#hopefully it's opaque enough

[apuff]

finally. posting my dungeon meshi oc

it doesn't have a name yet rip 💔name suggestions are OPEN

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi oc #delicious in dungeon oc #original character #oc #digital art #art #artists on tumblr #drawing #digital drawing #i think this is a good watermark opacity #cause it's not really intrusive #hopefully it's opaque enough #also there is NO reason why there are that many belts i just think it's cool teehee #its funny how the lower resolution is not even that much worse than normal you just can't click to make it better #i might wanna make it higher res and then use that artshield thing instead #not so sure about that tho hmmm #i need more information.....././..

[indieyuugure]

Hey what tips do you have for speech bubbles in a comic

A few, let’s see what I can come up with.

Okay number 1: If you are doing any kind of comic, DO THE TEXT BEFORE THE BUBBLE! Do not ever draw a bubble and then try to cram three long sentences into it. It doesn’t look good and the text ends up being illegibly small. Example:

- Number 2: IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE ONE BUBBLE! Sometimes when you’re character has a very long dialogue segment or you want there to be an audible pause, you can break their dialogue into pieces connected by tails.

This is a good tool for making sure people actually read the dialogue. A lot of people (myself included) have a subconscious reaction to big blobs of text that makes them want to skip it or just skim it. By breaking the long exposition into smaller chunks, people’s brains won’t see it as a ton of effort, and will remain focused on the story, even though it’s literally the exact same number of characters.

This works because of the way we perceive time in a story. Because I want this scene to feel like a slow tense moment, I split the dialogue so it takes longer for the reader to read the dialogue and thus, feel as though this moment is longer.

Number 3: PLAN FOR YOUR SPEECH BUBBLES! This is something I have had to learn the hard way! Do not draw the picture and add the speech bubbles later. The way you draw a picture without speech bubbles and with is very different. Example:

This is not good! The speech bubble is cutting out your picture! Now, everyone does their speech bubble differently, I do mine at 90% opacity, some don’t do any bubble and just draw the speaker’s tail, but many do 100% opaque speech bubbles and this is not good! How to fix it:

Plan where your speech bubbles will go and purposely leave empty space there or something that you don’t care about as much, like the tips of their hair, or their bandana tails, or the end of their scarf, etc. Just make sure that your image is small enough that you can still see it with the speech bubbles on top. If you can’t shrink the image enough to fit it and the speech bubbles, then you need to consult rule 2.

Alright, I think that’s it! As a recap: Do the text before the bubble, The text doesn’t have to be in one bubble, and plan for your speech bubbles!

Hopefully you found this helpful, if you have any further questions, I’d be happy to help!

Good question! :]

#q&a #art tips #comic tips #speech bubbles #art #drawing tips #art stuff

[reilikeslifting]

This is the person who just did their first lift, I totally forgot to ask but, do you have any tips for new lifters ^^

of course! and congrats!!!

new l!fting tip #1: tumblr 101

no tags!!! do not tag ur posts, it makes it easier for non-l!fters to find and report l!fters

censor out brands and l!fting terms!! such as dn@, 3B, etc. (dn@ is did not arrive and 3B is empty box!!! different l!fting methods)

never ever put any defining objects in your photos if you are gonna post! make sure its the haul and ONLY the haul.

remove exif data from your photos so they can’t be traced, personally i dont do think bc im lazy but you should!

don’t put your total in your bio! i used to do this bc i liked to tell ppl i saved $20k-$30k over the year but it’s not smart to flaunt that you’re over the felony limit!

next, #2: how to lyft

so you’ve already completed your first lyft (woohoo proud of u!!) but how can you go about being safer and smarter?

my first tip is always scan the school for cameras! be sneaky tho don’t like just stare at the ceiling, but yk get a feel for how many cameras, what type, and what direction they’re facing. most places are gonna have the dome cameras, those are the worst because they see in every direction. always always try to body block if possible. either get someone else to block you or duck behind something while you’re concealing. better to not be caught on cam!!

nobody in that store is your friend, remember that. always assume that customers are plain clothes LP (disguised security) and always assume that sales associates WILL rat you out. don’t think “oh well it’s just me and one other person in the aisle it’ll be fine” because it’s gonna be the one time it’s not fine.

on that note, be kind to everyone. this isn’t just a lyfting tip it’s a rule i live by but just be kind. they’re gonna suspect you much less if you smile and answer questions and compliment them if you feel so inclined, just be a nice person. i believe this is one of the reasons i’ve never been caught, i’m just very friendly.

concealing!!! where to conceal? i personally like using my bag most often. your bag is important too!!! i use one off amazon (you can type like kawaii heart school bag and it’ll pop up, its black and has a big heart cut out for pins) but i dont have any pins because i dont want it to be too identifiable. its purse enough for people not to tell me to take it off (a lot of places don’t allow backpacks) but big enough to fit a LOT of stuff. structured bags are always a good idea too! that way people won’t be able to tell if you’ve put anything in there. i like to conceal in aisles without cameras most often, but if i have to body block sometimes i’ll put stuff up my sleeves first! another idea is to use a shopping bag from another store. this way people will think you’ve just already bought stuff! the target ones are my favorite since they’re opaque<3

onto the next section, #3: all about tags

de-tagging is definitely a more experienced lyfting practice but you can definitely start with rfids!!

rfids are gonna be the little metal wires in plastic, paper, or sticker tags. these are very common and you’ll see them at places like w4lmart or t4rget. these are easily removable by either cutting them off or disabling them with a magnet. you don’t NEED any tools while lyfting, but some of them can come in handy. if you do find yourself with a magnet, to disable rfids you just need to swipe your magnet against the tag. if you don’t have one, simply cut the metal wire in half. you can use scissors or nail clippers or cuticle nippers or whatever you might have!! if you can’t cut them, simply remove them and i personally stick the tag in the pocket of a really ugly item on clearance so that it hopefully goes unfound for a while!

hard tags! hard tags are any tag from the solid tags you find usually on clothes to spider tags you find on electronics or wire tags on jewelry at hot topic, etc. these all require tools to remove. some will require a magnet, others will require hooks, but it’s definitely worth looking into if you decide to branch out on your journey.

brief mention, #3.5: booster bags!

booster bags are small bags lined with many layers of foil to prevent signals from reaching the towers. just in case you didn’t know, towers are the tall sensors by the front door when you walk in! with a booster bag, you can put any kind of tagged item you want, zip it up, and walk out without beeping. you need many layers however!! the way to test if your bag works it by putting your cell phone in there and asking someone to call you. if the call goes through, there aren’t enough layers!! once the call doesn’t go through you’re set! this however is a more advanced trick so please be careful if you’re gonna try this!

lastly, #4 online “shopping”!

so you’ve heard of dn4ing or empty boxes, well lemme tell you what it all means! did not arrive is when you purchase an item, wait for it to arrive, and then message the carrier and tell them it never arrived. typically our goal here is to get a refund, but any times they wont be as easily persuaded and you’ll end up with a replacement instead. however it’s not impossible and many places are easier others. if you think you wanna try this, she!n or am4zon are a good place to start!! if she!n opens an investigation, it’s just a bluff, go with it!

empty box is another form of online lyfting, it’s when you tell the carrier that your item arrived with nothing in it. the process is similar to the first one, message the carrier etc. however just claim that it’s an empty box!

I HOPE ALL THESE TIPS HELPED PLS LET ME KNOW<333 LOVE YOU GUYS STAY HEALTHY AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

[jesuisici33]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @ladydorian05 @daffi-990 @callmenewbie @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @wikiangela @wildlife4life @bonheur-cafe some more of my vampire!buck au (buddie orgasm delay is coming (lol) i'm just keeping that under wraps since i've shared so much of it lately)

“I figured you were probably thirsty.” Eddie’s voice startles Buck. He’s currently pouring half the contents of a blood bag Bobby keeps in the station’s fridge into an opaque water bottle. It wasn’t until he was helping Eddie take out the bomb from Charlie’s leg that he realized just how long it’s been since he last fed. The blood from his leg calling to Buck like a beacon. He had to stop his breathing to keep himself in check. 

