#can you tell I did not want to touch that blending tool

[battleslippers]

drew @pumpkinsy0’s Tim Shepard face claim 🙏🙏

ref below :)

#I draw so much better with a proper ref good lord #the outsiders #tim shepard #the outsiders fanart #cooking curly up next I think #I took tim’s eyelashes LMFAOOOO #can you tell I did not want to touch that blending tool #slipper art

[lucem-stellarum]

Wanted to let you know that I absolutely LOVE your Hush fic. The way you depicted him is just so, so good. AND the theme of bodily exploration is written very well!!!! I'm obsessed!!!! I'm wondering if the vagueness of his intentions is a deliberate choice? Like the discrepancies between what he knew and did not; him claiming that he didn't know what writing was but then referencing a latin phrase, and more seriously, when he claimed that he's unfamiliar with pleasure to let Doc be in control before switching their places and showing that he's had experience in it. This isn't a complaint mind you, I absolutely love implications and the ominous vagueness of it, it's very fitting to his character!

I'm blushing, anon. You're so sweet, thank you! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it, hearing that makes the struggle of writing it worth sharing <3

I spent a long time trying to decide what he would know about human society and what he wouldn't. The Latin phrase is something he could have picked up out of somebody's head; telepathy is a great tool for helping him blend in. But the concept of writing seems like something that wouldn't be so easily transferred; reading is a skill, not a fact you can memorize, and something we might take for granted. It started almost as a joke, but then I got serious about it. Who would he have to teach him, if Doc is the first non-antagonistic person he's ever met? What sort of cultural misunderstandings could there be for someone so clearly not human being forced to navigate alone through a human world who hates and fears "what he is, on a fundamental level"? How would someone like him, so forthright and direct, navigate a person defying that learned expectation?

I didn't take it as a complaint, no worries :) It's not an incorrect way of looking at it (Death of the author, babey), but I was aiming for something a bit different. Ngl, I got a bit obsessed about that canon line in his second video about how everyone who has ever tried to touch him has been trying to cause him pain/fear. With Hush's reaction to Doc touching his neck and chest, and specifically how open he is about the things he won't tell us, I believe him. With Hush switching places, I was aiming to show how he is a quick study. Having only himself to rely on, he has to be smart in order to stay free of all the people hunting him (the Chorus, his brother) so quickly picking up new skills and being able to plan and extrapolate in order to reach a goal seems like something hed be good at. Add in that he's only had himself to rely on, he's only ever been met with people scared of him or want to hurt him, not trusting anyone, how does someone like that allow someone else to take control? Even if Doc’s "only human and can't hurt him in any way that matters," Hush still seems like the kind of person who has a hard time relaxing and letting go. Hence, Hush taking the reigns once Doc gives him an idea of what to do (and only indulging in his own enjoyment up to a certain point, and no further) makes sense to me.

Like I said, though, that is entirely based off the fact that I believe him. If you don't believe him, or think he has ulterior motives for that ominous vagueness, I don't blame you. It's smart to be suspicious of him. He explicitly told us he has plans that we're going to regret letting him accomplish. There's a lot going on with him that we don't know yet, and he has made threats towards the listener. But knowing that, and seeing that shadow of vulnerability, his character and mentality is so interesting to poke at and see what I can dig up. I'm so excited for what Redacted will come out with for him next :D

#answering the masses #redacted asmr #redacted hush #redacted doc #i was thinking my thoughts and came up with this #my writing

[thebadchoicemachine]

Pauling In Blunderland 2

TF2 Alice in Wonderland AU

All Chapters • Ao3

Chapter 2/14 - That Talking Plank Of Wood Is From Texas, Apparently

“WOOOHOOOOOOOOOO!” Pauling cried in absolute delight as she rushed downward.

She had no idea how long she’d been sliding but the wind was rushing, she was heading into someplace that was probably exciting , and she was having the time of her life. 

TUNK. 

“ OW.” 

Her fun was cut short by a red and blue checkered floor and/or ceiling. Specifically, it was cut short because she slammed into the surface head-first.

She flopped onto her back, life flashing before her eyes. Amazingly, she wasn’t dead or paralyzed. Aside from the initial shock of the impact, plus some minor residual pain, she was completely fine. 

 She looked up, squinting, following the rope into the darkness. She’d been going down feet first, how did she end up on her head? 

  Pauling stumbled upright, taking in her new surroundings.

She was in a bizarre, workshop-like place. Strange machines of every shape and size cluttered the area. The only place that wasn’t lined with some kind of tool, mechanism, or contraption was the spot where she’d landed. She couldn’t tell how big the room was because there didn’t appear to be any walls, just shadows that circled the eye-straining floor. It gave off a liminal effect. 

