#please have this scruffy sketch for now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tinkerd · 1 year

Text

The Kid Christmas Sketchbook Part 1

A peek inside the development of my newest book 'Kid Christmas: Of The Claus Brothers Toyshop'

Hi all. Not too long until ‘The Big Day’. To celebrate I thought that I would give you all a peek into my sketchbook and maybe offer a little insight into how the idea for my latest book ‘Kid Christmas: Of The Claus Brothers Toyshop’ developed.

Scruffy Beginnings

From what I can remember the idea began with the title. I had one of those strange, day-dreaming type questions, what was Father Christmas called when he was younger? ‘Boy Christmas’? ‘Child Christmas?’ ‘Son Christmas?’

‘Kid Christmas’.

It just sounded perfect, it sounded like a Superhero’s name. I really liked it.

So, as usual when the first spark of an idea strikes I started doodling in my sketchbook. This is a very exciting point in a project where the possibilities are absolutely endless. The story can go anywhere. Its exciting, but these quick little sketches- which I always assume will never be seen by anyone but me (and here I am showing you all)- are always, incredibly, outrageously scruffy. But thats kind of the point I think, those first drawings are quick and urgent (and look like they were possibly drawn by my dog).

And here they are….

Concept Art

The idea sat brewing in my mind for a while. And even though it was nowhere near formed I decided to tell Katie-my editor at Frances Lincoln Children’s Books- all about it. She was also excited by this first little nugget of an idea and asked if I could mock up some artwork. This is the kind of thing that you have to do to get the powers that be at publishing companies on board with a project, especially as all I had at that moment was the aforementioned scruffy sketches.

The image that I created was this one:

I really liked the idea of the story being set in a Victorian era. When I think of the perfect looking Christmas I see the snow capped rooftops of a Dickensian London. Like a lot of people ‘A Christmas Carol’ is one of my favourite books, and the image of Christmas that story presents was definitely the look I was hoping to capture. Also, the recognisable character of Santa that we all know and love- the big beard, big red coat, etc was first depicted in the mid 1800’s so it just felt like the right time period to set this story in. I wanted this first piece of concept art to very much capture that Victoriana feel, and I think that it does.

Thankfully, Katie and the other kind folk at Frances Lincoln Children’s Books agreed that it was an exciting idea and based on this first initial visualisation and a handful of possible story idea notes the the project was remarkably given the go ahead.

Which was amazing! And please note, it doesn’t usually happen this way. I would recommend having at least an outline of a narrative to go along with your concept art and sketches, before pitching your idea to a publisher.

But yes, the story.

Chiselling Out A Story.

I had a main character, a concept of sorts, a setting and a great deal of support from my incredible publisher. Now I just needed the most important thing. An actual story.

Again, I went back to my Sketchbook. I started to think about the sub-characters. Who would Santa have in his life at this point? How would he be able to get hold of so many toys? Why did he decide to dedicate his life to delivering all of those toys to children every single year?

The idea of Santa’s uncles being toymakers and owning the Claus Brothers Toyshop quickly developed and, through more scruffy sketching, I started to slowly chisel the narrative out.

Thumbnails

Once I had the basic outline of the story in my head and in note form, I started to piece the pages together through-once again- very, very scruffy ‘thumbnail’ sketches.

Again, this stage is really exciting as the story really starts to form and some big decisions about structure, plotting and pacing start to take place. The thumbnails give me a good idea of how the story could flow and what information to include in each spread. Despite the fact that so much of it will still change in time, this step is the first true visualised version of the whole book. It’s an opportunity to see it on page, not just in my head.

Here are a few of the thumbnails. If you have the finished book you might be able to see the pages that these little doodles eventually became.

So, as we have deciphered the key word for all of these stages seems to be ‘scruffy’.

For me being very scruffy and quick and loose with my drawing during this stage helps me bring the ideas out. Theres an urgency and a freedom to it where there are no creative barriers. At this stage everything is scribbled down with no inhibitions. No one is going to be looking at the quality of the drawings, their sole purpose is to be the first building block of a bigger-hopefully slightly tidier- project.

Which brings me on to the subject of Part 2’s post, which will look at the first, official ‘Rough Draft’ of the book and the all important cover sketches. This stage is were other people- including my editor and art director at Frances Lincoln- will actually need to see what I am doing and offer feedback on the sketches that I do. So the pressure builds a bit here.

Gulp. What a cliffhanger :)

Keep an eye out for Part 2 coming in a few days.

Thanks for reading all x

Kid Christmas Sketchbook Part 2 Coming Soon.

#kid christmas #kidchristmas #illustratot #sketchbook #process #illustrator process #book process #writing process #kid lit art

6 notes · View notes

hyperpsychomaniac · 2 years

Text

Lost in the Wilderness - Chapter 5

Hilda Fanfiction

Summary: Hilda goes on a Sparrow Scout camping trip, only to find that Ahlberg, along with Captain Gerda Gustav, is also attending. Ahlberg has yet to speak with Hilda about the events of the night the Trolls attacked Trolberg. He’s had plenty of chances to thank her, he hasn’t, and Hilda has just about had enough of it. She thinks her camp can't get any worse. Until she and Ahlberg get lost in the Wilderness together and must find their way home.

Authors notes: I have no idea how many people are actually reading this but I am really pleased with this chapter.

First chapter

***

Hilda was so focused on getting the shading on those rocks just right that she didn't notice Erik until he was right at her shoulder.

"Did I fall asleep?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"You did. I think you were tired."

"You could have woken me. We're supposed to be finding our way home."

"I could have," Hilda admitted. "But then, I wouldn't have had the time to do this." She flipped back a page and held it up for Erik to see. It was a sketch of him slumped against the rock, dozing.

Erik tugged the sketchbook towards himself and frowned. For a moment, Hilda was worried she'd offended him. He'd been pretty grumpy earlier. But then the corner of his lip quirked up, and he rubbed at his chin. "Huh. You even made the fact I haven't had a shave look good."

Hilda yanked the sketchbook back. "That's supposed to be a shadow. It's only been a day. You don't look that scruffy."

"That was practically the first thing you said to me when I woke up. And I do. A moustache as grand as this takes constant maintenance, you know."

Hilda chewed her lip, trying to see if he was right and if that shadow could pass for stubble or if she'd mucked it up completely.

"You've improved remarkably. Your drawings, I mean. I only saw the one you put in your essay with the Troll. But these ones are better. I suppose that's partly down to your subject material, but still."

Hilda flipped back to her drawing of the river and smudged some of the pencil. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

"No, why…"

"You seem like you might like telling people what they want to hear. You know, if you want something."

Erik scowled. Great. Now she really had offended him. He'd apologised to her, so she had no excuse to keep being mean to him. And she'd only just promised herself she'd try and make him feel better about their adventure.

"Well," Erik said a little tersely. "I do want something. I want you to know I like your drawings."

"Sorry." Hilda flushed. She wasn't sure if it was because of the compliment or if she felt bad for questioning his motives. "I have been practising." She started scribbling again. "I wish I could just do this all day. But no. Instead, I have to go to school, and they just keep telling us we have to be responsible. And have responsible jobs. Which involve paperwork. Which is fine for Alfur. Or Frida. But I just…" The pencil snapped. "Oh…" Hilda's shoulders slumped. She hadn't even thought to pack a sharpener. "Cruddlesticks."

"Hey," Erik said absentmindedly.

"You've said a lot worse this trip."

"And I bet they tell you doodling in your schoolbooks isn't responsible."

"Exactly!"

"Hmm." Erik took the sketchbook off her and flicked through a couple pages. "I bet they said the same thing about Emil Eckhart."

"Who?"

"Why, only the author of my favourite adventure books I read as a child. Although, I probably shouldn't have put as much stock in his depiction of the creatures out here as I did. He may have embellished things a little. Made everything seem dangerous and aggressive whilst somehow making the hero seem like he was in no danger. I suppose it wouldn't have read as well if the hero had been fighting some poor Troll who just wanted to see their mother." He huffed. "Not like I had any actual experience out here to compare it to." He looked up at her. "But, I bet you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Exaggerate stuff? Well, no. Why would I need to? What I put in that essay actually happened. But, I think if I wrote it now, again, I…" And she glanced up at Erik as she continued carefully. "I'm not sure I would include that stuff about the bell."

Erik dropped his gaze. "Because someone might misunderstand. Or understand, but still misuse it."

"Yeah… sorry."

"You know what? Why don't you? Rewrite your Troll story. And write a new one too, about how we heroically found our way home, despite all the odds! Maybe leave out some of the napping and… conversations. There's nothing wrong with cutting down on the boring bits. And, you should illustrate it, of course."

Hilda looked at her sketchbook. "I don't think my teachers would count that as responsible. Mum makes money by drawing, but it's nothing like this stuff. I doubt telling stories will make me enough money to… whatever we're supposed to do with it."

"Why not? Eckhart obviously did. There are more than fifty of his books in the library. Which I only borrowed out multiple times. I even tried to keep a couple of my favourites once." Erik shuddered. "I will never make that mistake again."

"Do you really think I can draw that good?"

Erik bumped her with his elbow and grinned. "Of course! And whatever you write about would be a darned sight more accurate. Like you said, you wouldn't write anything that led to people doing stupid things. You'd make people realise Trolls are nice, well, most of them, and that would make them think twice about judging things as bad simply because they look scary. Your teachers probably wouldn't bother to tell you that, but that's being responsible too. Only, I think it'd be something you'd be good at. So, you wouldn't find it so daunting."

"You know, that… that's a better explanation than my teachers ever gave me," said Hilda. Writing, drawing. She should have figured it out before because Mum drew. But, Mum's stuff had always seemed so… professional. Maybe that was just because she'd had more practice. But, telling people creatures weren't bad and all her experiences with them? That, she could do.

And the first person to tell her that, to make her feel like what she offered still fulfilled the ideal of contributing as an adult, or a 'responsible' member of society, or any of the other stuff they went on about, was Erik Ahlberg.

Erik was still grinning, but it faded as she stared at him. "What? You keep looking at me like that."

"You know, when you're not trying to talk yourself up, you're pretty nice."

Erik rubbed at the back of his neck. "Hah. Don't get too attached. It's all a show." He shifted his weight off the rock beside her and stepped away.

Hilda scowled. No. "Erik…" She grabbed his sleeve before he could get away. "Wait. Just… don't do that!"

He looked down his nose at her. "Do what?"

Hilda's eyes narrowed. "What you just told me was really nice. And you've already apologised, and I know you're trying to make up for what you did, so… well, I mean it. And I don't mind being stuck out here with you, okay?"

Erik stared at her, then tugged his arm back and clutched his hand to his chest. For a moment, he just looked lost. Then his gaze hardened. "You know, they used to tell us we had to be 'responsible' when I was a child too. Be responsible, be in charge, be a… a man. They don't tell you that it's not just about being at the top. That it's about taking care of the people you're responsible for. Gerda gets that. That's why she's made such a great Captain.

"But they don't tell you how badly you can screw it up. You won't just hurt yourself like you do if you get a bad grade at school. You hurt everyone you're supposed to be responsible for. And it is so easy to use that power to be irresponsible. Why do you think I quit Safety Patrol? I was dangerous. I wasn't… fit to lead.

"But all that kind of talk makes you feel is…" Erik held his hands out in front of him like he was trying to grasp something he couldn't quite get the shape of, "is like you have to make everybody proud of you, and if you're not doing something spectacular, and if you're not performing, and if you're not… not 'being an Ahlberg' it's… it's just not good enough!" He gave up with a snarl and flung his hands back down by his sides. "And then they wonder why you make up stories. So you're right to ignore them telling you to be responsible. If you don't think you can handle it, just forget about it. Because it isn't worth it. Don't go through the pain of figuring that out for yourself." He turned around with a snort and walked straight off.

"Wait, what?" Hilda hurriedly tucked her sketchbook into her satchel and leapt off the rock. She jogged to catch Erik up as he began to follow the river downstream again. This time, he pushed the pace, and she struggled to keep up with his stride. "You can't just say stuff like that and not explain it."

Erik shoved his hands in his pockets. The ground was softer, not as rocky now, and he stared at his feet. "What's there to explain?"

Hilda rolled her eyes. Gerda hadn't been kidding about the difficult personality. Still, she wasn't giving up. Even if she struggled to keep up with his pace, which she was sure was intentional. "Well, for starters, why do you have to 'be an Ahlberg'? What does that mean? You're already an Ahlberg. It's literally your name."

"Yes, but that means I have to live up to it, doesn't it! I thought joining Safety Patrol would be enough. But for everything I did, there would also be some story about Edmond Ahlberg and everything he did, and it was always better. Do you have any idea what it's like being constantly one-upped by a man who's been dead for hundreds of years!

"But then I made Captain. I finally had enough sway to make Safety Patrol more than just paperwork and procedures and running all over town and, generally, being ineffectual and… boring. I could've fixed so many things. But, instead, I used that power to make out the Trolls were as bad as what I'd read in those stupid, childish books. Because then, I could slay one. Because that's what Edmond Ahlberg did. And if that's what Mother always kept going on about, maybe that would be enough.

"I wasn't the best Safety Patrol officer, you know. But, when I look back now, I was probably doing okay. If I'd just kept my head in and let Gerda help me, I might've been an okay Captain too. But no. I had to make it all a show. And all I accomplished was killing some fellow trying to reunite his people with their mother." He booted a rock in front of him, hard. It sailed off in an arc and plopped into the river.

"Trundle wasn't exactly a nice guy. He wanted you to shoot him. He was provoking you."

"Like I provoked the Trolls?"

Hilda frowned. "I…"

"So I get why it's frustrating for you, having all that pressure put on you. Your mother doesn't pressure you as well, does she?"

"No. She did a little about Sparrow Scout badges at first. But she apologised."

"Good."

"And, I don't think that's fair," Hilda said firmly. "Your Mum, I mean. Pressuring you to be Edmond Ahlberg. You're not Edmond Ahlberg. You're Erik Ahlberg."

Erik huffed. "Erik Ahlberg nearly destroyed an entire city. And screwed up his career."

"And what did your mother think of that? I mean, if you only did that because you felt you had to live up to being an Ahlberg… does she think you did it? Lived up to the Ahlberg name, I mean. Or, did you tell her what you actually did; deliberately upsetting the Trolls and lying to people? I hope she knows that maybe she's just the tiniest bit responsible for that as well."

"Hilda, my mother's dead. It'd be… aw man, nearly five years ago now."

Hilda stopped in her tracks, thoughts of her own mother coming to mind. She hadn't seen her for barely a day, and she already missed her. "Oh. Erik, I'm sorry." She jogged to catch up with him again.

Erik smiled at her faintly and finally slowed his pace. "It's okay. Believe me, it was a pretty big shock seeing a stone version of her pop up under the city."

"But that's way before you were head of Safety Patrol. If she's dead, why did you still have to be Edmond Ahlberg?"

"That's the thing. It didn't matter that she was gone. I just… I still have to… someone has to tell me I did okay." He huffed. "Hilda, I love my mother. I miss her... a lot. When I saw her in that vision, all I could think was if I was the Trolls, and she was right there... I had to let them see her. But I wish I could confront her about everything I've thought about since that night and just… I don't know, yell at her or something."

"I feel like yelling at my Mum sometimes." Hilda kicked a stone ahead of her and then looked up at Erik. "What about your father?" she asked tentatively.

Erik's gaze stayed firmly focused ahead. "Don't know. And I don't care."

Hilda's stomach dropped a little. "Well, I don't know my Dad. But I think I wouldn't mind one. I imagine he would do stuff, like, I don't know…" she rubbed at her arm. "maybe compliment my drawings and lend me his jacket and stuff?

"Gah!" Erik jerked forward, his lead foot dropping down suddenly, and he held out his arms to catch his balance.

"Careful!" Hilda moved up beside him. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No. Hilda…" Erik's voice wavered, and he pointed to the ground. "What is that?"

His foot had plunged right into the middle of a shallow hole, just deep enough to give him a shock. The hole was shaped like a giant pawprint, and it completely dwarfed Erik's sizable boot.

