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#but yeah i did end up hating the drawing i originally did for this

art · 6 months

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Creator Spotlight: GDBee Art (@prinnay)

Geneva Bowers is inspired by the wonders of the natural world around us, and enjoys manipulating colors to create art full of mood and feelings.

Check out our interview with Geneva below!

How did you get started with art? Did you originally have a background in art?

I’m going to say yes because that’s all I’ve known how to do. It started because I wanted to draw better horses than my sister, and it just spiraled from there. People started asking me to draw things because they saw me drawing horses. I was like, well, I can draw things that aren’t horses, and then it was just kind of all I did.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I have one right now! Honestly, with time, and I also collect art books; I think I have a couple hundred. If I really want to draw something, then I just flip through those and try to steal some ideas.

Which three famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I mean, of course Van Gogh…I’m really inspired by Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, so I would invite Van Gogh, Monet, and Julie Dillon to a dinner party.

Have you ever wanted to dive into another medium before?

Yeah, actually, I currently am! I’m trying to do more traditional painting. I used to do a lot of acrylics, but I haven’t done it in years, and now I’m kind of bad at it. I’m trying to get into actual impressionistic art with oils and oil pastels. I’m like failing, but you know, you get there. Just fail until it looks presentable.

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I guess it’s more of a feeling. I create art because I’m inspired by things around me, like certain video games. For example, I have been inspired by a Japanese RPG called Chrono Cross on PlayStation 1. They make me feel a certain type of inspiration to create something, so that’s kind of like what I’m hoping to leave behind.

Have any of your projects surprised you with their outcome?

Yeah! I did this Weapon Faerie series where I took three prompts: a weapon, a winged insect, and an herb, which I combined to make different characters. So, a faerie with a spiked club or a butterfly faerie with a katana. I made 13 of those, and they kind of took off! I wasn’t expecting that at all.

What is the hardest part of your process?

My whole art style is coloring, like the way it’s colored… but I hate the coloring process, haha. I like doing the color combos, but I don’t like the blending and shading. That takes like one-trillion years. It’s the part where I’m most likely to give up. You know how art kind of looks ugly before it looks good? I’m trying to trust that process.

What do you wish you knew when you started creating art that you know now?

I guess one big thing would be knowing how to use lights and darks. When I do color, it is definitely colorful, but when you switch it to black and white, you see that everything’s the same tone of gray. I’ve learned that if you just use some brighter colors and some darker shades, you create a bigger impact in the end. So, now, when I paint something digital, I make it black and white for a moment to see where all the hues are, and if something is weirdly dark or not dark enough, I can change it.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

Oh, @feefal definitely inspires me. She does a lot of spooky art.

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #gdbee art #prinnay #nycc 2023 #tumblr nycc #nycc

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reidsaurora · 1 year

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"Overnight" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer offers to clear out a drawer for Y/N in his dresser, it has him explaining some things he'd been hiding from her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (i think? i don't remember using pronouns in this lol)

Word Count: 814 why is she so short

Content Warning: allusions to sex but nothing in detail, mild mentions of nudity i guess, this whole fic is basically aftercare lol, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Fluff, what else did you expect out of me?

Extra Notes: i truly meant for this to be posted on time, i'm so sorry guys

Based On the Prompt: "The Things In That Drawer" from this year's @domaystic prompts

Originally Written: 05/08/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (i love you literally so much)

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Nothing could get Spencer Reid in a sappy mood like a night of slow, passionate sex. Something about moments like these—the way he showered you in kisses, the sweet compliments he'd give you, the love he'd show you—just felt right. Like his embrace was exactly where you needed to be.

Spencer's hand settled on the soft skin of your hip, drawing various shapes with his fingertips. Your head rested against his chest, your hand moving up to his tummy. He placed a soft kiss on your hair, the scruff of his five-o'clock shadow scratching against your forehead lightly. "I love nights like this," he told you.

You craned your head to face him, kissing his cheek. "I do too. I just hate that it always ends so quickly," you said, thinking about the work nights where you had to head home early, not quite ready for the night to end but knowing that you needed to go home for a change of clothes.

"You know," he said, pausing to flip the two of you over, his body hovering over you, "I could always clear a couple drawers out for you."

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You'd been hinting at the idea for a while, lamenting about needing fresh panties or complaining about missing your skincare regimen. But Spencer hadn't seemed quite ready to take that step yet, so you didn't pressure him.

"Wait, are you serious?"

He nodded, bending down to kiss you on the lips this time. "I'll even let you pick out which one you want."

You practically pushed him into the floor as you jumped up. Spencer chuckled as you ran over to the dresser, pulling his boxers back on.

You pulled out the second drawer, where you knew his tee shirts were, grabbed one of his giant ones and tossed it on. "Any of them?"

"Mhm," he hummed, walking over and settling his hands on your waist. "Whichever one you want."

You considered it, eventually deciding on the bottom drawer. "What about-"

"Wait, Y/N, don't-" he shouted, reaching out to stop your hand.

He was too late, though. You pulled open the drawer, revealing an entire drawer of nerdy memorabilia. The lightsaber was the first thing that caught your eye, followed by a sonic screwdriver, and a couple geeky Pop Figures, among other things.

"You have a lightsaber," you examined.

Spencer scratched awkwardly at his neck. "Yeah, I guess I do."

You grabbed the lightsaber from the drawer, your face lighting up as you turned it on. "You have a lightsaber!"

He chuckled as you poked him in the ribs with the lightsaber. "You're having too much fun with this."

You set the lightsaber down on top of the dresser, turning back to the drawer. Next, you pulled out the infamous Jason Voorhees mask, holding it in front of your face. "Please tell me you've scared your coworkers with this."

Spencer let out another chuckle, taking the mask from your hands. "I got Morgan with it one time. He nearly choked on his coffee."

You continued snooping through the drawers, sifting through Polaroids of Spencer and his friend Penelope at various conventions, some D.C. comics, and a couple signed posters. Your heart nearly flipped when you spotted a picture of him dressed as the Joker. "Who did your face paint?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

A squeal escaped your lips as you threw your arms over his shoulders. "Spence, this is adorable! Why would you hide this from me?"

He sighed, somewhere between relieved and exasperated. "I didn't want you to think I was weird. I mean, I'm a grown man and I have a collection of legos and Batman comics?"

"Spencer, I think it's cute that you have something you love so much. You don't have to be afraid to show how much you love and support it."

He bent forward to kiss you again, pulling your body flush against his. "You really mean that?"

"I mean, any man that has the balls to wear makeup like that in public is sexy in my book," you kidded.

Spencer diverted your attention back to the drawer, pointing his chin toward the dresser. "Is that really the drawer you want?"

"Does it come with all the nerdy memorabilia?" you teased, poking his chest.

"In your dreams. I spent good money on those things." He rolled his eyes, leading you to the bathroom. His hands were warm and big on your bare skin, the feeling absolutely heavenly. He placed a trail of kisses along your shoulder up to your head before hooking his chin over your shoulder.

You lifted your head to face him, kissing his jaw. "Hey, does this mean we can go as the Joker and Harley Quinn for Halloween?"

"You know what? I think that might just be something out of my dreams."

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose

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cheshirebitch · 1 month

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Can i request reader who has pingu energy with making and giving alastor his valentines day card please?

