.

Jungkooks eyebrows furrowed, immediately getting up as soon as he discarded his headset of the floor, walking over to you and reaching out for your hand that you had behind your back. “I ain’t playing games young lady, Hand. Now.” He demanded, and you hesitantly gave in, putting your hand wrapped in a kitchen towel into his waiting ones, as he unraveled the fabric, making you hiss and whine. He grabbed your wrist to take away the possibility of pulling away from him as he sharply took in air between his teeth, carefully inspecting the cut in your palm. “Wrap it up Baby and get my car keys.” He said, already switching off the TV as he ushered you into the small hallway, not taking chances with it.

Oh boy, you really were making a mess today, weren't you?

"...'m hungry koo.." You drawled, making him chuckle a bit as he fastened your seatbelt for you. "Did you hear me?" You asked, a bit like you talked whenever you were drunk. He have had the wonderful privilege of knowing that after picking you up from a birthday party once.

"I've heard you loud and clear baby." He said, closing the car door and walking around the front to open his own and climbing into the drivers seat, a click signifying that he'd put on his own safety as well before he started the engine. "But the nurse said you can't eat anything for the next few hours, at least until the medication has worn off." He said, and you whined, sinking down in your seat, glaring at your bright pink bandage wrapped around your hand as if to set it on fire. To Jungkooks eyes it just looked absolutely adorable. "I promise you I'll get you whatever you want as dinner tonight. Sounds good?" He asked, looking at you for a moment at a red light. You mumbled something but nodded. "What was that?" He said, and you huffed.

"I said 'yeah okay I guess." You repeated your words, and he chuckled. "You're not takin' me seriously Koo!" You whined, and he smiled as he tapped your shoulder, silently ordering you to sit properly.

"I admit that Princess." He said, taking a moment to take in both sides of the road before continuing to drive. "But I can't really do that since you're a bit out of it baby." You gasped as if he'd just insulted you, rolling your eyes. "I saw that." He said sternly, and you squirmed in your place. "you've been huffy like this the entire day today. Do I need to do something about that?" He said, implying something you weren't too sure of.

"m not a baby.." You mumbled as you looked out of the window, making Jungkook smile a bit.

"Well you're behaving like one though. A pretty bratty one at that." He said, and you looked at him.

"Is that bad?" You asked, and he raised his eyebrows as he stopped at a red light again, urging you to continue talking. "Is it bad that I wanna have you taking care o'me like that.?" You carefully worded, even though your words were still a bit hazy. He shook his head.

"I never said I didn't like it, didn't I?" He said, and you simply nodded, but face visibly still uncertain. "It sure isn't like anything I've experienced before, and I'm gonna be honest, I highly doubt I'm fit to be someone to take care of someone like you, but I'm also a selfish asshole who can't give up trying. So yeah, that's that I guess." He spoke, and you looked at him with eyes full of wonder, making him chuckle a bit uneasy. "What now?"

"Your eyes look like Bambis!" You suddenly exclaimed, and he suddenly burst out laughing, that signature laugh were he kind of sounded like a maniac, voice high pitched and mouth wide open. "They do!"

He had to blink a bit to get his eyes to clear up. "I'm sure they do, I'm sure."

"But you're not cute like Bambi." You said, looking out the window.

"I'm not? Why not baby?" He asked, and you seemed to think for a moment, until you answered.

"Dunno." You began, before speaking your next words without hesitation. "maybe because I have to think about the times we had sex, and I can't think of you as cute anymore afterwards."

This time it was him that suddenly went a bit red on the tips of his ears. You never spoke openly about your intimate life like that, so hearing you say it out loud was foreign to him. "Really now?" He said, simply to keep the conversation flowing. He wanted to make the most out of your dazed state, speaking without any filter.

"Hmhm." You hummed. "But now that I think about it, you are kind of cute." You said, and he simply huffed out a breath. "Cause you always take care of me afterwards, no matter how hard you get. You know, remember that time you used that cute vibrator-" Jungkook coughed, replying with a yes. Of course he remembered that. "Yeah, you were sooo sweet afterwards~" You said as you yawned, just before he finally parked the car in front of your apartment complex. "Hm, I liked that." You said, and he looked at you.

"You did? But I was being pretty mean." He said, and you shook your head.

"No. 'Koo's never mean." You mumbled, and he smiled.

His feet walked over the floor, getting closer and closer until the smell of his bodywash hit your nose as he'd crouched right in front of your seemingly sleeping form on his bed, oblivious to the fact that you were slowly regaining consciousness after your short nap on the mattress to clear your system of the medication used to numb your hand as they cleaned and wrapped the skin up. He tapped your nose a few times until you scrunched it up cutely, making him chuckle a bit. You opened your eyes with a pout, until your gaze lowered, noticing his.. very obvious lack of clothing.

"YAH Jungkook, why are you naked?!" You yelled, immediately sitting up and holding a pillow in front of your face, making him burst out laughing.

He grabbed onto the pillow to lower it, but you held it firmly, making him laugh even more. "Baby it's not like you haven't seen my dick before-" He said between his chuckling, but you shook your head behind your makeshift barrier.

"Well yeah but-" You said, "But this is so unexpected I wasn't prepared- just put on pants Jungkook!" You begged as he took your only safety away, leaving you to hold your hands over your eyes, face red as he seemingly couldn't stop laughing.

Initially he'd just tried to wake you to ask where you'd put his most comfortable sweatpants after not finding them in his bedroom earlier, and forgetting to ask you about them when you had finished your shower earlier. But teasing you would always stay hilarious to him, the way you would still blush and get shy whenever he'd do things like that never failing to make him smile. "I would but you hid them so good I can't find them." He said. "Have you seen my black sweatpants? The ones with the white writing on the side?" He asked.