From the worried looks Eddie kept shooting at him in the ambulance, it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Is that why you’ve been in a mood all shift?” Eddie continues as Buck quickly disgards the blood bag. From the politely disgusted looks Hen and Chimney have given him and Bobby, he knows that humans don’t like seeing blood casually on display. Now with Buck wanting to be in Eddie’s good graces, he doesn’t want to scare him with any of his vampiric nature. Even if it’s something he needs to live. “You haven’t drank blood in a while or something?”

Instead of giving Buck a wide berth like he expects, Eddie is standing across from him on the kitchen counter. A curious expression on his features. He’s giving no indication that he’s grossed out by the blood in Buck’s water bottle or the idea of Buck needing to drink it. In fact, he looks more concerned than anything else. As if the idea of Buck feeding enough is something for Eddie to worry about.

Buck hesitates, messing with the cap on the water bottle. “It’s not that I don’t feed enough. Bobby keeps plenty of blood bags for both of us to keep our strength up. It’s just…” How can he explain this to a human? “Have you ever had food that’s good but it’s not great?” Buck wrinkles his nose. Did that even make sense?

It seems to for Eddie. “Those bags aren’t fresh. They taste stale or something?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s a good word for it. I’ll drink it, but I don’t like it.” Shrugging he takes a swig from his water bottle, slightly grimacing from the taste. “There are places I can go where humans like it when I feed from them but-” But then he met Abby. Drinking from her – loving her while drinking from her – ruined those places for him. “-I haven’t had time. My sister is in town.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She a vampire too?” 

Buck smiles. “Yeah. She raised me. Helped me control my cravings when I was turned. I don’t know what I’d be without her.” Probably still feral with bloodlust.

Something soft settles on Eddie’s face. “You should bring her to the station sometime. I’m sure everyone would like to meet her.” 

“Yeah? Yeah, I will. She’d like that too.” Hopefully it will make her stay here with him. No more running like she’s prone to do.

tagging @hippolotamus (thanks for letting me talk your ear off about this au yesterday!) @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @apothecarose @mammameesh @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @fortheloveofbuddie @911-on-abc @alrightbuckaroo @liminalmemories21 @wandering-night19 @ramonaflow @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @eowon

[desmond69miles]

YOOOO =3

can we get sfw + nsfw headcannons of ink demon bendy with a s/o with a really gothic style & is selectively mute? ( bonus points if Sammy constantly bugs them )

im genuinely curious abt how u would think abt it :0

[ take ur time answering this!! no rush at all by the way!! ; also sorry if my grammars kinda bad iys 3:37 am where im at rn + sry if i seem hyper to im just rlly excited rn😭

i’ve been gone for butt fuck long, my bad! I'm in the process of moving and lifes been a bit hectic. Hopefully im back now!

anyway, thank you anon for the bendy ask!! love writing for this inky-ass man.-

NSFW is under the cut!

-

[-: If we were to give bendy preferences, I know he'd go for a gothic s/o who is on the chubbier side. I say chubbier because A) body warmth, Bendy's a cold-blooded creature and he liked the feeling of your warm body and B) He likes your squishy thighs and tummy. And I know he’d be attracted to the darker, more gothic style. Inky black colors, blood red dresses, he likes the colors. 

[-: I think the ink demon would be good with someone that was mute or had periods of time where they were mute. Whether it be due to anxiety, overstimulation, or you just don’t have many words one day, I think he’d be understanding and would work around it. For many years, he didn’t have a voice, resorting to scribbling messy letters on walls and papers to communicate. If you want to talk while your mute, he’d simply lend you his hand so you can scribble on the wall with it; or he’ll carry around a sketchbook for you to write in, but more often than not he just makes you write with his claws. 

[-: I like the idea of Sammy bugging you all the time because he's interested in your music. It's so different from a classical tune, the drums and guitar, the vocals. He’d constantly be asking about your music. And since goth is a music-based subculture, you have a lot of music to show Sammy. 

[-: Going back to Bendy liking your style, he’d fiddle around with your clothing or accessories. He likes the bling of your necklaces and rings, and often plays with them when you are sitting together. He tries not to break anything, but accidents happen when you have sharp claws. If you do rat-nest hair, rest assured Bendy is curious on how you get your hair to do that. 

[-: I feel like Bendy would find you some victorian or romantic gothic outfits around the studio. He likes taking you to the costume department and letting you run around, picking up some of the black clothing used for character study. Another thing is that he collects small trinkets he think you would think is cool. Sometimes it’s a small rock, other times its a shiny gem he found in a pipe. 

[-: Bendy and Sammy get into a lot of fights around you, for your attention. Sammy wants to learn more about your subculture and what you remember from the outside world while Bendy wants to draw or walk around the studio with you. Good luck time managing. 

[-: Bendy is very interested in your makeup. Please let him draw on you! Speaking of drawing, he also likes to sketch you. His drawings are a bit blotchy and inky due to his skin, and often he'll mess up on a part by lingering too long and having ink form a puddle.

NSFW

[-: He chokes you with your necklaces, not to the point of them breaking but just enough so the chains and pearls dig into your throat.

[-: oh my god he loves your thigh highs. He nibbles around the soft flesh, forked tongue darting around and leaving opaque trails of ink behind. Just no promises that he won’t tear the thin fabric off!!

[-: Relating to the one where he draws on you, he’d love to lightly drag his claws over your stomach, back, or thighs and create delicate drawings onto your skin. Take this as a form of foreplay. (Which bendy isn’t exactly fond of, hes too impatient to go through it.)

[-: Bendy has a scent kink. I believe that he’s blind/has very poor eyesight and relies on noises and scent to find his prey. And his scent is very sensitive. He’ll ask if you can use non-strong soap or something that doesn’t upset his senses. Besides this, he likes to smell your clothing or even your undergarments.

Since i’m nice i’ll give you some elements of a fic i’m working on…

[-: Bendy’s ink that comes from his tentacles and/or cock act as an aphrodisiac. Providing a muscle relaxant and lube, it makes it easier for him to fit more and more of himself into you. He’s a big guy! Ranging at almost eight feet, it’s no surprise that he’s packing something big.

[-: Bendy’s big on CNC/Predator/Prey play. When you talk with him about safe words and the proper measures to have a safe time during CNC, Bendy gets really excited. He’s a demon, creatures of carnal lust and sin.

[-: He also loves to be worshipped. As Sammy has taught him, he’s somewhat of a god to this inky realm and he expects to be treated as one. Sammy does annoy him with his constant spouting, but he’s not opposed to you calling him Lord.

thank you for your request <3 My ask box is always open!! Feel free to send in batim requests.

#bendy and the dark revival #bendy smut #bendy x reader #bendy and the ink machine x reader #batim x reader #ink demon x reader smut #ink demon x reader #the ink demon

[mansnovembris]

Third BF package came in today (one more left!). Thankfully, this post person rang the bell so I was able to run out and get it.

OwOToyz delivery! The whole gang together (the 2 on the left, Bastion *now Bump* and Quartz, were purchased about a year ago.)

First and foremost... I keep my dongles in cotton bags, so the lint situation is atrocious. My bad. I am not a professional dong photographer. That being said...

Zeke is so cute! ahhhhhh, my heart!!! so simple, but something about the design is just...