I didn’t know what you meant at first until I REALIZED haha. I hope I did you justice and that you enjoy as much as I did writing it! (Here’s a gif for the people who don’t know what this lovely requester meant)

𝔾𝕣𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕪 𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖

Alastor x Reader

I really hated Valentine’s Day. Like, I really fucking hate Valentine’s Day. You can only like the holiday so much when you caught your boyfriend cheating on you, shot him, and then got hit by a car while speeding away from the police. Hell of a way to go, I know. Alastor found it hilarious. Especially when my ex tried to stay at the hotel. The lovely deer man ended up eating him before I could get a word in. That was when I realized I really had a thing for the old fashion man.

That pretty much explains why I was now trying to make a card perfect enough to present to him. Everything had to be perfect, but it definitely was not going as planned. I have created at least thirty cards by now, none of which were good enough to give to Alastor. The top three cards so far got ruined when I spilled my paint water on them. I tried recreating the one with the deer puns, since he is always making them with me whenever he has a chance. We were both deer. I joked with Alastor that the reason I was created into a demon deer was because I was hit by a car, like how deer were commonly struck during my time alive.

The next card was completely red with different shades. With how he dresses, and his diet preferences, I figured his favorite color was red, hopefully. Inside it wrote in the fanciest cursive I could write, “You have my whole heart, try not to eat it.” I thought he would get a good chuckle out of that, just in case he doesn’t return the feelings as well.

The last card was one that had a drawing of Alastor I was actually proud of, but of course that was right when I knocked over the cup. Which, of course, stuck me in a completely grumpy mood. I grabbed the red construction paper and slammed it aggressively onto the table. I glared daggers at the cup, now empty of all its paint water, before smacking it off the table.

With the red construction paper in front of me, I glanced around the table for what I should slap onto this three hour long project. Husk walked past before stopping and back peddling.

“What are you doing?” Without hesitating, I mean mugged him.

”This stupid fucking heartfelt card bullshit.” I snatched the red glitter glue from the edge of the table and squirted it messily onto the cover of the card. I grabbed the other shade of red construction paper and started cutting out a heart shape. Husk chuckled, shaking his head.

”To who?” My eyes snapped back up to look at him. I grabbed the three ruined cards and tossed them towards the end of the table Husk stood at. He looked down at them, carefully flipping them without ruining them further than I already had.

“Al-“

”You shut your mouth, Cat.” He raised his eyebrows, dropping the ruined cards back down. The last thing I need is for Alastor to hear and come snooping around. I know him well enough that he could hear when someone says his name and always shortly swings by like the nosy man he is. I mean, he was a radio host. It was his job to be nosy.

“I will leave you to it.” He raised his hands up in surrender, walking back out of the room and towards wherever his original destination was. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get back to making your own stupid Valentine’s Day gift for Angel Dust. I huffed before slapping my cut out paper heart in the center. My fingers rummaged around the table, ready to grip the black marker whenever I found it. I was too busy glaring at the messy card. My teeth ripped off the cap, spitting the lid somewhere next to me, and then carefully writing his name with as much patience I had left. My patience was barely there, but there was enough for the cursive to come out great.

I was still pissed.

I snatched the card off the table, scribbled my message inside, and then marched to find the deer in question.

”Alastor! Where are you?” I strode into the lobby area, searching for Alastor so this nightmare could be done and over with.

"What's that frown on your face for?” Static and a smile.

“Here.” I spun around and aggressively held out the card, still completely grumpy about everything leading up to this moment. Alastor had an amused face, looking down at the card. Waiting for him to take it, I watched how he tossed his staff into the crook of his arm. His claws delicately took the card from my hands. Glad to be rid of the card and the pressure, I marched off back into the room where my three cards sat, slightly drier than before.

“Stupid fucking water. Stupid fucking cards.” I grumbled while cleaning up the mess I made on the table. Why did I have to worry so much if he liked it? Why did I even decide to even make him a card? He probably just thought it was friendly, or something negative. Valentine’s Day has always been just heartbreak, why did I set myself back up for it this year?

”You left before I could give you my gift, dear.” I jumped out of my skin and turned around to see Alastor looking at the three ruined cards.

”These are also very pleasant. I do wish they didn’t get ruined.” He flipped the cards back over to how they were sitting before. That’s when I saw the bouquet of my favorite flowers, a beautifully decorated card, and a black velvety box. My eyes shot up to his as they looked at me over his monocle. He straightened his back and took two long strides to me.

”I promise I won’t eat your heart if you promise to stop being so enticingly sweet.” The grump look on my face melted away into a sheepish smile. It must have been infectious as he smiled wider and more sincere. He gently places the gifts on a cleared section, then carefully grazes his claws on my face.

“There’s that beautiful smile, Mon Cher.” His hands dragged down from my face to my hands, pulling one up to kiss delicately, then flashing those crimson eyes of his back up to mine.

Okay, maybe Valentine’s Day won’t be so bad this year.

(As always, the character belong to their owner and the story belongs to me. If you have any requests or ideas, send them over :)! I will gladly try to write things for my supporters! Thank you for the love and have a great day <3!)

#fanfic #fanfiction #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #radio demon #xreader #hazbin hotel alastor

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thankskenpenders · 10 months

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As I'm sure many of you are already aware, Did You Know Gaming (who have been doing some really great investigative work lately) recently put out a video on canceled Sonic games. The whole thing's worth a watch, but I have to bring it up here specifically because they talk about the plans for Sonic Chronicles 2 with a LOT of new info directly from the lead designer.

youtube

The section on how the story of Sonic Chronicles 2 would have went starts at 9:45. It's very interesting! He outlines the whole plot, including the fact that they were going to end with ANOTHER obvious plot hook for a sequel in the hopes that they or some other studio could keep the Sonic Chronicles series going indefinitely. Sonic Team even claimed they were interested in using Chronicles characters like Shade in other games. It's crazy to imagine a timeline where this might have become a pillar of the franchise.

I refuse to mourn the loss of the sequel, though, because y'all saw me stream the original. It was miserable. And with the original game selling and reviewing decently well, they would have had little reason to go back to the drawing board and overhaul that game's bizarrely hateful design.

Of course, DYKG also had to talk about the reason why the game was canceled. I was dreading this because of how often people tend to get the basic facts of the Penders cases wrong or downplay the obvious Archie Knuckles inspiration in Chronicles. But no, they did their homework! And they got the details right in part because, well... they asked Penders for comment directly. And he sent them back a MASSIVE wall of text about the whole ordeal, including some fascinating details that I don't believe I've heard before!

You can go to 15:19 in the video and scrub through to read the many, MANY screencaps of their emails from Ken, but here are the most interesting and/or hilarious tidbits to me:

#1: Perjury!

As we already knew, Ken claimed that the incomplete, photocopied contract Archie presented in court was a forgery, and that he had never signed a work for hire contract.

The judge obviously knew that one side had to be lying here, and thus was more than willing to present the case to a jury to let them decide the truth... and send whoever was deemed the liar to jail for perjury. (The judge apparently looked Ken directly in the eye when he said this, which... well, make of that what you will.)

Archie's lawyers knew that they didn't have a completely airtight case and obviously did not want to go to jail. So they decided to settle instead of going to trial in front of a jury.

(I will reiterate that Archie's arguments not working out is overall a GOOD thing, because we really do not want to set a legal precedent where corporations can "lose" a contract for a creator, make up a story about what was on the contract, and then have that hold up in court. They gotta get that shit in writing. And they didn't. They fucked up!)

#2: Sega was threatening to revoke the Sonic license!

As we knew, Sega wanted nothing to do with the comic copyright lawsuit. To them, it was Archie's job as licensee to deal with their freelancers. (Y'all watch Succession? You know how Logan loves lackeys who will eat shit for him without him having to even hear about the problem? Yeah.) And, in fact, according to Ken, Sega gave Archie an ultimatum: if they wanted their license to make Sonic comics renewed, they were gonna have to deal with Ken on their own, and cover all the costs.