"Jungkook, they're still in the wash, and also-" You took your hands away from your eyes to be met with him still in front of you, skin slightly shiny from his shower. "Jesus-! Also if you're searching for your Sweats why the hell aren't you at least wearing underwear?!" you whined, and he laughed.

"Well I wasn't really planning on wearing any underneath to be honest." He casually explained, sitting down next to you on his bed as he layed down at your legs on his side, his head near your thigh as his hand traced yours still shielding your eyes. He didn't grab nor pulled, he simply tapped it with his finger. "Come on princess, am I that bad to look at?" He said with a whine, and you shook your head. "Then why won't you look at me?" He asked, making you sigh, falling down into the pillows behind you, making him get up a bit to crawl next to you, laying on his stomach. "Okay, my dick is snuggling the mattress now, you can't see it. Can you look at me now?" He asked with a hint of teasing in his voice, as you slowly opened your eyes, testing as if to see if he was lying. He wasn't.

"Jungkookie~!" You whined, and he simply copied you like a parrot, making you pout at him.

"Oh come on, you love this dick!" He exclaimed, and you laughed a bit as you squealed at his hands tickling your sides. "Say it!" He said between laughter, and you shook your head, even as tears gathered in your eyes. "Come on, say it!" He said, not letting you breath.

"Okay okay, I love your dick, I love your dick jungkook please stop!" You said, laughter turning into squeaky noises- something you hated, and he loved.

"Good." He simply said, entire nature of his antics shifting as his hands found their way inside your pants, pulling them down in practiced motion, taking your underwear right along the ride down to your calfs where he simply let them fall down next to his bed, uncaring. He positioned himself between your open legs, next target of his wandering palms underneath your sweater, having already noticed that you had skipped your bra he'd put out for you. It made it easier to access your breasts for him, so he didn't mind at all.

You sighed at it, already at his mercy with just a simple action. Your eyes never leaving his as he watched you squirming underneath him in anticipation of what he had in store for you, already getting riled up at his intense gaze. "I believe earlier you said something about the cute vibrator we used before, hm?" He said, and you turned red at that, having hoped he'd forgotten about it. He simply dug inside his infamous bedside drawer, pulling the toy out, and carefully running it over your center, collecting your already very present wetness as a form of lubrication to push the toy inside you, slowly, as to not make it too uncomfortable. "I also remember your attitude today." He mused as he watched the toy slowly disappear inside you, small rabbit gimmick on the top side of it slowly taking its place snug against your pearl, making you move your hips a bit. "Do you think you've been a good girl today?" He asked, testing how to get you into your familiar headspace. It seemed to work immediately.

"N-no.." You hummed, eyes already moving around a bit anxiously at the way he spoke. He usually didn't address anything that happened during the day whenever you both had sex, always keeping it plain and simple while still changing up the pace and overall energy of it almost every time. Sometimes he was incredibly sweet, while others your muscles ached afterwards in the most delicious of ways. This time however, the theme felt a little different.

"Then you'll know why I'm gonna do this, and you'll take it like the good girl we both know you are, right?" He said, before turning on the toy, low buzzing making you yelp a bit, hands grabbing the sheets. "Keep it there while I watch you." He said, and your eyes widened as you tried to look at him. His eyes held an almost predatory energy in them. "And don't you fucking dare close your legs." He hummed, low voice showing how serious he was about it.

You nodded, hips moving a bit as you tried to hold them as still as possible- the relentless pace of the toy however, made it increasingly difficult to do so as you tried to breath steadily, not noticing how Jungkook himself had taken on another position on the bed, tattooed hand pumping his already hardening length in his hand, lazily, not really having his own release in mind at all. It simply increased the pleasure he already felt watching you- not only watching you, but knowing that you actually tried to follow his orders. It made him feel powerful in a different way he'd craved before he'd met you- and he could say for sure that it already had him addicted. Your soft moans suddenly shifted as your hips bucked into nothing, your thighs trembling as you came in front of him.

He made no move.

You whined at the overstimulation, craving to close your legs, feet already kicking away softly, yet you forced them to stay open as long as you could, breath escaping you in small bursts of air, and Jungkook fed on that view, burning it into his mind before he turned off the toy once he saw your eyes squeeze shut in discomfort. He hushed you softly as he pulled it out of you, letting it bounce slightly off of your clothes on the floor to be cleaned later. His hands found their way underneath your thighs, pushing them upwards as he layed a palm over your center, making you jump a bit at the contact, but you soon relaxed again as he kissed you deeply, tongue instantly forcing its way between your lips.

You didn't put up much of a fight when it came to him anyways.

Slowly, pleasure returned, building up again after your last orgasm as he let your hips roll into his steady hand, letting you decide the pace for a moment, before he took a condom and pulled it over his length, entering you slowly, too slow for your liking. He chuckled at your eagerness before he pushed your thighs apart, flat on the bed as he began a steady but relentless pace right from the start. He could feel your soft muscles tremble underneath his fingers as he held them in place, your own hands reaching for him as he leaned closer, giving you the opportunity to at least try and wrap your hands around his middle- failing however.

It came suddenly.

Normally you'd feel it build up, but it was his hand reaching down as you were delirious with pleasure, flicking your bud just right as you clenched around him, making him gasp as your fingers dug into his back, leaving angry red marks just underneath his shoulder blades as you felt yourself release- quite literally.

Jungkook continued throughout your sudden orgasm, eyes widening as he saw you squirting underneath him, coating his lower abdomen and thighs in clear wetness. He pulled out, leaning down as he placed his mouth onto your intimate parts, tongue working on your nub again softly as he groaned at the taste of you and the way you whined and moaned, openly without any hesitation. It was so enticing to see you like that, how you suddenly sobbed drily in pleasure as you felt him work you through all the overstimulation towards another one, parting with a kiss to push himself inside again, this time sitting, grabbing just underneath your knees to pull you close to him, eyes never leaving the visual pleasure that was his own cock re- and disappearing inside you over and over again, until he felt himself release, pulling out and working his hand over your nub in a fast pace, making you scream for a second before you came with a silent cry, back arching off the mattress underneath, making him sigh at the view.