The one thing I did notice is that their galaxy color is a lot darker than it used to be. This is the color I was originally hoping for with the first 2 I got, which to me is more of a deep, dark purple and a little opaque. it's giving me the itch to go ahead and replace the older ones. (Tbh, Quartz is fine, even though I'd probably prefer it a little softer, it's still a great toy in medium. Bump, however, being super textured, at medium, is almost painful and has only recently become available in extra soft.).

Probably not gonna happen, though. I'm already having difficulty selling one toy and I just don't feel right purchasing another without getting rid of the first. And even though I love a deep, dark black, the purple is dark enough to not make me question it and I like the slight opaqueness that's hard to pick up in camera.

And lastly, Valor. I wanted to do a pink fade to galaxy, having no idea that those 2 colors would be very difficult to have fade together. 😂. The shop, bless them, did about 4 tries and had me pick which one I liked more. I believe this is the first one they did and I liked it right away. the others weren't too bad, but this one just seemed to fit the model better. The color melt around the knot is nice. I don't even mind a marble fade.

btw, they DO a wonderful seamless fade on their pastel colors, of which there are 5 to choose from!

A pink, white, green fade on a Zeke. So stinking cute, honestly. I wish I was more into pastel colors, but I'm drawn to the darker ones.

Super happy with this buy! One more to go. decided to not post the first toy I got because ...mmmmmm I think I feel somewhat bad after realizing someone requested it and I got it (granted, i didnt know until they made a comment/post after) but yeah... hopefully the shop does another pour for them, or they were able to get it as a custom. 😬

#dongblr #adult fantasy toys #indietc #osha violation #monster fucker #alien fucker #silicone toys #OwOToyz #spicy silicone

[wings-of-waffles]

HI UR ART STYLE IS SO CUTE!! especially your wof stuff, im terrible at drawing dragons i have no clue how you do it so well lol

I'm so glad you like it!!!! :) As for how I draw them, I only really figured out how to draw dragons recently, but the process is actually fairly streamlined, so I whipped up a makeshift tutorial to put here. I might make a more in depth one later, so keep an eye out for that if you're interested.

I start with a circle for the head and a line where I want the middle of the neck to be. I then add two more lines for the thickness of the line, doing my best to keep them even all the way through. The next step is to add the contours of the face and the snout, which is a bit tricky because you have to more or less freehand it. It's kinda like a rectangle that points up a bit at the ends attached to the face. You then add a tiny triangle above it for the eyebrow ridge, and something to define the jawline (it doesn't have to be a spike, but it is over here.) For the most part, the head is just a circle with a weird shape grafted onto it.

The horns are kinda tricky, and I'd have to make a separate tutorial to prevent this one from getting too long. The thing to note is that dragons are quite angular, and the horns should have more than one angle to them. (in this example, they form a curve.) If you do want horns with a straight edge, like canon!Night and IceWings, be sure to keep it at a low angle. It's a similar story for the face--it's a lot to explain here--but it also varies a lot with art style, especially the eyes.

Once you get to that point, you can do the line art from there-- most scale patterns are easy enough to freehand. I like to colour only the insides of my line art, but again, it depends on style. I have both the finished product here and a version with the sketch on top for reference. Lots of the time, I end up doing a messier sketch before doing a second, cleaner one.

Relating to art style, I use the marker brush in ibis paint to sketch and a modified, opaque and pressure sensitive version for line art.

Hopefully somebody can get some use out of this little tutorial, I just kinda had the motivation spring into my veins after receiving this ask so thanks for that! <3

#my art #wings of fire #wof #dragon #art tutorial #also thank you for the compliment <3

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 40

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder watches Scully climb down the open hatch before following behind her. There’s a small landing at the bottom, and the light pouring in from overhead reveals just the first couple feet of a tunnel, beyond which there is only darkness. 

“What’s down there?” Scully asks, and Mulder pulls in a deep breath. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I was told it’s a safe way out. I think it’s our only viable option.”

She gives him a long, weary look, and it makes him wish that they had time to rest for a minute. Time for him to hold her and tell her how terrified he was by the prospect of losing her again. But every minute they spend down here brings them closer to being discovered, and they have to keep moving.

He reaches for her hand, wincing when he feels the sticky slip of Cal’s blood, and then enters the opaqueness of the tunnel, feeling along the earthen wall beside him so he has some sense of his position. 

They walk slowly, sweeping their feet across the ground to avoid tripping over the occasional tree root or divot in the path. The shriek of the fire alarm begins to fade, and within a few minutes there is neither light nor sound, just the shuffle of their feet and the wet funk of detritus filling their noses. 

Time is immeasurable, as is distance, and the further they go the more tightly he clings to her hand, afraid that if he stops touching her she might cease to exist. 

As harrowing as these last few hours have been, he feels more like himself than he has since waking up in the hospital. The heft of a pistol in his hand, the brazenness of walking willingly into danger, the reliance on instinct over logic, felt natural and right. At the same time, each pop of gunfire, each panicked shout, and the rusty smell of blood set off what he has to assume are flashbacks. Little snippets out of sequence and context, like a single frame from a motion picture he can’t see in entirety. It was enough to bring the weight of how many times he’s almost lost her come crashing down on his shoulders, and her sticky hand in his suddenly feels like a miracle. 

He doesn’t believe what the smoking man said about her dying within a month is true. Or even if it could have become true, the old man had no opportunity to put it in place before Cal put a bullet between his eyes. Prior to Mulder and Cal arriving he’d been planning to kill her, so why would he have gone to the effort to implant another chip or otherwise ensure her demise? It was only the last in a long line of manipulation tactics, and Mulder decides then and there in the pitch black of the tunnel not to tell Scully what the old man said. She’s going to be fine, because he’s going to do everything within his power to make sure that she is. He’s not going to let anyone hurt her again. 

In the distance, thin, shimmery lines begin to appear. As they draw closer, the lines take on the shape of a rectangle, and then reveal themselves to be slivers of light. 

“Is that a door?” Scully asks hopefully, the first words she’s spoken since they plunged into darkness. 

They shuffle that much quicker, less disoriented with a point to move towards, and when they run up against the end of the tunnel Mulder drops Scully’s hand and begins to run his palms over the surface of the door in search of a knob. His hands bump up against hers as she also paws desperately at the exit, and the door rattles when she digs her fingers in around the edges and pulls. 

“Stand back,” he says, gently moving her behind him with his arm. 

Resting one hand on the wall for balance, he slams his heel against the door and it gives a satisfying crack. He does it again and the wood splinters, letting in enough light that they both wince and shield their eyes. Scully steps forward, pushing and pulling at what remains of the door until it falls away and reveals the serene bank of a river. 

They both take a step back, looking at each other and then the river. Without speaking, they each pull the weapons from their waistbands and stand at opposite sides of the door, peeking out to be sure that the coast is clear. Confident that they aren’t being ambushed, Scully carefully scoots down the steep, rocky bank until she reaches level ground, then goes immediately to the edge of the river and plunges her hands under the water. Mulder takes a bit more time scanning the surrounding trees and peering up over the bank wall to clear the area. When he sees railroad tracks running alongside the river, he knows they aren’t too far from where they got off the train.

He makes his way to the water’s edge and crouches down beside Scully. She’s scooping up sand and silt from the riverbed, scrubbing it over her hands and forearms and digging dried blood from beneath her fingernails with a somewhat vacant expression on her face. Mulder dips his hands under the cool running water and watches smudges of blood fade from red to pink, then stands up and shakes them out, peppering the stones beside the river with droplets of water. 

“We need to keep moving,” he says gently, and Scully nods but doesn’t look at him. 