Yeah, uh, this kinda makes me think that Sega being pissed about the ongoing Scott Fulop copyright case in 2016 may have been a bigger factor in Archie Sonic's cancellation than I previously thought. There was a lot going on at the time that could have contributed, but, y'know.

Anyway, Archie sued Ken for "damaging their business" largely because Sega was threatening to take away the Sonic IP. But because Archie couldn't ask Sega for help and they couldn't produce an original contract, they had to settle.

There's another detail I find funny here, though. Ken WANTED Sega to get involved in the comic copyright case, thinking that Sega would strongarm Archie into paying him the millions of dollars he wanted for "using his work without permission" so that they could be done with it. I mean, sure. I guess Sega wouldn't have cared about Archie's finances, but still. I'm not so sure that would've worked out for him.

#3: Shade!

Yes, Penders still claims he legally owns Shade, and under advice from his lawyer still intends to put out an NFT of her to put his claim to the test. Yes, it's incredible that he still hasn't put out the damn NFT. It only needs to be one image, which he already drew! The market has collapsed!

Anyway, building an argument off the legal concept of estoppel, he says that if Sega continues to not do anything about his claims that he owns Shade then, in the eyes of the court, they'll be forfeiting their claims to Shade altogether. But they aren't going to do anything because they never wanted any part in the copyright battles in the first place, and to them Chronicles is a long dead asset not worth fighting over. Why bother trying to use Shade again and giving Ken a reason to take them back to court when they can just move on? It's not like this franchise is short on characters. And so Ken can say that Shade and Julie-Su are literally the same character, and if he owns Julie-Su then therefore he also owns Shade.

Our copyright system is, indeed, a nightmare. Chronicles should have been halfway to the public domain by now.

#4: Sega's oversight on the Archie comics!

Ken says that in his first year on the series Sega only requested some dialogue changes here and there through the editor. They never requested huge script changes, and also never spoke to Ken directly. After that first year, they stopped asking for dialogue changes altogether, and Ken "had a free hand to do pretty much whatever he wanted." Yeah, no surprise there.

He does, however, say that Archie's original deal with Sega stated that they weren't allowed to create ANY new Sonic characters without informing Sega. They would've needed to make a contract every single time to get Sega's approval and make it absolutely crystal clear that Sega owned the whole cast. And then Archie just... didn't do that! And didn't tell any of the freelance creatives not to come up with new characters! Had Archie followed this rule, the trajectory of the comics would have been completely different, but there also never would've been a copyright battle in the first place.

What a shitshow. Truly.

#tkp post

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sandinthemachine · 1 year

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Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

---

It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you’re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

You wonder if König will remember you.

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

#könig #könig call of duty #cod #cod mwii #könig x reader

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jaylienpotter · 5 months

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15 questions, 15 people

Thx for the tag @marauders-everything2

Starting a new post, it was too long. Slightly modified some questions.

1. Are you named after anyone?

Nope.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Don't remember, probably yesterday.

3. Do you want to have kids?

No thanks :)

4. What sports do/have you played?

My parents tried putting me in a bunch of shit when I was younger so I've done: swimming (for some years, still not great at it lol), surfing (quit after like 2 months), kizomba dance (hated it), another type of dance, contemporary dance (I liked it but the place closed), and we went skiing several times (which I love). If horseriding counts, I did that for a year. Currently not doing any.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yeah, sometimes. But I'm also quite direct and straightforward. Only "straight" I am.

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone?

Their fashion style. I love going up to strangers to compliment their outfits!

7. What's your eye colour?

Dark brown.

8. Movies with sad or happy endings?

I love movies with uncertain, ambiguous endings, in which the meaning is up for debate (like Inception).

9. What talents do you have?

Fast at absorbing information (sometimes), hypercreativity, great at bullshitting in academic tests/essays, good at making accents and voices, ummm... Can't remember more.

10. Where would you like to live?

New Zealand. It's pretty and one of the least problematic English-speaking countries (wanna live somewhere where English is the official language).

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing fanfiction and original stories (more like my passion), playing The Sims 4, drawing digitally (haven't in a while though), singing?

12. Do you have any pets?

My parents have 3 dogs (no breed) and koi fish. I want a cat :')

13. How tall are you?

165 cm or 5'5" for the Americans.

14. Favourite subject in school?

At college. Don't really like any of my current classes. Ig English C1.2 because we studied the Broadway play Hamilton. Although I haven't learned anything new.

15. What is your dream job?

Writer/author, would also like to do voice acting. Maybe a psychologist too, haven't decided if I'll take a second college degree.

No pressure tags: @siriuslystarbucks @starsandmoonys @whoopsiesnodaisies @star4daisy @starchaser-lily @half-cold-coffee @cazzythefrogking @starsarestories @my-beloved-fandoms @my-castles-crumbling @reggiecantswimm @artbyace @literallytoogaytofunction @rosemelodyshah @theres-an-endless-starry-sky

#tag game #get to know the blogger #get to know me

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lxvvie · 7 months

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ᴏᴏᴅᴀʟ.

pairing: Alejandro x AFAB!Reader word count: 1319. cw: age gap (implied, the reader is mid to late 20s), smut/NSFW (in later installments). note: shadofireshinobi, you have called and I have answered. finally. this was originally supposed to be a one-shot but I decided to break it up because I wanted to draw out the tension some more.

oodal (Tamil) - the exaggerated, oftentimes fake anger between lovers after a quarrel.

It was 10 minutes into your arrival and you were already on edge.

You could blame it on the flight there but that would be baseless, even for you. Instead, you opt to shift blame (which is even more baseless) on their vaunted leader whose minimal tolerance for bullshit was admirable, doubly so in your case.

It wasn’t like you’d tell him, though, not with the way he was staring into your soul after your gripe session.

And thus your dance began.

It was a week into your arrival and tensions were rising.

To be honest, your temper was flaring not even a full 24 hours after you arrived and made yourself home. This wasn’t your first choice; shit, it wasn’t your choice to make at all but here you were. And here he was, assigned to protect you. Wonderful. It was a routine trip, part of the job. You could be diplomatic when you wanted and needed to—hell, it’s in your job description to be, yeah?—but with Alejandro, well…

This just wasn’t one of those times.

It was like walking on eggshells and riding the lightning. One simple conversation could end with you snarling and Alejandro talking you down placidly but you were no fool. You saw the tension corded in his neck, saw it in furrowed brows and the way he clenched his jaw; he wouldn’t back down and neither would you.

And poor Rodolfo—Rudy! He good-naturedly insisted you called him such. Alejandro’s right-hand man was caught between a rock and a hard place, doing his best to make sure your stay was as comfortable as possible while aiding his commander as best as he could. He was good at it. You could see why Alejandro trusted him so much. Rudy was the cool breeze to his solid, unwavering earth. You could admire the man for his decision-making skills if he wasn’t such a hard-ass.

Or perhaps you already did and you weren’t aware of it yet. Certainly, Alejandro thought so, too, if the look he gave you was any indication.

It was a week and two days into your arrival and you damn near pissed your pants.

You weren’t expecting this ( emphasis on YOU) but Alejandro wasn’t a leader for nothing. He had plans. And contingency plans. Some of which you weren’t too keen on.

Turns out the culprit was a rival faction, people who took offense to Alejandro’s stance on corruption. They dealt a fair good bit of damage but Los Vaqueros pulled through. You were separated in the fallout but you survived. Physically that is (your dignity is another story). He made sure of it. The drawback to this, however, was that space and resources were limited for the time being which meant you were stuck.