Your leg quivered, feeling dangerously close to cramping up as Jungkook softly worked his fingers over your muscles, easing them up so that wouldn't happen to you, even in his post orgasmic bliss purely focused on you and your well-being.

He sloppily tied up the condom, throwing it into the bin next to his bed and simply letting himself fall onto the sheets next to you, uncaring of the drenched fabric underneath you both. He simply pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you tried to catch your breath, softly muttering praises into your ear as you fell asleep.

Hearing the door open, you instantly got up from the couch, spotting Jungkook and the light grey dog carrier walking into your living room.

You didn't come along this time because you felt like you would just make the dog anxious with your restless emotions, and Jungkook had decided to pick up the dog without you after that. He slowly put the plastic cage down, opening the door as you both sat down on the floor, waiting for the puppy to emerge.

Which happened quite quickly.

You both had visited her as much as possible to get her comfortable with you, and it showed; as soon as the fluffy white dog spotted you, she happily skipped over to you, licking your hand and chin as much as she could while you laughed. "I'm happy to see you too!" You exclaimed as the puppy barked away, excited at seeing both of her regular visitors now together.

Jungkook simply smiled at the picture in front of him, slowly taking out his phone to snap a memory for himself of that moment.

He really was whipped for you.

After getting acquainted with all of the furniture and rooms of your apartment, you both took Miri out for a walk, Jungkook having remembered that he'd promised you anything you wanted for dinner, which, not to his surprise, involved getting chicken nuggets and milkshakes. It was okay for him however, since you had deserved it after the amazing time you'd given him.

While watching you walk the dog so happily, he reminded himself that this was exactly what he wanted in life. A simple experience like this felt magical with you, the way you saw everything in a special light slowly coloring the picture in front of his own eyes more vibrantly as well. It was truly something only you could do to him.

He didn't need much money, a large house, or anything else. As long as he had this, he would stay happy.

"You know, I never knew you could squirt."

"Jungkook!"

"What?!"

"Not in front of the dog!"

"Oh, really now?!"

#bts #bts imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts reactions

[killjoyhistoryarchive]

Mike Milligram: The Lost Killjoy

Edit: On July 21st 2020, a Mike Milligram comic by Gerard Way and Shaun Simon was officially announced. However, I’ll leave this post as it is for future reference.

—

In 2009, while My Chemical Romance fans were eagerly awaiting news on their upcoming album, Gerard Way had another surprise in store: the announcement of a new comic series called “Killjoys.”

Co-written by Shaun Simon and illustrated by Becky Cloonan, Gerard told CBR that the series would “deal with much more mature and controversial themes, such as hate crimes and homophobia, the homogenization of American culture and American life.” Unlike “The Umbrella Academy,” which was set in a fantasy world, “Killjoys” was set in modern-day America.

But what nobody realized was that even after an album, two music videos, and a six-issue comic series, Gerard’s original conception would never see the light of day.

In 2008, Gerard Way and Shaun Simon developed the Killjoys universe in a frenzy of inspiration. Gerard’s original sketch features Mike Milligram on the left–named after Gerard’s brother Mikey Way–with a host of other characters that accompanied Mike on his journey. The comic was announced a year later at San Diego Comic Con, with a release planned in 2010.

With My Chemical Romance wrapping up their fourth album, Gerard and Shaun were ready to start writing. Becky Cloonan drew concept art for Mike Milligram, as well as promotional artwork that they planned to use at the Comic Con announcement. However, the Mike Milligram art was scrapped and replaced with a simple image of the Killjoy spider–a move that could later be seen as prophetic.

In 2009, “Killjoys” was an entirely different concept. There was no Party Poison, no Dr. Death Defying, no Battery City, no girl with special powers. The original comic involved a surreal road trip through America that reunited offbeat characters and confronted harsh realities along the way. In 2013, Shaun Simon offered this description in the introduction to the special hardcover edition of the comics:

The old version of the story focused on Mike Milligram, a late-twenty-something living in a desert trailer park and working a crappy job at a supermarket. Mike’s teenage years were a blur. He couldn’t tell if the things he remembered had actually happened or not. Part of him believed he was part of a gang called the Killjoys who fought fictional things in the real world. The other part of him believed it was all just a dream. Music was the only thing that kept Mike going, so when the music was erased from his Ramones tape, it sent him over the edge. He went out and got his old teenage gang, who were now living normal lives, back together because, yes, it was all real. Other members of his gang included Ani-Max, now a high school history teacher; Code Blue, a rabble-rouser who was a working girl in Vegas; Monster, a new young member they met on the road; and Kyle 100%, who was a B-list actor now. They all had strange powers based on objects. Halloween masks and costume accessories, puffy jackets, toy ray guns. It was a story about a group of old friends getting together and discovering what America really was. Reaching deep inside its pretty facade and pulling out the ugly guts. (It was semiautobiographical. I toured with Gerard and his band for a couple of years before realizing I needed to find my own path.) The gang would have found out that another former gang had now become the largest health care corporation in the country and were hell bent on making the world a safe and clean place by removing all that was dirty, like the Ramones. It would have been a great story, and I’m sure parts will end up in Gerard’s and my’s future work.