***

Hilda grabbed onto Erik's sleeve. "It looks like a dog's pawprint. I think it's a Black Hound!" She was grinning. Of course, she was grinning.

Erik gulped. He carefully lifted his foot out of the gargantuan depression in the ground. "Right," he said, somehow keeping his voice steady. "We should keep moving then."

The trees shook. Again. And again. Hilda stumbled and gripped his arm tighter. "No, wait."

"Hilda!"

"Shh, wait."

"You cannot tell me a… a Barghest is safe!"

Hilda rolled her eyes. "Have you ever met one?"

"Met one? What? No! But there was one literally terrorising the city…"

"Yes, I know!" Hilda flung out her arms. "That was the one that I met. And Safety Patrol came after him, and I had to help him escape."

Erik's jaw dropped. "Wait, slow down, just a minute. The Hound that was in Trolberg… you… helped it? It ate people!"

"No. He put people in his mouth, but he spat them back up. He was a puppy; that's what puppies do."

"… you helped a Barghest get out of Trolberg?" Maybe if he repeated it, it would make sense. But this was Hilda. Of course, she had. The ground shook again. A tree snapped.

"Yes, his name was… Jellybean!" Hilda broke into a grin.

Warm, wet air huffed down the back of Erik's neck. He whirled around. A Barghest towered over him. Cold eyes glared, penetrating into his very soul. Erik jerked backwards, his boot caught on the edge of the giant pawprint, and he sat down hard.

Hilda held out a hand. "Jellybean! It's me, remember?"

The beast opened its massive jaws, its head dropped towards Hilda, and she stood there, hand outstretched, and waited.

Erik froze up. He couldn't do anything. He would just sit there, on his ass, and let the beast eat this stupid, precocious child, and he would do nothing. Because he wasn't a hero. He could only pretend to be, in situations he had manufactured, not when it was real.

The Barghest lolled out its tongue and slurped Hilda's arm, flinging drool everywhere. Then it yapped and sat down, tail thumping side to side on the ground behind it.

"It is you, Jellybean!" Hilda ran a hand over his nose, ruffling up his fur. Jellybean panted happily, just like any normal dog. Only one that was several meters high. "See, he's completely harmless. He's just a puppy." Hilda frowned as she looked back at Erik. "Are you okay?"

Erik sighed and picked himself up, dusting off his sleeves. "No." He stepped past Hilda and held out a hand to the Hound.

Jellybean sniffed it, and then his ears perked up.

"Hey, there, boy." Satisfied he'd let him get his scent, Erik rubbed his hand over the dog's muzzle. And that's all this thing was. A big, dopey dog. At least he knew how to pet a dog.

Jellybean leaned into the rub, dropping his head so Erik could reach his ears, and his tail thumped even harder.

"Hey, he likes you."

Erik felt the smallest smile tug at his lips. It was the last thing he'd expected to find out here. A nice friendly dog who didn't judge you and would give you affection when you needed it without ever thinking of holding anything back. He kind of needed that right now. "I don't suppose you know where Trolberg is?"

Hilda giggled. "He couldn't tell you if he did."

Jellybean jerked bolt upright, and his ears went back flat. He bared his teeth and growled. Then, he bounded past Erik's shoulder, straight past Hilda, and ploughed into the second Barghest as it leapt silently out of the trees behind them.

The two hit the ground, and the impact made boulders bounce up from the riverbed. The second beast's silent entrance quickly turned into a snarling and snapping and growling. The dogfight shook the trees, and birds squawked and alighted from deep in the forest.

"Jellybean!"

This time, Erik managed to move and grabbed Hilda by her shoulder before she could approach. "Careful!"

The second Barghest was lankier than Jellybean but bigger, and she moved fast. She rolled the puppy off her, then snapped at his throat. Jellybean tumbled out of the way with a yelp, just avoiding letting the other sink her teeth into him.

The Barghest turned red eyes onto them. This time, Erik was under no confusion - this creature was dangerous. She leapt. Erik and Hilda dove to the side. She crashed into the river's edge with a splash and whirled about. Not to face Jellybean, but to face them.

"She's looking at us." Barghests. Often kept by Trolls. The information sparked up in Erik's mind as the beast growled and padded towards them. He wasn't as safe in the daylight as he thought. "Hilda, we need to get out of here."

"But what about Jellybean?" Hilda pounded a fist into an open palm. "She can't pick on him because he's a puppy."

"She's not here to pick on Jellybean!"

The Barghest lunged. Jellybean slammed into her shoulder, bodily knocking her out of the way.

Erik and Hilda dashed back into the trees as the two dogs again snarled and snapped at each others' throats. Ahead of him, Hilda spun back around and bunched her fists. Erik almost ran into her. Hilda grabbed his sleeve, yanking it hard. "We can't run away! We have to help Jellybean."

"That beast is after us!"

"And she's attacking Jellybean. She's an adult. She'll probably hurt him. We might be able to break them up. Just let me think…"

"She's fighting him to get to us. That stupid pup's… protecting us, or something." And doing so would get him torn apart. Still, Erik was not so ungrateful. Better the dog than them.

"That's why we have to do something!" Hilda declared.

"We don't have to do anything. We have to run before it eats us! Or worse…"

Hilda turned her back on him, back to the dogfight. "Shh! I'm thinking."

Erik gritted his teeth and his fists bunched up at his sides. "Will you listen to me?!"

"I said, shush." Hilda shot back over her shoulder.

Another snarl erupted from the fight. Jellybean yelped. A puppy could not keep that thing from them for long.

What was wrong with this child? She was the one who was supposed to be stopping him from being stupid! Instead, she would get them both killed. "How… how are you as stubborn as I am?!" Erik blurted out because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm not like you! I'm just not abandoning a friend."

They didn't have time for this. Arguing clearly wasn't working. But, he didn't need to win the argument. "I know. But I am bigger than you. So…"

"What? Hey!"

Erik grabbed Hilda around the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder. Then he turned and bolted.

Behind them, the snarling continued, but now Jellybean's yaps were getting higher-pitched, more desperate.

"Let me go!"

How was a child so heavy? He was not as fit as he used to be. But fear for his life put a spring in his step, and Erik pelted through the underbrush. The sounds of the dogfight fell behind.

"I said, let me go!" Hilda's fists pounded on his back, and somehow, she managed to swing a leg, and her boot smacked straight into Erik's sternum.

"Stop… kicking!" Erik spluttered, gasping for breath as he stumbled. He grabbed Hilda's legs and clamped them tight against him, so she couldn't do that again.

Were the dogs still fighting? Erik could hear nothing beyond the blood pounding in his ears and Hilda pounding on his back, which was starting to hurt.

The river had become shallow at the edge, and Erik slogged into the water. If that thing intended to hunt them, maybe he could get rid of their scent. A split second later, icy water seeped into his boot. "Oh, damn it!"

"What's wrong with you?" Hilda growled, mercifully letting up her assault.

"Well, I apologise for trying to save your life."

"You're not saving my life! You're saving yours!" She smacked him in the back again.

Erik winced. "If you keep hitting me, I will drop you in this river, I swear."

"I…" Hilda groaned loudly, then flopped across his shoulder. He could feel her chest heaving against him, her breath huffing in his ear. Why was she so exhausted? It wasn't like she had to carry a squirming brat.

Erik sloshed his way through the river. It was shallower now, running quickly, and only got just past his knee. It was icy cold, and he was really, really grateful it was not any deeper. He hadn't intended to cross, but now that his boots were soaked, it didn't matter. He pushed his way through, grumbling, for that moment at least, the annoyance of being wet pushing out the fear of the Barghest. Hopefully, that would confuse it.

"Put. Me. Down," said Hilda as soon as he stepped out on the other side.

"With pleasure." Erik heaved her off his shoulder with a wheeze and placed her on the stones.

Hilda shoved him off, stepped back, and balled up her fists. For a second, Erik thought she would throw a punch at him for serious. "Argh!" she flung her fists down and stomped back to the river's edge, her back to him.

Erik sunk down onto the nearest rock and undid his laces. Water poured out of his boot as he lifted it, along with a small fish.

Hilda sniffed and wiped a sleeve across her face. Then she turned back with a glare. "If Jellybean got hurt…"

"What do you think we could've done, huh?" Erik lifted his second shoe above his head and then threw it down hard onto the stones. It hit with a wet squelch, throwing water everywhere.

"I don't know! Something…"

"Exactly."

"I'm going back to help him."

"Well, I hope you enjoy crossing that river yourself because I am not carrying you again. It's freezing, by the way."

Hilda stopped on the edge of the river. Yeah, there was no way she would be that silly. But, at least crossing the river had accomplished something else, keeping Hilda from running off on him as soon as he set her loose.

"Didn't think so." Erik picked up his boots, which, whilst still soggy, were at least no longer swimming pools, and pulled them back on.

"You said you wanted an adventure," Hilda said coldly. "Well, it helps if you're an actual adventurer and not… not a posturing coward!"

"This is not an adventure," Erik snapped. "We both just did something stupid, and now we're lost!"

"I didn't do anything! You're the one who crashed the Woff."

"And you pushed me off a cliff. Now you want to fight a Barghest…"

"I want to save Jellybean."

"It's just a bloody dog!" Erik wrenched his laces tight, the strands biting into his trembling fingers before tying them.

"He's my friend! That's something you obviously don't understand because you only think about yourself."

"Yeah, alright, I'm thinking about myself. I'm thinking about how I don't want to get ripped to shreds by a Black Hound. I'm telling you, that thing was sent by a Troll to hunt me down."

"Huh?" Hilda's frowned. "What are you going on about?"

"Trolls train Barghest. Those Trolls we saw last night. They've set that thing upon me, and…"

"It's not always about you, you know. You've been reading too many adventure books."

"This isn't information I got from those stupid adventure books. This is from an actual historical event that happened to Edmond Ahlberg and, you know, other books. Because I do know how to read things, that's why I go to the library. They're dangerous, and that thing is working with those Trolls."

"You don't know that. You don't know anything!"

Erik shot to his feet, fists balled at his sides. "Bloody hell, Hilda! Just shut the hell up and stop arguing with me! I wish I had a… a magic eyeball to throw at you and make you see some damned sense!"

Hilda gulped and stepped back. But the fire didn't leave her eyes. "You said," she said, lowering her voice. "That I get to lead."

"You're a child! I'm the adult here, so we're doing what I say now. This is not an adventure, okay? I only said that to entertain you, so you wouldn't complain. And I guess that didn't work. Now I'm just tired, hungry, and I'm wet. I'd prefer not to get torn to pieces by Trolls or dogs, and I just… I just want to get home! So, we are going to stop petting and drawing everything and just… just keep moving. Or I'll bloody well pick you up again."

Erik stalked away, hands thrust deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. After a moment, Hilda's boots crunched in the stones behind him. Thank gods, yelling had worked. He doubted he had the strength to carry her, kicking and screaming, any further than he had already.

"I take it back," Hilda said, barely loud enough for him to hear. "You pretend like you're trying to be nice, right up until you don't get your way. You're nothing but a bully. And I don't think you've changed one bit."

Erik squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Well, I did tell you it was all a show. And right now, I'm too tired to perform."

***

Chapter 6

#hilda #hilda netflix #hilda the series #erik ahlberg #hilda fanfiction #hilda fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

1 note · View note

what-insolence · 2 years

Text

The girls have been in love for 25 years now (*^▽^*)

(Anthy is telling Utena about a cool bug she found hehe)

#revolutionary girl utena #utena #anthy #sku #shoujo kakumei utena #utena 25th anniversary #I swear I would have done a proper drawing if I had more time and energy #please have this scruffy sketch for now #the proportions aren't the greatest fsjkfjgksglj #my art #digital art #drawing #sketch

364 notes · View notes

rainieclown · 3 years

Text

DEADLY OBSESSION

michael myers x reader - chapter one: new neighbours

you've been in the haddonfield memorial hospital for what felt like forever with ptsd from a robbery gone wrong when a new patient gets thrown in next to you. he's quiet, perfect company if it weren't for the high security around him.

tags: medication, hospital settings, this is before michael gets out of the hospital, orphan! reader btw, it's spoken about more in detail in the fic, michael being a mute for a while, he does speak in this tho, smut, first times, michael being inexperienced, creampie, biting/marking, big dick michael energy, hymen ripping btw

warnings: ptsd themes, therapy, mentions of murder and depression, eventual smut, loss of virginity, mild blood, slight breeding kink on michael's end

a quick note!

if anything related to the ptsd the reader experiences is incorrect/wrong please let me know so i can correct it and learn! i am researching this so i can to write it with the accuracy it deserves<3

three sharp knocks wake you from your nightmare, you sigh at the sight of the ceiling of your hospital room. bland, the room is so incredibly bland. "y/n, medication time!" the nurse that takes main care for you chirps happily through the door, and you let out a wheeze as you sit up and pull on a shirt. "coming." you say, voice monotone and small. opening the door, you see the nurse with a tray, but what does capture your eye is the guards standing by a door nearby. "miss burnham, what's going on there?" you quirk a brow, taking your sertraline from miss burnham as well as the glass of water. "oh it's just a new patient, don't worry." the nurse brushes your question off with a kind smile as she takes the now empty glass back. "come on, breakfast then art therapy!" she beams, gesturing for you to follow her. you glance at the door again, before leaving with miss burnham.

breakfast is bland too, no sugar in the porridge, no fruit, no juice. it's so distastefully bland that you want to push it away but you don't want to get told off for not eating by mrs finch who was the more strict nurse that worked on supervision in the more social places, most of the time anyway. miss burnham sits across from you, reading over your schedule from her clipboard. "so, after art therapy is your free period, what do you want to do then?" she asks, looking up at you. "can we watch a movie with the others?" you ask softly, and miss burnham's eyes brighten. "you want to socialise today?" she beams and you sigh, taking a sip of water. "sure." you say softly, glancing around the cafeteria. "that's amazing, that will make outstanding progress!" she smiles, resting her cold hand on yours but pulls away when you flinch. "sorry, i forget." she says softly, but you sigh. "it's alright." you say, spotting a scruffy teen who looked to be the same age as you being directed to an empty table.

miss burnham hums and turns to see what you're looking at. "oh, that's mr myers, he's your new neighbour." she says when she turns back to you. "he looks interesting." you say, observing the cuffs on his wrist. myers plops down at the table, ignoring the bowl they put in front of him. "hmm, stay away from him. he seems to be under high security." miss burnham says, turning back to look at myers. the boy's eyes flicker to yours and your breath hitches, a sense of mild panic rising in your throat. "if you're done, we can go to the yellow room to do some painting with doctor piers." burnham says softly, pulling your attention back to her. "sure.." you mumble, and follow her out the door, past myers who watches you the whole way.

doctor piers is a happy man who greets you loudly. you don't like his suffocating energy, so miss burnham sits you down in your quiet corner and gives you your sketchbook. you sit quietly and draw things from your childhood, things that make you happy, all while miss burnham actually colours in a colouring page with the pencils you use. you felt peaceful with her by your side, she was like your big sister considering she was close to your age. "ooh, i like him." miss burnham smiles, tapping her nail next to the rough sketch of snufkin from the moomins. "thanks..." you reply quietly, letting the nurse push the pencils to you so you can colour him in.

for once, you don't feel alone... don't feel isolated with your thoughts and bad memories. miss burnham is your safe place, your new family. "so, y/n. are you interested in anyone in particular that you want to befriend?" miss burnham asks, the scratching of her pencil on paper stopping as she leans forward as if the two of you were gossiping about crushes. "not really... just think it's good to try and ease myself back into being around people other than you." you shrug, putting the green pencil down to pick up a yellow one. "that's still good. do you want to try and finish the drawing of him." she asks, flipping the page carefully to the recreation of that fateful night. your breath hitches as you stare at the charcoal drawing of the man standing over your mother. "what else do you remember, if there's anything else?" burnham asks, watching you carefully.

it comes back in waves, it was supposed to be a robbery, your family was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the blood spatter, the ornament that was used as a weapon dripping with the red substance. tears fill your eyes as you let out a shuddery breath. "no." you say firmly, wanting to push the book away. "are you sure, you haven't drawn any facial features for him.. it will help the investigation a lot." your nurse reminds you, and your hand tightens on the pencil. "i don't want to!" you snap, getting up abruptly, chair screeching back. "okay, okay. deep breaths." burnham stands too, fighting the urge to gently rub your arm soothingly. "i don't want to think about it." you hiss, storming off. nurse burnham calls after you, and doctor piers looks up to see you making a run for it. "y/n, wait!" he tries, but you swerve him and run out the door.

nurse burnham can't keep up in her high heels, and you outrun her easily, making your way to your room after losing her. you're alone again, and you catch sight of myers, sat in his room just as alone as you are. the guard is talking to doctor loomis, a man who gives you the creeps. seeing an opportunity to get past, you slip into your room quickly, once again isolating yourself. in his own room, michael had spotted you through the glass on his door, and he walks up, peering into your room as best he can. "hey! back up, myers." the guard bangs his door, now without loomis's presence, but michael doesn't move. he's unfazed by the guard's aggressive nature. the noise spooked you, you looked like a deer in headlights as you stare back at him.

you seem... disturbed by something, and that upsets michael. the feeling in his chest, to grab you and hide you from the world grows at the look in your eye. michael's hand finds the door, and he yoinks it open once the guard unlocked it in an attempt to push him back into his cell. "hey! what're you-?" he cuts the guard off, knocking the man out easily. his body hits the floor as michael opens your door easily. you gasp, back hitting the corner of your wall as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "please, don't hurt me! i didn't do anything!" you yell, and michael shakes his head as he closes your door. "leave me alone." you repeat the three words like a prayer, voice quieter as your hands grip your hair with stress. "i'm not going to hurt you." michael rasps painfully, shocked at how deep his voice had gotten in comparison to the last time he spoke.

his words don't seem to get through to you, and he grows mildly annoyed. eventually, michael sits next to you and pulls you into a tight hug, hoping it would help as he had no idea what to do. you yelp in surprise, breathing slowing with confusion as you look up at the brunette with furrowed brows. "i-.. what..?" you stumble for words, but michael doesn't say anything, his empty eyes observing you. "thank you..." you mumble, once you calm down, and michael nods. "what's your name..?" you ask quietly, and michael continues to stare before answering.