Stuck with him. Wonderful.

At least he was nice enough to tell you which resulted in yet another gripe session, one he immediately shut down. He didn’t raise his voice but you could hear the finality in it just the same.

And if this were anyone else, you'd shrug it off with a cool, almost derisive shrug, perhaps even a cutting remark if you had the energy for it. Unfortunately, the circumstances surrounding your current predicament would put you in even more danger than you were already in and so you opted to let your eyes do the talking for you.

It's too bad it didn't work. He met your glare with an even gaze of his own and you wished like hell he was foolish enough to hate.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't ignore the... thing that simmered unchecked between you two, or within you, rather.

It was a week and five days into your arrival and you were 100% certain that Alejandro would be the death of you for multiple reasons.

Or you of him, whichever one came first.

It was a small house, one of many that he’d secured in the event he and his men were attacked. You couldn’t complain though in your mind you had plenty to complain about. Alejandro made sure the place was well-stocked, the amenities were working, and that you were safe. All was well.

As well as well could be.

Alejandro the man and Alejandro the leader were two very different people it seemed like. Whereas the leader was all unbreakable, unshakable earth, you began to see the cracks in between. He was gracious at his best and distant at his worst, and part of you started to feel some… shame for the shit you put him through. And then he’d do something to piss you off and it was back to square one again.

It was as peaceful as peaceful could be all things considering, and under different circumstances, you’d think you two were a couple in the midst of a lover’s spat what with the way you two danced around each other.

And again, under different circumstances, you might have welcomed it.

It was two weeks into your arrival and the search continued.

Alejandro was ceaseless in his efforts to see to it that his men were alright and accounted for. You did your best to help him when and where you could but for the most part, you kept out of his way, and for good reason. You could see the tension tearing away at Alejandro the man. You were observant, picking up on the individual tics that signaled his growing weariness and stress.

You couldn’t blame him and you were gracious enough to limit your complaints. It did its job but Alejandro didn’t relent in his search.

Admittedly, a part of you wished that he did.

You had prided yourself on being (somewhat) self-controlled when it came to interpersonal relationships. When it came to him, however, that pride was dying a slow, agonizing death. You found yourself saying and doing things you normally wouldn’t do and today—tonight, rather—was one of those moments.

But it’s okay; you figured you could sleep through the embarrassment.

It wasn’t every day that you shared a bed with someone else and being in such close proximity to Alejandro was… something. Searing, maybe? Usually, you slept with your back to him but was still made painfully aware of the heat between you two. Alejandro was distant this time, more so than he usually is. You swore you’d never forgive yourself for being so... concerned, but you risked what little dignity you had left and turned to face him. He was on his back, staring up at the worn ceiling. Had been doing so for quite some time from your estimation. You weren’t too sure, though. Hell, you weren’t sure about a lot of things when it came to him. You sighed quietly.

There are moments in life where instinct—feelings, perhaps?—supersede logic and create moments, necessary moments, beyond understanding. You didn’t realize it then, hadn’t stopped to think what the outcome of such a gesture could mean but in that moment, it felt… right. You didn’t register what you had done until the heat was almost overwhelming and you felt his shoulder tense under your touch. You were closer to him, closer than you’d ever been in the two weeks since you made his acquaintance and ironically, it made you realize just how distant from Alejandro you truly were.

You could give yourself grace if he was a foolish bastard but…

You were all but plastered to his side. Your hand on his shoulder was meant to be comforting and to your surprise, it did the trick, offered respite if only for the moment. Alejandro didn’t acknowledge you, not how you would’ve liked him to, but he knew you were there just the same.

You felt his shoulder unburden under your touch and the eggshells and lightning bolts seemed like such a lifetime ago. Just like a lover’s spat.

But your dance continued.

And you two slept the sleep of the languished.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x f!reader #x black reader #call of duty x black reader #x poc reader #los vaqueros #x f!reader #call of duty x you #cod x you #alejandro vargas x you

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ghost-bxrd · 2 months

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Hello. In the final end notes of ‘What You’re Longing For (you claim to abhor)’ you mention the goons picking up the wrong clues from the Entire Mess of the final chapter. Is there any chance you’d be willing to expand more on that?

Additionally, I find myself curious: in the time after the fic, would Talia ever kidnap Jason for a bit of family bonding time(probably murdering dudes in the middle of nowhere or something, but still.)

Thank you for your time,

Desire

Hi! I’m not sure if this is a follow up request you’d like to feature in Ghost Stories so I’ll just list some of my thoughts here 💚

So Dave, Jones and McKenzie are a very very tight knit little group that established itself after being hired by the Red Hood. Despite working as goons, they each have their own moral compass that perfectly aligns with Hood’s rules. Consequently, they ended up being Jason’s most loyal and trusted underlings.

Jason didn’t intend to get attached to the three but he did and as a result let slip some personal info form time to time. Jones, Dave and McKenzie all made a game out of collecting clues to Hood’s real identity and background to the point where they’d sit down after work and pool their information. They’ve got a pinboard and everything lol.

Sadly Jason’s life was depressing af for the most part so the things he accidentally mentioned didn’t paint a very pretty picture. And when he used typical teenage slang one too many times Dave correctly inferred that their boss is much younger than any of them originally thought.

So in the end they had hundreds of little clues that all added up to the following (in their mind):

1. Red Hood is actually anywhere from 20-28 years old (+/- a couple years) and not a fourty-something rogue with plans of grandeur

2. Hood was abused as a kid

3. Hood hates Batman

4. Hood hates Robin and Nightwing but not as much as Batman

5. Hood hates Robin but still mother hens him like crazy and seems reluctant to let him go back to the Bat every time

6. Hood is a young guy with better training and tactical thinking than a trained navy seals soldier

7. Hood is intimately aware of how the Bats operate,l fight, and think

Conclusion: Batman used to train Hood and was also the one who abused him—> he’s concerned the same thing is now happening to Robin.

So yeah, that’s pretty much the train of thought they’re having right now. So while Dave, Jones and McKenzie definitely won’t shoot Robin (or Nightwing), they’ll definitely try to gun down Batman.

At least until Jason remembers to retract the order lol. (After which they reluctantly stop shooting at Batman but still not-so-subtly drop hints that they’d absolutely have Hood’s back if he ever needs help with the asshole. Jason doesn’t know what all the fuss is about all of a sudden.)

As for the “would Talia ever kidnap Jason for family time” question:

Yes. Absolutely. And if Talia was busy Ra’s would show up and do it instead.

The al Ghuls adopted Jason into the family. No takebacksies. And while they think Bruce’s overprotectiveness of Jason is amusing (and totally warranted given Jason’s penchant for getting himself into trouble) they draw the line at being barred from seeing their precious sons/grandsons.

So yeah, Bruce and Dick have to deal with Damian and Jason disappearing for a couple days every two months at least.

The first time it happened Bruce, Dick and Tim all lost their minds with panic and when Jason and Dami returned it was to a frantic batfam and the entire JLA in Gotham, on the hunt for Hood and his assassin baby brother ksksks

#what you’re longing for you claim to abhor #ghost talks #musings #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #robin #tim drake #red hood #batman

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aranock · 4 months

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Just had someone claim that I maliciously stole ideas from a friend without acknowledgong them when said friend is litterally in the video, and I was in the video I supposedly took thing from, despite my not even once thinking about either thing as being even remotely similar. Like not even slightly an influence. Also I am pretty open about when something influenced me. I don't exactly hide it. Idk I feel like people are really stretching to find anything they can hate Jessie and I for this video with. Like really? Really?