Of course, we all know what happened after that announcement. After Gerard took a fateful week-long trip to the desert, MCR decided to scrap “Conventional Weapons” and fueled their energy into writing “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.” But even as Gerard delved into this new post-apocalyptic version of the Killjoy universe, the comics remained the same. As late as 2011, Gerard claimed in an interview with Artrocker that the comics hadn’t changed at all:

No, none of the characters, even our characters, are in it. It is a completely separate thing, even almost a separate setting. It shares all the ideals behind the record and the theories and the commentary but it is nothing like the videos you have seen. I think the car is probably the only thing that’s the same!

But as the band took on more responsibilities–filming music videos, promoting the album, going on tour–the comics kept getting pushed back. First the release planned for 2010; then it was pushed back to 2011. And while the era had kicked off without a hitch, MCR eventually hit one of the first of many roadblocks: they didn’t have enough money to film the third video. So as Shaun Simon told CBR, the original story featuring Mike Milligram was scrapped, and replaced with the story of the girl and the Ultra Vs:

[A]fter the record, Gerard had built this whole world around the Killjoys. When it came time for the comic, Gerard called me up and said, “We ran out of money. We wanted to make the third video, but we don’t have the money. So do you want to make the idea for that video into a comic?” We started talking about ideas, and we had so many that it turned into this whole series.

In an interview with Paste (2013), Gerard went into more detail about the process:

The deal is that I had written three videos (“Na Na Na,” “Sing,” and “The Only Hope For Me Is You”), and the third video had never gotten made. By the time we had completed the second video, we just ran out of budget money. At the time, somebody was managing us and not keeping an eye on this stuff. Long story short, there was no budget. So I wrote a video, and of course it ends up being the most expensive one, as the last part would usually be. But we couldn’t make it! Killjoys started its life as a very different comic. It was heavily-rooted in nineties Vertigo post-modernism. There’s a lot of very cool, abstract ideas in it; I wouldn’t even call it a superhero book. That (comic) was a visual and thematic inspiration on what would become the album Danger Days. It was pretty loose, though. This was going to be my interpretation of the story, so there’s way more science fiction involved. And what I need to say to the world needed to be a little more direct, so I boiled it down to something that’s still very smart and challenging, but I thought was definitely easier to understand through song or visual. Then (Killjoys artist) Becky Cloonan drew a 7-inch for “The Only Hope For Me Is You,” which was going to be the last video single. I realized I was out of budget, so I said ‘just make this the girl from the first and second video at 15. And have her shave her head or chop her hair off like in The Legend of Billie Jean, because that’s how the video was supposed to start.’ So (Cloonan) sends this drawing over and I’m on tour with Blink 182 in a hotel on an off day. I get this drawing and I’m so immediately blown away by it. I call Shaun, my co-writer and co-creator, and I say ‘open your email, I’m going to send you something.’ I ask him ‘how does this image make you feel?’ We talked for two hours. By the end of the conversation we both realized that that image was the comic, and the third video was basically the comic. So we figured how we were going to make this interesting and exciting for six issues and complete the story. And that was the final direction. It was pretty obvious to us.

In a way, Mike Milligram’s spirit lived on, as fans noticed the similarities between Mike Milligram and Party Poison. But it’s inaccurate to say that Mike Milligram became Party Poison, though “Party Poison’s real name is Mike Milligram” became a persistent rumor in the fandom. Mike’s story was not Poison’s; he wasn’t a post-apocalyptic rebel, but a teenager searching for his identity in modern America.

Will Mike Milligram’s story ever be told? At this point, it’s not likely. But his tale offers a glimpse into the creative minds of Gerard Way and Shaun Simon, and makes us ponder the fact that with a few changes–the comics being released earlier, for instance, or MCR having the money to fund the third video–the comics could have been entirely different.

#my chemical romance #mcr #killjoys #gerard way #shaun simon #becky cloonan #articles #mike milligram #reuploads

[my-writings-and-musings]

TFA Bulkhead/Bumblebee

Bulkhead, hoping to paint Bumblebee, finds a number of unexpected hurdles in the form of a willing but very fidgety model.

Got a lovely commission that the commissioner was okay with me sharing, so here it is! I had so much fun writing this, and remember, I'm always open if you'd like a fic for yourself.

Working up courage wasn't something one had to do often when they were as big and strong as Bulkhead, but he'd needed every bit he could spare to approach Bumblebee with what he'd feared was a ridiculous request. The fact he could expect his friend to say yes had brought him little comfort, because being rejected just scared him too much. He didn't want to admit how long it had taken him to prepare…

But finally, the day had come, and he approached the little bot as one might an armed explosive.

"Uh… Bumblebee?" he spoke softly, tapping his big servos together to try and call himself down. Bumblebee was relaxing and watching something on TV, and Bulkhead was so nervous he couldn't even tell what. Primus, he was just grateful they were alone, or else this would have been impossible! Bumblebee thankfully noticed him right away, lifting his helm to look at his friend with a smile.

"What's up, Bulk?" he said in greeting, half turning back to the television before doing an actual double take back to the big bot. Concern crossed his features, and he raised a curious brow ridge before he spoke again. "You feeling okay?"

Bulkhead realized just then that his nervousness was probably showing through like a beacon, and he gulped in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear on the spot. Just his luck that things would already be going poorly… Steeling himself, he took a deep vent and put on the biggest smile he could manage. "Yeah, f-fine!" he gasped out, trying not to tremble. Wishing he'd written down what he wanted to say, he just managed to put some words together and speak, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "I just wanted… wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Bumblebee asked, expression not changing once. Near to collapsing, Bulkhead soldiered on, wondering with every word if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Well you… you know I've been painting a lot lately, and I was wondering…" he gulped again, closing in on the final thing he'd come to ask and hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake in the process. If this worked, it might just be the happiest day of his life…

"I'm kind of tired of painting trees and flowers… could I paint… you?" he asked, not even waiting for a reply before he clarified extensively. "Paint a picture of you, I mean! Like… would you want to model for a painting? That's… what I meant…"

