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bunnysbrainrot · 26 days

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Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

#fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #bunny writes #smut #smut writing #the last of us fanfiction

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simplyholl · 1 year

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New Year’s Eve

Summary: You have been in a situationship with Loki for a while, but he refuses to kiss you.

Pairing: Avenger Loki x F Avenger Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Orgasm denial. A little angst, but it has a happy ending.

W/C: 2.3K

See my Masterlist here

I reluctantly pull Loki’s satin green sheets off me. We only have ten minutes before our weekly meeting. Loki is getting dressed. I stay in bed, not wanting to leave the warmth. I wish these meetings didn’t start so early, especially when we have been up all night. Round three quickly turned into round four, then our alarm woke us from our short slumber.

“Loki, why do you never kiss me?” I didn’t mean for the one question that haunts me to slip out. It must be my lack of sleep. He laces his boots slowly weaving the strings before answering. “If I’m not mistaken, I spent a large portion of the night kissing you.” He lifts an eyebrow smirking at me. “You know that’s not what I meant. Every time we hook up, you avoid it.”

“It’s not you. I never kiss the women I sleep with.” The question had been on my mind for some time. Loki was more than willing to do many, many things in bed, but I never even got a peck on the lips. We have a good thing right now, so I don’t want to make him uncomfortable and ruin it. We have been in a situationship for a while now.

We sleep together a few times a week to let off some steam from all the training and missions. The other days we are free to do whatever and whoever we want. It might be a little unconventional, but it works for us. We always give each other a heads up if we will be taking someone else home. Loki has been known to get jealous. If I have a guy over, the next time I’m with Loki, I won’t be able to walk right for a week.

I’m a glutton for punishment, so sometimes I will invite someone over to watch movies and insinuate more happened. My reward- I mean punishment- makes putting up with all these lame guys worth it. Tonight is our holiday party. Tony always throws a huge banger the week before Christmas to celebrate. Loki has already informed me that he will be taking the bleach blonde woman grinding all over him home tonight.

I’ve already searched the party for any potential men to bring home with me, but I come up short. I’ll just spend the night drinking with Natasha. She leans in lowering her voice so no one else will hear her. “Did you hear who Thor hooked up with last week?” I shake my head no, curious to learn the latest gossip. She knows everything about everyone. “That girl that works in the lab. You know, short hair and the longest legs you’ve ever seen?” “Oh yeah, she is so cute!” I take a sip of my drink looking around the party. “She has been obsessed with him. Tony told me she’s shown up at Thor’s room every night trying to sleep with him again, but he just wanted a one-night thing. Poor girl, those Asgardians must be something else in bed. Right Y/N, you would know?”

I stopped paying attention to her story. I’m too distracted by Loki. His hands fondle the blonde woman’s ass while she suggestively dances against him. He leans down, pressing his lips to hers. His hands tangle in her hair. It’s not a small kiss, there is some major saliva swapping happening. They continue groping each other and making out for what feels like an eternity. When they finally pull apart, I try not to look. But I’m drawn to them like a magnet.

Loki notices me staring. He doesn’t even look remorseful. He just grabs her face and goes in for more. Why am I so upset? We are just having fun, no strings. So why do I feel so jealous? Why won’t he kiss me like that?

I decide it’s not a good idea to bring it up. I’ve seen him with two other women since then, so he’s probably forgotten all about the kiss. I brought a guy home that I had every intention of sleeping with. But he talked about how hot Natasha is the whole time. He even asked me for her number. So, I made him leave. Loki saw him, so tonight should be fun for me.

Loki arrives promptly at ten, just like we agreed on. His lust filled eyes drink me in. I am wearing a silky forest green robe with gold trimming, nothing underneath. “Bed now.” He growls. “Take that robe off. You are unfit to wear my colors after you had that pathetic excuse for a man in here. Did he touch you?” I quickly remove my robe revealing my naked body to him.

“Do not make me ask again, pet.” His voice is low making me needy for him. I lay on the bed watching as he rids himself of his clothes. “Yes, I let him touch me.” I lie. Loki’s eyes darken as he climbs on the bed with me. He smiles wickedly as my arms are suddenly tied to my bed post. I pull on the silk ties magically holding me in place.

“You will not come until I give my permission. Do you understand?” I nod in agreement, but it’s not enough for him. “Use your words.” “Yes, I understand.” He kisses roughly down the curve of my neck. Sharp teeth scrape against my sensitive skin. He palms my breasts, lowering his head, he takes a pebbled nipple between his lips. I arch underneath him, wishing the restraints were gone. He tugs my other nipple roughly between his fingers. He licks and sucks his way down between my legs. My thighs are spread revealing all of me to him.

He bites my thigh hard. I cry out, while he lavishes gentle kisses to the wound. I can see his teeth marks on the reddened skin. I whimper. He’s usually not so cruel in the bedroom. He licks a stripe up my center. I squirm under his touch. His brutal actions are turning me on, more than I’d like to admit. His tongue explores me, swirling against my slick folds.

He inserts two fingers hooking upward. Soft lips close around my bundle of nerves. He suckles me while his fingers continue their vicious assault. “Loki, I’m so clo… can I c..” Before I can fall off the precipice, he removes himself from me. I whine his name. He lines himself up with my center, entering me swiftly. I moan loudly trying to reach for him, momentarily forgetting my tied hands.

“You let him touch what is mine.” He thrusts aggressively. “Mine. You forget who you belong to. Who this body belongs to.” I’m so close already. He reaches between us. His skilled fingers find my clit. “Tell me who owns you. Say you are mine.” I almost explode from his words alone. He can be possessive, but this is new, angry. “I’m yours, Loki. Only yours. I’m so close. Please let me come.” He removes his fingers from me, gripping my thigh. He thrusts harder. “No.” His rejection rings in my ears. It stings, he’s never refused to let me come before. “So good. Always perfect. Mine.” He murmurs against my neck as he spills inside me.

He pulls out, waving his hand releasing me from the ties. He rubs my arms in the places where I was restrained, placing gentle kisses to each wrist. He pulls me in his lap. I lay my head against his broad chest listening to his heart beat. I sigh loudly letting him hear my frustration. “Fret not, little one. I will allow your pleasure next time.” My eyes meet his. He is so handsome like this, flushed cheeks and wild hair. My gaze travels to his lips. How unfair that I will never feel them against my own.

Loki’s thumb grazes my bottom lip. His eyes flicker from his thumb on my lips to my eyes. I lean into him, but he pulls away. “I can’t. I am sorry.” I climb out of his lap, no longer wanting to be near him. I pull the sheet up covering myself. I feel exposed, used. He must feel the tension between us now. He stands up, grabbing his clothes. He dresses quickly. “I’ll take my leave now. Goodnight.” As soon as the door shuts, I throw all the blankets over me. I can’t help the tears spilling. My feelings are hurt. I was rejected, denied an orgasm, and I’ve realized I’m in love with him.

It's Avengers Game Night which usually includes playing board games until everyone is drunk. Then the activities quickly turn into Would You Rather and Truth or Dare. Those are always my favorites and there have been a few times the results have led to a hookup or three. Tonight is no different. Tony answers Natasha’s question inquiring how many people he’s slept with.

Loki chooses dare. Wanda places a finger to her chin, humming. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.” Laughter and oohs erupt amongst the group. My heart is going to beat out of my chest. I know she’s only trying to be a good friend and help me out. But I wish she wouldn’t. It’s no secret that Loki and I sleep together sometimes, but Wanda and Natasha are the only ones who know about his aversion to kissing me.