Anyway just to be clear The Editor is not a ripoff of my friend Neil from The Leftist Cooks video on metamodernism, great video btw go watch it. I wrote the editor in because as I was doing the script editing proccess on Jessies initial script and came up with a new structure and worried that if I didnt draw attention to this people would maliciously misinterpret part 1 without getting to the part 2 twist. The Editor is LITTERALLY representing what I did in the script editing proccess for this video. Though there role and purpose expanded to represent more broadly what editing and editors do to works, reinforcing the points we make on art as collaborative and the importance of the influence of for example Marcia Lucas on making the original trilogy as good as it was. If there was any inspiration for The Editor it was chatting with my friend @wonderful101gecs about Pathologic and Brechtian Epic Theatre. I wanted to disallow the audience from suspension of disbelief and force them to reconcile with the world as it is and with how narratives are manufactured. Even then its pretty loose inspiration. The Editor was just a natural result of needing a purpose fulfilled and rounding out my layers within layers structure. Im not sure if it was Jessie or I that named them that, but we made them a named character because we worried at one point early on if we didnt do that people might get really shitty towards me. Like originally in the script it was just "Aranock" and as they became a character I pushed it further towards them being a sort of amoral embodiment of concepts masquerading as a villain who was masquerading as a Hero, pretendint to be the great person behind everything. Thus I came to "oh I need a second rug pull" and thats where layer 5 came from because I needed to really REALLY make the audience go "oh I need to question the narrative" and not treat The Editor as the great man myth. Layer 1, the animation, came from a desire to have a narrative layer below the documentary and video essay layers, below any meta layer. So yeah originally this was just a long very direct essay by Jessie about the making of and politics of star wars, my reediting of those become layer 2 and 3, with some small bits of those ending up in layer 4. Oh also some elements of what became the editor and of the script existed before I even began my youtube channel. Like I have been kicking around aspects of these ideas for over 3 years. The Editors opening monologue is almost all from something I wrote about a year before releasing my first video. So yeah I was not stealing stuff from a video by my friend that released last year, and frankly its really shitty that people assume that of me.

Also I'm tired of how frequently people have been specifying out just me to be shitty about. Attacking my voice for being feminine, being weird about my body. Really makes me feel great. Love being a trans woman making art on the internet. Love how y'all attack me if my voice sounds how you perceive womens voices should sound and you attack me when it doesnt. Im tired people suck, and its really weird that some of you want me to sound more "manly", but thanks for the validating my self taught voice training I guess????

#the decaying monomyth of star wars #Jessie Gender #aranock #video essays #fuck I am tired #god this month sucks

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lambertdiary · 8 months

Text

Under The Influence

A/N: Hey! So this is was requested originally to @fluentmoviequoter: "Hii I'm utterly in love with your writing and I have a request for dalton ♡♡ basically he tries weed for the first time because he heard it help with sleeping sometimes. But he had too much and doesn't understand how he feels so he calls reader and is rambling on the phone then actually tells the reader he had weed and he wants company because he hates being alone. And then he just basically is like touch starved and is asking reader to play with his hair, hold him, play with his hands, and then he just ends up confessing his feeling for reader. If any of that makes sense 😘😘😘" unfortunately, they don't take this type of requests but when i read this i was absolutely obsessed with the idea so i knew i had to write it! i’ve never done weed so i’m sorry if this is not accurate. also i downloaded the entire movie just to get this gif, it was totally worth it. anyway pls let me know what you think!

Word count: 2.1+

Warnings: drug use, language

MASTERLIST ✩ SEND ME A REQUEST

Dalton wasn’t the type to draw on drug use at all, but the sleepless nights were getting to him. The stress of school, his social life and the basics of keeping himself alive were enough, he didn’t wanna deal with constant weariness on top of all of that.

A few days prior, he overheard a few of his classmates talking about smoking weed before going to bed, they said it helped them relax or sleep better so as soon as he went back to his dorm he did a little research. Turns out they were right.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, especially at night when he couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep, not for a long period of time anyway. His problem was so bad he saw it as a success if he slept for two hours, so he knew he needed to consider his options. And right now, he was straight up curious to try a little pot.

He didn’t know how or where to get it, but he knew someone who did.

“Come on, Chris, just this one time” He begged, putting his hands together and giving her his best puppy eyes.

“Ugh, fine” She replied annoyed “But don’t be weird about it”

“I won’t, I promise” Dalton watched excitedly as Chris pulled out her phone and sent out a text.

“What are you gonna do anyway? Paint something on acid?”

“No, just sleep” He simply said.

Chris looked at Dalton again, visibly confused “What? That’s how you’re gonna waste it?”

“No, I’m not gonna waste it, I just heard it helps with sleep so I wanna give it a try” Dalton explained almost offended, scratching his neck nervously as Chris stared at him.

“Right” She replied slowly “Do you have a pipe or something to smoke with?”

Dalton’s eyes wandered around his room “No” He didn’t really think about the preparation process.

“Well, get one” She snapped “Or I guess I can lend you one of mine if I can get your stuff for tonight”

“Tonight?” He blurted out in surprise.

“Yeah, it’s not like you asked for world peace here, relax” She stood up and started to walk out of Dalton’s dorm “I’ll let you know later though, don’t miss me too much” She said before closing the door.

Dalton pulled out his laptop and started watching videos on how to use the smoking device and other basics on how to do it for the first time. It didn’t seem too crazy, definitely nothing special, it was for a reasonable purpose anyway.

The hours went by and he kept himself busy with school work, but that didn’t stop him from checking his phone every five minutes, hoping to see Chris’ name on the screen. Nothing yet, but maybe it was for the best.

It was now nighttime and as he got a hold of his phone, he was about to text his friend asking for an update, maybe he was still on time to cancel his unusual request, but before he could open their chat he heard the door swing open.

Dalton jumped and rolled his eyes “I thought we talked about using that key…”

“Hey! Be nice, I got you a present” She squeaked, pulling a little bag out of the pocket of her hoodie.

Dalton didn’t know how to react, he thought he was excited but now he was having doubts “I… thank- thank you” He stammered.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem thrilled about the weed you practically begged for” Chris sat on the free bed across from Dalton.

“No, I am. I’m just a little nervous, I guess” He replied, brushing his feelings off with a chuckle. He took the bag from Chris’ hand and examined it.

“You'll be okay” She dropped a few more things on Dalton’s hands, a pipe and a lighter “Now, you are gonna need these, after grinding it-”

“I know how to do it”

“Ooh… I’m impressed” Chris teased and Dalton rolled his eyes again “Well, I hope the tutorial you found is good cause I’m gonna need these back” Standing up, she walked towards the door “Now if you excuse me, I have a bag of my own that’s not gonna go to waste” She turned around to give Dalton one last look “Go crazy, but don’t be stupid”

“Thank you!” He yelled before Chris shut the door behind her.

He went back to the video and did exactly as the guy explained. After having the grounds ready he thought about the possible outcomes, but honestly getting a full night of sleep didn’t sound so bad. Unsure on how much he should smoke, he poured the contents of the bag and packed the pipe, carefully so as to not drop anything. He held it for a moment, debating whether or not he should actually do it.

‘Fuck it’ He though to himself before grabbing the pink lighter.

He brought the pipe up to his lips and applied the flame to the end of the bowl, inhaling like in the video. He coughed after the first time, but he kept doing it, the coughs decreasing with each puff. He did it one last time and he felt… nothing, really. Was he doing it wrong? Was he scammed? He decided to give it another puff just to make sure. Still nothing.