"michael." he rasps, pointing at himself. "nice to meet you, michael. i'm y/n." you reply, eyes averting from his anxiously. michael sits with you as you start thinking. more intrusive thoughts break in, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes you as you rub your forehead. michael tilts his head, observing you. "sorry... it's just..." you sigh trying to find an explanation that didn't include what you thought of. "do you ever get intrusive thoughts?" you ask, finally looking at michael. the other teen nods, and you deflate with relief, he'd understand you. "they suck, don't they?" you chuckle half-heartedly, and michael shrugs. "oh, do they not bother you as much?"

he doesn't reply, and you nod slightly. "want me to show you around? i need to take my mind of things." you suggest, getting up and looking at the boy on your floor. michael seems to think for a moment before nodding and following you. you step over the guard carefully, and gesture for michael to follow you. the click-clacking of heels makes you grab the other teen's hand as you pull him around a corner. "shh! they'll be looking for me." you can't help but smile at the make-shift game of cat and mouse. it's been a while since you got to play games. michael blinks at you, letting you lead him around. "this is the rec room, it's the best room here. if you have a free period this is the best place to go. they let you watch anything they have." you smile, creaking the door open carefully.

doctor addison spots you and rushes over. "nurse burnham is looking for you." he whisper yells and you nod. "i'm showing the new guy around so shh!" you say, putting a finger up to your mouth. "it's good to see you getting out of your comfort zone. if i see her i'll tell her you're helping doctor loomis." he winks, and you smile slightly. "thanks addison." you say, pulling michael away from the room. "who's that?" michael's deep voice makes you jump. "oh, doctor addison? he's so cool, he'll give you snacks for after hours." you smile up at him, and michael notes the personality of the doctor. easy target to begin with. "you've seen the cafeteria so let's go to the gardens next." you say, peering around a corner carefully before ducking back, your back bumping into michael's chest. "my nurse is coming, quick, we can hide in here!" you whisper yell, pulling michael into doctor addison's office.

you close the door carefully, and michael observes the room. the decor is very vintage yet comfy, it suits the doctor quite well. you press your ear to the door carefully, listening as miss burnham speaks to doctor addison. you gasp as michael pulls you from the door, hand grasping your wrist. "are you alright?" you ask carefully, looking up at the brunette who didn't seem bothered. he shrugs, simply holding you near to him. your presence stirred something in him, and he didn't know if he should kill you or hold you closer. michael spots a candle stick, and his eyes dart from it to you.

michael lets out a silent breath as he decides on the latter, tugging you into his chest. your breath hitches as you hit his large frame, and your eyes come back to him. craning his head down, michael buries his face into the crook of your neck. you make a small noise, unsure of what to do as he takes in your scent. "uh... michael?" you furrow your brows, hands raised awkwardly as you didn't know where to put them. "shh." he hushes you, hands finding your hips. "what are you-?" your question is cut off by his lips grazing your neck, and it all clicks into place.

your body froze up, michael made a silent note of this. "i- uh.." you stammer as he continues to kiss your neck. "fuck, michael. we shouldn't do this." you say softly, glancing to the door. michael hushes you as his teeth nip your skin, he was testing the waters with you. your knees felt weak as your eyes fluttered shut. it had been so long since you had got to do anything like this, since you got to feel like a teenager. your hand find's michael's fluffy hair as you move his head closer to you.

taking the small success, michael sinks his teeth into your neck fully. the feelings in his chest explode as he finally marks you, suckling the dark bruise onto your skin. you whimper at the feeling, your other hand resting on his chest. eventually, his lips move again, and they find your jaw. you hum, letting him press closer to you as his lips kiss up your your own. when your lips meet, michael's inexperience really shows, he doesn't really know what to do so you take the lead.

eventually, his lips copy your movement as his hands tighten on your hips. you hum into his mouth, fingers gently stroking his scalp as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. it felt right, and you didn't know why. eventually, when michael pulls away, you gaze into his eyes and notice the scar over his right one. "oh, what happened?" you ask, fingertips gently grazing over the scar on his eyes. upon closer look, his iris was paler than the other, and you guessed his vision was poor from the one eye. you're not able to get a closer look as michael kisses you again. you hands cup his face as you melt into him, lips moving against his fluently. michael moves with you, and you gasp as your lower back hits the desk in the room. the other teen's strong hands lift you and plop you down so you're sitting on the hard wood of the table.

your arms wrap around michael's neck to kiss him again, and he's happy that you're slowly beginning to show interest in him. you make a small noise as michael pulls your legs around his waist, standing between them with his pelvis pressing against yours. teasingly, you shuffle your hips against him as you kiss him again. michael growls softly, grinding into you as he grasps your thighs roughly to stop your movements. "i've never done this before." you admit, keeping him close as he hums. "me neither." he shrugs, kissing you again. you feel eased by michael's lack of experience, it felt like the two of you were experimenting together and that comforts you.

eventually, michael's fingers find the waistband of your pants and you whimper as he tugs them down easily. "no underwear?" he chuckles softly, and your cheeks heat up. "some of us don't have that luxury." you mumble, averting his gaze. "it's fine." he shrugs, fingers brushing over your slit. you gasp at the feeling of him spreading you open, and can't help but move your hips against his digits. his middle finger teases your wet hole, and you whine when he collects some of it to bring into his mouth. you feel slightly embarrassed as he suckles your pleasure off his finger with no shame before moving his hand back down to rub his fingers over your slit again.

your smaller hand finds his, and you guide his fingers to your clit with a small moan. catching your meaning, michael's rough fingers start rubbing small circles over your bud. you gasp, back arching into him as his fingertips stimulate you. "fuck, michael!" you whimper, hands grasping his shirt to pull him closer. he hums at your words, moving so his thumb abused your clit whilst his fingers slowly pushed your hole open. you whine as his fingers press into you, your hymen stretching uncomfortably. "michael, please- i need you." you whimper, letting him lay you back on the desk. removing his hand from you, he pulls down his own pants, erection springing free.

you freeze slightly at his size, unsure if he'll fit. michael notes your uneasiness as rubs your outer thighs softly. you smile nervously as his tip rubs against your cunt, your hands grasping his anxiously as he slowly pushes into you. you wail as his cock rips your hymen, and michael smiles as your blood slowly smears his cock. "it hurts!" you whimper, grabbing his arms tightly with discomfort. michael shushes you, and gives you small kisses until you stop whining. once you've settled around the intrusion and your pussy adjusts to his dick, you give him the nod to say that you're ready. michael slowly pushes in so that he's fully sheathed before pulling out half way. you whimper at the feeling, pleasure slowly overtaking the dull pain you still felt.

eventually, michael finds a medium pace in you, smiling as his cock bobs through the skin of your stomach. you whimper, holding michael's arms even tighter as he fucks into you. "oh fuck..!" you yelp as his tip protrudes from your abdomen. "sh." he replies quickly as your back arches off the table. "fuck, michael- oh!" you press your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speeds up. eventually, his hand moves and starts rubbing fast circles on your clit. you gasp and keen loudly behind your palm as your thighs tremble around his hips. michael grips the flesh of your outer thighs tightly as he adjusts your legs towards you at an awkward angle. despite the weird position, you moan loudly as his cock pushes deeper into you, his tip kissing your womb.

michael hums at the feeling as his hand gets tired of stimulating you, so as a substitute, he brings his hand down onto your swollen bud harshly. you wail at the sting of his slap, pleasure rolling through your body. taking that as a good sign, michael waits before slapping your clit again harder. unexpectedly, you cum on his cock as you shudder and tremble under him. your cunt squeezes michael's cock tightly, preventing him from moving. the way your gummy walls grip him as you twitch around him is too much, so michael pushes into your womb so his cum filled you up.

you gasp at the feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, and michael seems to be loving it because when you come down from your high and loosen around him slightly, he's fucking his cum into you. you can't help but let out a small noise with every thrust, whimpering when michael stops, satisfied with how deep his cum had gone. your womb drinks up his seed nicely as you let michael grab your hands to pull you up into a sitting position. slumping against him, you nuzzle into his chest, your eyes becoming droopy with exhaustion. he grins at your sated state, pulling your pants up for you. once he is dressed as well, he picks you up carefully to bring you back to your room to rest.

michael ignores the nurses who try to stop him, marching past them as he carries your sleepy form to his room instead. he didn't know much, but he did know that only armed guards as well as doctor loomis were only allowed in his room for safety reasons and it was his best bet of keeping you with him. carefully opening his door, he closes it behind him with his foot and watches as the nurses stand anxiously peering through the window. he puts you down carefully on his bed, letting you settle as he sits down. his eyes find the nurses, one of them had left, probably to get security or doctor loomis. rolling his eyes, michael moves his attention back to you. you had already dozed off, and michael looks down to your stomach. the idea of you being swollen with his child excites him, a true marking. however, his hatred for children conflicts that, and he feels slightly frustrated.

three sharp knocks on the door can be heard, and michael lazily looks back over. doctor loomis is standing there, and he looks furious, but michael will stand his ground for you.

#michael myers x reader #michael myers #halloween resurrection

151 notes · View notes

1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

Text

Tues 30 March ‘21

Happy Tuesday! And to make it a happier tuesday, here’s Louis bursting on the scene to spread some cheer: “every day is a day closer to the first show back!” And that’s just the beginning! Someone asks if he has thought about making a documentary-- “already on it love” he replied. Listen yes, we knew that was what he and Charlie Lightening were up to BUT STILL- OMG!!! SOOO cool. Some people are not so sure but me, I think it’ll be awesome- cannot wait! Trust in Louis yall. And just to prove he��s a man you can trust he reacts in the ONLY correct way to react a dog modeling Walls merch-- “haha love that.” It’s wearing a bucket hat!! The Clifford picture we deserve tbh but for now this is excellent. He also said “got a decent chorus idea down” about what he’s been up to and doubled down on his most hotly debated tweet of recent times, 369. “Explain pls” begged a fan; “369” said Louis again, faaaanks for that love. That’s our guy, always forthcoming about his tattoos! Hahaha. AND THEN he responds to a tweet about how we always read too much into things but that he also trolls us with mystery posts: “fair comment”. WOW. He is truly a little shit and that is that on that! The man we love to hate ladies and theydies! And more on the louie topic of the moment people actually kind of hate, the NFTs. He’s asked about his recent follows and says, “some cool nft companies. I've been trying to educate myself in everything that already exists in that space.”

This year is gucci’s 100th anniversary I guess, and they are marking it by making a push to sell handbags, which means new pictures of Harry with a purses! Or so one can assume, the preview image we’ve seen so far is just his scruffy face, a lot of fluffy fur (on his Macklemore looking coat I mean but there is a lot of Harry hair on display too), and his dick necklace peeping out of the lapel of his shirt, looking extra obscene tbh cause the banana part is covered up so it’s just little unsolicited dick pic hiding in Harry’s chest hair, good lord. Yes yes we know babe you love gucci and dick and your gucci dick banana… anyway, the campaign drops April 22. It’s shot by Harmony Korine, who is a filmmaker, and a set director posted about working on a gucci commercial featuring Harry and Dakota Johnson back in Jan in LA so it seems safe to say there will be moving images to come. And speaking of Harry and filming, Heidi Gardner talked about doing SNL with Harry and told a story about him being reluctant to touch her shoulders for their sketch until she brought it up, and then him saying he was waiting for an explicit invitation to touch her. Aw, that’s our Harry; thoughtful and anxious. I feel like he works so hard to model the behavior he wants people to use towards him like, ‘people please I am begging can you please just be NICE and be respectful and stop grabbing me’, or maybe it’s just that he really understands firsthand how awful it feels to have your boundaries violated- either way I would love to manifest the same respect for him.

Ingrid Michaelson did a patreon live and talked about To Begin Again and how great having Zayn on the track has been; “Zayn's fans are intense. Very sweet. Aggressively supportive I think is the right word.” AHAHAHAHA YES ‘aggressively supportive’ might be the most perfect term anyone has ever coined for any subset of 1D fans so once again, HATS OFF to Ingrid the poet for a winning turn of phrase that I will certainly be using for a long time to come! She also said that the music video will be out in early April (and that it’s “a proper music video. It's not like your standard two people in a studio singing blah blah. It's different.”) Oh yeah and also that… Zayn and Gigi are married??! She said, “We’ve never met, I’ve never spoken to him. Zayn doesn’t do stuff he doesn’t wanna do and the fact that he did this song is very flattering. He’s such a private person and now he’s married and has a child so he does the things he wants to do…” prompting mass chaos in the zquad, but she later confirmed that she had just misspoken/ made an assumption based on their cohabiting and having a child together. And speaking of twitter leaping at the chance to go bananas over nothing, thousands flipped out because Lottie posted her gift bag from the Brits like “this means Louis is nominated for a Brit”!!! Lol WHAT? She got it cause she’s an influencer, but more to the point how does the SISTER of the nominee getting a gift bag make sense in any universe, you think they’re just looking up peoples’ family trees and everyone’s aunt gets a present like… WHAT??? Oh and also that they’re spilling the beans via gift bags before the big reveal… everything about that is ridiculous. Again, I’m sorry to say that I will be very surprised if Louis gets a nom but either way, we’ll find out tomorrow and not before.