He watches her back as he pulls a cell phone from his pocket and powers it up. It’s another burner, provided by the gunmen so he could share their location once they found Scully and made it out. For the first time, he realizes that the children are now without a father, and that this is news Scully will likely be in the unfortunate position to break to them. Immediately after having this thought, he has the sobering realization that she won’t leave them behind; she is now the closest thing to a parent that they have. The resentment he feels in light of this realization kicks up a wave of guilt so strong that he immediately stuffs it down, tabling it for closer examination at a later time. 

When the cell phone lights up, the time reads 4:17 pm and the bars that should indicate the strength of the signal are replaced with the word “searching.”

“There’s no service,” he grumbles, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. 

Scully doesn’t say anything in response to this, and he’s becoming anxious about staying so close to the tunnel’s exit. He glances back to the gaping hole in the side of the river wall and stares at it until he’s sure that there isn’t any light coming through from underground. He crouches down beside her again and touches her shoulder, and she looks up at him sharply as though she hadn’t realized that she wasn’t alone. 

“We need to go, Scully,” he says, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “We should cross the river so we’re harder to track.”

She stares at him for a beat. 

“What am I going to tell them?” she asks, and the guilt comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

He shakes his head, giving her a sympathetic smile. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But we can’t stay here. It’s not safe. We need to keep moving until we find cell service.”

She nods and stands up, and pink-tinted water runs off the tips of her fingers. She has blood on her chin as well, but he’ll have to help her clean up later when they’re somewhere safer. 

They walk along the bank of the river, Scully staring absently at her feet and Mulder scanning the water to watch for a good place to cross. The river is overall relatively shallow, but if they can avoid soaking their clothes it will make whatever remains of their trek much more comfortable. He checks the cell phone again to confirm that it hasn’t connected to any towers, then turns it off to avoid leaving a data trail that can be followed.  

He finds a span of water where he can see the rocks beneath the surface for the entire width, which is about thirty feet. He holds out his hand for Scully and then guides them across, pausing with each new step to be sure he has steady footing before bearing any weight. Halfway across, Scully slips and he nearly loses his balance as he clings tightly to her hand. He manages to keep a hold on her, and she is able to get back to her feet with only her pants below the knees getting wet, which turns the rust colored blotches of dried blood on them cherry red. Once on the other side, they make their way up the opposite bank and into the forest where they are less likely to be spotted and begin to walk, keeping the river in their view at all times. 

He catches little glimpses of her from the corner of his eye as patches of sunlight sneak through the canopy of the forest. Her blood-stained jeans and her dirty Stanford T-shirt, and the abjectly miserable look on her face. He feels left out, in an odd way, like the fourth wheel of her nuclear family. Though Cal is dead, the loss of him and the resulting impact on the children they parented together is a significant event in a life that doesn’t belong to him. And though his relationship with Scully predates Cal’s, Mulder cannot remember it well enough for that fact to bring him comfort. 

“I’m sorry about Cal,” he says, and she pulls in a deep breath and nods. He should probably leave it at that, but for some reason he can’t. “I know I only knew him for a few hours, but he seemed like a good guy,” he adds, and Scully looks up at him briefly. 

“He was,” she says blandly, then resumes staring at the forest floor. 

They walk in relative silence for at least an hour before they stop to rest and check for cell service. Scully is sullen and withdrawn, and he begins to draw terrifying conclusions about what she must be thinking and what will happen next. He decides that she will likely choose the children over him, which is both devastating and understandable. The problem with this is that he cannot see any value in a life in which she does not play a major part, which gives him little hope for his future. 

“Still nothin’,” he says, flipping the phone shut. Scully is sitting on a rock, her blood-smudged face tipped up toward the sun and her eyes closed. “You okay?” he asks, immediately kicking himself for such a stupid question. Of course she isn’t.  

Scully slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. 

“Yeah,” she says, extremely unconvincingly. “Just tired and hungry.”

She forces a thin smile and it breaks his heart. 

“I wish I’d eaten more at breakfast,” he says, resorting to small talk. “I was so nervous about getting on the train I barely touched my food.”

“Hm,” Scully hums with a slow-motion pop of her eyebrows. “Breakfast would have been nice.”

Mulder considers her for a moment. Her affect has become increasingly flat since they left the bunker, and she looks like she could fall asleep right here. Even the cadence of her speech is lagging.

“When did you eat last?”

“Sometime yesterday,” she says, slowly getting to her feet. “I’m going down to the river to get a drink of water.”

“Hey, hold on,” he says, touching her shoulder to still her. “You need to conserve your energy, and we need to find something you can eat.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says, attempting to move past him. 

He wraps his hand loosely around her upper arm, and she has so little energy he doesn’t need to exert much force to prevent her from walking away. Scully’s shoulders slump and she looks up at him with a pitiful little pout. There’s something so familiar in her petulance, it makes him smile. 

“Please let me help you,” he says, pushing her hair behind her ear. 

Scully closes her eyes and steps forward, slumping against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the crown of her head, and an acute mix of love and pain pits painfully in his throat. He won’t blame her if she chooses to go her separate way with the kids, but he’s not sure he’ll survive losing her again. 

They stay like that for a long while, taking comfort in the safety of each other’s bodies while birds sing carefree summer songs in the trees overhead. When she finally pulls away, he bends down and kisses her, and she kisses him back without hesitation. Perhaps she is still his afterall. 

“Come on,” he says, turning his back to her and crouching down. “Saddle up.”

“Mulder,” she whines, but he waits, and eventually he feels her hands on his shoulders and then her legs around his waist. 

He carries her down to the edge of the river, and they both scoop up mouthfuls of cool running water with their hands until they’ve had their fill. It takes less convincing to get her on his back the second time, and they resume their trek through the trees at a slightly faster clip. 

Scully wraps her arms loosely around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Every now and then she startles a little and tightens her grip, and after a few repetitions of this he realizes that she keeps dozing off. He’s pretty exhausted himself, and the sun is beginning to move lower in the sky, less and less light reaching them through the trunks of the old-growth trees. It seems likely that they’ll need to find a safe place to stop for the night soon. 

Suddenly she lifts her head and starts looking around, and Mulder stops in his tracks. 

“What is it?”

“Do you smell that?” she asks.

“Smell what?”

“Put me down.”

He squats down so she can get off his back, and a chill runs up his spine when the evening breeze moves over the warm spot she left behind. Scully walks purposefully deeper into the woods, disappearing into the trees, then lets out a little squeal. 

“Scully?” he calls out, readying his weapon as he follows after her. 

He finds her beside a sprawling blackberry bush, eagerly stuffing barely-ripened berries into her mouth. Her lips are already stained with bruise-colored patches, and her fingertips are once again red. 

“I smelled the fruit,” she says with a satisfied smile.

“Are they any good?” he asks, tugging a raspberry-colored fruit off the vine. 

“No,” she says around a mouthful. “They’re incredibly sour, but I’d be willing to eat dirt at this point.”

Mulder smiles at her immediate change in mood, then walks around the perimeter of the bush looking for the ripest berries and brings them to her. He eats enough to take the edge off his own hunger, and when Scully is sated, they make their way back to the river to rinse the stickiness from their hands and lips. 

When they’re finished, Mulder wordlessly shucks off his shirt and wets the hem, then holds Scully’s chin in his hand and wipes bits of dried blood from her cheeks. Her eyes roam over his face while he works, and when her jaw begins to tremble, he looks up to see that there are tears pooling under her irises. 

“Hey,” he says, abandoning his task. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t leave them, Mulder,” she whispers tightly, and his heart sinks. “I’m all they have.”

“I know,” he says somberly, pulling her into a hug. “I understand.”

He feels her tears wetting his bare chest, and he squeezes his eyes closed. It suddenly feels as though a clock is ticking, a final countdown until he’ll have to say goodbye. 