I look at Loki expectantly. He doesn’t move at all. “I will not.” he says defiantly, crossing his arms across his chest. Everyone is staring at me. I smile weakly pretending his words didn’t slice my heart in two. “Come on, Loki. You’ve bed her before. What is another kiss between you?” Thor defends me. Loki rolls his eyes at him. “Mind yourself, brother. I said no.”

I’m thinking of running out of this room, out of Avengers tower. I have to leave before I die of embarrassment. I rub my sweaty hands on my jeans, looking around for my phone before I take off. “If you won’t kiss her, I will.” Steve smiles sweetly at me. I know he is just being noble, saving the damsel in distress. He walks toward me, taking my hand in his. I stand up to face him. He places my stray hair behind my ear. His fingers rub my cheek while he leans in. He is a better kisser than I expected. His hands grab my waist pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. “Okay Cap, that’s enough. We don’t want to see you humping her leg.” Tony jokes. I give Steve a quick hug and whisper thank you.

Natasha gets my attention pointing to thew hallway where Loki is stomping away from everyone. I run after him. “Hey Loki, wait up.” He doesn’t turn around. “Loki?” he continues walking. I follow him to his room. “I know you can hear me. What is wrong with you?” He finally acknowledges me. “Nothing is wrong with me. What’s the matter with you? The captain? That is who you want now?” He opens his door, strutting in with the intent to slam it in my face. I push my way through and enter his room.

“Are you seriously mad that Steve kissed me? This is ridiculous. You won’t kiss me! And I have tried. Your whole thing about ‘I never kiss women I sleep with’ is such shit. I saw you making out with that woman a few weeks ago. Everyone did! You were tongue fucking her face in front of everybody, but you won’t give me a quick kiss in private! You just turned me down in front of the whole team.

Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? Steve stepped up to help me out, and you’re mad at me? You have absolutely no right to be angry. I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of it being okay for you to enjoy the company of others, but if I do, you’re insanely jealous. I’m sick of constantly wondering what is wrong with me. What is so bad, that you don’t want to kiss me?” “I have nothing to say to you.” Loki looks down at his feet. I gawk at him in disbelief. I can’t leave fast enough. I make sure to slam the door behind me.

It's New Year’s Eve, exactly four days since my fight with Loki. I’m at another party, wishing I would’ve stayed home. It’s almost midnight, all the couples are standing close waiting for the ball to drop. I decide I need to leave. I weave my way through the crowd when I bump into Loki. “Y/N, I was looking for you.” “Save it, Loki I don’t want to hear it. I’m still so mad at you. You could have given me a quick peck on the lips the other night. I wouldn’t have tried to make it more. You really hurt my feelings.” I try to push past him, but he grabs my wrist keeping me in place.

“That is precisely the problem. I would have wanted more. I always want more with you. You honestly think I don’t want to kiss you? It’s all I think about, you frustrating woman. I chose not to kiss you while I sleep with you because I thought it would be easier to not fall in love. I was wrong. I have fought it for so long. I have been trying to make you jealous, but you don’t seem to mind. Seeing you with Rogers struck a nerve. It made me realize I love you. It’s always been you.”

Big hands cradle my face. All around us, people are counting down ‘Three Two One Happy New Year!’ He tilts my chin up. His lips melt against mine. Hungry in a way I’ve never known, he deepens the kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, tangling with mine. He sucks my bottom lip before pulling away. “I love you too, Loki. You should have told me sooner.” His smile reaches his eyes. “Better late than never, darling.”

More in-depth BB rambles under here!

CW: drug addiction, mental illness, violence & suicide.

This project is taking over me right now, which might be a way of my brain procrastinating finishing Seventh Virtue (LOL), but I’ve learned to just lean into the hyperfixation so we’re here now!

I really felt drawn to write BB because of this extremely complex thing Harrison goes through in Moth Work that unbeknownst to 17-year-old Rachel who wrote it, she reaaaaaallllly relates to now at 21. I've been unable to stop thinking about this since re-reading MW, because I somehow profoundly represented this experience at 17 that I'm now undergoing at 21.

Harrison is supporting someone who needs a LOT of help (at this point in MW, Lonan’s been an addict for about 3 years, is chronically depressed, is in a constant disocciated state, has attempted suicide twice in less than a year). He feels responsible for this because he loves this person very much--he WANTS to help Lonan. But I don't think he realizes how much effort this will entail and that he himself doesn't have the sole power to "fix" anything. But he’s so young—how long can he handle this before he himself breaks?

The answer is: not long! One could say Harrison’s fatal flaw in MW is not wanting to change. He doesn’t WANT to leave Lonan behind because he doesn't WANT to lose him, he doesn’t WANT a relationship with his mom, Suzanna. At the same time, his life is at this tenuous impasse: things CANNOT sustainably continue in the state they're in, but he's terrified of them changing. And by the end of the book, both of those things happen—it’s his arc. The loose end is the prior point: he's terrified of change, but now the change has happened.

What I want to do in BB is take that loose end and light it on fire. I want to show what happens when that change happens. It's NECESSARY change, but in this moment, feels like the worst decision possible. BB is about the in-between space of being in a destructive relationship & eventually putting yourself first. For Harrison, the experience is extremely messy. He craves intimacy badly but has no idea how to love anyone but Lonan. He craves independence but is also scared of it: how do you start your own life when the last few years have been focused on someone else's?

In Moth Work, he creates the beginnings of a relationship with a man named Jeremiah (to be clear: H&L aren’t dating in MW, they never canonically actually date unlike how I make it sound LOL, only in the Seventh Virtue AU are they a couple!). Jeremiah is a really interesting character in Harrison's life because he represents something "normal." Here's when Harrison meets him in MW:

The motel is named after a dead woman—The Greta Arquette. Harrison discovers this while absently thumbing through a brochure at the empty front desk. The lobby is decorated with vintage clocks and floral wallpaper and it makes sense—the woman it’s dedicated to died at 92. He’s on page six when a young man with an earring and a hair pick appears behind the desk.

Harrison shuts the brochure and slots it back into the display. “Can I get a room?” he asks, already fumbling for his wallet.

“Long ride?”

The clerk—Jeremiah, according to his nametag—smiles. His skin glows amber under the lanterns hung from the ceiling, and his hair looks too good for 2AM. The collar of his uniform pastes underneath his sweater, and it’s almost charming, this unnoticed mistake.

Wait up for my video later today (3PM EST!!) where I literally in-depth analyze a couple scenes with Jeremiah (since I talk more about this there), but essentially, Harrison gets a small taste of what it might be like to be a "typical" 21-year-old here. It entails dancing with people you think are cute, enjoying each other's company without doing anything at all, going to breakfast, etc... All things he and Lonan have never done.

In BB, I want to show the breakdown of this "normal" relationship as Harrison more and more self-destructs to self-preserve. He literally cannot handle this change he's incited--who is he at all without Lonan? He doesn't know, and he can't handle that he doesn't know, so he "goes bad." There's brief mentions of this turn in Feeding Habits where Harrison addresses he was a bit of a disaster when he and his mother lived in Las Vegas, which is why his main goal in FH is to "restart" in NYC (and it's why he also gets destructive again in NYC when his second reboot fails).

I always knew elements of what happened to Harrison in Las Vegas, but didn't know the extent. In FH, the only element we're certain of is when he runs into the same woman Lonan runs into in ch. 6 of Moth Work. He essentially ends up being beat up badly, which for him (mostly his mother, Suz) is the last straw and what makes them pack up to NY.