And! You can bid now on a giant orange football jersey signed by Liam (or just look at the cute pic of him holding it)! It’s a benefit for the Wolves Foundation (a network of foodbanks in Liam’s hometown Wolverhampton, it’s unrelated to the criminally underrated 1D song alas). I hear it calling for you…

And finally, tune in tomorrow for Harry as Starfox rumors pt 369, this time For Real (only hmm nope probably not)

#Louis tomlinson #harry styles #liam payne #zayn #so I have to admit that even in the time since yesterday I’ve looked at the NFT stuff more and am a little more interested #some of what other bands are using them for is cool and I can see why it’s the sort of stuff that makes sense with louis’ fanbase #exclusive special perks that play out over the long term and stuff #the main thing that I find super annoying about them is using the gimmicky platform to add a lot of invented value #to something that on its own isn’t worth much #but Louis wouldn’t do that. it’s true he has done a few merch items that were inaccessible… so it isn’t impossible…#but he always also has accessible stuff and I feel like that’s pretty rare #(ALTHOUGH shoutout to the HOOPS I had to go through to get that JHO vinyl without bankrupting myself FUCKING HELL)#but here’s the thing- the stuff that I see that seems like he could do and have it be cool #I REALLY don’t see how it would need to be an NFT and not just a special offer like I just do not understand how that’s a necessary part of #the picture #so that’s where it just feels like a stupid gimmick to me. but I guess we’ll see (or I’ll gain a better understanding about the whole thing #I do admit… it’s currently a bit shaky)#also lol @ the NFT blog that followed me yesterday I’m assuming that’s a bot and an error #and me aside: I see everyone inthe tags being like UGH NO <3 #he's gonna have an uphill battle with this one I think to win over the hearts and minds to the platform #30 mar 21 #when I saw people were flipping about lottie's post I thought it was cause she circled a blue and green part of the pic #and I thought I was doing a pretty great job of tapping into the twarrie mind #but I truly cannot even follow where these things actually go I would NEVER have thought of that

194 notes · View notes

taehyungsgrowl · 3 years

Note

uhhhh duncan in prison angst 👀👀

hey 👋🏽

i’m sorry this took me so long to answer! but i did make a lil moodboard to go w it :•)

also i've written quite a bit of angst lately so this will be a little angsty, but also smutty.

long distance(?) old school version of sexting, really

hope y'all enjoy!

(yes, i did just discover the indention feature!)

warnings: angst if you squint, h*rny love letters, prisoners cat calling y/n, aaaand smut

word count: 3.5 k (i really don't know how this was supposed to be less than 1,000)

i don't love how this came out but the idea kept floating around in my head so i wanted to share!

Y/N didn't think what started as a harmless little experiment would show her just how powerful words could be.

She scrolled through row after row of photos on the 'write a prisoner' website on a boring evening just for something to do. And now each time she got a letter in the mail from him, her stomach would flutter.

Her finger stopped mid scroll as she came across the photo of the scruffy faced man with cheekbones carved by the gods and eyes clearer than the skies.

Duncan Shepherd.

Her eyes scanned his profile, learning that he was being held in a minimum security prison out of D.C for numerous white collar crimes, including bribery and extortion. He listed his interests as fine arts and finer wines. He'd be out for parole soon but was looking for a way to pass his time in prison.

Out of the hundreds of prisoners Y/N had scrolled past, none of them held her interest like Duncan.

It started off innocently enough. She grabbed a piece of paper from her drawer and her favorite pen and wrote him a simple introduction letter. Even if Duncan didn't seem like a dangerous or violent criminal, she felt a sense of adrenaline in writing him.

Duncan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I like to imagine you get a lot of mail sent to you. I read on your profile that you're a fan of the arts, I'd love to know more about you and what kind of art you enjoy. Truth is, I don't even know why I'm doing this, but figured prison must be lonely so I hope this helps pass the time.

I included a print of one of my favorite pieces of art to hopefully liven up your cell.

All the best,

Y/N

Y/N knew it wasn't much to start off with, but she had no clue what to send to a strange she knew next to nothing about. She printed off a print of one of Monet's Water Lillies and sealed it in an envelope with her first letter.

She let herself forget she sent the letter, not making any expectations. For all she knew, Duncan Shepherd wouldn't even reply to her. It would be hard to imagine that other people browsing the site would ignore Duncan's profile. His beauty, even in a mugshot was beyond compare.

But before long, she'd gotten a beat up envelope in her mailbox from none other than Duncan Shepherd. Excitement buzzed around her as she took a seat in her bed and tore it open.

Y/N,

Thank you for the lovely picture. I've got it hanging above my bed as a reminder of things I loved about my freedom. My mother has an original piece hanging in my childhood home. I remember staring at it for hours, enthralled by the beauty of it.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the print in your envelope.

You know what they say about great minds.

Sometimes I wonder if my family would have let me pursue the arts if I'd be where I am today.

But I am eagerly counting the days until I am able to stroll through a museum in Paris again.

I am dying to know more about you. Tell me what makes up Y/N.

At the bottom of the sheet, was a rough sketch of a garden Duncan had drawn out for her.

The letters continued like that for a few weeks, slowly learning little bits and pieces of each other through writing.

She'd learned a lot about him very quickly. He told her about how troubles with his app and his powerful family led to him going to prison. And he also told her about all of the things he loved to do. Much to her surprise, she had more in common with him than she thought she would have,

Y/N,

We've been writing to each other for some time now and I must admit, curiosity is killing me. Not to mention, I do believe it's unfair that you've known what I look like from the start.

Tell me, did my photograph have anything to do with your interest in me?

I'd love to see you Y/N.

Y/N re-read the letter over and over trying to justify the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Duncan thinking about her. Wondering what she looks like.

Duncan kept every letter Y/N had sent him using them as a way to fuel his daydreams of the woman behind the letters.

Y/N dug through her things in search of an old polaroid camera she had. - she thought Duncan would appreciate the use of instant film. Even if she felt a little silly doing so, she did her hair and makeup and searched her closet for the perfect outfit. In some way, this would be like Duncan's first impression of her. Little did she know, she'd already made a huge first impression with him.

She settled for a deep burgundy silk tank with a cowl neckline. She tossed her favorite leather jacket over it and put on her favorite dainty gold necklaces, letting them rest above her cleavage.

She made a little set up by the window in her room, where the light came in just right for a photo, and propped the camera up on a pile of books before setting it on an automatic timer to have it snap the photo of her.

She stared at the photo, smiling - happy with the results.

Y/N sat at her desk, writing him another letter and including her photo along with it.

Duncan opened his new letter from Y/N letting the photo fall from the envelope. He picked it up and stared in awe. He couldn't even focus on reading the words on the page as he stared at her picture.

In his mind, he expected her to be beautiful but was blown away by her photo.

He kept it safe, tucked under his pillow. He would take it out every night to look at it until he fell asleep dreaming of her.

Duncan saw her face... eyes clenched shut... pouty lips formed into a perfect "O" as her thighs surrounded his face.

He saw his hands traveling up her legs... kissing up her bare stomach... kissing her lips.

Everything felt so real.

Duncan woke up in a hot sweat from his over realistic dream. He could almost imagine her taste on his tongue.

The moon shone into his room giving him a sliver of silver light and he pulled her photo out, tracing his finger over her face.

He turned on the little lamp at his desk and sat down to write her back.

I can't tell you the time, but I believe it's past midnight and I can't sleep without dreaming of you.

Forgive me if I'm being forward, but I can't get you off my mind.

What I would give to be with you now...

Y/N, I want to feel your skin on mine. I imagine what it must feel like to have your lips pressed against my own.

I can't stop myself from thinking of all the ways I want to make you mine.

D.S.

I want to make you mine.

Y/N kept going back to those words.

If it weren't for the prison bars keeping Duncan away...

Her daydreams of spending the afternoons sipping coffee and strolling through colorful cities with Duncan began to change after the last letter. Knowing that he wanted her sent shivers down her spine.

I can't stop thinking about you either... Especially your last letter.

I want to know all the ways you'd make me yours.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it as well. I'm counting the days with you until you're able to get out and do just that...

Y/N colored her lips with her favorite lipstick and kissed the bottom of the page, leaving the perfect kiss mark on it.

She had unlocked something with Duncan with the last letter. Ever since he and Y/N started to exchange letters back and forth, he hadn't even bothered to open mail from other admirers. He only had eyes for Y/N.

Y/N.

Wish you could hear how your name falls off my lips as I chant it over and over when I bring myself relief - picturing your lips around my cock.

God.

It's hard to think clearly when you're on my mind.

You want to know of all the ways I'd make you mine? My hand would fall off by the time it took to write out each and every way I'd do that, sweetheart.

For starters, I'd love to skin my teeth into your skin. Leaving sweet love bites along your neck. Would you like that?

I wouldn't want you to worry about a thing.

You'd let me take care of you, right baby?

Maybe I'd tie up your wrists to make sure you keep still while I work on making you cum.

I hope you know I plan on keeping these promises the moment I get out.

Y/N touched herself as she read Duncan's letter again. His words making her pool between her legs. She dipped her hand into her panties and imagined everything Duncan described that he'd do to her.

Y/N wanted to do something special for Duncan.

She changed into a lacy lingerie set and grabbed her old camera again. Her heartbeat was beating fast with excitement. She held one hand up with her finger on the shutter and pointed it towards her bottoms. As she dipped her free hand into the waistband of her panties, she took the teasing shot of her hand inside her underwear.

Her cheeks felt hot as she took a look at the photo.

She took a few more. A few more teasing pictures - like the one she took wearing her leather jacket barely covering her - along with more R- rated photos.

She grabbed her small stack of photos and tied them with a piece of ribbon in order from least to most risque and added them to the letter she sent off to him.

Do you know what you do to me?

My letters make you touch yourself? What I would give to be able to see it in more than just your pictures. To be able to hear you for myself.

You don't know how much I loved your photos. You make my cock throb, thinking of just how much I want to fuck you.

I need to see you. Hear you.

How would you feel about coming to see me?

I can arrange with my assistants (the ones not in prison) to arrange a flight for you...

Please let me know what you think.

Love, D.S.

Love D.S.

"Shepherd. You got a call," the guard buzzed Duncan out of his cell and took him to the phone booth where the phone was waiting for him.

He wasn't expecting a call from his lawyer until later this week so he wasn't sure who would be calling him. Not like he and his family were on great terms at the moment.

Y/N tapped her foot anxiously on the other end of the call, trying to fight the nerves off.

"Hello?"

His voice was lower than she expected.

"Hi," she spoke barely above a whisper. "It's Y/N," she continued.

"Y/N? Y/N? Oh my god." Duncan smiled in a way he hadn't since he stepped foot into prison. "Your voice!" he laughed, "I'm hearing your voice! Wait, how? I - why? How?" he was at loss for words at the surprise.

"I hope it's okay. I called the office where I send my letters to and asked to call you," she bit her lip. "I like your voice."

Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow. It's so good to hear yours."

They knew they didn't have much time but they were both so wrapped up in the fact that they were hearing each other for the first time.

"I, uh, also wanted to talk to you about your... proposal from your last letter... about visiting you I mean." she paced back and forth in her room. "I'd like that. A lot."

His cheeks would be hurting from how hard he was smiling.

"You've got it, baby. We'll make it happen, I promise."

There was a brief pause, "Don't know how I'm gonna control myself when I have you in front of me, princess."

"Two minutes, Shepherd," the guard called over making Duncan roll his eyes.

"I have to go soon. But include your info in the next letter and I'll have my lawyers work something out with you, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled. "And Dunc, it's so good to hear your voice too,"

"You'll call me again?" he asked, desperation almost bleeding into his tone.

"Yes. I promise."

"Good." he grinned. "I'll talk to you soon. Bye, baby."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Duncan continued to have phone calls more often, but their letters never stopped. He got in touch with his attorney and passed along Y/N's information for him to follow up and help arrange a trip for her.

Before she knew it, she was being flown out in a first class seat to D.C.

They had her stay in a luxury suite the night before she got to finally meet Duncan.

The morning of, Y/N had piles of clothes tossed around the room as she searched for what to wear.

She'd known Duncan and his taste pretty well from his letters and phone calls to know what he liked. Y/N put on a baby pink silk mini slip dress that tiptoed the line between streetwear and lingerie, and strappy heels.

"Damn, baby. Haven't seen you around here..."

"Are you here for me?"

Along with countless other cat calls flooded her ears as the guard led her to Duncan's cell.

Duncan heard the commotion down the hall and he knew Y/N would be there any second. He frowned, wanting to take her away. None of those creeps deserved to even look at her, and here they were harassing her. It was his fault for bringing her there. He tried to tune them out, wanting to be okay when he saw Y/N.

Y/N was standing behind the guard as they came to Duncan's cell.

"Follow me, Shepherd. You both have an hour," the guard let Duncan out and he could finally lock eyes with Y/N.

She froze, finally seeing. His photo on the website did him no justice. The piercing stare of his eyes couldn't be recaptured on camera. His pink, full lips were even prettier in person.

"Hi," Duncan broke the silence between them. He was handcuffed immediately so he couldn't touch her the way he wished he could have right away.

But they were taken to the parloir where they would finally have some sense of privacy. Duncan's lawyers had worked out for this conjugal visit. They might have slipped the guards a few extra bills to ensure Duncan and Y/N had extra privacy for a moment. But Duncan had been a model prisoner (in one of the comfiest prisons in the country), so the guards had no reason to say no.

"One hour." he reminded Dunc, as he removed his handcuffs and left the room, leaving Y/N and Duncan alone.

"You're here," he closed the gap between them and embraced her. She smelled even better than he imagined.

"Duncan," she smiled with tears in her eyes, "I can't believe it's really you," she giggled.

"It's me," he pulled back, holding her hands as he admired her. "God, you're gorgeous."

Y/N couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around Duncan and kissed him.

Duncan stumbled back a little before steadying them. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss. He could feel her pulse quickening under his hand.

"God, can't believe you're here," he mumbled against her lips.

It'd be so long since he'd be this intimate with anyone - let alone someone he liked so much. He tried to push back the thoughts of the ticking clock counting their time and the cold industrial feel of the room they were in.

"I'm here... I'm yours," she tangled her fingers in his hair before kissing him again.

Duncan led her to the table, setting her on top of it. He towered above her, his hands on her thighs, slowly inching up her dress. She was everything he imagined and more.

"Open your legs for me," he instructed, parting them open.

He lowered himself until he was face to face with her dripping cunt. Her panties, if they could even be called that - they were a piece of barely-there cloth - were soaked. Duncan pressed her lips to the wet spot on her underwear and kissed it slowly, letting his tongue poke out through his lips and coat them with his saliva as well.

"Taste so sweet," he murmured, pulling her panties aside and putting his tongue on her wet pussy.

He lapped her wetness with his tongue, letting it massage her clit. Sucking and kissing her - watching how every move he made caused a different reaction from her.

Y/N tried to keep quiet, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans.

Duncan peeked up at her, holding in her sounds. He remembered the way the other prisoners hollered at her.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Please," he begged. He kissed along her thighs, "Want everyone in this god damn prison to know you're mine."

Y/N let the sounds she was holding in fall freely.

"Duncan. Duncan..." she called his name over and over getting closer to the sweet relief his tongue promised.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

Duncan felt her heels digging into his shoulder blades as she trembled, finishing on his lips.

"Good girl," he praised, kissing along her thighs.

Duncan stood up as Y/N watched him with her hands pressed on the table, leaning back slightly to watch him.

"What?" Duncan chuckled, slowly undoing his jumpsuit.

"Just can't stop looking at you! You're real!" she laughed.

"Sure am," he grabbed his shaft, closing the gap between them. "I don't know when we'll be able to see each other.. like this again," he leaned down to kiss her. "Wanna make sure I make you feel good,"

He rubbed the end of his cock against her pussy. "Are you ready?"

"Waited so long," she whined, nodding her head.

Duncan pushed inside her, slowly. Savoring the way he stretched her open.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight," he panted, feeling her clench around his length.

He focused on the way he snapped his hips into hers, keeping a steady pace trying not to finish before she did.

But it had been so long. It had been a long time coming for this moment.

His head was in the crook of her neck, panting heavily. "Fuck, baby." he sunk his teeth into her soft skin. "Gonna cum," before he could finish his statement, he shot his load into her.

He stayed inside her as he rode out his orgasm.

Flushed Duncan faced her; embarrassed for finishing before he wanted to. "I'm sor-" she stopped him by pulling him in for a hard, deep kiss.

She pushed his hair out of his face, bumping her nose with his, "Nothing to be sorry for."

She had Duncan lay on the floor, using his jumpsuit to hold his head up, and then straddled his waist.