Defeated, he dropped everything on his desk and proceeded with his bedtime routine. Grabbing his essentials for a shower, he stepped out of his room and into the communal showers. He wanted to take his time but the lack of privacy made it impossible for him to relax, so he quickly did his thing and after he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stared at himself in the mirror. Did he always feel this nauseous after a shower?

“Hey, how is it going?” Some random dude greeted him as he entered the room.

‘Oh no, does he know I just smoked something?’ Without saying a word, he swiftly walked back to his dorm, feeling the judgy eyes on him. Opening the door he noticed the smell of his room, it was so strong he was worried the entire building knew about this. He opened a window to ventilate the space but when a random headache hit him, he closed it again. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, feeling anxious. What if this was his last day on earth and he was just alone in his room?

Dalton: Hey, are you up?

Dalton texted one of his friends, Y/N. If there was someone he needed to see before dying it was her. He kept his eyes on his screen as he waited for a reply. After a minute of not getting one he grew impatient and hit the call button instead.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, don't worry, I’m doing some last minute homework, you know how it is” Y/N chuckled, putting her pen down for a moment.

“Right” Dalton replied in a whisper.

“Why? What’s up?” Y/N stood up and stretched her legs, she had been sitting there for a while and her body was aching.

“I… have a situation”

“Is everything ok?” She sounded a little worried.

“I’m okay…” He stopped for a moment, not sure if he wanted her to know what he had done, honestly he just wanted to see her.

“What is it then?” She insisted.

“Promise me you won't laugh” Dalton sat up and he felt himself get dizzy again.

“Dalton, just tell me”

“I had a little bit of weed” He finally admitted.

“What?” Y/N was in pure shock, she never thought of Dalton as a stoner.

“It's not what you think, I heard it helps with sleeping and you know my situation, uh- when it comes to that so-”

“So you had weed on a school night?” She interrupted him.

“Y/N-”

“Sorry, uh- are you okay?” She tried to be supportive but it was hard when she had so many questions.

“Come over”

“Right now?”

“Please”

“Um- I don't know…” She hesitated looking back at her unfinished homework.

“What if I die tonight? You would feel really guilty you didn’t come over” Dalton heard Y/N sigh on the other line and he knew for a fact she was rolling her eyes.

After a moment of silence, Y/N finally agreed “Fine, but don’t die” She hung up and grabbed a few things before leaving her dorm. It was a really short walk and she didn’t think she would stay there for too long.

When Dalton heard the confirmation from Y/N, he quickly stood up and looked through his drawers, trying to find something to wear. He was feeling hot (even though he just took a cold shower) so he decided on a tank top and shorts. His head was still spinning and unfortunately lost his balance as he finished getting dressed, but immediately got back on his feet when he heard the door.

Knocking a couple of times, she heard the loud thud coming from inside, followed by steps getting closer to the door.

“Thank you for coming” Dalton said as he opened the door.

“Are you ok-” She was interrupted by Dalton’s embrace “Oh”

They closed the door after fully entering the dorm and Y/N took Dalton’s hand, dragging him across the room to make him sit on the bed “Jesus dude, open a fucking window, I could smell this from the entrance” She joked as she struggled to open it.

“You could?” Dalton’s eyes widened and Y/N suppressed a grin, something in the softness of his voice made her heart skip a beat, completely oblivious to her own feelings.

“How much did you have?” She then examined his desk, looking at the empty bag and the mess of burned grounds around the pipe.

“Like, the whole thing”

Y/N turned her head to look at him again “You’re kidding”

“What?” He anxiously asked.

“Dalton, you smoked this entire bag?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“Dude-”

“Chris didn’t say anything about how much I should have so-”

“Chris gave you the weed?”

“Well… yeah, but I asked for it”

“And I take it you’ve never done this before” Dalton shook his head slowly, reaching for Y/N and taking her hand forcing her get closer, he opened his legs so that Y/N could comfortably stand between them, and as Dalton embraced her again, Y/N’s hands went to his wet hair and started brushing it with her fingers.

“I’m not feeling very good” He whispered against her.

“Yeah, I bet” She then grabbed Dalton’s head and made him look up at her, keeping her hands on the sides of his head “But you’re not gonna die, this is gonna wear off, you just have to give it time”

“Alright” Y/N chuckled at how Dalton looked like a lost puppy “I wanna lay down”

Y/N climbed on Dalton’s bed and positioned her back against the wall, helping Dalton get comfortable as he softly collapsed on her lap “So, who told you to try weed before bed?”

“No one, I heard some kids talking about it in class” He explained, closing his eyes “I didn’t want this to happen, I just- I wanted to actually sleep through the night and not feel like I was a walking corpse the next day… Well, now I would prefer that, weed does NOT make me feel relaxed at all”

Y/N smiled again. She never would’ve thought someone’s rambling could be so… endearing “I can see that, next time try to take it slow”

“Nuh uh, I’m never doing this again” He stated, using a firm tone.

Her eyes looked down at him with affection, stroking his soft hair as he rested his own eyes. And despite what he just said, he looked peaceful for the first time in a while.

“Y/N” He said softly, blinking his blue eyes open and looking at her. Whatever kind of effect he was on at that moment, he knew for sure it wasn’t from the weed.

“Mhm” Y/N hummed, smiling down at him.

“Y/N” He repeated, slower. He lifted his hand and it landed on her cheek, bringing his thumb up and down as he brushed her soft skin. She panicked as she realized what he was about to do.

He opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything Y/N quickly stopped him “If you’re going to confess something, I would very much prefer you didn’t do it under the influence of weed”

His face turned red and he closed his eyes to try to hide the embarrassment “As you wish”

#i know that’s not dalton but…#that’s as close as it gets #dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fic #insidious #insidious the red door #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fluff #ty simpkins #dalton lambert imagines #insidious 5

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retellingthehobbit · 3 months

Note

Your retelling, will it be implying a Thorin/Bilbo attraction?

I ask because I just discovered that ship and when I looked it up on tumblr, it led me to your work lolol

Every time someone asks me this I feel more like I'm making a Real Adaptation! I love the idea of people following this webcomic for years while analyzing the gay subtext as if they're waiting to see if Supernatural will make Destiel canon. a powerful feeling. The short answer is yes! The long answer is that it's complicated, and that if you're not a Bilbo/Thorin Person you should still stick around because I'm going to handle it in a very funky way that is not what you're expecting (also at the rate I draw, it won't be "canon" in the comic for approximately 2039482289798334534534534534 years.) Generally Thorin's role in my version of the story is that he's a living embodiment of The Quest, and Bilbo's feelings for Thorin mirror his feelings for the Adventure. When Thorin first arrives at Bag End, Bilbo is overwhelmed and annoyed and confused-- he finds him both fascinating and horribly frustrating at turns, and has no idea how to feel about Thorin in the same way he has no idea whether he'll join the adventure. As the story continues, Bilbo's feelings on the Quest will shift, and his feelings about Thorin will shift as well. I just really love the general idea of a new take on Thorin where he has a bit more pathos and a deeper relationship with Bilbo. I also think the way LOTR retroactively reframes The Hobbit as a story written by 'unreliable narrator Bilbo Baggins' adds to the possibilities a lot! there's a lot of queer subtext in Lord of the Rings, and it's fun to bring more of that subtext into the Hobbit. Tolkien often refers to hobbit adventures as "queerness,' and makes "queerness" the name for the thing that bigoted hobbits are afraid of; the fact that Bilbo has been repressing the "queer" part of himself that he inherited from his mother is, canonically, the thing he's struggling with in the beginning of the story.