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for,” she says, her voice muffled. “If you can’t do it—if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

He pulls away from her slowly, considering her blotchy cheeks and watery eyes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, too afraid to be hopeful. 

“I would never ask or expect you to take responsibility for two children you don’t even know,” she explains, averting her eyes to his chest. “It will make everything harder: traveling, avoiding detection. I don’t know what will happen when I take their chips out, how they’ll behave. If that’s too much and you don’t want to go with us, I’ll understand.”

As she speaks, tears run quietly down her cheeks and follow the curve of her jaw to her neck. Mulder runs the back of his knuckles under her chin to clear them away. 

“Is that an option? Me going with you?” he asks, forcing himself to sound neutral. 

Her eyes flash up to his face, wide and wet and incredibly blue.

“Of course,” she says emphatically. “I just couldn’t imagine that you’d want to. It’s not going to be easy.”

Mulder heaves a sigh, then tips his face up to the slowly darkening sky and smiles. He looks back down at her befuddled expression, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her soundly. With his lips still lingering near hers, he whispers, “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Easy isn’t even a factor.”

He feels her cheeks stretch against his palms when she smiles, and he kisses her again, and again, and again. 

They find a relatively clear and level patch of ground beside a thick-trunked oak tree and settle down for the night just as the sun kisses the distant horizon. Mulder leans against the tree and Scully sits between his legs with her back against his chest so he can wrap his arms around her as a makeshift blanket. He tells her about how he crossed paths with Cal and the kids, updates her on Langly’s condition, and fills her in on the lakeside community in British Columbia, Canada that they’ll soon call home. By the time he’s finished, it’s so dark he can’t see anything beyond the stand of trees that surrounds them. Scully shivers, and he rubs his hands over the gooseflesh on her arms to try and generate heat.

“This just reminded me of something,” she says through chattering teeth. 

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Another time we slept in the forest,” she says. “I can’t recall the exact circumstances, but I remember sitting in the woods, in the dark, and you had your head in my lap. And you asked me to sing to you.”

Mulder laughs. 

“Can you sing?”

“God, no,” she says emphatically. “Which I did warn you of, but you insisted.”

“Sounds like me,” he says. “Would you like me to sing to you?” he asks playfully, brushing his thumbs over her wrists. 

“Can you sing?” she teases.

Mulder shrugs. 

“I’m no Pavarotti, but I don’t think I’ve broken any glass yet.”

“Then by all means, please do.”

Mulder thinks about what to sing. Elvis is always a good choice, but all the songs that come to mind are too sad or too serious for the occasion. It should be something upbeat but melodic. 

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine,” he begins. “Never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine.”

Scully sits up and twists around to look at him. He can barely make out her face, but her demeanor is clear. 

“What?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Why did you sing that?” she asks. “Why that song, specifically?”

Again, Mulder shrugs. 

“I don’t know. It’s just what came to mind. Why?”

“That’s the song I sang to you when we slept in the woods. Did you know that?”

He considers it for a beat. He doesn’t feel like he knew that it had any significance, it just popped into his head. 

“I don’t think so. That’s odd, though, isn’t it? Odd coincidence?”

Scully shuffles around to face him more fully, then feels for him in the dark. Her fingers collide with his cheek, then run up the side of his face and into his hair. Mulder closes his eyes and savors the sensation. 

“I think it’s all still in here somewhere,” she says softly, scraping her fingernails over his scalp. “Maybe you’ll be able to remember, with time.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling her close again. “And if not, you can tell me about it.”

“I will,” she tells him, giving him a squeeze. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

[inkyquince]

landry sequel. now. 🔫

content warning. landry jerking it to stolen footage of you and whitney. that's it. he's a lovely lovely criminal <3

Landry relaxes into his chair, lightly turning the beat up phone between his fingers, the pub music muted behind his door. lightly tapping the screen against his knuckles before deciding and swiping the screen.

"Dumbass." Landry muttered, slightly surprised by the lack of password. "The fuck they teaching in that school these days.?"

His painted nails tapped against the screen, musing slightly before switching to Whitney's messages, scrolling through them before checking his emails, just delaying his own gratification.

Finally exhales and switches to the picture album.

Staring from the oldest to the latest, there was only a few pictures of flaccid cocks, most probably blackmail before he got to you. Staring with obviously forced shots, that prick's hand yanking open your shirt, exposing your pretty nipples.

"Cute." Landry mused, zooming in on them. He preferred when nipples were soft, not even hard yet. Far cuter than those stiff little things he eyed through your tank top when you took refuse with a beer in the summer. "Real cute."

Was the most cute when the photos became far more... Compliant. Your cheeky grin as you showed off your pretty ass, smiling back at the camera, cum splattered across your back.

He scrolled through dozens of these snapshots, showing off your thighs, your ass, cum painted skin. Landry paused at one really pretty picture, your lips pried apart by thick fingers, your tongue on display, with opaque white liquid dripping off the tip.

"C'mon." Landry flicked from the picture section to the video, scrolling through before passing the one Whitney had jerked off to in his bathrooms. "Don't quit your day job, blondie, even Niki can keep the fucking camera from shaking."

Finally freezing on one particular one, he settled into his chair, zipping his trousers down before pressing play. His cock was stupidly hard in seconds, are per usual when it came to you. Camera wonky, tilted angles, showing you pressed up against his own bathroom stalls, a certain someone's cock roughly fucking into you, your gasps and please to slow down, to take it easy, that you're making too much noise.

"Not loud enough, slut." Whitney's voice sneered off screen and Landry rolled his eyes with a sigh, contemplating on muting the irritating snot and weighting it against missing out on your noises.

Honestly, the blond brat shouldn't run his mouth like that. At least if he knew what kind of people would be willing to break his nose and fuck you in front of him themselves.

Leaning back, he ran a thumb over his throbbing balls before gripping the base and spitting on his own head, letting the saliva slowly drip down over the crown, just the way he liked it. Steely eyes focused on you abused ass, sharp hipbones digging into your skin. Poor cute thing. Idiot probably just thinks spanking its enough. Landry preferred biting. He'd be sure to make you wince once you sat down, squirming as you pout at him. Give you rub burn from his stubble from how much time he'd spend between your thighs, make you squeal and try to push his head away. Grab your wrists and kiss your palms before pining them down anyway and ruining you further.

He jerked his cock faster, watching your fingernails scratch at the walls for any sort of grip before giving up and digging them into Whitney's thighs instead.

His stomach knotting, Landry tossed the phone onto his desk, instead using his hand to dig in his fingernails to his thighs, closing his eyes to loose himself in your whines, the feeling of his, no, no your fingernails pushing in deep enough to hopefully draw blood as he fucked his fist.

Too soon, far too soon for his liking, he was spilling ropes of cum over his hand and desk, swearing quietly as some landed on Whitney's stolen phone. With a low sigh, he used tissues to wipe off his semen, before dabbing at the phone, smirking as he got his own fluids into the cracks, smearing it more than wiping it off.

Tossing the tissue, he sat back in his chair.

"Until next time." He murmured, locking the phone before pulling out the sim card, and his sim card reader connected to his computer. "The phone goes back but you, little thief, get to stay right on my hard drive."