It was only later, when he stumbled, bloody knuckled, through their front door, stepping over partygoers and martini glasses, that he understood. He hadn’t come to the party thinking about Lonan but managed to attract the same people. He hadn’t drunk the magenta liquid thinking about him but managed to exit the house stumbling, as Lonan did, his knees knotted like a newborn lamb's. There was something inconceivably indissoluble about them—their bond mirror-like, one making a decision, and the other mimicking it with vigour somewhere else, unknowingly inseparable.

But I've been wanting to write what happened BEFORE this, in the time between, which is what BODY BACK is going to be! Here's an excerpt from FH (ft. Jeremiah) that takes place during this timeline:

They saw each other in brief, neon stints. Drinking in his one-bedroom, after Jeremiah’s shifts at The Greta Arquette—a dingy motel—clattering, limb by limb, under his Styrofoam disco ball and calling it dance. They knew each other so little but so well. Where each groove of skin and bone on the other’s body was, what limbs could notch so perfectly together, like nubs of old soap fused together.

The vibes are going to be pretty much the above! Mirror balls, pop music, drugs in misty rooms, eat the rich, etc.

I've been excited to write this story because it shows a side of Harrison I only barely understood when I wrote Feeding Habits. It's actually why Feeding Habits was IMPOSSIBLE for me to write, because I was still seeing Harrison in "caretaker" mode when he actually was rejecting that fully. I wasn't used to seeing him make bad decisions. For all accounts, Harrison is a terrible person in FH. He takes advantage of his mother's kindness, he disappears to scare her, he's self-medicating, he's inviting Reeve to his place under the guise of catching up with an old friend when he actually doesn't care at all about her and only wants to see a glimpse of Lonan's face, he's stealing from the vulnerable, and doesn't want to stop any of it. FH is really Harrison's destruction arc, and BB is going to explore HOW that happened--what triggered those events?

I'd always seen Lonan as the "issue" in their relationship. This was natural in a lot of ways since Lonan started out as a literal villain (lol), but also mostly because I emotionally related to him most back when I was writing him. ALLL my negative emotions and struggles went right to him. It's why Lonan was my favourite character all throughout my teenage years. What I didn't expect is that at the age they're at in this book (21), I'd suddenly understand Harrison on a very, very different level. This is also another reason I want to write this like NOW because I'm 21 and in a similar (albeit wayyyy less dramatic) era. Is this sort of going to be autofiction, maybe!

I think in MW, Harrison doesn't feel much like an "adult" yet. in BODY BACK, he KNOWS he's an adult, and goes a little too hard knowing he can do whatever the hell he wants. If Harrison can do what he wants, it means he can reclaim himself even if it means destruction along the way. What's he willing to do to get his body back?

That's a q to ponder!

It's going to be lots of fun! LOL

#writing #fostered #bodyback #mothwork #I love this project sm already even tho I've barely written it #idk how I'm going to be a functional Adult until this thing is out of my brain

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years

Text

Frowned Upon

June Drabbles 2022 Days 23 & 24 - Buttons & Pearls

A/N: I have been wanting to challenge myself to write a drabble a day for a whole month for quite some time now, and I finally decided to just go for it. The goal is to fill every prompt on this list by @creativepromptsforwriting with a short one shot (500 - 2k words) by the end of June. Can I do it? I do not know. But let’s find out! - HAHAHA the answer, as we have come to find out, is no, I cannot. But I am not letting failure stop me, because I, my friends, am stubborn. After this one there are 6 to go (I’m doubling up a few of the remaining prompts to get through them... and because they fit well together) and then it’s back to the stories I’ve been neglecting for far too long, I promise. Speaking of wips I’ve been neglecting... this one goes along with the things I’ve written for Recall, and is the last “teaser” before the main story starts, which means I no longer have an excuse not to move my ass with that story and get it written. Writing for Jack just makes me nervous!!

Word Count: 2,195

Warning: language, brief mention of gunshots, injury and death, steamy thoughts that don’t belong in the boardroom or maybe they do.

Summary: Jack Daniels didn’t get promoted to Senior Agent at Statesman for nothing. He’s one of the agency's most dedicated operatives, and has been for years. Which is precisely why he can’t let anything distract him from doing his job... unless it’s too late for that.

“Good morning, Agent Whiskey.”

Jack’s head swiveled in the direction of your voice to find you exiting the elevator to his right, his eyes drawn immediately to your cherry- red lips as his code name left them. Hot damn. His own lips quirked up, mustache twitching as he grinned and reached for his hat to remove it. “‘Mornin’, Maraschino.” He nodded before settling the black Stetson back on his head, pausing to let you fall into step with him. She is prettier than a picture.

He used the half-second it took you to reach his side to fully take you in. You had on your long white lab coat over a loose-fitting navy blouse, which you wore tucked into a pair of tan trousers that were held up by a soft brown leather belt to match your ankle boots. The only bit of jewelry you wore was a gossamer thin gold chain strung with round salt-water pearls that were spaced out by an inch or so, the necklace hanging low enough around your throat that it disappeared beneath the wide lapels of your shirt. Your hair was pulled neatly back and fastened in a tight bun at the nape of your neck to keep it off your shoulders and out of your way while you worked. In your arms you carried a touch screen tablet along with a few physical files, and with your glasses perched on your nose to frame your sharp eyes you looked every bit the part of your new role alongside Ginger Ale on the medical research team. And smart as a hard crackin’ whip to boot.

It had been a long time since Jack let himself be drawn to anyone for longer than a night - a few hours, really, the time of day didn’t matter much, so long as he was off-duty. But since meeting you last year upon his return from a stint in the New York office, he couldn’t deny the way your smile pulled at his own. Or the tug of your laughter on the stubborn muscle trapped in his chest. Reel it in, Daniels.

He knew he shouldn’t feed into his growing attraction to you. You weren’t an agent, so it wasn’t outright forbidden for the two of you to become involved in a relationship of any kind outside of Statesman, but the rules for interdepartmental fraternizing were slightly foggy. They stated that no one in the organization should form a relationship that could potentially get in the way of their job performance. Agents were often paired on missions depending on what specific skills were needed to complete them, meaning that there were no permanently assigned partners. Though a large majority of those missions went as smoothly as they were meant to, there was always some level of risk involved, always the slim chance that something could go awry and lead to an operative being injured, captured or killed. Hell, you don’t make it to Senior Agent without at least two of those things happening, and I’ve technically had all three.

Thanks to the Alpha Gel technology, Statesman saw very few irreversible deaths, but the fact that there was still a chance that agents could die in the line of duty meant that romantic involvement between them stood as a threat to the integrity of the mission at hand. Agents were expected to follow protocol down to the punctuation to complete the initiative, even if that meant leaving their fallen partner behind. It was harsh, but it was what they had been trained to do, and having been on both sides of that coin through the years, Jack understood why Champ had drawn such a hard line when it came to agents dating one another.

But scheduling? Medical research and development? Day-to-day employees of the distillery? So long as there was no interference for either party when it came to doing what they’d been hired to do, and so long as they didn’t use classified information to advance the other’s position in the organization, there were no strict rules against agents being involved with members of the lab team. In fact, interdepartmental dating was preferred over forming relationships with civilians - no cause for concern over confidential information falling into unqualified hands that way. On paper, if Jack wanted to get close to anyone, you were the perfect candidate. That doesn’t mean I should, though.