Her silky mini dress was bunched around her hips. Duncan found himself getting hard again as she climbed on top of him.

"Thought about doing this for so long," she kissed him. "Can't tell you how often I touched myself reading your letters... thinking about riding you," she sighed, positioning herself over his cock and sinking down.

She rode his cock, bouncing up and down his length. Her nails dug into his chest as she used it for support. The curve of his cock hitting her core made her eyes roll back with each roll of her hips.

Hot sweaty bodies had the coldness of the room forgotten.

Y/N grabbed Duncan's hands, intertwining their fingers, "Gonna.." she started, her legs shaking as her movement got sloppier.

"Me too," he grunted.

She felt Duncan fill her to the brim for the second time.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N finally stood up, helping Duncan up with her. Her legs were shaky and Duncan helped her sit down.

She reached into her purse for a rag she brought. Duncan took it from her hand and got on his knees again. He cleaned their cum off her thighs, stopping only to give her small little kisses on her legs.

He heard Y/N sniffle and looked up, concern painted across his face. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Is she regretting it? He thought.

"No! Of course not," she sniffled again, "I just wish... you could come with me. Leave this place with me."

"Oh, baby," he stood up and kissed her forehead. "Soon. I promise," he tilted her chin up to kiss her.

And Y/N knew he meant what he said. Soon they'd be able to be together all the time, but it still broke her heart to leave and have to see him stay behind the metal bars.

tags:

@desertsunflower00 @celestialrequiem @dhampiravidi @ritualmichael @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @xavierplympton @langdonswhoreprobably @feralthoughtdump @wroteclassicaly @melodylangdon @bloodcoatedeclipse @kitty4860

bonus: screenshot from a very good point drunk!anon made vkfsjk

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd smut #duncan shepherd angst #duncan shepherd x reader #cody fern #house of cards #hoc #i didnt know who would like to be tagged or not so lmk if i need to make changes to the tl #thank you!!!#submission

140 notes · View notes

duvetsandpillows · 3 years

Text

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit.

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?”

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up.

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

#Pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson x you #fuffy #angst

199 notes · View notes

quietmyfearswith · 3 years

Text

cartoons ; preferences

warnings — fluff (?)

characters — andy barber, steve rogers, ransom drysdale, bucky barnes, lance tucker, syverson, august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DDLG FIC,, i understand that for some their litlte age or little space activities varies for some but for this sake lets imagine that the reader loves to watch cartoons,, feedback is appreciated :)

masterlist

As a reward for her good behavior, Andy allowed Y/N an extra half hour to watch television and she chose to watch her favorite cartoon — Higglytown Heroes. “Poor kitty!” She gasped out as the kitten was stuck on a tree. The lawyer was seated on the couch beside her with his hand rubbing her back as he quietly read a case file, “Kip is stuck now too!” Silently chuckling at her blow by blow report of the events of the cartoon he proceeded to read until he was summoned, “Dada, what will happen now?” Her eyes displayed worry and curiosity so he set the folder on the side table before making a guess, “Maybe they’ll ask someone from help? Let’s watch it, little missy.”

A few moments later, the characters were singing a song to reveal that they would be asking help from the firefighters. “You see that, missy? Who rides a big red vehicle with sirens?” His question got her racking her brain for a bit before answering, “Is it from the firefighters, dada?” Smiling widely as he pecked her cheek, he praised her, “Such a smart girl!” Her giggles indicated she loved the praise he was giving her, “The firefighters are the heroes because they help others.” Pondering on what he said, she stared at his bearded face with her lips pursed with a deep stare. “What are you thinking about, missy?” It was unusual for her to be this silent and serious when she was deep in little space, so it was slightly concerning. “Heroes help people; right, dada?” Andy nodded as he revisited the cartoon, “Mhm, just how the firefighters helped Kip and the kittens.” Holding his hand, she played with it as she concluded, “So does that make dada a hero too?” With a mouth hung agape, no words left the lawyer’s mouth as he was dumbfounded as his girl continued her explanation, “You help people and protect them right?” Planting a kiss on his bearded cheek, he smiled as her words of, “You’re my favorite hero, dada,” Melted his heart in the best way possible.

“Little one, what do you want to do today?” Hearing August’s deep voice tore her attentive eyes away from the television screen as she smiled sweetly at him, “Can we bake that cake, daddy?” Following where her finger pointed to where Mr. Bean was currently slicing a piece of the chocolate cake. Sitting down adjacent to where his beloved was sitting on the floor, he tried to convince her from doing something else, “Perhaps you’d rather go to the park? Or even color?” Crossing her arms as she let out a huff — an indication that her mind was set on imitating the animation meal, “But daddy I want to try the cake! It looks so yummy and I want to taste it!” Comparing her attitude to the previous times she whined about wanting something, she was relatively tame — so it ultimately convinced him that there was no harm in complying with what she wanted. “Okay, we’ll bake the cake,” She clapped her hands, excited at the thought of getting to taste the pastry; but her glee was halted as the CIA agent raised a brow at her, “But you have to wait a little while okay? Daddy still needs to find a recipe for the cake and see if we have the right ingredients; can you be a good girl in the meantime?” Nodding her head up and down, she proceeded to clasp her hands together on her lap as she returned to silently watching the cartoon. Draping an arm over her shoulders, his other hand fished out for the phone on his pocket and searched for the recipe; and he did find one after a few minutes.

With a kiss on her shoulder, he then excused himself to the kitchen to check if they have all the required ingredients; and when they did have everything it was then he called for her, “Turn off the television, little one. I found a recipe and we can bake that chocolate cake!” Never in their entire relationship had he seen her comply instantaneously and with a smile on her face. Standing beside him he smirked as he placed the cute apron he got her, “Are you ready to be a good baker, little one?” Jumping on her feet she nodded as she exclaimed, “I am, daddy! Can’t wait to feed you what we baked,” To show her appreciation of him going along with what she wants, she stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek, “Thank you so much, daddy. I love you.”

“Tătic, what color do you like most — pink, blue, or green?” She asked the former Winter Soldier without diverting her gaze from the piece of paper she was drawing on; the man in question however stopped reading the newspaper he was reading as he peered up. “I like the color blue the most, sweetheart; why’d you ask?” Continuing with her drawing, she just mumbled a soft, “Nothing,” And there was really nothing alarming about her behavior so he shrugged it off and continued to read about current events. After a few silent minutes, Y/N asked him again, “Would you rather be an owl, a cat, or a chameleon?” Bucky was able to connect some of the dots — the three colors and animals she mentioned was reminiscent of her favorite cartoon, “Why are you asking me about PJ Masks, sweetie?” Having been caught, she removed her focus from her drawing to look up from where he was sitting on the couch while she was sitting cross-legged at the floor. “I’m drawing something for you, tătic. Please don’t take a peek yet.”

She so sweetly requested it from him that he had just nodded and answered, “I’d rather be a chameleon, sweetie,” Before reading through the text again. Folding the newspaper and placing it by the side table; deciding that he needed to scratch an itch, he quietly lowered himself to sit on the floor. Once doing so, he inched closer to his left so he could try to sneak a peek at what Y/N was drawing; but it was as if spending so much time with the super soldier she gained spy skills, she sensed what he was trying to do and was quick to call him out on it, “Tătic, stop peeking!” Wrapping both his arms on her waist as he rubbed his forehead against her arm as he dramatically sighed, “But sweetheart I wanna see what you’re drawing.” Matching his sigh with a dramatic one of her own, she then pushed his face away and grabbed her drawing pad. “Okay here it is, tătic,” She showed him a suit she was sketching for him, it was blue and she tried to replicate Gecko’s scale in the suit but it proved too difficult to do so. “Wanted to design a new suit for you, tătic; you know just like in PJ Masks.” Unable to let out an audible coo, Bucky hugged Y/N in his arms as he planted kisses on the top of her head, “I love it so much, sweetheart. I love you so much.”

“What are you doing to my hair, doll?” Steve wondered as she was sitting on his lap, with her tongue slightly poking out of her cheeks as her hands were ruffling through his hair in her efforts to style him. “Just fixing your hair, sir.” Her answer just confused the retired Avenger even more as he just brushed his hair earlier; but apparently it wasn’t good enough for her. She was arranging the strands of his hair so they’d stand up instead of his usual look. “Only a little bit more and you’ll look like Ryder.” At the mention of that name, Steve was slightly concerned that he had a rival for his lover’s affection, “Who’s Ryder, baby doll?” Feeling giddy with the nickname she was called, she failed to focus on how he asked the question venomously. “The team leader of PAW Patrol, sir.” He let out a relieved sigh as relaxed visibly as he allowed her to rummage through his golden locks.

“Why do you want to style me like Ryder?” Halting her movements through his hair, she grinned widely upon seeing that his hair now looked like the cartoon character’s. “Because you’re so much like him, sir. You’re both leaders and love dogs too!” The last part peaked his attention as she seemed extra giddy at the mention of dogs, “Is this your way of telling me you want a dog too?” Placing her head against his chest, she nodded as she shyly mumbled, “Yes, sir.” His fingertips grazed the skin of her shoulders, “Then are you gonna name ‘em after the dogs in PAW Patrol?” The suggestion had her enthusiastically nodding against his chest, “I’d love that so much, sir!” Hugging her frame flush against him, Steve then decided to play along with her, “Maybe someday, when you prove to be responsible enough; if I’m Ryder, who are you then?” Removing her face from his chest she beamed, “The Princess of Barkingburg! Which means you need to comply with my orders of us getting a dog!”

gif by @henry-cavlll i really wanted this gif but it wouldnt appear on the gif finder

“Aika, come here, doggy!” Upon hearing her name called, the German Shepherd plopped herself down beside the girl who was currently watching cartoons as she was watching her favorite cartoon as she waited for Sy. Stroking her brown fur she looked at the dog who was staring at her with curious eyes, “Do you like the color red, Aika?” As the dog laid her head down on her thigh, the little girl took it as a no. “Why not? Clifford likes the cower red,” She pointed to the huge dog who was licking Emily as she was brushing his fur. “Maybe Captain will let me put red color on you,” She then began to brush her own nimble fingers against the brown and black fur of the dog as she imagined what it would look like with the color red instead.

“I’m home, baby girl!” Sy announced as he closed the front door behind him. Her head turned to his appearing figure with a wide smile as she waved enthusiastically, “Captain! I had a bright idea.” Having his curiosity piqued, he told her to remain seated on the couch as he placed some of the groceries he bought on the kitchen island and sat beside her. Not even more than a second after he sat down, she immediately perched herself on his lap, calling for Aika as well to scooch closer to the both of them. “What are you up to, baby?” Bopping her nose with his finger and she playfully chased his finger to bite it; pointing to the television where Clifford the Big Red Dog was still playing, “Clifford is red, right?” Not knowing where she was going with this, he just nodded and looked at her with curious eyes as she pointed to their dog who was laying on her crossed paws, “Can we please color Aika red? Please?” Chuckling at her suggestion, the former soldier could only shake his head, “No we can’t color her red, babygirl.” At the sound of the rejection of her idea, Y/N pouted in hopes to persuade him to change his mind, “But you colored her green!” Sighing, he held her hands as he explained, “Captain only colored her green so she wouldn’t be taken away.” With a huff she crossed her arms as she continued to whine, “I want a red dog.” Coming up with a bright idea, Sy then offered, “How about I buy you a Clifford stuffie? That way you’ll have your own red dog.” Almost immediately her pout left her mouth as her eyes shined at the thought of having one and she wrapped her arms around his neck as she excitedly squealed, “Yes please, Captain! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“What’s going on, papa?” Y/N wondered as she found Lance perched down on the floor as he was tinkling with his laptop; she awoke from her nap and instead of having the gold medalist wake her up it was the faint groans and curses he let out that woke her up. Looking up from where he was trying to get the device to work, he put on a smile upon seeing his girl, “I can’t get the laptop to turn on, angel.” He was only slightly alarmed when she jumped and down, “Oh let me help, papa! Hold on, let me get my tools!” He could barely process anything she said as she was quick to leave him on the floor.

Dismissing her behavior, he turned his attention back to his laptop and stared at it as if his gaze would get it back to work. “Handy Y/N at your service! You break it, I fix it!” She said the cartoon character’s famous catchphrase, she held onto her own version of the toolbox he got her as a surprise. Smiling, Lance patted the spot beside him as he called her for help, “Hello handy Y/N! Can you please help me fix my laptop?” With a slight pout, she pretended to inspect the device for a little bit before grabbing Felipe, the yellow screwdriver that seemed to be her favorite character, and pretended to screw around the device. As she turned to place the tool box on its container and was rummaging through her tools, the gymnast sneakily pushed the power button and by some miracle it did turn on, “Look at that, angel! You fixed my laptop!” She jumped a bit at the sound of his voice but smiled widely upon seeing the screen light up, “I guess Handy Manny really teaches you how to fix things huh, angel?” Nodding her head she smiled brightly as she grabbed her toolbox and struck a pose, “It did, papa! And now I can always fix something up for you; you only have to pay me with kissies and cuddles!”

“King, can I pick what we’re both going to wear?” Ransom looked up at the girl who laid beside him, they both woke up a few minutes ago and they were just cuddling in bed as they traced shapes into each other’s skin; usually she would ask if she could dress herself, never him as well. Seeing how she hasn’t had the chance to slip into her comfort space usually — thanks to her demanding priorities — he didn’t see any harm in letting her do so; after all, he wanted her to enjoy her Christmas break. With a sweet kiss to her forehead he allowed it, “Okay princess, you can choose what we both wear. But why stop there? Choose what you want us to do this morning too.” Her eyes lit up with excitement at what he said as she stood up from the bed, leaving the former playboy to whine about missing her warmth, and search through their shared walk-in closet about the clothing articles she was looking for. Returning with their matching cable knit sweaters and a pair of plaid pajamas that had a king and queen symbol sewn on it. With a raised brow, Ransom silently wondered if she was planning this for a while and her excited squeal of, “Wear this one please, king — this way we’re like B1 and B2!”

“So that’s why you wanted us to match huh?” He concluded out loud as he sat up on the edge of the bed so he could reach for her to tickled her sides; in between her fit of giggles, Y/N managed to confirm it, “Mhm, I wanted to be like them. And this is my way too of making up for not spending so much time with my king.” Displeased with the whiff of sadness at her statement; grabbing for both of her hands, he held it against his as he rubbed soothing circles on it, “Princess, I completely understand that you were buried in your workload, okay? I’m so proud that you got to accomplish everything right away,” He paused his little speech to plant kisses on the back of both her palms before inquiring, “So have you decided what we’re going to do?” Nodding her head yes she shared what her ideal morning would look like, “Maybe you can make my favorite breakfast, king? Then watch ``Bananas in Pyjamas together?” Ransom could feel his heart flutter with how simple she was — which was a stark contrast to how the people that surrounded him for all his life was extremely materialistic — that all she wanted was to be with him for that would make her happy. Grabbing the clothes she had picked out in one hand as the other hand was dragging his princess on the other to guide them to the bathroom to change he jokingly scolded her, “Then what are we waiting for? We can’t let B1 and B2 waiting for us for too long!”

“I understand we have a holiday break, but I just wanted to go over the contents of the report one more time,” Will tiredly explained as he was having his final video conference before his holiday break. Y/N was currently watching Twirlywoos in the living room. Redirecting her gaze from the television screen to her bubba who was stressed out and she wanted to help him relax — but knew that one way of doing so is by not bothering him right now as he worked. “Okay, see you all again on January 3rd,” Was the last thing Will said before ending the call and groaning out loud as he rubbed his hands on his eyes, “Bubba, are you okay?” Hearing her concerned and small voice snapped him out of his distress; he was then quick to put up a smile on his lips as he left his home office that was adjacent to the living room and sat beside her on the couch. “I am now, munchkin. Bubba doesn’t have to work for two weeks and you have him all to yourself.” With that Y/N smiled brightly as well and kissed all over his face, “Okay calm down, munchkin,” He laughed feeling ticklish with all her kisses, “How about a snack?” Nodding her head, she accepted the help he offered her to stand from the floor, “Yes please, bubba.”