"Oh, model?" Bumblebee repeated, optics lighting up like a supernova as he repeated the word. Bulkhead felt relief like nothing he'd ever experienced wash over him as the question got exactly the answer he hadn't dared to hope for, enough so that he struggled to stay standing as he sighed. Bumblebee hopped upright and stretched, lean little frame already eager to get moving as he stepped beside his much larger friend. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bulkhead said with enthusiasm, trying his hardest not to cry a few happy tears at the turn of events. Moving as fast as he could, he followed Bee to his room, where all of his supplies were waiting for them in the unlikely event this worked out. The big bot had done everything in his power to get all the paint and brushes he would need if Bee said yes, so hopefully he did indeed have enough, or at least what he'd require to get started. He'd gotten so many shades of yellow…

When they arrived to his room, he briefly scolded himself for not fixing it up better, not that Bumblebee ever bothered to clean his own room, but he wanted to be a good host.

Pointing to the smushed couch he sometimes liked to relax on, which was also in a good spot for lighting, he tried to ensure he was calm despite his still fluttering nerves. "You can, uh, pose however you like. How about there?" 

"Sure, sounds fun!" Bumblebee replied, quite enthusiastic as he hopped on over. Not minding that the furniture was beyond lumpy, he began finding a comfortable way for his frame to lay, moving his tiny self about as Bulkhead got everything ready. Trying not to blush at how happy he was, the big bot grabbed a spare canvas and his favorite cans of paint, along with a few brushes in his size. Someday he'd have to properly thank Sari for introducing him to art, and being kind enough to provide tools in his size as well. When his easel was in place, he looked up to see Numb laying himself over the couch and grinning in his usual goofy way. "Paint me like one of your French bots, Bulkhead…"

Even if he hadn't been so distracted by what he was feeling, the big bot would have had no ability to make sense of what he'd just heard. All he could manage was a one word reply of total bafflement. "...What?"

"It's a… a human quote. I don't get it either." Bumblebee mumbled in reply, likely referencing some movie he and Sari had watched together at some point. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward, Bulkhead happily helped the conversation continue, smiling as he grabbed a brush.

"Oh, well um… how about we start small? Just sketches and stuff, you know?" he offered, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was hard to plan much of anything when he was this happy, especially because he didn't want Bee to know how he felt, in more ways than one. He had to keep going as if this was just a casual thing, and not something that really meant the world to him.

"Works for me, just don't forget to get my good side… which is all of me." Bee said proudly, striking a pose and grinning as he did so. It was a perfectly in character position, so Bulkhead got to work right away, carefully articulating his large digits to control the brush. While small mistakes were just part of the process for painting, he didn't want to make one here. This piece was going to be perfect, so every stroke had to be the same, and thus his digits had an almost vice-like grip. It didn't escape his attention how few bots got to pursue their greatest wish like he was doing now. Keeping his smile to himself, he cast his optics to Bumblebee and back to the canvas, wanting to have the perfect grasp of scale before he began. Having a friend with such particular proportions wasn't going to make this any easier.

Sticking with the core of his muse, he made a few careful strokes to get the basic gist of his friend's pose, hoping to capture both his sense of excitability and his current relaxed mood. It would be hard, but he was more than up for the challenge. This would be worth every last second of work...

"Actually, hang on, my arm looks better like this."

Bumblebee surprised him with the words and the sudden movement he made to match, his arm swinging about to rest almost opposite to its original pose. As he hadn't yet started drawing that particular spot, Bulkhead let it go, having expected a little bit of restlessness. It was also only fair that Bee liked the final result and was comfortable with the process. Getting back to work, the big bot wondered if his friend's face might be a good place to start. His horns certainly added an additional detail for him to take into consideration… Perhaps he'd ask if Bee wanted his face to be more in profile or at an angle. All he wanted was to capture the essence of the bot he was so close to.

Bumblebee coughed, optics looking about bashfully as he blushed and shifted on the couch to move his other arm. It wasn't a big move, but the small bit clearly realized it was inconvenient, and looked guilty for the move. "Need to change this too, it's not working. This look better?"

"Oh uh… yeah!" Bulkhead replied quickly, uncertain how he should respond beyond acceptance as the last thing he wanted was for this to be uncomfortable for either of them. Some small changes would need to be made to what was already on the canvas, but that was hardly a bother. Getting more paint on his brush, he tried to work a little faster as he got the bottom layer established. Not that he didn't trust Bee to keep his word, but the little bot often fidgeted without even meaning to. Sticking out his glossa in concentration, Bulkhead worked fast, using up a fair amount of paint as he got what he presumed to be the core of the piece. Next would come the much tricker details…

Or at least they would have, if he hadn't glanced up to see Bumblebee in a completely different pose and half asleep...

"Bumblebee?" he said on reflex, coughing to try and gain his friend's attention. Startling awake, the little bot looked around in surprise, seeming to have forgotten exactly where he was and what was going on. When recognition dawned on his features, embarrassment wasn't far behind. A light blush lit up his cheeks as he shrunk down on the couch.

"Scrap, sorry, wasn't thinking." he apologized, trying to remember how he had originally been posed and failing to do so. Bulkhead felt a bit of frustration stirring, but he kept it well under wraps. Just because this wasn't going according to plan, didn't mean he was going to give up.

"That's okay! Just… need a new canvas." he said, keeping his smile even if he was a little more flustered. With a little bit of white paint he could salvage the canvas and use it later for something else, plus it wasn't like Sari didn't provide him with plenty of supplies. Getting set up all over again, he looked back to Bumblebee, who was once again settled in what appeared to be his position of choice. Hoping to begin in earnest, he was careful as could be when he broached the question on his mind. "Is that the pose you want?"