With only one serious relationship under his belt - one that still devastated him some twenty odd years later - he wasn’t sure if he was capable of starting something that he would be able to curtail enough to effectively do what was required of him. He wasn’t sure if he could stay level headed with a gun to his head if he knew he had you to come home to. And a relationship like that would be… frowned upon.

Ignoring the warning that he issued himself whenever you were close, he walked with you down the hall towards the boardroom and Champ’s office, your sweet citrus and honeysuckle perfume filling his nose. “What brings you to this neck of the woods, doc?” He used one hand to point at the things you carried, the other going to his hip just above where his lasso hung in a coil. “Ginger got you runnin’ errands instead of experiments?”

You let out a short laugh and scrunched your face. “Little bit of both, actually.” You lifted the files. “Champ needs to sign off on these to clear Vermouth and Absinthe to return to the field.” He hummed - both Agents had been hurt on their latest mission, Vermouth needing extensive surgery on his shoulder and Absinthe requiring the aid of the nano-technology in Alpha Gel to repair a bullet wound to her head. “And I also need him to approve my research on memory restoration.” You wet your lips and continued, clearly proud of the work you were hoping to be able to do. “I think I found a way to improve memory recall in Agents who have had to use the Gel multiple times.” Like me. “I think we can make it faster and less… traumatic.”

His eyebrows jumped up under the brim of his hat. “Well, as someone who’s had his noggin’ blown open more than once, I can tell you that would be a welcome development.”

You cleared your throat, frowning slightly at his words. “I hope so. I know he’s got a briefing with all of you right now, but I figured I could wait for him, catch him as he comes back from that and maybe get him while he’s in a good mood.”

Before he had time to retract his statement regarding how many times he’d been reawakened in Ginger’s lab, the two of you had reached the end of the hallway and the two doors that you were headed for. Not that it’s a secret, she’s seen my file. But despite knowing that he and a handful of others in the agency had clinically died in the line of fire, that knowledge seemed to weigh on you more heavily than it did on Ginger or Champ or even Whiskey himself. He wanted to reassure you that all agents knew what they signed up for when they took their code names, that it wasn’t a secret that their jobs involved danger. Instead, he opted for chivalry and simply opened the door leading to Champ’s office.

“Lemme get that for you.” You thanked him as his hand curled around the thick bronze handle and pulled, two more agents walking behind him and making for the door opposite the one he held open. “See you in a minute Tequila, Moonshine.” He nodded over his shoulder to his associates who acknowledged him with a nod, and then turned back to you, your face turned up to him and a smile back on your bright red lips. Damn, she’s gonna make this hard, isn’t she? He swallowed, jaw ticking as he did, and then gave you a smile of his own. “Good luck with your pitch, Maraschino. I hope he gives you the green light.” You deserve it.

“Thanks, Agent.” You wrapped your fingers around the edges of the files that you held. “I’ll see you around.” With that, you headed into Champ’s office, stopping by his secretary’s desk to touch base with her, Jack keeping his eyes on you until the door shut again.

Across the narrow hall, the other door swung open, Tequila sticking his head out, a shit-eating grin the likes of which only he could wear stretching over his face. “You plan on joinin’ us anytime soon there, Whiskey? Or you just gonna flirt with Ginger’s new assistant all mornin’?”

“I am simply holding the door open for a lady, Tequila, or perhaps you forgot our motto?” He released his grip on the handle and turned to face the younger agent, crossing his arms over his chest. “Manners maketh man, remember?” Clicking his tongue, he tilted his head. “Maybe you skipped that day in trainin’, I seem to recall that you have a penchant for partying and-”

“Shit, I was just teasin’, Agent,” the other man said with a chuckle. “Don’t get your whip twisted.”

Grumbling something under his breath about twisting his whip around Tequila’s neck, he followed his occasional partner into the boardroom where Champ and the other Statesman agents who were present at the Kentucky location were seated at the long wooden table. He took his spot near the head, where a thick leather bound portfolio sat waiting for him with the details of the next mission he’d be sent on - he would be partnering with Merlot this time, according to the first page. But as the meeting got underway, Jack found himself unable to focus entirely on what was being discussed, distracted by thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having. Curling his hand into a loose fist, he brought it up in front of his mouth, absently biting the side of his knuckle in hopes that those thoughts would subside so that he could dedicate himself to what was happening in the room.

“Glasses, Whiskey.” Champ’s gruff voice came from behind him, a gnarled hand clapped to the soft brown patch on Jack’s shoulder to remind him to don the eyewear that would connect him to the agents elsewhere in the world - Brandy and Schnapps, as well as Olive, Ginger’s counterpart in London, Curaçao in New York, and Mezcal who was currently in Tokyo.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the pair of black rimmed glasses and slid them on, blinking to activate the projected holographic representations of those missing from the room. But even as he listened to what was being said about the upcoming missions - he and Merlot were being sent to infiltrate a casino that was being used to launder large amounts of drug money - Jack was only half-way present. He had other things on his mind that had nothing to do with his next target and everything to do with you.

Like the way it would feel to let you pull at the knot in his tie or undo the buttons of his shirt so that your palms could slide over the skin of his chest. The way it would feel to let his own rope roughened fingers roll the smooth, off-white gems on your chain between them. How you would look wearing only that necklace, its length hanging low between your breasts. Or perhaps how you’d look wearing the shirt you’d just taken off of him, the hem trailing down to your knees and the cuffs rolled up so that they didn’t cover your hands, the buttons left unfastened so that he could still see your body between the open sides. He was just getting around to wondering what you’d sound like moaning his name - his real name, not his Statesman alias - when that same moniker rang through the room in a tone that couldn’t be more different than yours.

“Are you with us, Agent Whiskey? Or do I need to send you down to Ginger for a check-up?”

He snapped his head up to find several pairs of eyes on him, Champ’s narrowed and regarding Jack closely as the older man sniffed the cigar in his hand. Fuck. “No sir. My head’s just fine.” This is why I can’t… why I shouldn’t get involved with her. “Apologies, Champ. I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ out there with Merlot again.” He nodded towards the woman seated across the table and diagonally to his left, and she returned the acknowledgement before flicking her eyes back down to the open portfolio in front of her. Shit. I should - He looked down at the still shut booklet and flipped it open to find the information he should have been reading all along. Clearing his throat, he frowned, turning his attention to the material before him, Champ resuming the briefing and walking the agents through their various assignments.

Reel it in, Daniels. He sighed, turning the page to a blueprint of the casino he and Merlot would be working in. Reel it way the fuck in.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.

tags: @something-tofightfor @paracosmenthusiast @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @hellovanessax @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharrassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80

#jack 'whiskey' daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack 'whiskey' daniels x you #pedrostories #jack 'whiskey' daniels x reader #jack daniels kingsman #jack daniels recall #june drabbles 2022 #day 23 & day 24- buttons & pearls #frowned upon

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ruiniel · 2 years

Text

Storm

Fandom: Castlevania animated series (2017-2021)

Rating: G

Relationships: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Characters: Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades

Tags: melancholy, Trevor Belmont POV

Summary:

A short written a while ago for trephaweek Day 1: Stormy weather.

Set after the events in season III.

He looks to where Sypha lies on her side, knees drawn to her chest and forearms crossed over her face. The rain is incessant, pelting the stretched canvas of their cart, the only sounds loud enough to matter in the afternoon's gloom.

Having fed and tied their horse to a sheltering tree, Trevor climbs inside, rubbing his stiff hands together. He wipes his face with his sleeve and slinks over to their ‘bed’, a folded arrangement of cloaks and straw.