#landry the criminal #nsft #dol #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #ask

[cr-noble-writes]

Snippet Sunday

Thanks for the tag @bioticbooty!!

uh.... hopefully its not too late on Sunday for me to tag folks lol IDK what timezones people are in because I am so bad at timezones. But it is still Sunday where I am so I'm doing it. @nickelkeep @imbiowaresbitch @bleuzombie @waidwn @commander-krios @mallaidhsomo @dandenbo @pastelroyce @swaps55 and @otemporanerys if y'all want to do the thing! I will use literally any excuse to get peeks lol

I am slowly plugging away at Argonauts! Hopefully soon I will have enough written that I am comfortable enough to start posting! Until then, have this:

Commander Shepard isn’t quite what Garrus expected. His own experience interacting with humans is limited, usually to drunks in Chora’s Den or the occasional human criminal. He’s used to raised voices, bellowed insults, and insults thrown like confetti. It comes with the territory of working for C-Sec. Shepard is quiet. Stoic, even. Garrus isn’t sure if his inability to read the man is due to his lack of familiarity with the complexities of human expressions, or if the Commander is just as opaque to members of his own species. So far as he can tell, Shepard’s expression hasn’t changed since they met. Eternally neutral from when he’d graciously allowed Garrus to join his team, to the moment he’d pulled Garrus aside and informed him—quietly and without a hint of malice—that he’d be tossed out the nearest airlock if he ever put an innocent in danger the way he had with Dr. Michel. The calm directness Shepard had spoken with had made Garrus feel like an unruly teen chastised by a parent. After the fact, he can admit to himself that Shepard was right. Even with his years of training, and the fact that he is an expert marksman, Garrus got lucky. As if that wasn’t enough to make him question everything he thinks he knows about humans, he’d then watched Shepard stare down a Krogan mercenary with the same cool, calm demeanor. It had even worked. Krogan are hard to reason with under the best of circumstances, but Urdnot Wrex had capitulated to the human almost immediately. Now, Garrus and Shepard sit on a bench near the Krogan monument on the Presidium. Of course that’s where Wrex wants to meet when he’s finished with whatever else he has to take care of. In another bout of thoroughly confusing behavior, the Commander is feeding the pigeons that loiter at every level of the Presidium. Fully armored with a rifle on his back and a pistol at his hip, he spreads bird feed—Garrus can’t begin to say where it came from—a handful at a time. Garrus pushes himself as far away from Shepard as he can on the bench as the birds crowd around the Commander’s feet, waiting for another fistful. One of them is even bold enough to perch on his knee. Garrus resists the urge to shoo them away, his mandibles clacking anxiously against his face. The Commander is breaking at least three laws, but its the first time Garrus has seen any emotion on his face. He reminds himself that the show of teeth indicates happiness, not aggression. Shepard holds a handful of feed to the bird on his knee. It coos and totters further up his leg to peck at the contents of the extended hand, and his smile widens. “You know it’s illegal to feed the birds, right?” Garrus asks, his subvocals pitched up with discomfort. A few of the pigeons inch closer to him, cocking their heads to stare at him with dark, beady eyes, and he suppresses a shiver. The damn things are creepy, and he doesn’t have any food for them anyway. “You planning to arrest me, Officer Vakarian?” Shepard asks as he reaches over to the bird on his leg with his free hand and gently caresses its feathered back with a gauntleted finger. Of course he knows he’s breaking the law. Garrus may not be a wildlife expert, but he knows that for that pigeon to be that comfortable, Shepard must have done this before. Probably on multiple occasions. Until that moment, he’d assumed most of the Normandy’s crew had never set foot on the Citadel before. He’s been making a lot of assumptions, and Commander Shepard seems to be disproving every single one. Garrus’ mandibles twitch and dip with his discomfort. “I suppose it would be hard for you to catch Saren from a jail cell.”

#snippet sunday #mass effect #Alex Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #Argonauts #Odyssey!verse #cr noble writes

[onlylovingstrangers]

Where Lightning Strikes Twice

The weather forecast had predicted a little bit of rain in the afternoon. What you discovered instead was sheets and sheets of viciousness, nearly opaque as it fell from the sky and hurled towards the ground. You predicted your flimsy little umbrella would not survive. Nevertheless, you had a mission to complete, and you were going to see to it.

You turned to your partner in crime, who was looking much more dissuaded by the presented obstacle than you felt.

"Come on," you urged Sumire. "We'll be late to the game."

She sighed. "I don't think—"

"What, you're scared of a little rain?"

You had known Shouda Sumire far long enough to understand her. You knew she had never been able to resist a challenge. As predicted, she shouldered on her raincoat resolutely.

"I just got my hair permed," she pouted.

"Sumire! Perms are temporary! Volleyball is forever!"

"You don't even care about volleyball, all you care about is Iwaizumi."

Sumire had known you far long enough to understand you, too.

"I just... have a good feeling. I think today is the day, Sumi," you sighed breathlessly. Where there was understanding, there was love. You knew she would back you up no matter what.

"Today?" Your best friend eyed the pavement, water droplets dashing here and there like oil splattering out of a pan; the sky, pitch black and not seeming like it was going to lighten anytime soon.

But you had been putting this off long enough, she thought. Hopefully the outcome would be good, despite the stormy weather.

By the time you and Sumire reached the gymnasium, the two of you were thoroughly drenched. Rivulets streamed down your faces, and every step you took stamped a watery footprint on the floor. “I feel disgusting,” Sumire whispered. You felt the same.

The match had already begun. Surreptitiously, you two climbed into the bleachers, where the number of those in attendance had barely suffered, despite the raging conditions outside. You cheered along with them when Oikawa Tooru, the team’s setter, managed to bump a fast and furious spike; you cheered louder when Iwaizumi Hajime, the love of your life, smashed that ball towards the other side of the net with no mercy. Next to you, Sumire alternated between watching impassively and reading fanfiction on her phone. This was how the two of you usually passed time at games.

Finally, the match was over; as you’d hoped, it was a victory for your team. You waited for the two sides to shake hands before pulling something from your bag and scrambling down the benches. “Wait for me here, okay?” you told Sumire, who nodded, engrossed in her screen.

"Wait!" she called.

"Yeah?" You looked back.

"Good luck."

You were lucky to have Sumire in your life, you knew that.

+

"Here she comes," Oikawa whisper-shouted. Peeking through the entrance to the locker room, he watched you scurry down the bleachers, impeded only by the volume of the audience. "The team's most enthusiastic fangirl."

"You mean Iwa's most enthusiastic fangirl," Mattsun snorted.

"Yeah, this isn't about the team," Makki added. "Hey, great king. How does it feel to be out of the spotlight for once?"

"Well, in a way she is supporting the team, and I'm captain, so actually —"

"All of you shut up," Iwaizumi grumbled, tossing his school uniform over his head.

Iwaizumi had mixed feelings about your interest, and he found a million reasons to disguise them: He was too busy what with school, practice, and making sure Shittykawa didn't crash and burn. He had no time or desire for a relationship. He was thinking about studying abroad for university, and there was no point investing his and your time into something that might not work out. He didn't know you. And, other than an appreciation of your physical appearance, or a curiosity about what you were really like, he couldn't say he returned your affections.

All those points were legitimate and understandable, and even genuine. He wasn't lying. The only thing was they were just excuses.

Iwaizumi wanted to get to know you. He wanted to have someone unequivocally in his corner. He wanted to be unequivocally in someone’s corner.

He just didn’t know how.

The truth was he was unused to it: attention. Affection. He was scared that if he got used to it, you could lord it over him. You could take it away. Better to not know love than to lose it and lose yourself... right?

Iwaizumi was brave, but this time he wanted the coward's way out. He hoped you wouldn't cross any lines.

"He's shy," Oikawa theatrically whispered, reclaiming his place on the bench.

"He's bashful," Mattsun pronounced in a lazy drawl.

"He's self-con— ow!"

When the team finally filed out of the locker room, where you were patiently waiting, Makki, Mattsun, and Oikawa were all looking a little worse for wear. They tumbled one over themselves in their eagerness to greet you, and would have succeeded if not for a rather menacing cough.

Iwaizumi nodded at you, one arm hooked casually over Oikawa's shoulders.

"Iwaizumi-kun," he heard you call.

"Yeah?" He stopped and looked at you.