"Definitely!" Bumblebee said enthusiastically, giving him hope that he'd be able to paint for real this time. Not wasting even a moment, he painted as fast as he could, glancing back and forth between the painting and his subject to make the process as smooth as possible. It was an effective strategy, as it allowed him to get the outline twice as fast. This time he wanted to fully capture his friend in the picture as he'd been trying from the start. Some part of him just knew it would be worth it, and that they'd both be thankful he put in all this effort.

Or, at least, he thought he knew...

"Actually, sorry about this, but…" Bumblebee was bashful but not especially hesitant as he moved to lay on his side, stretching as he moved into an entirely different position. The poor artist felt his spark drop at the loss of progress all over again, even as his friend tried to cheer them both up by looking as chipper as possible. "That was so much more uncomfortable than I was expecting. Go on!"

Bulkhead didn't say a word as he grabbed another canvas, and did his very best not to look as discouraged as he felt. It didn't seem like this was going to stop any time soon, as much as he wished it would, and that didn't bode well for his wish to get this done. Perhaps he'd been far too hopeful…

Still, he did everything in his power to stay positive and make the painting he'd dreamed of become a reality.

Painting faster than he ever had in his entire life, the big bot ignored the imperfections that came from moving so rapidly, setting his jaw tight as little flecks of paint spattered across the canvas. At this point, such little things hardly seemed to mind. What really mattered was getting this done. A familiar form began to take recognizable shape on the canvas, and the artist started to plan ahead for his next move from then on. Shading would come after these little details, which he'd be able to put together thanks to having a lot of his friend's appearance memorized. Hope blossomed in his spark as he finally saw Bumblebee in the picture he was painting.

Getting so close to what he wanted made seeing a repeat of what had happened before hurt more than it should have.

Catching himself, Bumblebee blushed and shrunk down on the spot, smiling bashfully in apology for his unintentional movement. It really wasn't something he was doing on purpose; he wanted to see his friend happy! Sitting still just didn't work for him. Seeing Bulkhead look hurt, however, made him feel especially bad for the mistake.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Bulkhead said with a sigh, putting yet another canvas to the side and looking quite deflated as he did so. There wasn't anything he could think to do that might change this, and he was ready to just throw in the towel. Perhaps this was just the one thing he wasn't meant to paint.

"Aw come on, why not?" Bumblebee pressed, aware of the answer but hoping there was something he could do to fix it. Staying still just wasn't in his programming, but perhaps… he could get some tape? That wasn't realistic, but he wanted to try something to make up for this. Bulkhead only sighed again.

"You won't stay still?" he said simply, frustrated but not antagonistic in his summation. It was something neither of them could change, and that left both more than a little helpless.

"I…" Bumblebee stuttered off, tapping his digits together as he saw his friend get even more sad. Unable to help getting a little defensive, he got up from the couch, throwing up his arms as the big bot cleaned up some of the mess. "Come on, Bulk! You know me! Staying still isn't my thing, and I can't force that!"

"Well yeah, but… couldn't you just stay mostly still?" Bulkhead asked, still not ready to just give up all at once. Even if he had no idea how to fix things or make it work, he wanted this painting too much to just give up, no matter how many canvases it took. All he needed was a little bit more time than he had been getting. His determination must have shown, because Bumblebee furrowed his brow ridges in consideration.

"I… I can try! I…" he faded off as the pressure weighed on him, and thankfully his friend caught that quickly. To be clear; he wanted this a lot, but he could never want anything badly enough to make Bumblebee uncomfortable. Perhaps it was best they rested a bit, to restore their patience and approach this with clearer heads. He certainly needed a minute to relax from all this frustration...

"How about a break? We've been trying for a while, maybe a bit of down time will help." he proposed, already feeling a little better at the prospect of cooling down. Bumblebee shared the sentiment straight away, visibly relaxing on the spot and letting out a tiny sigh of his own. 

"Great idea Bulk! Let me just grab something…" he said happily, darting off and leaving the big bot alone with his supplies. Deciding to clean a bit to ease his mind, Bulkhead sorted the discarded canvases, hoping that he could paint over the unusable pictures with some white and reuse them. Seeing how much and how little progress he'd made at the same time made him wonder how he might improve on their next attempt. Nothing was coming to mind just yet, but that didn't mean he had lost hope. There had to be something on this planet that would motivate Bee to stay still, and by Primus he would find it!

As he was wiping up some paint that had managed to drip onto the floor, Bumblebee quite literally skidded back into the room, coming to a dead stop after running at full tilt. 

"I'm back! Just wanted to grab my game!" the little bot declared happily, waving the device about as he went to sit back on the smushed couch. The game had been a gift from Sari as well; some kind of earth console that had been sized up a few times over to better fit the servos of a Cybertronian. Smiling in acknowledgement, the big bot nodded as he went back to cleaning. Digital music met his audials as his friend started up the system and began to play, reclining on the couch as he settled in for a much needed break. Bulkhead had only had middling success with the games popular on earth, owed in large part to his size, but he was at least happy his friend could have some much needed fun with them. 

When the floor was finally cleaned up, he took stock of his slightly diminished inventory. There was still plenty of paint, and more than a few canvases, but if they continued at their current pace… He'd have to figure out a strategy before they tried this again, because otherwise this just wasn't going to work. Looking up at Bumblebee, he briefly considered proposing that they try this another day before his thoughts were systematically interrupted. 

Laying on his back over the pile of stuffing that had once been a couch, the small mech was entirely engrossed in his digital world, optics focused only on the screen as his digits rapidly tapped away on the controls. Other than the occasional shift of his expression, he was entirely motionless. It took Bulkhead a moment to process what he was seeing. Bumblebee was so rarely still, and never for this length of time… He didn't need to think much before he was reacting the only way he could.