It’s been a week since Lindenfeld. A full fucking week of wondering where it all went so horribly wrong, and how they found themselves in the middle of it once again — someone else's story.

The hunter shuffles towards his Speaker, whose state had gradually gone from hopeful excitement about making a difference in the world during the first days of their travels, to cold and morose, to an ever-present melancholy; he can’t blame her, not when nausea takes him whenever the thought of those little boots arranged so daintily in a murderer’s hoard crosses his mind.

“Syph,” he calls softly.

No answer. Trevor curls up closer, listening for anything to give him an inkling of her present mood, but it’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it? And despite her prickly demeanor when she’s being crowded — a remnant, she says, from growing up with a large family, with little privacy — this time Sypha merely sighs as her body softens against him. She’s tired and sore, they both are.

“Are you cold?” Trevor asks, lying down and pulling her closer until his chest presses into her back. Wisps of rebellious hair tickle his nose as Sypha shakes her head. The rain still falls; faraway thunder joins in, roiling and rumbling. They spent the last of their earned coin in the previous town on bed and board, and some days they must make do with the amenities offered by their only possession, the wagon cart.

“We were so far from the truth,” Sypha murmurs out of nowhere.

So that’s where you are. Trevor brings her even closer to him. “We... we tried.” Not good enough. He was always shit at this, never a comforting word to leave his mouth. That’s a skill he’d always attributed to her.

His arm folds around her even as Sypha’s hand finds his own. It’s so long, spindly, and thin, that one would be hard-pressed to believe the unfettered power those fingers can wield. “I’m sorry,” she says.

The rain drowns out her words, stronger in its mourning as fat droplets fall in an endless pitter-patter, weaving with his thoughts, diluting the darkness within them. The thunder cracks like a heavenly whip.

“... for what?”

“For…” Sypha curls more into herself, and there are few things he wouldn’t do to make it all go away, to heal that festering wound of defeat and regret gaping wide in her chest. “For pushing us so much, for thinking we’ll make a difference. You were right, Trevor. The world is rotten and two people, even people with our skill, won’t make—“

“Hey,” Trevor blurts, because this isn’t right, and no way in hell is she picking up that shit-eating hopelessness he’s trying so, so hard to get rid of. He’s doing it for himself but owed to her, and everything he’s become, the growth he’s known since crawling out of his own ass and doing what he’s meant to be doing — it’s all her.

I know who I am now.

Trevor weaves slow fingers in her hair; it’s grown longer now and could use a trim again, something that took her a hilarious amount of time to trust him with. “I’ve learned a thing or two from these past weeks.”

The storm breaks the silence, gaining berth outside and settling like a third soul between them.

“Such as?...” Sypha finally asks. Her fingers sweep over his bruised knuckles, and he’s a selfish prick but a prick that’s never felt such relief as when she’s with him, a presence so steadying Trevor wouldn’t know what to do with himself, were she to be taken away; which is something he’ll never allow to happen if it kills him (it probably will).

“The world is shit,” says Trevor Belmont, “but we’re certainly not.”

A snort. “Trevor…”

“I’m serious,” well, this is harder than he thought. Come on, Belmont. “We did everything we could to prevent people from getting hurt. We did our part and gave our all. Nothing will change that.” He buries his nose in the nape of her neck, inhaling the embers and the winter frost and the distinct fragrance of her skin.

“We failed, Trevor. We failed them.”

“We did not fail. You and I did not fail.” More silence. More rain. “Will you trust me on this one? Yeah?”

She doesn’t believe him, not now, that much he knows. Who is he to ask such a thing of her, anyway? But Sypha nods in acquiescence; does it for him. He knows that, too.

“That’s all I ask,” Trevor says. It’s enough, an opening. Enough for them to try again, to work around it all, to drag themselves out of this together as they’ve done before. His arm still around her, the hunter drifts away, body falling to exhaustion; holding her tighter than he’s ever held anyone in scores of years in their makeshift home on wheels at the edge of another small, obscure village.

#castlevania netflix #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #castlevania fanfiction #trepha #ruiniel:fanfiction #trevor & sypha

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rp-repliforce · 2 years

Photo

(Updated version of this post)

I thought I’d post some of my anatomical drawings for General today! ^^ There’s a lot to explain here, but I’ll start with the first photo:

As you can see, General’s pretty burly under his armor. His body is packed with powerful artificial muscle, which makes him even stronger than he’d normally be at his size. Not only can he throw punches powerful enough to obliterate the skeletal frame of a standard maverick, but he is also capable of grappling with giant mechaniloids. In fact, one of the strategies he uses on the field is to keep the enemy’s biggest, most dangerous unit busy while his men pelt it with fire (but artillery can’t be used in that scenario since General could get hit by accident).

I also tried to illustrate some ideas for extra points of articulation. For his shoulders, I made them into pauldrons with a similar design to the ones I designed for Colonel, except that the decorative metal cuff is on a hinge so that it won’t restrict his arms. I also added a joint to the toes of his boots to help him walk more naturally. I may add this to my other muses’ boots, but... I’ve been too lazy to implement it. XD

As for the diagram next to General’s body, I tried to illustrate how his neck armor works. Basically, I used a type of joint that can be commonly found on action figures, except that it has a large hole in the middle for his neck to fit. It only allows for horizontal rotation, but there’s a flexible seal at it’s base that allow him to look up and down a bit. Of course, the seal is also supposed to keep stuff like water from leaking in. Other parts of his armor use a similar material as a seal, but I haven’t drawn those yet. I imagined that his sealed armor also makes it more difficult for the Sigma virus to infect him. Lastly for photo no.1, I had the idea to add a bit of stylization by squaring off his fingers. I haven’t implemented this into my other drawing of him however.

In the second picture, I took off his face to see what’s underneath. Long ago it just used to be a ‘mask,’ but I decided to do away with that idea. Now he relies solely on his whiskers to get his expressions across. The funny thing is that I actually made an error in these sketches. I made his teeth way too high, but I only noticed that later and really didn’t feel like fixing it.

As you can see, he has some unusually big teeth for such a small mouth opening. Like... he looks like a FNAF animatronic. XD The only reason why his teeth look like that is because they’re directly inspired by a few panels from the X4 manga. His lower jaw also isn’t very flexible since it’s pushing against part of his armor, so his upper-row of teeth can move up and down a bit. That’s why those little grooves were added, so that they don’t press against the protruding small motors that rotate his whiskers.

Speaking of which, there is also a large wire that runs through them that feeds directly into his brain. Much like a second pair of optical nerves, they’re meant to transfer detailed sensory information. I imagined that General’s electrosense is fine enough that he can actually ‘see‘ the wiring in other reploids bodies. There’s a ton of practical uses for this ability, but I won’t list them here.

Looking at his eyes, I made a reference for the specific way that I draw them, open and closed. I decided to go for a white outline for his eyelids, but... it really doesn’t work when I try to make a smooth blinking animation, because then it just looks like he didn’t close his eyes all the way.

And... yeah, that about wraps it up! 😊

Edit: I forgot to talk about his brain! The casing around it is the toughest piece of armor in his whole body, but the material is really expensive, so his creators could only afford to use a small amount. This casing is supposed to make it so that it’s very hard hard to actually *kill* him by shooting him in the head, but in the case that he does die, his brain can be recovered and the replay from the built-in black box can be viewed. But yeah - unlike in the games, shooting General in the face usually just succeeds at making him angry (but it does cause him a lot of pain if one of his whiskers is hit).