I really enjoy the bit in the Unfinished Tales where Gandalf describes Bilbo like this:

And now I found that he was 'unattached' - to jump on again for of course I did not know all this until I went back to the Shire. I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master. No, I guessed that he wanted to remain 'unattached' for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself - or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him.

That feeling of not being "out to yourself" and not knowing what it is that you want out of life is just!!! It's just very compelling to me.

Thorin's still gonna die though. Don't you hate it when you have this whole elaborate coming-out-to-yourself story but then your first gay crush is so Problematic he kiiiinda nearly starts a war so you betray him by stealing the Heart of his Mountain in order to prevent that war, but then the war happens anyway and he dies horribly :/. A universal gay experience.

Thorin is also an interesting character to play with, especially because I'm diverging more from the book (compared to Bilbo or Gandalf.) The way I'm planning to handle him is that he's a character we see only "from the outside," from the perspective of other characters, and no character sees every side of him. The dwarves portray him as a noble king; the elves portray him as a haughty arrogant joke, to the point where it affects Tolkien's own "translation" of the story; Bilbo has his own complicated feelings about Thorin, but even his portrayal of Thorin is heavily biased and he never gets to see the full picture.

But yeah-- the Hobbit is originally a very lighthearted story, but I do think there are lot of darker and deeper emotions you could explore in it if you wanted to, particularly if you bring in the metatext of how it's reframed in Lord of the Rings. And I do want to explore those darker emotions! So I am XD. There already was an extremely book-accurate comic adaptation of the Hobbit that came out in the late nineties (though it's super short and the pages are cramped to fit in all the prose)-- so I don't really see the point of being obsessively close to the original novel, since an obsessively close comic adaptation already exists. This comic is for the Weird Queer Overly Emotional Metatextual Reframing of The Hobbit!! Anyway, it's fun.

#thank you for the ask!#sorry it takes me so long to answer things XD #the hobbit #lotr #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #asks

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hysteriamodes · 3 months

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The thing with the Alice x Bumby ship and people who support it not only don't understand the ramifications of what Bumby did to Alice and that it's pretty obvious he was continuing with his obsession with Lizzie.

Alice looks very much like her older sister and shares personality traits with Lizzie. So Alice would have ended up the same as Lizzie, assaulted and murdered. Because in terms of the type of serial offender Bumby is, the likelihood of him repeating the same crime was extremely high.

But also they don't understand that Bumby was not only targeting Alice but children, something that you can see in actual, real-life serial offenders like the Golden State Killer, Ted Bundy, or even Richard Ramirez. These were sexual sadists, Bumby is also a sexual sadist. Not to mention, Bundy worked in a suicide prevention call center so I don't know how you cannot draw the comparison.

So, I have had the term "anti" thrown at me, and normally, genuinely, I'm of the mind "I don't like this ship, so I'm not going to read it" because policing people over fictional ships is a waste of time. And I'll be the first to admit I especially hate this ship because I HAD several Bumbys in my life. I was sexually abused as a little girl, so I especially hate this character. And we do have several CSA survivors in fandom, they have had the same feelings. If you're writing a ship that mirrors our trauma, yeah, it's gonna piss people off. But I'm not gonna be mad enough to throw out death threats.

However.

And this is a big HOWEVER.

Largely, the biggest reason as to why I don't like it because anyone who dabbles in this ship cannot manage to keep it IC (in character). They fundamentally don't understand Alice's characterization:

1. Alice is an extremely guarded individual, literally anyone around her treats her like a burden, object, or belittle her sense of being.

2. It's highly unlikely Alice is going to romantically gush over someone, much less someone she put into a position of a mentor, so the swooning doesn't make any sense to me. If you're writing Alice in a romantic relationship, you have to keep in mind that it probably took a WHILE. When I write Alice in romantic relationships, it's a slow burn build up.

3. She likely is very reluctant to share the burden of her mental illness (unless slow burn, see above), so, again, Alice is not going to be the how to open up to people so easily.

4. Alice is extremely independent, most times. You can see she'd rather do it herself, without help unless it's a necessity, and she puts more trust in herself than in people. So, it wouldn't make sense for Alice to open up to Bumby, a doctor, outside of a patient.

And like. These shippers tend to "woobify" Bumby. He's not gonna be chivalrous.

1.He's a sociopath, so his empathy is non-existent. He didn't see Lizzie as a person, he saw her as an object he was entitled to.

2. He showed little regard to Mr. Liddell, his superior, someone he kept going to see, as his mentor. He exploited that dynamic only on the account of Lizzie.

3. The man has a superiority complex, so he won't see anyone as his equal. His ego was too big and he was so full of himself and he underestimated Alice (like everyone else) and doesn't care for her, at all.

So, every time I see this ship pop up, these characters are so woefully OOC (out of character) and that shows me you didn't understand the source material.

If you're into a dark ship, that's fine, but you're essentially re-writing characters so far from the original source material that they may as well be your own characters. You can find a dark ship with Alice, but pick someone better than Bumby. Like, guys, Bumby would have done the same thing he did to Lizzie to Alice and Alice found out at the last minute before he had the chance.

Just saying as an Alice RPer.

#Alice Liddell #bumby x alice #american mcgee's alice #alice madness returns #fuck bumby

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mcsm-catified · 7 months

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I may have pulled an episode six and thought “oh there aren’t too many characters in this episode, like three maybe”

No. Nope. Not at all.

World’s worst sports announcer. I don’t like him. Pretty cool villain though.

To make the Old Builders stand out a bit more, I made sure they wore more clothing than most cats. Harper does as well.

It turns out that wirehairs are one of the least friendly cat breeds, along with Egyptian Maus. So guess what Mevia is!

Wow who would’ve guessed! The evil sidekick herself. So sharp and pointy,,

She was originally going to be mostly black and red like her outfit, but that wasn’t working. I like this version much better. She looks so royal, but not in a good way.

Otto’s just kinda there, he’s chill. I don’t know how I managed to pull off making a fluffy cat bald but I did it somehow.

His blanket thing makes him look kinda like a tortoise, and I like that. Fits him perfectly.

Everyone’s favourite stoner girl! I wasn’t sure how to go about her fur, but I’m proud of what I came up with.

The armband is a marker of what team she’s on (green) but because of it I now headcanon Nell as aroace. And since I own this AU, it’s canon now. I feel powerful.

Em’s design went in a weird direction, but I don’t… hate it. It’s not horrible. Just kinda eh to me.

I like Slab’s speech near the end of the episode about bad bosses. It’s just absolutely hilarious how they write him out of the final battle. He could’ve just stood five steps away with you, where he already pushed you to, but nope. Get flattened by TNT. Great stuff.

Me: I can’t make cats blue and green that’s not realistic!!!

Also me: raspberry cats :D

She doesn’t do much but I think she’s cool. Clutch is such an awesome name.

Yeah, he’s uh… yeah. Facemeat is definitely not a looker. But that’s okay, because he can crack SKULLS!! And think about cracking MORE SKULLS!!!

Also did y’all ever notice that the insignia all the gladiators wear is actually a portal? I only saw that because I had to draw it. It’s neat.

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a-whispering-echo · 2 months

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band au drawing requests!!! depending on what ur up for, i will always n forever stare intensely at dust or i would love to see some of the like side character designs if u have them 👀

i'll definitely draw Dust at some point, there's no question, but i did say id do some designs of the Backstage Crew before, so...

(Red also exists in this Au,hes a drug dealer and Dusts ex, i just forgot to draw him here, but i totally will at some point!)

ill also do coloured/rendered versions of these lot at some point, but these are the base faces and stuff <3

i also confess to using a brush for Genos box-braids, because yeah no, i really could not be bothered to draw each braid individually by hand, so i made my own brush and used that.

so! Some descriptions! -

Eric/Epic - Cross' best friend from boot camp from when he was both about 17-18, and Epic was 20-21. Hes 26 now, and half American half Filipino. Hes 5'6.