Moving as silently as a mech of his size was able to, he grabbed what he needed, gathering his paints around himself as he got a fresh canvas and sat down before his easel. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; the pose, the lighting, it was all perfect. It was almost too much to hope this was real. Considering how many false starts he'd had, most could probably understand why he felt that way.

Daring to take his time, the big bot made every brush stroke count, trying to think of all the reasons he liked Bee so much as he made each one. His friend was confident, energetic, brave… All those thoughts motivated him every second he worked, and the results were soon apparent. The form of Bumblebee began to take shape rather quickly, coming together far more smoothly thanks to how relaxed he was. A base layer was ready to go in what felt like only a few minutes.

Oblivious to everything, Bumblebee kept right on playing, occasionally sticking his glossa out as he did so. Bulkhead contemplated including that detail in the piece, but ultimately decided against it. This was going to be a somewhat more dignified painting than that. 

When the time came to add lighting, he was almost over the moon, but he kept all the excitement to himself. Colors mixed together beautifully on his palette, forming the light and dark shades to the vibrant yellows and deep blacks that made up his friend's paint job. It was far more satisfying than painting even the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen. Perhaps he was just a little biased on that front, but he did believe that painting things you truly cared about just brought them to life. One only had to glance at this piece to understand how much this bot meant to him.

It almost seemed like he was dreaming when each and every glance revealed Bumblebee to be sitting perfectly still, without a hint of movement beyond the minor. If this did turn out to be a dream, he'd at least be happy it was going so well. Fate had truly designed the perfect setup for them to finally get this done without any stress for either individual. 

Everything came together with what felt like only a few of the most well done strokes he'd ever painted. At long last, the bot he'd wanted to paint so badly had been captured on canvas! It was so exciting he couldn't hold back an exclamation as he set his brush down theatrically.

"Done!"

"Huh?!" Bumblebee gasped, half jumping on the spot as his game nearly flew from his servos. Looking about in a daze, he put the pieces together when he saw his friend, at which point guilt crossed his features. Time had slipped away from him even more so than it had for the very busy Bulkhead. "What? I… oh, Bulk! I didn't mean to get distracted! You could have stopped me earlier, I wouldn't have minded."

Waving off the appreciated but unnecessary apology, the big bot only smiled and wiped some paint from his servos, rising from his chair to puff his chest out with pride. "That's okay, I'm already finished."

"How?" the little bot gasped in awe, checking his internal chronometer to see just how long he'd been wrapped up in his game. It had only felt like a few minutes, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost in a video game.

"Well, you were pretty content playing your game, so…" Bulkhead allowed his friend to put the rest of the pieces together, and in no time understanding dawned on the little mech. 

"Oh, I gotcha!" Bumblebee replied happily, quite relieved to have not held them up. If playing video games was what it had taken to make his friend happy, then he was quite fine with that. All he wanted was to get a look at the results, which he was certain would be incredible. "Here, let me see!"

Feeling a bit of shyness amongst his pride, Bulkhead handed over the canvas, careful to avoid the still drying paint.

"This is amazing!" Bumblebee proclaimed without hesitation, trying to be delicate even as he felt a surge of excitement upon beholding the painting. Of course he knew his friend had talent, but this was incredible! "Look at me, I look even better than usual!"

Bulkhead looked down to the floor and shuffled his pedes, doing his best to hide the blush creeping along his cheeks. "Well, I had a pretty great model."

"That's gonna sell fast, Bulkhead. No doubt about it." Bumblebee praised as he gave the painting back, confident in what he was saying. It didn't hurt that he was a good looking bot, but his friend had really done an especially good job on this one, and he was sure it would be bought up in no time. Taking the piece, the big bot smiled softly as he beheld it again. It had taken a lot of courage for him to get this, and he was quite proud of himself for that. As such, he held the painting very near and dear to his spark.

"Maybe, but… I think I'm gonna keep it, actually." he said softly, wanting to see it every day. There was a perfect place for it where he could do just that, not that he would say where that was. Bumblebee didn't mind the decision in the slightest.

However, when the little bot ducked in his friend's room later to pick up a borrowed item, he learned the true value of the painting to Bulkhead. On a wall reserved for only his most precious of works, the portrait sat high in a position of honor. Usually unable to say everything that came to mind due to overwhelming volume, Bee had been rendered speechless by the sight. Only a soft smile revealed how touched he was by the gesture. 

#transformers animated #tfa #bumblebee #bulkhead #commission #my writing #my commissions #fluff

[imomomi]

         The doodles first started when he was 16. Little stars on his wrists when he woke up, a flower curling on his palm before class, an inky sketch of some mountains on his thigh. Rationally, he knew what they were, why they were there, but it didn’t stop the initial stab of disgust at seeing the ink on his body. He washed it off frequently and often right away. By the end of the week, the drawings became less frequent. The loss of them did not hurt, but a stab of anxiety followed when he woke inkless and alone like always. Kiyoomi had never written back. The idea of writing—what if the ink was toxic and made him sick, what if they were allergic to something and it somehow leake---he took a breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

          He didn’t hate the idea of having a soulmate. It made life easier knowing that he didn’t need to waste his time looking for a partner. He preferred it when things were clear cut, easy to understand, and with a visible end in sight.

          Not where people can see, he wrote on his thigh, just high enough that it wouldn’t show when he was playing. His handwriting was chicken scrawl and despite his attempts to make it neater, he never managed it.

          He waited minuets, checking with such frequency that not even cleaning his room had taken his mind off it. Words didn’t always make it through. No one knew why or how the process worked. Scientists debated that the reason words didn’t appear were because communication as a human method, poets wrote about the mysteries of soulmate marks and fate, but Kiyoomi thought it was simpler than all of that. Soulmate marks lead you to your soulmate when you were ready. Relationships were messy and complicated and despite how alone he was at times, he didn’t want one right now.