Also, there’s a shaft leading down that houses the major nervous wires that lead out from the brain. He has no vertebrae at all there, since the metal is all fused together.

#Repliforce Highlights #art

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sweeetestcurse · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday

I haven't done this in a while and for a bit I was struggling with writing (yay major depressive disorder!) but lately I've been killing it so why not share some?

This is long so I’ll put it under a cut.

The first is my second time writing Sienna Harding and John. I'm still trying to figure out their dynamic but I think I'm starting to get those idiots where I want them.

From the instant the Peggie had pushed her to her knees between his booted feet, her vision swimming and head spinning from the bliss arrow she took, she noticed him. It wasn’t a full dose of the drug, but she was feeling it. Flashing motes had taken to the air before the man had finished dressing her wound. Only one of several. By the time he had her wrists bound behind her back, she was downright heated for him.

The way her weight sunk into him when he carried her, the way he smoothed hands over the outer edges of her thighs after making sure she was secure on the bench across from his own… she shuddered. How could she not? He was attractive in that rugged way, strong, and damaged in just the right way that couldn’t be fixed without an exorbitant amount of therapy.

Exactly Sienna’s type. What else could have drawn her to John?

The second is one I've been working on for months and have been playing out in my head since before I actually started writing fics. It's Jodie/Jacob.

“I’ve got a group in the distance. No word yet on the Peggies?”

“Not since everyone went underground. What’re you thinking?”

If she were being honest, Jodie would have shared that her mind went blank the second she saw the movement. But she didn’t. Instead, she pulled something out of her ass at random. “I’ll keep my distance. Just watch and see how they act. If they’re friendlies they might be able to help us get the lay of the land.”

The wind shifted again, and with it the wonderful scents of blooming flowers and all things green were swept away, replaced with something rancid. Her stomach thought about churning and she swallowed. Hard.

“Be careful,” Jess cut in to add, with more than the usual static.

“I’ll keep you guys posted. Over and out.”

Keeping low, she moved through the grass in a way she couldn’t have imagined herself capable of twelve hours prior. With the slinking grace of an apex predator, she closed part of the distance. She missed this, watching a potential threat from a distance.

A thrill ran down her spine.

The third is an OC that I've mentioned before. My half-orc/incubus thing. The first chapter for it is almost ready to be posted. I just need to go over it once or twice and make a custom divider because I need it even if no one cares about it but me.

The heel of her boot met the concrete once more, pushing her another half-foot away from him. Then again. When she turned and began the trek back to the car and away from the hospital and all that way within its walls, Arozoth spoke up again.

“You may have me,” was all he said. Plainly.

Despite herself and everything telling her to keep going, she slowed. Then stopped altogether.

“Or I you, if that is what you would prefer,” he added, his voice taking on a husky whisper that barely made the journey to her ears.

He damn well knew that he already had her full attention. It hadn’t needed to be added.

Her breathing stilled all the same. The possibilities were endless, with an incubus. Pleasure beyond her wildest dreams, and beyond even that. All those fantasies she’s wanted to indulge in, all those scenarios she’s played out in the theater of her mind.

Goosebumps washed over her. Fast. She swallowed. Just the thought, the mere idea, of touching—of tasting…

She turned back to him.

The forth, and final, is another OC story. I've never mentioned it before but I've been sitting on the idea for a few years.

A witch is trying to work a conjuring spell for a companion and things go... awry.

His dirt-caked boots stepped into view as she knelt to gather her things.

“I’m sure you can manage,” he kept on, poking at her. “Just ask me all nice like, and we’ll have a grand ol’ time.”

The heat from his hand brushed her cheek before his fingers made contact. And like she was burned, she snapped back and grabbed his wrist.

A startled yelp stumbled out of his throat. “Hey!”

Hushed words left her lips. Rushed incantations. Heat built in her core and eased out of her finger tips where they touched bare skin, sinking in deep.

Power.

He felt it, she knew he did as he pulled at the clutched limb. At the last word, she rolled her eyes up to meet his and found nothing but fear etched into his features.

She let him go.

He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. A rush of air was forced from his lungs when he landed on his ass. The words stopped; the vulgar questions halted. Round blue eyes watched her, blinking wildly, as the onlookers gathered around him. Checking in, making sure she hadn’t hurt him.

All but one passerby, that is. The youngest there, a small girl wearing her Sunday best and heading home after church. Her attention was on the witch and the witch only. The two shared a moment of eye contact before her mother came in to scoop her up.

“Stay away from her, sweetie,” the woman said as she hurried away.

The little girl waved over her mother’s shoulder. A wave that was returned.

#wip wednesday #mine

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my2phetaliaheadcanons · 1 year

Text

A little Fic and A Message

The clicking of a keyboard filled the dark, college dorm room. The laptop light stings the heavy-laden, sapphire eyes of the college student typing away. Her posture was destroyed from slouching against her mixed nest of pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets.

The loud knock quickly turned into a bang that startled her into almost throwing her laptop. The sudden bright light making her hiss as she awkwardly held her blue laptop to her chest.

“WHAT THE HELL AL!” she hissed as she leanded forward, teeth bared.

Al looked over from the blazing door, his dark brow raised in a questioning manor. His bloodied, nailed bat resting against his shoulder. “Have you finished those asks yet, doll?”

‘Doll’ chuckled as she looked away. An uneasy smile cracked her face as she muttered a small, drawn out no.

“Well, why not?” he growled out in a boston accent.

Shrugging ‘Doll responded. “Classes, responsibilities, and these asks just get the creative juices flow-”

“Then shouldn’t they be done, since they are a responsibilty?”

Puffing her cheeks out like a pouting toddler, she mumbled about wanting to get them down well. That each ask deserves to be given proper care and consideration. Mentioning that her followers had been so patient and sweet while she worked on them.

Al tched, his missing canine sharpening the hiss as he rolled his crimson eyes. His boots pounding as he stomped over to her bed snatching the laptop.

“They understood then and will understand now. Focus on your damn biology class. You know what Oliver will do if you fail.”

“But-” ‘Doll’ reached out for the computer.

“No, buts!” was all he screamed as ran and shut the door. Trapping ‘Doll’ again in the darkness.

She blinked bewildered once, then twice. Before jumping from her nest and running out the door.

“HEY WAIT!! I NEED THAT TO STUDY!”

The thing with college is that things heat up pretty quick. I’ve also got a lot of asks right now and I want to write them well. So, I must sadly say that I for a time I will not be able to guarantee weekly posts and will be closing my ask box on 11/13/22. I will do my best to continue posting as much as I can, and during this week you can submit as much and as often as you would like. Have fun with any the you submit, whether wild or tame. I love seeing y’alls asks and love how they push my characters.

Talk to you guys soon!

#2p hetalia #2p headcanons

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yeowninefive · 1 year

Note

1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 16, 20, 21, 29, 30 (So sorry for the question dump!)

1. Autodesk Sketchbook Express when I first got my tablet. Photoshop Elements and Paint Tool SAI I don’t use for regular drawing anymore; but they still get irregular use for other purposes (image edits and drawings for academic works; i.e. flowcharts for programming).

On a similar note, while I use Clip Studio Paint for practically all of my regular drawing nowadays, I did use that program years ago for a short animation; before going to try and learn Opentoonz. I would like to return to it at least once, for a colored animation; since I’m still trying to get over OpenToonz’ learning curve.

2. It’s not something I really think of much, but I guess I draw characters facing right more often that I do drawing them facing left.