Grabbing her hand he led her to the sit on one of the chairs on the breakfast bar, and just as Will was about to head to the pantry to grab some snacks he remembered, “Oh hold on, I just need to fix my things before fixing you a snack, okay?” The business consultant expected that his girl would be disappointed but she was the opposite, “Can I help you with that, bubba?” He had to take a double look at her as he wondered out loud, “Are you sure you want to help? And I don’t think you know exactly how to do so, munchkin.” She pouted when he doubted her capabilities, “I do! I learned from the Twirlywoos,” She pointed to the cartoons playing on the background — the family of four were now carelessly shoving all the beach items inside the tent — and since this was her favorite show, she’d watch this particular episode multiple times and picked up quite a few things. Will wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist to lead her into his home office, “Very well, my Chickadee munchkin, show me what you learned from the show.”

332 notes · View notes

yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Note

So I read Elixir and I love how you write sex pollen and I was wondering if you could do one for our other federal agent, Marcus?

Jump Start

Warnings: smut. A lot of smut. Unbeta’d writing; soft Marcus.

Words: 3,500

Summary: What if Marcus only went to DC for a while? And what if he came back for you?

Marcus: Still game for tonight?

You: Are you kidding? Cho and Lisbon have bigged up that Aladdin’s Cave for months. I’ll be there.

Marcus: You sure this is what you want for your birthday?

You: Yes.

Marcus: Okay then… Bring a pillow because I’ll probably bore you to sleep with all the art stories.

When the elevator doors part to reveal Agent Marcus Pike, you’re standing by the door to the lock-up. A smile lights up his face when he sees you, and your heart bumps hard in your chest. He slides his hands in his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

He ducks his head, a little shy. You know he isn’t always. You’d seen him in the interview room a few times last year, when your team and his had co-run a case. Watched his eyes go hard, his face stern. He’d slammed a file down on the desk inches from a suspect’s face and the surprisingly rough side to him had made you shiver.

Lisbon had sent you a knowing look and you’d ignored her.

She’d had her chance and she’d blown it, and frankly you didn’t want to know what she and Marcus had shared; how close they’d been.

Marcus had gone to DC after that. A year’s undercover work has helped him heal, you think. Get his head back in the game.

He came back for another co-op case, and thankfully, Lisbon and Jane had been away on honeymoon then.

You and Marcus had worked this one together, sometimes late into the night, sharing take-out and anecdotes from other old cases, and then, you’d started hanging out, a little.

He’s interesting. Funny. Friendly. Panty-melting gorgeous.

Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

Cho dropped that it was your birthday at last week’s after-work drinks, and then Marcus had texted offering you a tour of the art lock up. You’d been rota’d off the day Cho and Lisbon got to see it, last year.

Patrick Jane hadn’t been allowed in. Marcus had muttered something about sticky fingers when you’d asked him about it.

“You ready?” He ducks his head to buss your cheek and you meet him halfway, breathing him in, minty gum, sandalwood, and the gourmet coffee he hides in his office. He shared it with you once and it’s like him, memorable, decadent, addictive.

“Ready.” You pull away, reluctantly, wanting him, but he’s never given you any overt hints that he sees you as anything more than a colleague.

He and Lisbon are cordial to each other when they meet, but for all you know, he’s still pining over her.

You daren’t ask; you don’t want to know the answer.

Marcus punches in a code to the first gate, then plucks the rings of keys from his pocket and opens the dinner door of the lock-up, a smile playing on his scruffy face. He grew the patchy beard during his time in DC and it really suits him, highlights his beautiful jaw and makes his soulful eyes a deeper brown.

This time on a Saturday, no one else is around.

“A private museum,” you breathe as you see all the paintings, sculptures and other art set carefully in frames or on desks or custom made plinths.

“Yeah, I always feel like Aladdin.” He scoffs at himself. “I say that every time. What a dork.”

You turn and grin at him. “I like it. You’re an art geek. It’s sexy.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Marcus’ brow wings up. “That so?”

“Um, sure.” You duck your head, embarrassed. “So. Tell me some art stories, Special Agent Pike. What’s new here?”

He brightens, soulful chocolate eyes going wide for just a moment. “Well. There’s this equine sculpture. Maker’s mark is Italian but we seized it during a raid for paintings. Wasn’t expecting it.” He snaps on white gloves and offers you a pair, then gently turns over the statue to show you the swirling signature on the bottom. “We’re still not sure where the other two are.”

You trace a gloved finger over the horse’s detailed mane, wrought perfectly in cherrywood. “Other two?

“Sure. This is part of a set. You can tell here-” he points out a divot in the base that you wouldn’t even have noticed, and another on the opposite end. “And here. The two connecting statues are missing - other horses, I’d guess.”

“Wow.”

Marcus sets the horse down and meets your gaze. “You bored yet?”

“Nope! More!”

He chuckles indulgently. “Okay. Why don’t you choose.”

You wander around the various lock-up cages for a while, examining instruments, more statues, even a huge quilt that looks woven with gold.

After a few moments, a painting about your height catches your eye. It’s an orgy, but tastefully done, painted in shades of amber and gold, the bodies fluid, enchanting.

“I’ve never seen such a… soft depiction of a group bang,” you smile.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That came in last week. Rumour has it, the artist was quite the lothario back in the 1800s. A steady stream of, ah, callers to his penthouse in Florence. The accounts of his sexual prowess are something else.”

“I bet.” You eye the curves of the women in the painting; she looks soft, welcoming, her eyes closed in ethereal bliss. “So, how’d you get this?”

“Allegedly, found in an attic. We went to the house to pick it up. The man who gave it to me - said they just moved in - seemed kinda high.” Marcus’ brow furrows. “Very mellow. Pretty sure he’d been smoking something. He was half-dressed.”

You crouch, examine the painting more closely. “And you didn’t… arrest him?”

Marcus shrugs. “Art’s our deal. I did note the address with a colleague in the DEA, so if it gets flagged again, they’ll investigate.”

Something about the painting keeps you enraptured. You spy a little notch in the frame. “Do you think something’s hidden in here?”

Marcus bends next to you to examine the area you point to. He’s been working today, so he still wears his suit, the red tie the little bit of flash he allows himself on the job. His scent weaves around you, the lick of coffee, the gasp of mint, and something uniquely Marcus.

“It looks like something…. Comes undone?”

You both lean in together, and you edge your gloved finger along the groove in the ornate gold-effect frame.

Marcus does the same from the other end. “Wow,” he breathes. “A hidden compartment?” Then his eyebrows shoot up as part of the frame depresses under his finger, clicking. He grins hugely. “Well, now I really do feel like Aladdin.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a little monkey wearing a fez around here, do you?” You tease.

“Maybe a magic carpet. I-”

He’s cut off when a hissing noise pops from the painting. You and Marcus both lean in to try and hear it more closely, and just when you get close, powder sprays from the frame, light gold in colour and smelling faintly musty.

You cough, reeling back, your hands over your face. “Gross.”

Marcus steps back too, wiping a gloved hand over his face and examining the golden-hued powder on the cotton fabric. “What the hell-”

You slowly sit down on the floor. “I feel… sort of dizzy. Hot.”

Marcus crosses to you, crouching in front of you, and if you didn’t feel so discombobulated, you would appreciate the closeness of him, the amber shot through his irises, the slight curl of his cowlick. “I’ll go get help. Maybe some water?”

You’re burning up. A slow dance starts in the pit of your belly, something that you think was always there, maybe, but intensified now Marcus is so close. “Please don’t go.”

His brow furrows in concern. “Of course.” He smoothes a gloved hand over your hair, and then you see it; the change in his eyes, the way they go dark and hot. “I… what the fuck is this stuff? I feel…”

You clutch at his forearms, feeling the play of lean muscle under his suit. “What if…. What if this was the reason that painter was such a, um, lothario?”

Marcus’ gaze has dropped to your mouth and at your words, he blinks. “What? Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Marcus, I…”

He stands up, backing away. “I can’t be near you. Not when I want… I can’t.”

You reach out to him. “What if you stayed?”

He gazes down at you, longing in those bottomless eyes, and now you can clearly see the outline of the powder’s effect on him. “I can’t. Can’t do that to you.”

A flash of hope pierces the haze descending on you. “You want to? Because of the.. Stuff,” you finish lamely.

An expression of half desire, half pain, sketches itself over Marcus’ features. “I’ve wanted to for a while. That night we worked late.” He’s half-panting now, the fingers of one hand curled around the wall of his side of the lock-up. “Wanted to take you over the desk. I - fuck- can’t do it.”

You make to move. “Marcus-”

“Not like this,” he groans, that voice of sin and sex dropping half an octave, California with a lick of the drawl of Texas. “Not… like this.”

“Don’t go!” You beg. Your insides are burning up for him. If he’d just touch you. Just for a moment.

Marcus is shaking his head, fumbling with the door on this section of the lock-up. You lunge for him but he pulls the door closed, locking you in and him out.

He turns the key, then tosses the ring across the room.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this. Goes against everything.”

“But I want you,” you say. You crawl over to the fencing separating you. “At least… touch my hand.”

You pull your gloves off, slide your fingers through the holes in the mesh.

Marcus takes his gloves off too, tangles his fingers with your the best he can. He sighs deeply. “I had this whole date thing planned. Dinner at an Italian that reminds me of a place I ate at in my gap year.”

“Marcus,” you whisper. “So you do really like me.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since I got back from DC, and there you were, pretty as a picture, working late with me, sharing Chinese food. Making me laugh.”

You swallow, wanting him so badly it hurts. Every inch of you burns for him.

“I wanted to go slow,” he rasps out. “I know I jump in. Get overexcited. But with you.. I wanted to do it right. Fuck.” With his free hand he, almost unconsciously, palms himself through his suit pants, his eyes rolling back. “What the hell is this drug?”

You hungrily follow the path of his hand with your gaze. “Lothario, remember?”

“I remember.” Marcus groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. He’s sitting awkwardly. “Bastard.”

“Marcus.” You squeeze his hand. “I want this. I want you. It’s lonely up on that white horse.”

He shakes his head, vehement. “It’s….not… not right.”

You press against the caging and just the pressure of the mesh on your breasts makes you moan. “So I can’t touch you, and you won’t touch me, but you also won’t leave me.” You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, look at the tent in his suit pants. “Touch yourself.”

His eyes pop open. “What?”

“If you won’t leave and you won’t… give in to whatever this is, although I want you more than I’ve wanted any man, ever…. Let me see you.”

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he looks at you, big brown eyes considering. He’s weighing every option. Marcus is thoughtful, considered. Considerate. He always thinks two steps ahead, encompasses everyone in plans and strategies.

But he’s blindsided by this, and you can’t say it isn’t sexy as hell to see him unravel this way.

“Please,” you add, holding his gaze.

He squeezes your fingers and the air changes between you, and then he leans heavily against the mesh and you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, a little, and it’s so soft. Feels like silk, and you have to touch more of him, but maybe you’ll get to at least see more, so you will your breathing to calm, just a bit, as he fumbles one-handedly with his belt buckle and then slides the zipper of his suit pants down to reveal plain grey boxers, darkened in the centre by a damp patch, and your throat is so dry.

“Have you…” your heart bumps hard, the rush of seeing new parts of Marcus making you even dizzier. “Ever gotten off in this evidence locker before?”

“Can’t say I have.” Marcus’ gaze stays on your face, earnest. “I can go. I can just go.”

“Please. Please don’t go. Come in.”

“Can’t do that.” He closes his eyes; looks like he is silently praying for the power to resist you. His fingers curl into the parted edge of his suit pants.

“Let me see you?”

He sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “This is not how I planned to seduce you. Just so you know.”

Your pulse rabbits. “You seduce me every moment, Marcus. With every sweet text. Every time you smile at me. All your art stories. When you say my name. Your voice, oh God.”

Marcus’ hand trembles as he holds your gaze through the wire mesh of the lock-up, and he finally, finally parts the opening of the plain grey boxers and draws himself out, and you just drink him in with your eyes, the shape of him, the swollen tip, his length and girth, the curling hair at his base. It looks as silky as the hair on his head and you hear yourself groan needily.

“Marcus.”

He fists himself, his gaze hot on yours. “Not how I planned this date,” he repeats. “I feel like I’m on fire for you.” He rasps out your name and you watch his hand move, and suddenly it’s too much, the heat between your legs cannot be ignored, and you shove your skirt up and mirror Marcus on the floor.

His head jerks around. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Never knew you had such a potty mouth,” you half-gasp, half-tease.

“For you, I’ll do whatever you want with my mouth.”

You groan at that as you circle your clit with a finger.

Marcus almost growls “Underwear off, I want to see.” His voice, that voice, is gentle-rough, and you think of the day you watched him in the interview room.

“Whatever you say, Agent Pike.”

“Christ.” He’s jacking off in earnest now, his gaze riveted to you as you pull off your underwear with one hand, letting it fall wherever. Your skirt is rucked up around your hips and the fact it’s Marcus watching you is a huge turn on, but honestly you’re not sure if you could have stopped, for anything.

Your combined pants fill the space. You’ve never been so wet. When you slide two fingers inside yourself the sound is obscene.

“It’s.. a wonder.. He ever got… any painting done,” Marcus grits out.

You laugh. “Now? You wanna talk about art now?”

He huffs. “Art is the reason we’re here. Like this.” Then he sucks in a breath and you look down at him, his balls drawn up tight, his cock wet with his own pre-come.

“Marcus Matthew Pike, I swear to God, if you don’t get in here right now, I will never ever speak to you again.”

He hesitates.

“I swear on Van Gogh’s ear,” you add, your internal muscles fluttering.

Marcus half-yanks up his pants, scrabbles for the key. The seconds feel like hours until he appears again, boxers and pants around his knees, shirt tails hanging, and he opens the mesh door and you yank him in and kiss him and you tumble to the floor together, and Marcus grabs both your wrists and pins them above you with one hand, his face dark and determined, and it makes your heart pound.

“Please,” you grate out. “Marcus. I need you.” You spread your legs and try to hook your feet over his calves, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Sweetheart, not yet.” He curls your fingers into the wire of the mesh. “Hold on. Don’t… don’t touch me. I wanna make it good for you, first.”

You hear yourself keen his name as he shucks off his clothes from the waist down, then slides down your body and puts that gorgeous mouth to work. Your favourite thing he did with his mouth until now was talking, but this-

Maybe he’s writing his name, maybe he’s writing a sonnet, but whatever it is, the way he curls his tongue is obscene, and you don’t know if it’s partly the drug, but when he puts two fingers inside you, you come so hard you almost black out. And then lust rears its head again and you grab for him, carding one hand through his hair and cupping him with the other, and he’s slick in your palm and the ridges and heat of his cock feel so good.

“Marcus.” You fist a hand in his hair, pull a little, and he groans and pants, and you take the opportunity to pump him in your fist until he swears under his breath.

"Condom. Oh fuck. Condom."

He hesitates, then drops a soft kiss on your lips - your first, you think, a bit giddy - and you taste yourself, and he licks into your mouth and whispers your name and it's pure, unadulterated bliss.

Then he extricates himself, rummages in his suit pants, and as soon as he has the foil square in his hand you grab for him, pulling him down on top of you.

"After this," you murmur, "you're gonna bend me over the desk." And you roll the condom down his dick and he lets out a long, slow breath and pushes inside you and it's everything.

Everything inside you quiets for a moment that stretches as he starts to move, caging you in with his braced forearms, and you look into his dark chocolate eyes and his heart is on his face, with Marcus it always is. It's your favourite thing about him.

He nibbles at your lips as you make love to eachother, and you hook your legs around his hips to stop him pulling out too much. You want him close, want to feel his skin under your hands. The buttons of his shirt rasp against your dress, and if you were more aware you might think it's ridiculous, him bringing you to orgasm with you both half dressed in the floor of the art squad lock-up, but you can't care. Not when his cock hits you right there, and then you're keening his name and he tumbles over the cliff edge with you, pressing hard in those final thrusts as your muscles milk him.

You curl around him. "Marcus."