          A single word followed, written so neatly it could have been its own font.

          Ok.  

          The eighty-eighth floor of MSBY’s headquarters was not a place that Kiyoomi ever dared enter. He was content in receiving his paycheck on the day he was meant to and waiting for contract negations to raise any issues. Atsumu had managed to sneak his way into the Management and Finance department the first week he’d joined the team. Apparently, the gossip among their teammates wasn’t enough to quell his nosy behavior. How he’d managed to convince him to join in on his lunch-time venture, Kiyoomi wasn’t too sure. All he knew was that he regretted his decision already.

          Couches were scattered in the main room surrounding large flat-screen T.Vs that played the news in a constant cycle. A large-open kitchen faced the back wall where a couple of people hung around, holding steaming mugs. Two people sat at one of the couches, intensely focused on a video-game they were playing. All around the floor, leading up the offices down the hall, were flowers. Some hung from the ceiling, spilling over the pots with vines drifting downwards. Large bouquets in crystal vases littered the tables. Kiyoomi could feel his nose twitching.

          “Come on,” Atsumu said, leading him down the hall where several offices were tucked against the floor to ceiling windows. They came to a stop in front of a corner office where a small shoe rack lined with slippers, some still in the plastic casing, rested outside the door. A pair of pale pink slippers were on the top shelf, bunny ears plastered obnoxiously at the front.

          “Take off your shoes. Y/N-chan hates dust. I’m pretty sure she ripped out the carpet with her bare hands when she got here.”

          “I’m surprised you’re actually doing it,” said Kiyoomi. Too often had he watched in disgust as the man went home wearing the same sweaty clothes he’d practiced in.

          “Y/N almost had a heart attack the first time I came in here, kinda made me feel bad not to listen after that,” Atsumu admitted. Kiyoomi struggled to rearrange his features to hide his doubt at the words and failed.  

          “Yet, when I tell you to stop stealing my face masks and towels, you never listen,” he said, dryly.

          “That’s different. She’s a girl. You’re Omi-Omi.”

          “So, if I miraculously gain a vagin-” Kiyoomi started.

          “Do ya ever shut up? I’m not arguin’ with ya in the middle of the hall,” Atsumu hissed, his accent coming out stronger in his annoyance. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. If anything, it was Atsumu who started every one of their arguments, but his own boredom didn’t help.

          “No need to be so sensitive,” said Kiyoomi.

          “Put the damn slippers on,” Atsumu said, shoving the unopened packet into his gut. Sakusa smirked beneath his mask, gingerly opening up the slippers.

          They were in the office for a full ten minutes before anyone arrived. Atsumu took the time to make himself comfortable in the leather chair behind the desk, making the various figurines of the team fight. Prototypes for the upcoming season, thought Kiyoomi, glancing at the little chibi version of himself in curiosity. The door snaps open and a woman walked in harried and tapping on her phone. She wasn’t dressed in office clothes, rather in an oversized hoodie with the name of a foreign university splashed across the front and leggings. The pink slippers that sat outside were on her feet.

          “I thought I banned you from here last week,” she said with a groan, tossing a bag down onto the couch. She nodded to him in greeting, but otherwise ignored his existence.

          “I bought a friend as a peace offering,” Atsumu said, throwing a hand in his direction. Y/N’s gaze fell to him briefly, brow furrowing.

          “I don’t accept,” she said, turning to glare at Atsumu. “Human trafficking is bad. You would have learned that if you actually made it to college.”

          “Sorry for joining the team,” said Atsumu. He stood from her desk, letting her settle in. Kiyoomi watched the two interact, wondering how long they had known one another.

          “Please, I can replace you any day,” she muttered.

          “We all know you love me too much to do that.”

          “When I finally jump from the roof, I want everyone to know it’s your fault.”

          “Take me with you,” Kiyoomi muttered, shooting Atsumu a look of disgust. Her lips twitched and she offered him a smile. Kiyoomi averted his gaze immediately, not liking that her attention finally focused on him. There was something unnerving in her gaze.  

          “What do you want?” she asked.

          “Business as usual. Sakusa needs you this time, not me,” Atsumu said.

          “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she drawled.

          “I was brought against my will,” Sakusa acknowledged. She picked up a pen and notepad from her desk, clicking it rapidly as she started to scribble.

          “We can file a report,” she joked, “I’m sure the papers would love to hear how Miya Atsumu was involved in a scandal with his teammate.”

          “Suddenly, I’m regretting all my life choices leading up to this moment,” Atsumu said.

          “You didn’t before?” Sakusa asked. Y/N laughed and Kiyoomi hated how the sound filled the air, bouncing with a levity that he’d never experienced on his own. People like Atsumu---and it seemed like Y/N---had a way of taking up space and never letting it go. They were loud because they thrived on the attention and Kiyoomi who had been surrounded by people but, alone all his life flinched away from it.

          He pushed the thoughts away, explaining quickly and concisely that Atsumu had brought him here to specify how he wanted the locker room set up before games. Kiyoomi anticipated resistance to his requests but was shown a brutal efficiency that he can’t help but admire. Y/N listened attentively, taking notes, and asking questions, before promising that they would implement a new cleaning schedule before their next practice. They leave as quickly as they arrived, but part of him expected more and is left empty with the thought that there was something incomplete about their meeting.

           That night’s drawing was a little cat curled up in a box. It looked like any other stray that he might see in Tokyo, but there was something endearing about the way its eyes were closed in two tiny smiles. Kiyoomi traced it idly. It must have taken a long time, he thought. The urge to draw something back filled him, but he has neither the talent nor willpower to sit and draw on himself for any length of time. Unlike when he was younger, the drawings came less frequently and always at night.

          He watched; brow furrowed in confusion as words appeared beneath the drawing. The rare sight had his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

          Azabu, Tokyo.

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