3. This is a stretch / loose interpretation. But even though I haven’t drawn / posted any new ones as of late. I would say my videogame level maps / level design draw their roots from my earliest (traditional) drawings when I was younger, which were maps of highway / interstates. I sometimes still think about doing a true “throwback piece” to those days and draw a new highway map.

4. I would really like to get back to drawing more detailed environments like I used to do when I first started getting into digital art. But I have trouble getting started in any meaningful way; and the newer landscapes I do are still simpler compared to my earlier stuff. I imagine part of the problem is that my earlier, more detailed landscapes were traditional drawings on paper, so maybe I was more willing to spend more time filling in/adding blanks compared to digital? I’m still trying to work it out.

8. I have a bunch of art and videogame concepts / projects I have that are perpetual shelf occupants, stuff that I might go back and tinker with, others that go untouched for years. Some are lucky to get rescued and either finished or reworked to finally see the light of day. I imagine at some point I’m going to have to essentially “clean out the closet” and decide what stays or goes.

10. Tall boots! They’ve kinda always been a mainstay for me.

11. It varies between music and podcasts (which are typically movie reviews). Right now I think I’ve hit a regular track where if I’m trying to draw something new or develop a concept; I listen to music for inspiration (which varies a lot—videogame instrumentals, jazz, R&B, alternative, piano instrumentals, mashups, etc.). If I have a concrete art idea that I just need to develop into a finished product (i.e. doing construction, coloring, etc.).

12. I don’t think I have any, since I keep trying to vary my approach in constructing bodies. Each of them tend to be somewhat difficult for me, at least in terms of getting the proportions right. I suppose drawing arms and legs are what I have the easiest time with.

13. I don’t really have any that comes to mind. There’s probably some, I could certainly name particular genres or studios; but not individual creators.

16. I’m not sure, admittedly. I guess that I would probably be pretty good with fanart (and likely would be more popular than I currently and historically have been). It’s not so much I don’t like drawing fanart, than it is that it’s mainly not been my focus. It’s something that I’ve previously said that I’ve been hoping to rectify in recent years, hopefully this year.

20. Honestly, I don’t know what I (used to) draw that would be considered difficult. I guess drawing level design would probably be up there; at least in the sense of it probably being difficult to plan out, or figure out a way to try and make it engaging or interesting. Like I said earlier, my interest for drawing highways I imagine was a prelude to drawing maps/course design. My parents like to say that I should have become an architect.

21. Highly detailed aesthetics for character designs and environments, usually of a realistic style. Although I try to shuffle my aesthetics around regularly, I’d say I usually do hit a limit with my art where it’s either at least stylized and/or simple to some degree.

29. Not sure. I guess the closest thing I can say to answer this question is that there’s a bunch of things I like and/or outright love, but I don’t regularly create fanart of. (As I said previously, I normally don’t draw much fanart in general, and I’d like to try and change that this year.)

30. There have been some pieces I’ve done that I’m proud of, mainly because I put extra touches of flourish on and/or think are probably among my best (recent) works; but I can’t say they have gotten any notable attention (especially here on tumblr, which as of late gets less traction compared to Twitter and sometimes deviantArt). A recent piece I feel has been overlooked a bit is included below (original post to it here); but here are links to some other pieces from last year I feel were overlooked here on this site.

#ask box meme #tumblr asks #my asks #artist ask game #artist ask meme #spin-attaxx

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whispers-in-daydreams · 2 years

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TEN Q’s

1. When are you usually online?

Mostly weekends. I’m too braindead after work to try to put out anything worthwhile. I’ll lurk here and there during the week. But I’m mainly most active during the weekends.

2. What verses are you involved in?

none. All of my OC’s are in their own verse. I’ve never had good luck with interacting with ready made fandoms. Not for lack of trying. Just....I suppose I wasn’t what they were looking for.

What is your biggest RP pet peeve?

Not giving me anything to go off of. Be it a one liner , ( I really can’t do those), or multiple paragraphs. If I finish reading it and have no idea what even just happened or have no feel for the other muse, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do and be genuine in my response. And it makes it hard to want to continue. Lack of communication. It just causes all kinds of problems and assumptions and hurt feelings.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses?

It depends on which of my muses I’m using. Some of them are drawn to light, easy going muses. Others are drawn to those who need to be saved. From whatever; themselves, a situation, life. While others yet...are drawn to all the wrong things. The dark. The mysterious. The dangerous. They crave to know what lies in the shadows, regardless of how terrifying the outcome could be. Curiosity, is their greatest downfall.

5. Are there reoccurring themes in your writing that people might not notice?

Mmmm......I suppose my reoccurring theme would be immersion. I like to create stories and worlds where you forget it’s not real. Where you feel like you’re the one in whatever scenario is happening. You can taste the bitter and sweet in the chai iced latte. You can feel the crunch of dead leaves beneath your boots. Feel the sharp prick of a paper cut and the warmth of the blood as it seeps onto your finger. Writing is all about escape right? I want to create that escape.

6. What are your favourite RP trends?

I don’t keep up with them enough to even know what the current trend is.

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone? I totallllly suck at plotting. Yeah I can come up with ideas. But for me, if we talk about it, I already know what’s going to happen. There’s no mystery. No intrigue. I already know what’s coming. And that kills any interest for me. I’m a ‘wing it’ style writer. I like to just throw out a starter or ask that could create something. Roll off of whatever reply I get. I tend to reply in the moments right after reading the reply I received. it’s freshest in my mind, so that whatever my muse says or does after is natural and not rehearsed. If I try to reply to something over a span of time, the original idea gets muddled. I have to read and reread the reply , losing important details because the effect of the first read has passed.

8. How do you feel about duplicates?

Seeing as all my muses are OC’s, I’ll shank someone who tries to duplicate my kids.

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying?

Geeeeez. Like I can remember that far back lol. I remember back when there was yahoo chat groups. I’d write on there. An OC of course, because I knew I couldn’t bring a Canon the justice their original creator gave them. I suppose....since I was 15? I think that’s when I realized there were other people I could write with and didn’t laugh at me for some of the wild ideas I came up with.

10. Is there a muse or verse you could write in, but haven’t?

Muse- no . I’m completely a-ok with not writing any canon muses. I wouldn’t be able to stay true to who they were supposed to be. My imagination would change them too much.

Verse: ....I don’t really have a specific verse I just haaaave to interact with. Though the darker the verse the more interest I have in it. I suppose I’ve just had too much fluff 100% of the time. I need nitty gritty. ugly. No holds barred. There’s not a lot like that out there. At least...I haven’t been able to find them.

tagged by- @s-talking , @chronicparagon

tagging: anyone who wants to do this.

#about the mun #writing styles #things I do

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ghostwriterdiariesxoxo · 2 years

Text

Down For You (Flashback pt 2 Teaser)

I know, I know, it's taking forever guys but I'm trying lol. Still gotta do life things as well.

But here's a teaser for the 2nd part of Flashback for now. The rest will come soon. Promise! Xoxo

Winter 2008

Boston, Ma

One Week After Cabin Party

Haley was late for her date. A date she’d entirely forgotten about. It was marked in red pen on her wall calendar. Scheduled in her phone, and she’d even absentmindedly drawn a heart with lip liner on her vanity mirror while she was on the phone with David, the night it was set. Three reminders and yet it’d still been forgotten.

She’d only remembered earlier that evening when David sent a text. Letting her know he’d finally arrived back in Boston from his lengthy business trip in Vermont. While she scrambled to get ready, her mind was in overdrive, running through every excuse she could think of to explain her mishap. Knowing all the while, the real reason came down to one simple answer. –Bo.