He sighs, presses his forehead to yours. "Was that… are you okay?"

You chuckle lazily. "I've never been more okay."

He cuddles you close, nosing at your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. "Christ, what is this stuff? I could go again."

At his words desire rears its head. "There must be a desk in here somewhere, right?"

And his eyes go hot.

And that's how you find yourself bent over a desk recovered from an abandoned shipping off, the edges intricately gilded. You cling to them as Marcus fucks you hard and fast, just the way he'd fantasised about, and it's so good that you sob his name over and over.

Afterwards he cuddles you so gently, stroking your hair as he whispers praises about how good you felt around him, how next time he's gonna give you a bed covered in rose petals.

You shake your head, kissing him deeply, helping him into his jacket. "You're all I want, Marcus. Any way I can have you."

A flush colours his cheeks as he cups your cheeks. "Dinner? Let me take you out to dinner."

"I'd rather have it in bed. Have you in bed."

His eyes go wide for a second. "The drug.."

"This isn't the drug and you know it." You loop your arms around his neck. "It just jump-started us. Never been so grateful to a horny nineteenth century painter."

Marcus laughs out loud, hugs you, then releases you to hold your hand, tug you towards the elevator. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"

Happiness unfurls slowly inside you. "I could stand to hear it again."

Tagging the Pedro pals! @soldade @beccaplaying @heatherbel @mourningbirds1 @alldatalost @songsformonkeys @agirllovespasta @nelba @chews-erotically @mrschiltoncat @gamingaquarius @alienprincesspoop @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @agentpike @jaime1110 @thegreenkid @pedropascallion @mrsparknuts @buckstaposition @winters-buck @oloreaa @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @holographic-carmen @cryptkeepersoul @alwaysbethewest @poenariuniverse @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @alwaysbethewest @kindablackenedsuperhero @abuttoncalledsmalls @f0rever15elf

And @arch-venus25 did you wanna be tagged in Pedro stuff?

419 notes · View notes

animanightmate · 3 years

Text

Drawing The Musketeers 23

I seem to have developed a pattern now of drawing characters in the order I first drew them back last year. Which means it’s this bad boy’s turn again:

[Image description: a detailed digital pencil drawing of Matthew McNulty as Grimaud in the BBC’s show The Musketeers, in full 17th Century(ish) costume. He is a stocky, white man with a close, scruffy beard and a dark, forked scar by his left eye. This is the only eye visible from the deep hood covering his head, and he’s glaring impassively toward the viewer. He is wearing a hooded coat with a great many straps and buckles, including a massive one where the huge, turned-down collar falls over the enormous diagonal strap across his chest. He has a cloth pouch at his belt.His right hand appears to be drawing a couple of inches of sword from his scabbard, but it’s difficult to tell. His clothes are deeply folded and creased, and it’s just possible to tell that he is wearing fingerless gloves and a ring on each visible finger. End image description.]

Where do I start with this? Okay:

Look, it’s a long way from perfect, but I’ve been drawing this for a solid chunk of two days. You have to stop somewhere, right?

I have no idea what’s happened with his hand, and I could probably have shaded it a lot darker and got away with it, but here we are.

You know how I’m usually cursing lace? This time I’m cursing buckles.[Counts swiftly] 13 of them. I think there’s a 14th that’s really obscure but see above re: not going back.

I’ve learned a lot. Some of it is about software issues vs. hardware issues. Some of it is about texturing using reduced opacity. Some of it is about drawing with white instead of black (a real luxury of digital drawing).

I’ve also learned that Grimaud’s characteristic cloak/ coat thing had removable arms, and I’m mildly disturbed at the thought.

I’ve also learned that he had a random shiny ribbon tied to his Ridiculously Huge Clan Chieftain Buckle and I feel like there’s a story there...

You can probably already tell the section I did last, when I was in a fair amount of pain and fatigue. No prizes (and besides, you get to find out in the progress shots).

The eye works! The eye really works!

I was reminded all over again that Matthew McNulty is a very attractive human and that he and the makeup/ costume department did their utmost to make him look horrible and it didn’t really work.

There was a point where I had to stop for the day and added some red pen annotations. The following day I realised I was thinking “I can fix him,” and if that doesn’t sum up a significant portion of the Grimaud Stans, I don’t know what does...

I am very pleased with the big strap detailing, the money pouch, the buttonholes, the hilt of the main gauche, and the arms.

I kept going back and adding more face shading. I’d go “Ah, that’s enough,” then look at it again after some Endless Buckle Finagling and think: Nope, needs more shade. I still think I should have gone back and added more shade.

I appear to have shaded over some of the facial hair of which I was very proud. OH WELL.

I did a lot of deleting and redrawing. I am glad I did so.

I am falling into a real danger of perfectionism, and I’m not sure what to do with that.

It’s unbelievably better than last time I did Grimaud...

Measuring obsessively really made a difference.

Next time I’m doing someone wearing more contrasting clothes and maybe even smiling.

I like learning.

My arm hurts.

⬅Drawing 22

Progress shots behind the cut. There are a metric arseton of them, mind you!

[Image description: dark grey, wobbly outline of the above-described figure. Various points are marked in short, dark lines down the middle of its length - frown lines, nostrils, mouth, beard, various straps and belts. The edge of the hood on one side is outlined. End image description.]

[Image description: The above outline, but chest strap, collar, large buckle, join of coat, and more detail on the hood are sketched out. End image description.]

[Image description: above image but cut off at waist. Shading on hood and some features are outlined. End image description.]

[Image description: Above image but full-length again; the shading on the hood and on the right arm are much more detailed. End image description.]

[Image description: above image but far greater detail in the shading of arm and hood. Creases on the left arm are sketched out. Hand and pommel of sword are sketched out. Hilt of main gauche is complete. End image description.]

[Image description: above image but cropped to chest. Face is completely detailed. Shading and buttonholes on collar are apparent. Buttons on chest are sketched out. End image description.]

[Image description: above image but full-length.More shading on abdomen and lower arm half-sketched out. Hand has more detail. All chest and abdominal buttons sketched. End image description.]

[Image description: above image with deeper and more intricate shading. Chest buckle has been reduced in size and detail added; right arm now in proportion along with fold of hood. Shirt lacing has been added. End image description.]

[Image description: above image with hip and pouch completely shaded. Chest strap now has intricate detail and shading. Belt and sword hilt sketched out along with left hand. End image description.]

[Image description: above image but all shaded now except left hand. End image description.]

33 notes · View notes

ramblingkat · 3 years

Text

Fic: Storm(Bleach)

UraIchi discord is a terrible place if you are trying to hide from plunnies.

Look, a coffee shop and a writer AU, all in one. My shame is out for all to see. There is a lot more of this to come as well.

Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke, Unagiya Ikumi

***

Shutting his book, Ichigo rubbed his eyes and sat up, back popping.

Okay, enough of that. Time to take a bit of a break. College was fun at times, but it was also a lot of work. Which was why this job was such a good thing to have.

Yeah, Ichigo worked a weird little night shift. It never seemed busy enough to justify staying open, but he wasn’t going to argue. It was pretty much the perfect time to work with his schedule of school and actually getting a chance to see his friends. Which was needed. Tatsuki and Ishida’s mockery was sometimes the only thing that got him out of his fog of English words and books.

As he stretched a bit, Ichigo let his eyes roam the shop. There was only one person in the place, the scruffy blond man who came in regularly. He had been sitting in one of the corner tables, worn clothing still damp from the rain that had started to drizzle down not long before the man came in.

His battered bag was on the ground next to him, strap looped around the arm of the chair he was in to secure it. On the table was the ugliest hat Ichigo had seen in a while, green and white, tattered on the edges. Next to it was a notebook, which Ichigo knew was full of some sort of scribbles. Ichigo was really curious about what they were about. He had a glimpse inside a few times while cleaning up. Sometimes there were notes, writing neat and in a language he didn’t recognize. Sometimes there were sketches, drawings and blueprints of things, neatly labeled.

When Ichigo had glanced up earlier, the man had been holding the cup of coffee he had bought, eyes shut, almost asleep. Though the noise of Ichigo setting his book down had brought the man’s head up, and he blinked at Ichigo. Then he gave Ichigo a smile and took a sip of the coffee.

Given the look of betrayal he gave the cup, Ichigo assumed that the coffee had gotten cold enough to be unpleasant. Since the guy had paid for the first cup with change scrambled out of his pocket, Ichigo assumed that he didn’t have enough for a second cup.

But even across the room, he could see the shiver that ran through the man’s shoulder, and that tugged at Ichigo’s heart. As much as he liked to pretend that he didn’t have one.

Since the guy was his only customer in hours, Ichigo knew what the man’s order was. So he remade it.

When he set it down in front of the guy, Ichigo got to see the man’s eyes were grey for the first time. Usually, they were shaded by the guy’s hat and Ichigo couldn’t see them all that clearly.

Though without the hat, blond hair was starting to fluff as it dried, and pale eyes were wide as the guy looked at Ichigo, Ichigo had a realization that the guy was hot.

“On the house,” he said, and retreating rapidly. Was he blushing? Ichigo was sure he was blushing. That was horrifying. He just realized the homeless guy that hung around at the shop during the dark hours of the night was hot. Honestly, he wasn’t sure this could get worse.

As if waiting for that phrase, there was a brilliant flash outside, and a rumble of thunder that was more sensation than sound. A second flash and sizzling pop followed and the power went out.

Ichigo should have known better. He was an English Literature major. Why had he used the most cliche method of making things worse?

“I think the transformer exploded,” came a surprising voice, and Ichigo jolted as he realized that it was the customer. He scrambled from the man’s name. It was used from time to time when there was more than one customer at a time.

Kisuke. A weird name, not one he had heard before. But it made it easier to recall than if he had some regular name. Still, the man was quiet, and other than some murmurs when he made his orders, Ichigo had never heard the guy talk much.

There was a bit of a sigh from the other. “And no backup generator in here, it seems.” Kisuke tsked from the area his table was at. “I guess both of us are done with anything to do with reading or writing.”

Which annoyed Ichigo. He had a new book to read for fun, not one of his many books for class, and wanted to start that tonight. Yes, it was a trashy romance, but Ichigo didn’t care. It was a fun read, and there was a lot of interesting world building. And a great deal of smut, which was hilarious. Ichigo and Tatsuki had regular dramatic readings of the book for the entertainment of their YouTube followers.

So the loss of power was really annoying.

Pulling his phone, Ichigo texted the number they had been given to pass on the message of the power outage. Not that his boss could do much, but maybe she’d give Ichigo permission to shut down. Though it might take a bit to find out.

“So, Ichigo-san, you seem to be reading a lot of books in English,” Kisuke said, apparently deciding that the silence was something to break. Ichigo had a moment of wondering how the man knew his name, but then remembered he had a nametag on. “College?”

Ichigo nodded, glancing to where Kisuke was sitting. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dim light from the city glow. Even if their section was offline, there was plenty of areas that were still lit up. Otherwise, he’d have the flashlight on his phone turned on. But he realized that it was still dim enough that Kisuke might not have seen the nod. “Yeah,” he said, feeling a bit awkward about having a such a normal conversation in the dark.

“English is an interesting language,” the blond said, switching to the language with an ease that spoke of practice.

Ichigo could understand what he was saying and was pretty impressed. To have so little accent was something that was one of Ichigo’s goals for his own English speaking. No reason not to practice now, since he couldn’t do anything else at the moment.

“Yes, though the way they structure their sentences is odd.” He took his time, making sure he had the words and the grammar correct. But he was pleased with how he sounded.

There was a slash of brighter color from where Kisuke sat, the other obviously smiling in the faint light.

Another flash and rumbled, and even the dim light from outside faded as the sky opened up and rain poured down. Both men looked out, and then Ichigo yelped as his phone trilled. Fumbling it, aware he was blushing as Kisuke chuckled at him, Ichigo saw that it was Unagiya giving him a call back.

Moving back to the counter, he answered it. “Hey,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched the rain come down outside. It was soaking wet out there, and he was glad he had brought his umbrella today. Yuzu had called and insisted, and the thought of his sister made him smile, just a little. He’d have to say thank you when he talked to her later.

“Lock up and go home,” his boss said. “The storm has half the city blacked out, so it’ll be while before it comes back on.” She sighed. “I’ll go through and clean up in the morning, toss the stuff that needed to stay cold. No need to try it in the dark.”

Ichigo glanced at Kisuke, then outside, frowning a bit. “All right. I can come in early tomorrow and help with any clean up if you need me to.” Because as much as they bickered, he liked his boss. Even if she was insane when her kid showed up.

She snorted on the other side of the line. “Go home and sleep for once. I’ll see you are your regular time.”

Then she hung up, and Ichigo rolled his eyes. Blunt as always. Putting his phone way, Ichigo glanced where Kisuke had been sitting.

Only to yelp again as he realized the man was standing just outside of arms reach, hat in place and bag looped over his shoulder.

Kisuke was close enough now that Ichigo would clearly see the shit eating grin on his face. “I assume you’ll be closing now,” the blond said cheerfully. “I hope you have a good night and a safe trip home, Ichigo-san.”

Huffing a bit at the man, Ichigo glanced outside again. “I will. Can I walk you anywhere? I have an umbrella….”

His voice trailed off, and he looked at Kisuke. The smile had faded, and he realized that Kisuke was studying him. Then the smile curled across Kisuke’s face again, softer and calmer as the man seemed happy at the offer.

“Ah, I will fine.” Kisuke shifted so his bag was secure. “Though I appreciate your kindness.” He held up the coffee that Ichigo had just given him, and then moved, ignoring Ichigo’s startled protest as he managed to get to the door and then out, without even running into any of the chairs or tables.

Ichigo grimaced. The guy was going to get soaked.

He wondered if Kisuke even had dry stuff to change into.

Hopefully.

Ichigo made a note to get him a free drink the next time he showed up.

Because it was the right thing to do. Not because of the way Kisuke had smiled when holding the cup before leaving.

Ichigo really needed to get better at lying to himself, honestly. With a sigh, he started to lock things up and head out. Something to consider later.

#Bleach #Kurosaki Ichigo #Urahara Kisuke #Unagiya Ikumi #Coffee shop AU #writer au #No regrets #Hobo Writer

4 notes · View notes

songofwizardry · 3 years

Text

paint stains

part 2 of a motley crew, a series of nine (nein!) ficlets to celebrate the end of critical role campaign 2

(set between episodes 21 and 26) Molly borrows Jester's paints, and Jester gets a preview of Molly's newest cards.

Molly and Jester having tiefling art club together was so much fun to write! you can find the fic on ao3, or under the cut.

It was not a nice day outside. One of the best things about Nicodranas, in Jester’s opinion, was that it didn’t get weather like this. And sure, Jester didn’t really feel the cold, but these sorts of days – wind making horrible sounds and knocking over carts, cold rain hitting the windows at odd angles – were still miserable, on principle. She liked spending them indoors. Anyway—the point, Jester thought, turning away from the window (closed tight) and back to her sketchbook, was that Nicodranas was way better than the Empire in lots of ways. Weather was only one of them.

She turned the sketchbook around on her lap, twisting so she could get a better angle, and she was working on a particularly tricky fold on a robe, when she heard a knock on the door. She paused – couldn’t be Beau, they were sharing and she never knocked – maybe Fjord?

“Come in!” she called.

The door creaked open, and a purple head poked in.

“Molly, hi! I thought you’d gone shopping with the others.”

Mollymauk pulled a face. “Not in this weather, darling. I let Caleb and Fjord go on their own. I’m not made for these elements.”

Jester couldn’t help laughing. “Me neither.”

“Anyway, can I come in? I need your help.”

“Sure!” Jester swung her legs off the bed, and patted the space next to her. Molly shut the door behind him and dropped onto the bed, coat fanning out behind him, a bright splash of colour. “What do you need?”

Molly pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket with a flourish. “Your artistic input!” he declared, grinning. “Also, your paints? If you can spare them, please.”

“Ma-aybe,” Jester said, just to watch the way Molly’s brows knitted together. It was kind of adorable. She leaned over to poke him in the side. “No-o, I’m kidding, of course! Can I see what you’re painting?”