"Could... I talk to you?"

"' course. What's up?" Iwaizumi kept his arm around Oikawa, despite the latter jabbing him.

You shrank. 

I'm sorry, Iwaizumi thought. It doesn't have to be this way. There's still time to avoid embarrassing us both.

But just as quickly as you had withered, you sprang back. Before he could react, you stepped forward. "I like you," you said clearly, in front of the whole team. You presented him a small paper bag. "Please accept this as a token of my feelings."

Oikawa finally succeeded in shrugging off Iwaizumi's arm. It fell to his side. "Oh," he said lamely.

Vaguely he was aware of his best friend ushering everyone out. He made out Kunimi's voice — "This is the most interesting game we've had in a long time" — and Yahaba's whine that he wanted to hear the response. You looked at him steadily, but he was looking everywhere but at you.

Iwaizumi's heart sank. Did he really have to do this?

"I'm sorry," he said, and he finally looked into your eyes.

They shone with honesty, a value lost to him at the moment.

+

"A week has passed. You aren't allowed to mope anymore." With these words of wisdom, Sumire cleared your night stand of ice cream cartons, tossed the self pitiful diary entries into the recycling bin, and as a grand finale, pulled you out of bed.

She had been very kind and caring over the past week, feeling and catering to your ever so fluctuating mood. But the expiration date on that personality had passed, and the true Sumire was back.

"But I'm sad, Sumi."

You were sad. The saddest thing was, you had thought you had a chance. Iwaizumi had always stopped to talk to you whenever you bumped into each other in the hallway, had always walked you to your next class. You wouldn't ever forget the day you fell for him. You were outwardly stoic, inwardly inconsolable over a terrible maths exam. He had managed to get out of you what was wrong...

"You'll get over it."

"No I won't."

"Not with that attitude, you won't. It's really about your mentality. Things are hard now, and I can understand that. But you need to see a little further down the road."

You paused. She cocked her head towards you.

"I liked you better when you were being all maternal."

"You love me the same."

You had been crying non stop the past few days and a part of you wanted to die, but at least you had Sumire. In times of crisis one needed to be thankful for blessings. Sumire was a big blessing in your life.

"... that's true."

"All will be right. You'll get over him, I promise. In fact," your best friend said, cocking her head. "I know just what you need to do that..."

+

"Iwa-chan, a week has passed and you're still out of it."

Oikawa was serious, which is how Iwaizumi knew he was in deep shit.

Still, he brushed off his best friend's words. "What the hell do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Oikawa had meant exactly what he said. The past week, Iwaizumi had been out of it. He came to school tardy, eye bags beneath his eyes; handed in half assed homework and fell asleep during lunch. Oikawa could understand and even relate to that way of life. He took offense when Iwaizumi began bringing this lack of energy to the court.

And being the thoughtful best friend that he was, Oikawa had deduced that the root of his best friend's current mental state was you. Rejecting your confession must really have thrown Iwa off. "Just find her and say you've come to your senses and you love her and all will be right."

"Shut the hell up, Shittykawa," Iwa mumbled, but it was without impact.

To be honest, he had been thinking about what had transpired at last week's game, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel an ounce of remorse. At the very least, he could've been courteous in rejecting you...

But the regret he felt ran deeper than that. He knew himself what he wished would have happened.

"C'mon, let's go. What homeroom is she in again?"

Iwaizumi didn't protest as he was pulled to his feet, as he was led through hallways filled with teachers, students, ... they almost walked past a very familiar looking silhouette.

He stopped.

"Why'd we sto— oh," Oikawa gasped. Then he gasped, loudly. "Oh!"

The silhouette startled, turning around, and becoming two distinct people.

Your eyes were wide.

"Iwaizumi-kun."

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x you #hq iwaizumi #haikyū!!

[2kmps]

I’m curious about your writing. Do you have a background with it somehow? Or are you just naturally gifted? And don’t get me wrong, I believe you when you say you’ve worked hard to reach the level you’re at rn (at least I think you mentioned it before) but what how was it like at your starting point? What made you start writing?

Hopefully this doesn’t sound weird or offensive, I’m just genuinely interested bc I really like your writing style!

aside from basic academic stuff, I have no formal education in writing. i've never been naturally gifted; it's because i've been writing for twenty years. my earliest memories were short story assignments in primary/elementary school, that graduated to asking my parents for those plastic cartons of colorful floppy disks that I dedicated specifically to all of my little writing projects (this should really indicate how old I am 💀). they were about as good as you'd expect a 8-10y/o to write lmao

started writing fanfiction around 10-11y/o because I really liked final fantasy 7 and kingdom hearts 2 at the time. and it's just sort of been something I've stuck with ever since.

fun fact: my first fictional crushes were tuxedo mask from sailor moon, piccolo from dragonball-z, and cloud strife from ffvii.

writing has been my only consistent hobby throughout life, and as i've gotten older, I've dedicated a lot of time to improving (mainly bc I am insanely self-critical and nothing I write will ever be good enough), listening to constructive feedback, reading a lot of other works, and just trying to find a style and a tone that I liked most.

for me, I am a heavily detail-oriented and type-a person irl, so that reflects quite a bit in my writing with my prose, descriptions, world building, and character studies. I just like to feel immersed in the stories I create, the stories I read, the games I play, the things I do.

uhhhhh, however, to be completely real-real a lot of my skill comes from the fact I have a severely traumatic childhood that socially isolated me in my most formative years, SO writing was my only real outlet and connection to the world at all, essentially

I'm also pretty intensely adhd and have obsessive tendencies, hence me going absolutely fucking insane when I take on writing projects like OPAQUE and PERSIMMON & INK.

there are a lot of reasons why I write the way I do, but it all comes down to: one day I started writing and I just never stopped.

#.02

[keeperofquestions]

@bxttybitch from Starter/Plotting Call

Phel had soon discovered that just about any gathering place could be a font of questions if he prodded it right. He hadn't been entirely successful at creating a situation with a burning enough query to draw any of his missing sigil pieces to him, but hopefully this would make a dent in it.

He entered the bar with a small bit of trepidation. These places tended to be anywhere between assuredly rowdy and stiflingly sluggish depending on how the patrons took to their choice of poison. Most of the time it wasn't worth his time, but all he needed was one person who was curious enough to follow a question through to its course with enough intensity that he could finally find something.

He slapped the missing poster of himself he brought with him on the haggard bulletin board near the door and sat at a corner of the bar, giving enough space between him for anyone else who wanted to sit down. His cane rested gently against the bar next to him.

Then he ordered a glass of water.

"Wait, you serious, kid?" The bartender scoffs.

"I am." Phel responds, ignoring the 'kid' comment for now. To the sinners and lesser demons, he should have been treated with a bit more dignity. But he quickly learned not to rely on that. Regardless of the pecking order on paper, it meant nothing without the force of strength to demand respect. "Do you serve it?"

There was a grumble before his order was completed and a simple glass of water was slid in front of him. "If someone buys you a drink, it'd be kinda rude to say no."

"I shall consider the warning." Phel remarks, picking up the glass and then turning to scan the room with an inscrutable opaque red gaze. He needed to identify who might actually be approached for conversation while also making sure nothing problematic was started. He has his cane, sure, but that didn't mean he wanted a fight.

"Who...?" He muttered to himself, deciding where to start. "Who? Who? Who? Who?"

#keeperofquestions #bxttybitch #unnamed verse

[wutheringmights]

I don't think I get The Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson.

I didn't really know anything about this book going in. I bought it some time last year while on a quest to find Carson's Greek play translations. The summary looked interesting enough, and I was intrigued by the concept of a modern adaptation of Herakles's tenth labor.