Since the party at the cabin they’d spoken a few times. A call here and there and a few witty conversations over text. But in between those points, Haley could barely concentrate on anything else. Practically running on auto pilot through auditions, her part time job as a receptionist and visiting her mother.

She’d reached the point of no return. Deciding that not right then, but soon, she wanted to tell Bo the truth about how she felt. She wasn’t entirely sure that he felt the same way, but the energy between them seemed to blur between friends and maybe—something more. But the way she’d been feeling since the cabin, she was willing to place all bets on ‘something more.’ Because for her, at least—there wasn’t much of a choice.

The only thing that’d stopped her from telling Bo already, was David. Haley had been in a halfway in, halfway out situation with him for over a year. He was fairly older than her, separated from his wife, but never quite able to nail down a date for divorce. It was complicated. But she’d grown complacent. Especially because he traveled so much for work and she only saw him from time to time. But things had recently changed, and she was determined to make this date on time, so she could politely say goodbye and go her own way.

Haley checked her watch, hopping around the room on one foot, trying to get a high heel on the other.

“I’ve told you a thousand times,” Camille lazily lectured, appearing in Haley’s bedroom doorway. “Put the heel on the floor. Slip your foot in.”

Haley lowered her successfully high-heeled foot to the floor, blowing a lock of hair from her eyes.

“This works just fine,” she snapped.

Camille shrugged. “Sure—whatever you say.”

Haley took in Camille’s black sweater, high-waisted jeans, and knee-high leather fur-lined boots.

“Where are you going tonight?”

“It’s Thursday,” Camille grinned. “I’m going to that comedy club.”

“Seriously Cam?” Haley’s heart dropped. “No offense but he’s not that into you.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Camille replied, turning from the door. “Have fun with what’s his name.”

Haley stared at the empty doorway for a solid minute, listening to silence and her heart beating in her ears. Ever since Camille had come back from L.A, Haley sensed something had changed about her. Yes, Camille had always been self-important, catty, overly flirtatious, the list went on and on. But there was also a side of Camille when she wasn’t at parties or surrounded by a crowd, that was loving, caring, and genuine. The side of her that cried watching romantic movies, that would stop traffic to rescue a stray dog on the freeway, that once drove three hours with the flu, just to see Haley speak one line in a movie featured at a film festival. The side of her that Haley had called her best friend, without a second thought, since the fourth grade.

But that side of her suddenly seemed muted, at least when Haley actually saw her. Camille had barely been at the apartment all week. Coming home at all sorts of crazy hours. And even when she was home, she was in her room behind a closed door. But regardless if Camille had changed or not, the idea of her getting ahold of Bo was a sudden waking nightmare for Haley. And after checking the time once more, she left. Hoping to end things quickly with David and talk to Bo as soon as possible.

Nick’s Comedy Stop

Camille wasn’t often surprised by anyone. Especially men. But that night at the cabin, Bo managed to catch her off guard more than once. And as the show came to a close, her intrigue had grown exponentially. She was always the one being chased, never the other way around. So as she waited by her car, hoping to catch him as he was leaving, she hated herself for it. Especially over the rise of excitement spilling into her stomach when he finally appeared.

Almost instantaneously he was swarmed by the small crowd gathered around the exit. So she remained by her car watching him from a distance as he pulled his bookbag high up on the shoulder of his striped sweatshirt to sign autographs. When the crowd eventually dwindled down, she suddenly began to second guess her plan when he stepped off the curb, heading in her general direction towards his car. But she’d already waited this long and she knew if she didn’t talk to him then, she’d have to find another excuse to approach him later. So as he neared his car, only a short distance away, she made her move.

“I have to apologize,” Camille began, approaching him at his car. He looked up from the keys he’d just pulled from his pocket. “I told you I’d be here tonight but I think I missed your act.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head before returning his focus to unlocking the car.

“I was the last one up there and I know for a fact that you saw it.”

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Oh yeah?” He tossed his book bag into the passenger seat. “And why’s that?”

“Because that guy was mean as hell. Super arrogant,” she replied. Bo propped his forearm on the top of the car door, tilting his head, obviously humored as she continued. “I’d even go as far as to say he was a real asshole. So obviously that wasn’t you. The guy who couldn’t handle a few rounds of tequila the other night.”

“Look I get it,” he began, rounding the car door. “You don’t like nice guys.” Wildly flustered, Camille stirred under his gaze suddenly looming over her as he spoke. “You want them to treat you in all kinds of shitty and fucked up ways and cry when they hurt you—blah—blah—blah.” He wrinkled his nose as he shook his head. “It’s not a niche fascination Camille. It’s a basic worn-out story told by millions of basic, boring girls—Just like you.”

His words stung like little papercuts as they slipped from his tongue. And then he quickly turned, walking back to his car. But Camille had a million thoughts and questions, clambering all at once to the surface.

“Do you want to hang out?” She asked, following after him.

He grabbed his keys, lying on the roof above the car door.

“Not interested.”

“Why? What do you have going on tonight?”

He let out an exasperated sigh.

I didn’t say I was busy. I said—not interested.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “If you HAVE to know, I was going to call Haley—see if she wanted to do something.”

She opened her mouth to protest him but nothing came out. She loved Haley. And even though Haley hadn’t admitted it yet, Camille knew she had a thing for Bo. But she’d somehow skipped over the possibility that Bo might feel the same.

“Why? She finally asked. “Do you like her or something?”

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

Camille processed his answer, deciding that it could mean anything.

“Well I hate to tell you this but she’s busy tonight. With her boyfriend, David.”

“Oh.” He dropped his head, pretending to study his car keys. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

Camille couldn’t help but feel a tug of jealousy over how disappointed he looked.

“So, now that you’re free tonight, how about that date?”

He lifted his head, revealing his somewhat baffled expression.

“Now it’s a date?”

“Call it what you want.” She sauntered closer, a slow and easy smile forming on her lips. “A hangout, a date. Either way, I just want it to end with that guy I saw on stage tonight making me scream.”

“Wow,” he huffed a laughed as he nodded. “What’s your deal, huh? Daddy didn’t love you enough?” He dismantled her in five easy words and her expression fell, reflecting the war he’d just re-awoken around her heart. And it only took him a moment to notice. “Whoa, hey. I’m so sorry. It was just a joke I’m…..I’m an idiot I’m sorry.”

She did her best to recover.

“You see,” she said, pointing her finger at him, attempting to smile. “THAT was mean. And then you just HAD to ruin it.” Camille realized that Bo could see right through her act as he tilted his head, brows drawn in concern—or maybe even pity. And with that—she decided to forfeit. “Anyways, I’m going to get out of here,” she said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. “What you call desperate, I call determined but—even I know when to call it.” She tried to laugh but it was weak. “Later kid.” She turned—booking it toward her car, furious at herself for wanting to cry.

“Camille.” He called after her. She’d only made it a few feet away, when she stopped in her tracks, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. He shook his head and then shrugged before he spoke. “Let’s hang out.”

Camille knew for a fact he was only saying it because he felt bad. But she’d take it anyway.

“My place or yours?” She grinned.

“Neither,” he replied quickly. “We need to find a middle ground. This is just a hang-out. Not a date. Just a zero screaming involved— hang out.”

She sighed, with a dramatic eye roll, meant for show.

“Fine. My friends are having a thing at their loft on the Northside of town. You’re driving.”

#bo burnham fanfic #bo burnham fanfiction #fanfiction #boburnham #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fan fiction #ao3feed #ohbo

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