Molly’s face brightened, and he fanned the cards out on the bed, flipping them over, one by one. “Definitely.”

Jester wasn’t too impressed with her current paint levels. Another thing Nicodranas did really well – or at least, that her Mama always made sure she had – was art supplies, but it turned out that finding paints while adventuring and going between middle-of-nowhere Empire towns was really hard. She was running low on blue and yellow, and she’d lost her last nice paintbrush somewhere in the Labenda swamp, and she’d never had to ration her supplies so carefully, but she had no intention of telling Molly that.

Anyway, it was totally worth it for the smile on his face as she placed the little pots in a neat row before him.

She watched as he picked up one of his cards – it had a sketch of two dragons, locked in battle with each other, all teeth and wings – and started painting one of the dragons red. “You’re really good at this, Molly,” she said, after a few moments, seeing the dragon come to life under his purple fingers.

Molly glanced up, briefly, grinned, then looked back at his cards. “I haven’t been doing it for very long,” he admitted. Jester was pretty sure he hadn’t been doing anything for very long, what with the whole amnesia thing, but she wasn’t gonna bring that up. “But I like the cards,” Molly was saying, “And I like, you know, being able to tell stories with them? So…” He looked up at her, shrugged. “Making more of them felt natural. And it’s fun.”

“I get it,” Jester said, and she did. It was sort of what she did with her sketchbook, too. Part of it was talking to the Traveller, but part of it was talking to herself too. Telling herself the story. “What’s that card gonna mean then, Molly?”

Molly finished off the tail of the red dragon with a flourish. “It’s called The Tyrant.”

They passed a good hour like that, together. Jester turned back to her sketchbook, finishing off the tricky cloak, adding features to the face, shading in the scales. Mollymauk hummed as he worked, snatches of tunes she vaguely recognised from their one night at the circus, finishing one card and starting on another. Outside, the wind grew wilder, the sky got darker.

When her hand started aching from making dozens of little scales, Jester stopped to shake it out, and looked up to find Molly watching her.

“What?” she asked.

Molly smiled, and there was something smaller, and softer, about this smile. “Did you know you stick your tongue out while you draw?”

Jester was definitely not somebody who blushed, so she definitely did not blush. “Yes, actually. My Mama always told me that.”

“It’s very cute,” Molly said, without a trace of embarrassment. “Anyway, what are you working on?”

Jester turned her sketchbook round so it was facing him. “Can you tell who it is?”

Molly pulled the sketchbook closer, eyebrows shooting up. “Fuck, that’s really good, Jester. Calianna, yeah?”

In spite of herself, Jester felt a swell of pride in her chest. “Yes! I’m glad you like it. What about you?” She leaned over, trying to get a look at the card on his lap, but he immediately flipped it over.

“Nope, nuh uh. Some of these are a surprise.“

“What, for me?”

Molly laughed. “Not just for you, darling. For all of you. You’re not going to see them till they’re done.”

Jester attempted her best pout. “I’m excellent at keeping secrets, Molly! I wouldn’t even tell the others.”

“Nice try, but no.” Molly glared at her, but the effect was slightly ruined by the blue paint-stains that had somehow ended up across his cheek and chin. “You’ll have to be patient. You’ll see them eventually.”

“Ugh, fine. You better finish them soon.”

Molly rolled his eyes. “I’m a busy tiefling, but I’ll do my best.” He pushed the sketchbook back towards her. “Now come on, if you’re that desperate for me to finish, let me continue.”

He flipped the card back over, pulled out the charcoal stick that was stuck behind one ear, and continued sketching on the card. Jester picked up her own sketchbook and stretched her fingers once more (still aching, she was never drawing scales again). Molly started humming again, and this time she recognised the tune as a sea-shanty Fjord had sung when he’d had too much to drink. He seemed engrossed in his drawing.

Slowly – holding the sketchbook up as an excuse in case she needed it – Jester edged closer to him, leaning over, little by little, until she could see the card Molly was (poorly) trying to hide.

It was a man, with long hair and a scruffy beard, holding a book open. There were spheres – lights, Jester realised, noticing the rays stretching out from them – orbiting him, and Molly was currently drawing a cat, winding between the man’s feet. It was just a sketch, but Jester could already tell it was going to be beautiful.

She couldn’t help the smile, thinking of what Caleb’s face would look like when he saw it. He’d probably go completely red. As sneakily as possible, she scooted back to her end of the bed, took one last look at Molly (he hadn’t noticed her snooping, excellent) and went back to drawing the scales, still smiling.

#critical role #cr fanfic #critical role fanfic #my writing #a motley crew #jester lavorre #mollymauk tealeaf #fanfic #the mighty nein

4 notes · View notes

vgckwb · 3 years

Text

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 59: A Deeper Look

On Thursday, Ren got a message from Yusuke.

Yusuke: Pardon me, but do you think we could go to Mementos, just the two of us?

Ren: That’s an unusual date spot.

Yusuke: Ah! Forgive me. I wasn’t asking you out on a date.

Ren: ...I know...I was just teasing you…

Yusuke: Ah. Forgive me. I’m not used to being “teased”.

Ren: I can tell…

Yusuke: So, you forgive me?

Ren: Sure.

Yusuke: Very well.

Yusuke: So, is that a ‘yes’?

Ren: I guess…

Ren: Why just the two of us?

Yusuke: This isn’t meant as a proper traversal of Mementos.

Yusuke: Rather, I’d like to sketch Mementos if possible.

Yusuke: I would like to make it the focus of my next art piece.

Ren: So why am I coming?

Yusuke: Just for backup, if need be.

Yusuke: While we aren’t going in fully, I imagine shadows might pop up.

Ren: Yeah, that makes sense.

Yusuke: Plus, it gives us a chance to get to know each other better.

Ren: Right.

Ren: Let’s go!

Yusuke: Hold on, where are we meeting?

Ren: The usual spot, I guess.

Yusuke: Very well.

Ren and Yusuke met up and headed into Mementos.

They didn’t venture terribly far before Yusuke found a good place to begin his sketchwork. Ren began her patrol. “So,” Yusuke started asking, “how does this ‘teasing’ work?” Ren seemed confused. “I find it better to work when something else is occupying my time. Besides, one of the reasons I asked you was so that we can get to know each other better.”

“Right,” Ren said, somewhat awkwardly. “So, you wanna know about teasing?”

“Yes,” Yusuke said.

Ren was stunned. “Basically, it’s just saying things in a jokey, lighthearted tone to get a reaction.”

“Why do you do that?” Yusuke asked bluntly.

Ren continued to be stunned. She didn’t know how to react to someone with Yusuke’s disposition. So, she decided to remain honest. “Well, part of it is it’s fun, but mainly it acts as a barrier. A wall. A mask.”

“Hm,” Yusuke said. “I thought we were supposed to be getting closer.”

“We are,” Ren said. “I don’t do it all the time. Even now, I’m opening up to you.”

“Right, but why do it at all?” Yusuke pondered.

Ren paused for a moment. Any attempt at obfuscation would be met with more of Yusuke’s personal brand of blindness. In a way, it made a better wrecking ball than any aggressive attempt to break her. She sighed. “Well, you know I’m not from Tokyo originally.”

“Right” Yusuke answered.

“Back in my hometown, I wasn’t all too well liked,” Ren explained. “So, I put up these walls because I’m afraid. I’m afraid the next person I run into will hate me outright simply for just existing. If I pretend not to care, then maybe they won’t. And maybe I won’t either.”

“Huh,” Yusuke said. “I think I understand.”

“You do?” Ren asked.

Yusuke nodded. “There were plenty of times when I lived with Madarame where all I wanted to do was cry, or scream, or get upset, but I eventually grew to know that that would only make things worse.”

Ren was shocked. “Jeez. When you put it like that, my problems seem a little more trivial.”

“Ah, rest assured, I wasn’t trying to trivialize your problems,” Yusuke said.

“...Thanks?” Ren responded.

“Rather, I was trying to hearken back to our delicious hot pot celebration,” Yusuke explained. “Everyone was sharing their views on the world, and how that they’re all askew from the typical outlook. But in that askewed view, we found each other, and more importantly, we can save each other, and everyone else.”

Ren was once again stunned, but not out of confusion this time. Rather, she was impressed. She chuckled. “Thanks.” She looked at Yusuke’s sketch. “Um, if you don’t mind, why do you sketch?”

“It’s to get a reference so I can focus and take my time on the finished product” Yusuke answered.

“Right,” Ren said, running right back into Yusuke’s wit. “I mean, when Kosuke made that painting for me, he just took a picture.” Ren took out her phone. “Although I’m assuming our phones don’t function here. Which I guess is a net positive. If someone saw real evidence of all of this, it would cause problems.”

“Ah,” Yusuke said. “Well, that’s just a matter of personal preference. A lot of artists like sketching because it gives a sense of how they work with it right away. Kosuke even sketched a lot, but I’m assuming that this was more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, rather than a big plan.”

“Yeah,” Ren said.

Yusuke stopped, took a look at what he had, and said “Alright, I’m finished.” Just then, a bunch of shadows showed up. “What impeccable timing. Joker! Let’s vanquish these foes together!” Ren nodded, and the two fought the shadows. It was an easy victory. “Boy, these shadows do not know how to pick a fight they can win.” He noticed something. “What’s this? It looks like one of those cards we’ve been picking up.”

“You’re right” Ren said, getting a good look at it. “This one’s blank though.”

“Right,” Yusuke said. “Maybe if I…” Yusuke drew on it. “Ah! It became real.”

“Wow” Ren said.

Yusuke thought about this. “Perhaps the fact that this is a world based on what one perceives, maybe by drawing on it, it gives it real power.”

“That makes sense,” Ren said. “If I find any more, I can give them to you. It works out for us, plus I assume this’ll be a nice way of keeping your sketching skills up.”

“Hm. A real Theo now, aren’t we?” Yusuke said.

“Um, that’s not my name…” Ren said.

“Ah. I should explain” Yusuke said. “When I say ‘Theo’ I am referring to Theo Van Gogh, the brother of Vincent. Vincent didn’t achieve fame in his lifetime, but found a supporter in his brother.”

“I see,” Ren said, impressed. “Well, if you ever need help with your art stuff, or anything in general, then I’ll be happy to be your Theo.”

“Thank you,” Yusuke said.

I am thou... Thou art I… Thou hast acquired a new vow...

It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Emperor Persona I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power.

Emperor-Yusuke Kitagawa: Rank 1

“We should get going before any more shadows show up,” Yusuke said. Ren nodded, and the two quickly left Mementos.

Later that evening, Ren headed over to Untouchable to stock up. “Hey kid,” Iwai said, literally a split second after she walked in. “What impeccable timing.”

“I take it something happened?” Ren inquired.

“Well, something’s about to,” Iwai stated. “I’ve told you about Tsuda.”

“He’s the one you didn’t meet in the diner?” Ren asked, just to get her facts straight.

Iwai nodded. “He called me to set up a meeting soon.”

Ren was concerned. “Is that a good thing?”

Iwai grunted. “I doubt it, based on what we heard at the diner. Besides, out of everyone in the clan, Tsuda and I were the closest. We were practically inseparable. I know him like I know the back of my hand, and I know he’s up to something.”

“So, what happened when you, well, separated?” Ren asked.

Iwai smirked. “I asked him to come along too to be like an uncle to Kaoru, but he refused. He did help smooth things over with the higher ups though.” Ren chuckled slightly. “Hm. Anyways, let’s get back to business. I’d like to see what he’s up to, but the problem is Tsuda knows me just as well, so I can’t collect any information from my usual sources without tipping my hand.”

Ren smiled. “This is where I come in.”

“Sharp” Iwai complemented. “Tsuda knows ME quite well, but he has no idea about you. You’re my wild card.”

“They don’t call me ‘Joker’ for nothing” Ren said, a bit too excited.

“What?”

Iwai was still confused, but decided to let it go. “Anyway, I just need you to ask around about anything big Tsuda’s done recently. “ He took out a piece of paper. “He’s a list of people who might be in the know; their general description, as well as where they’re likely to hang out. Can you investigate to see if you can find anything?”

Ren was a bit put off, because the last time she went investigating about a mobster, a former police officer got brainwashed into enacting murderous justice as his favorite superhero. Well, that’s not gonna happen twice in a row. Ren grabbed the list.

“Thanks kid,” Iwai said. “I’ll be here. You know my number. If anything happens, don’t hesitate to call, and if you get into REAL trouble, put me on speaker.” Ren nodded and headed out.

Ren searched around and found a scruffy looking guy hanging about. He matched one of the descriptions, so she approached him. “What do ya want?” he said, slightly angry at her approach.

Ren remained brave. “I’m looking for information on Tsuda.”

“Tsuda?” the guy said. “Who put you up to this?”

“That’s on a need to know basis” Ren said.

The man was curious, but concerned. “You with the cops?”

“Please,” Ren said. “I don’t trust the cops farther than I can throw them.”

The man laughed. “That's REAL disdain in your voice. Alright. You didn’t hear this from me, but apparently at the beginning of the year he struck a deal with the Hong Kong mafia for about 100 million yen.”

“Oh my” Ren said.

“That’s all I know,” the man said.

Ren nodded. “Thanks.” She took out some money. “For your efforts.”

“Heh. Keep it” the man said. “I’m a lost cause. You look like you can still climb out of whatever hole you’re in.” Ren was surprised, but walked off, nodding in appreciation.

Once she got back, she saw Iwai was on the phone. “Uh huh...yeah...of course...seeya then.” He hung up. He took notice of her. “Ah, you’re back. Find anything?”

“Something about a deal with the Hong Kong mafia worth 100 million yen at the beginning of the year,” Ren answered.

“I see,” Iwai said. “Say, did you have to pay for that? Cause I’ll reimburse you.”

Ren shook her head. “I tried, but he told me to keep it.”

“Woah, you talked to HIM?” Iwai said, surprised. “How’d you get him to talk to you?”

“He said I had ‘real disdain’ in my voice,” Ren explained.

“Makes sense” Iwai rationalized. “You told me you were arrested. I doubt that leaves much room in your heart for liking the police.” Ren shook her head. “Anyways, that was Tsuda on the phone. He just finalized the date of our meeting. So, maybe it’d be a good idea to not come around here too often for extended periods of time.”

Ren smiled. “Well then, mind if I do all of my shopping now?”

“Knock yourself out,” Iwai said. “But not really though. While they aren’t real weapons, they’re still kind of heavy.” Ren giggled. Ren proceeded to make her purchases. After Ren finished shopping, Iwai sighed. “Tell me, do you fear the unknown?”

Ren was alerted. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just,” Iwai sighed again, “I’ve known Tsuda for a while now. But ever since I left the mafia, we’ve grown apart you know. I’m just worried that the man I’m going to talk to won’t be the same.”

Ren could sense his tension, and decided to be honest. “Well, sorry, but you’ve asked the wrong girl for advice on this.” Iwai looked at her, surprised. “Aside from people I’ve met in Tokyo, I would LOVE to meet someone I’ve known for a while and not recognize them.”

Iwai got a laugh out of that. “I’ve been there before. That’s part of why I joined up in the first place. But then the whole thing with Kaoru happened, and I decided that he needed an honest shot. And if no one else was going to give it to him, I might as well try.”

He looked over Ren “Sounds like Tokyo is giving you an honest shot too. If you want my advice, figure out what’s really important before it’s too late. Once you know what that is, don’t let go.”

“How will I know what that is?” Ren asked.

“Heh” Iwai chuckled. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you have something of an answer already. I’m just saying this to help you think some more.” Ren chuckled back. “Anyway, once I’ve had my meeting with Tsuda, I’ll message you, or something. Oh, and thanks for the info.”

Hanged Man-Munehisa Iwai: Rank 4

Ren nodded, and left without saying anything else.

#persona 5 #persona fanfiction #persona 5 royal #p5 femc #p5r rework #p5r #p5 rework #p5 #FeMC #female ren #ren amamiya #yusuke kitagawa #iwai munehisa

2 notes · View notes