Before reading it now, I tried to take a day to do a little research into the story of Geryon to prepare myself. I even looked at Stesichorus and what little is known about Geryoneis. I felt very prepared.

And... yeah. I still am not sure what's going on. I enjoyed the narrative and I loved Carson's lyricism, but I have no idea what it ultimately means. There's a depth of meaning in this novel, but it's too opaque for me to see.

Granted, I'm not really an expert in verse. As important as reading poetry is, it also always leaves me a little bewildered. For the first time in a long time, I wished I read this in school. At least them the professor would have supplied some pre-reading materials to review that would have informed my reading experience.

I did try to look up analyses on my own to help me parse through what I read. One paper I read (that I never wrote down the name of) elaborated a lot on the explorations of myth vs reality, which I found helpful. By and large the best article I read was from LitHub on the ways Carson utilized humor. That really helped me to figure out what Carson was doing with the sections about Stesichorus and Helen.

Even then, I'm still not sure where that leaves me. I've taken a few days to digest my thoughts, and I'm left with one lingering question: why Geryon? Why use this myth to tell this story? If I can just figure that out, I think everything else will fall into place for me.

That being said, I'm happy I read this. I didn't know this was a beloved piece of queer literature before I purchased it, and I was really happy to stumble into all these different accounts of queer readers finding truth in how Carson portrays coming of age, loneliness, and monstrosity.

This is a very special and important novel. I'll have to reread it someday and, hopefully then, I'll be able to take more from it than I did this time around.

--

The Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson

Rating: 4.5/5

#me rambling #me reading #bookish #books and reading #books #bookblr #autobiography of red #anne carson

[frongle-mayorofnewfrongulus]

i need 2 know everything about frongle

there's alot to go through and I don't have much of it written down plus there's technically 3 canons for him (based on playing as him in star trek online[STO], D&D, and the one with aipi) but I will do my best, starting with what's consistent, and then merging the aspects that I like into a singular unit.

Identity

Full name: Frongle Grimblegrot

Race/Species: Undetermined ("frongulan")

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: Undisclosed ("huh?")

Sex: Undisclosed ("wuh?")

Orientation: Undisclosed ("eh?")

Age: Undisclosed ("what a rude question!")

Features

Frongle has evaded comprehensive biological study, but superfluous appearance and self-description has granted some details. Frongle stands at around 170 centimetres in height and is mostly visually humanoid, with the notable features including:

- oily (like excessively applied moisturiser) pesto-green skin

- three vertical yellow streaks that run along his head and neck

- pointed ears

- no hair

- a foul stench (like dead fish and sulphur) caused by a constant sweat-like excretion of a thick pasty gunk of notable toxicity

- basic psychic talents, granting him the ability to:

- amplify how persuasive he is, allowing him to convince and trick others more effectively. This power is associated with his voice and can work at reduced effectiveness through recordings of his voice and telecommunications, though the delay between when he said it and when it is heard will reduce the effectiveness of this ability.

- do a weird sort of telekinetic ventriloquism that he isn't always aware of, often leading to an object near him temporarily gaining a sentience that shares his goals (this has previously occurred twice with dead fish that he has tried to talk to for some eccentric reason. One had the name 'Aurelius' and the other one was just referred to as 'dead ass fish')

- Insisting upon wearing a strange garment resembling the formal wear of the 1800s Earth, including a black coat, black trousers, black gloves, a stained white undershirt, a bow tie that probably used to be red, and a top hat with a band in that same was-red colour. Upon closer inspection it can be noted that it is not made of fabric, but instead some kind of leathery kelp-like material, possibly responsible for some of Frongle's fishy stench.

- A pair of thick, opaque-looking goggles that he calls 'froggles', which serve the purpose of reducing incoming light to comfortable levels for Frongle's eyes. It would seem that his people, whoever they were, may have dwelled in a dark and/or subterranean environment. Very few beings have seen what Frongles eyes actually look like, and even fewer would want to tell you about it.

- A cane, with a brown wooden shaft and a brass handle fashioned into the shape of a fish curled in an approximate "C". Originally acquired as a fashion item more than anything else, Frongle has also found it to be useful on worlds with higher gravity than he's used to, as well as amplifying his persuasion abilities when pointing it at someone.

History/Biography

Frongle's true origins remain unknown. It would seem he was cast out from a civilisation of beings similar to him, though different enough that they could not stand his presence. Frongle's physical adaptations suggest that he is adapted to living in dim, nutrient-rich places, with gravity somewhat lower than galactic standard.

This, in combination with the apparent absence of any others of his kind, leads to the suggestion that the race Frongle belongs to lives underground, possibly on a small world that is barren and unremarkable on it's surface. No-one from wherever that is seems to be in a hurry to make themselves known, likely because that could mean Frongle returning to them. Because of this, the location of "old frongulus" and the other "frongulans" remains permanently unknown.

Frongle's known history begins with him being marooned on a gross wasteland planet as part of his (hopefully) permanent exile. He loved it there, calling the planet "new frongulus" and asserting that he is the "mayor" of the planet to whatever he thought was listening (which, in his isolated delirium, included rocks and the weird goopy things that counted as flora on that planet). When questioned about why he was exiled, he tells a different story every time, though each one can be boiled down to him being too much of an intentional nuisance for his kind to keep him around.

At some unfortunate point in time, however, Frongle managed to escape his planetside isolation and was let loose upon the cosmos, much to the dismay of galactic authorities and most species with a sense of smell.

However, the ensuing antics lead him to be in the presence of multiple threats to the galaxy that simply weren't prepared for someone like Frongle. [I honestly don't have much lore on what happened here, it's mostly just based off of me playing as him in STO]

Due to his deeds there, regardless of whether they were intentional or not, Frongle was no longer the subject of unanimous disdain. Instead, he was now the subject of controversy and in some places, favour. Frongle was equipped to confuse, disgust and persuade others in a way that was otherwise unavailable, due to his kind choosing to remain hidden. Various members of the galactic community advocated for his freedom, citing how he averted far greater catastrophes than he has caused. Others want him captured and controlled, or at least closely monitored.

As a compromise, Frongle is allowed to live as he wants as long as he is in the presence of a highly sophisticated security android who goes by the name of A.I.P.I ("Artificially Intelligent Private Investigator", often pronounced like "eye-pie" for brevity). As it turns out, Frongle has more quiet allies and supporters than he expected, because whether by alteration in its code or by its own choice, AIPI has a very relaxed approach to its assignment, acting more like a roommate and advisor, rather than a strict monitor. When AIPI is required to report on Frongle's activities, it will conveniently omit any especially unfavourable antics from its records and submit an acceptably innocuous description of what occurred.

Due to its constant presence and agreeable nature, AIPI has been something to Frongle that he has never previously had: a friend. Frongle understands that AIPI seeks to allow him the freedom he wants, and also seeks out the android's encyclopaedic knowledge on the myriad things he doesn't understand.

As of late, Frongle and AIPI have been living together on a "private" residential space-rig (noone else wants to be there longer than they need to be). Frongle spends much of his time watching/listening to galactic radio/television broadcasts, taking pleasure in phoning up the radio stations and convincing them that his incorrect answers to their quizzes are in fact correct. His persuasion abilities also find use in online games with voice communication enabled, allowing him to disproportionately influence the actions of his teammates and the outcome of a match, for better or worse. AIPI, despite being resistant to Frongle's abilities due to being a synthetic being, will often choose to join in anyway.

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

That is essentially all I have, though I imagine I could extrapolate from any further questions you or anyone else has. Thank you for this ask, and sorry it took so long.

#frongle art #oc #frongle #aipi #lore #frongle lore #aipi lore #my art #my lore #long post

[greenspunkgnostic]

i alchemized a new swimsuit for our beach week... hopefully its opaque enough, what do we think??