Lust/ Luci (Lucifer) - Hes a trans guy who has no desire to physically transition. mixed race, 27, and 6'1. he works in hair/makeup/costuming for both the Night Shards and The Stars. He and Killer get along like a house on fire. Also moonlights as a drag queen.

Error/Errol - 36, 5'9, works in tec, things like audio and lighting for shows. no one really likes him apparent from Nightmare, who admires his dedication to the job. Hes the best in the business, and kinda just keeps his head down, gets on with everything, and grumbles the whole time.

Geno - Errols older brother, at 38 and 5'4. Mom friend, and constantly carries meds for anyone who needs them. Also works in tec, and it was actually Error who got him the job. Geno is chronically ill, and walks with a cane, and the doctors are worried he might be terminal, but its not quite there yet, and everyone's hoping for the best. Wears an eyepatch because the disease has spread to his eye and he hates the way it looks. He'll probably have to have it removed sometime, or he'll go blind in both eyes.

Raven/Reaper - 5'11, and 27, hes Genos husband! Originally from Australia, he moved over after meeting Geno online to be with him. He not technically employed there? he just kinda.. shows up to their place because he's Geno's husband. He's obsessed with coffee, so typically he does their runs for them, and thats just kinda... his job now?? Hes a Gomez Adams type, love his husband, would go to the ends of the world for him. Everyone's wondering when they'll have kids and settle down more.

#undertale au #undertale #band au #The Backstage Crew #undertale au fanart #human epic sans #human lust sans #human error sans #human geno sans #human reaper sans #band its

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starsh0cked · 3 months

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okay so. two things!! first of all, over the course of january (and the beginning of february) i participated in the kirby oc secret santa, which was wonderfully hosted by @/moonverc3x. i was lucky enough to be the santa for @/starflungwaddledee, and ended up with two of my best pieces so far!!

these were CHALLENGING, though. which is where the second thing comes in!! under the cut, i'll be going over some of the sketches, drafts and phases of either piece! there's also a speedpaint. exciting!!

i'll be starting with my starstruck piece! the theme here was wanderlust - literally one of the most whimsical words i know - and generally anything to do with the stars. i had a few things in mind, but considering how long it sometimes takes to make artwork, i decided to roll with what inspired me the most.

this is the final sketch compared to the final artwork. certainly one of the crazier transformations i've done. i had a mental image of most parts of the artwork, from the material of starstruck's bow to the lighting cast by the stars. everything except for the grass (i hate grass!!) i ended up rendering the grass and background first, anyway.

doing the background before the rest of the artwork helps define the lighting and shadows! if i decided to draw starstruck before the background, i'd have to draw it according to the lighting.

weird explanation, but in summary: background before character helps the character look like a part of the environment! character before background means extra steps need to be taken before the character fits in the environment!

starstruck's bow was also a decent challenge! i'm a fan of bows and satin, so a satin bow sounded like a good idea. it was, but i've never drawn satin before. the workaround was an active satin study! i stared at a satin bow i found on pinterest and tried to understand how light spread over the material. it's quite interesting!!

you might notice that i flipped the direction of the shooting stars. this is for composition reasons!! i wanted to make starstruck the obvious focus, and while the contrast between her warmer palette and the background's cooler palette easily achieve that, i wanted to cement it. i also added little hand drawn sparklies everywhere. because i like it.

of course, i have to talk about the eyes!! if anything, i noticed that in all of starflung's drawings of starstruck, she had really glittery eyes. literally adorable. so i made it my mission to capture her feelings in her eyes!! i had a lot of fun making them super shiny and adding little stars in there. i also needed to pay attention to the subtle gradient, though - they fade from blue to pink if you zoom into starflung's artworks - and decided to keep it vibrant.

okay. thats all for this one!! i'd like to mention that in the original sketch for this specific pose, bandee was in the background. i really regret scrapping that now. oh, well!

time for morpho dee! i'll be starting for with the speedpaint for this one, mainly because it sort of explains some of the process by itself.

i restarted the shading... three or four times at least? so yeah. i was losing it on this piece. i'll be completely honest, i contemplated dropping it for the sake of meeting the deadline. it wasn't stressing me out, but i had studies to worry about too, and i was worried that it wouldn't be of great quality? but after some advice from my beloved older sister, i managed to turn the tide!!

this is a first for me, but everything here was a challenge. if you scroll through my account and the few artworks i've posted, you'll notice that i draw gijinkas far more than orbs. now, you may be wondering why this didn't pose so much of an issue for my starstruck piece! it's mainly because i chose a far simpler pose for her than i did for morpho over here.

for morpho, the artwork needed to be dramatic. i draw cutesy things - while i've always wanted to draw something dramatic, i've never pushed myself to do it. until this artwork! i went for a dynamic pose which would (hopefully) pull the viewer's eye towards morpho dee. that's what's up with the foreshortned spear! i also realised that the plcement of his feet would be quite significant to the artwork. you might not know this, but feet are my greatest enemy. i'm still trying to figure out how best to draw them for people or orbs, but i'm getting there.

after 'lineart' (which really ended up being a cleaned sketch - this was supposed to be linelessly rendered, but i gave up on that) the pose was no longer a problem. because the shading was! hooray!!

nothing has quite bewildered me like metal shading has. i've shaded gold. satin. cotton, fluffy scarves, shiny things, grass. yet metal shading continues to elude me! this was, hands down, the most difficult part of this artwork. i struggled to make sense of how the lighting was supposed to work, even with references. and every time i thought it made sense, i ended up with something i didn't like the look of. the solution? long breaks, more references and pinterest tutorials. i have no clue how i managed this, but we got here anyways. i finished it off by colouring the lineart according to the shading.

i have experience with drawing fire, at least! it was three or four years ago in an old artwork, but i have experience! i simply had to figure out how to work it into the atmosphere. for the glow, i duplicated the layer, gaussian blurred it and used a slight glow layer! i did something similar for the durst particles, but i used motion blur instead.

i also want to talk about the spear a little bit. you might notice that i added a bit of ambient glow around the blue gem. that was with the light intensity in mind, but also for a sense of realism! i also had to keep the pink light in mind, though. so i ended up using an airbrush to create a base for the lighting and i continued from there. i added a few scratches on the handle just to give it a bit more life, too.

and, finally, a one-to-one comparison between the sketch and the final! i have literally no idea how i pulled either of these pieces off, but i'm quite proud of them.

i recommend you drop by @/kirbyoc-secretsanta for other artworks! a total of 75 artists participated, so there are plenty of super cool ocs to adore over there and new artists to find!! this was my first secret santa experience, and @/moonverc3x made an amazing host (thank you for hosting, by the way!!) bye bye!!

#kirby #digital art #starstruck dee #morpho dee #sorry to everyone who thought this was short. and sorry to everyone who reblogs this #it really wasn't supposed to be so long but i had a lot to talk about #i'm pretty sure i've covered everything though #but these were a thrill to make!!#i've always wanted to make fanart for starflung because her characters are so cool and unique #so i was hoping to get her in the santa and. somehow i did #yeah i screamed when that happened. heehee #but!! i'll probably try to participate in more events like this!! this was super fun!!#i literally cannot thank moon enough for being such a great host #i'm generally a nervous person when it comes to talking online but moon was quite warm and sociable!!#this was an exciting first time for me!!#glitter in my ink

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