The space was a distinctly average temperature despite all the purring motors and, though she couldn’t see anything being worked on, the sound of saws, fireballs, hammers, and various other tools rang into the air. 

The construction ambiance took an unbalanced pattern, almost like a percussion performance—almost. The whirring and banging blended into an uncanny rhythm. It wasn’t musical, but if she didn’t pay attention she’d mistake it for one. The not-quite-a-song was low and quiet, relaxing even. A little country. It gave Pauling the image of casually lounging around a campfire or breakroom. 

“Whoah there, Miss. That was quite a tumble,” a deep, clement voice echoed around her, cutting through the not-music.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” She swiveled her head, trying to find the source of the voice. “So, stranger living in a weird factory under a bomb hatch, have you by any chance seen an anthropomorphic rabbit run by here? Not a furry,” she quickly clarified. “Like an actual animal person.”

“You mean Scout? Sure have. Everyone gets a load of that kid, whether they want to or not.”

“Oh, well, that’s great because I do want to. Find him, that is. I’m sorry, I can’t focus when I can’t see you. Where are you?

“Over here, missy,” the voice called again.

Pauling spun around, still unable to locate any person. 

“No, over here. Ma’am. Over HERE.”

Even with his raised voice giving her a sense of his general direction, she couldn't find him. “I don’t see anything but your machines. Can you come to me?” 

“You’re a bit touched, ain’tcha? Course I can’t! Ah, here, just head where the sentries are pointing.”

Suddenly, every machine in the room spun. Pauling jumped back as several turrets aimed themselves right at her. 

She turned around slowly, carefully tracing the direction of the pointers with her finger. They led to a solid gate-shaped piece of wood that blended into the clutter. It was also smaller than the average machine in the room, only about as high as her ribcage. 

The pattern of the wood gave it the vague outline of a simplistic face. Two oddly round knots for the eyes, a bump in the center that could be interpreted as a nose, and cracks that impersonated a mouth. 

The pane of wood was different—it wasn’t mechanical like everything else—but she still could not see the person she was talking to.

Maybe I’m meant to do something with this first? Pauling questioned, reaching down to touch one of the knots.

“Owch!” The block yelled as her finger tapped against it.  

Pauling shrieked, falling backward into a jagged pile of open toolboxes. She fumbled to straighten her glasses but her clear vision only confirmed the scene in front of her. 

The face on the wood was not a coincidental pattern of the plank. The face on the wood was a face. A moving, speaking face. The “eyes” looked more like goggles, but they moved and blinked, and they stared down at her. 

It chuckled, “What’s wrong? I ain’t that ugly.” Its voice was still amiable and calming, despite her horrified reaction. 

“I just… I just didn’t realize you were a… a… actually, I still have no idea what you are.”

“So, Scout racing around (probably causing trouble for a girl like you) ain’t no thing, but me sitting in my own workshop gets you yowling like a pig on a ham holiday?” 

Pauling thought about it. This wasn’t much weirder than anything else she’d seen today. “I see your point,” she conceded, standing up and brushing loose screws out of her hair. “Sorry for stabbing you in the eye goggles thing.”

“It’s fine, nice to have a ruckus caused by someone knew for once. I’m the Engineer. Nice to meet you, Miss…?”

“Pauling.” She instinctively held out a hand, awkwardly moving it to fix her sleeve when she realized Engineer didn’t have any hands to shake. 

“Pauling, huh? Never heard of those before. What do you do?”

“Mostly I work in ‘clean up.’ You know, fixing and preventing messes.”

“Clean up, huh? You won’t have much use for that ‘round here.”

Pauling couldn’t help but grin. “Thank God. It’s actually pretty boring.”

“In that case, I can see why you’d wanna find Scout.”

“Right!” Pauling had almost forgotten. “Which way did he go?”

“Through me.”

“Oh, uh, are you a door?” 

Engineer smiled, amused. “I’m the Engineer. I make doors, in a way, but I’d consider myself more of a wall. A chart, a dossier, if you will. The quick way in and out of most places is to ask me.” 

“In that case, can you help me find rabbit boy? Please?”

“You see that machine over there?” The turrets spun around again, this time pointed at a tiny contraption on top of one of the various larger ones. “That’s where he went.”

Pauling picked it up, squinting to examine it before placing it back down on the other machine. It wasn’t much bigger than a lego but it looked like an incredibly complicated piece of equipment. 

“How do I use it?”

“Hold on, now. You’re a bit too big for that.”

“What, is there a weight limit?” She joked. 

“Uh.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Technically. ‘Course, I wouldn’t have said it that way but, yes, there is. You really think you could fit on top of that right now? It’s no problem, though. You see that machine it was sitting on? That there’s a dispenser.”

The dispenser churned to life as he spoke, spitting out a white tablet. 

“Take that, it’ll get you where you need to go.”

Pauling took the tablet between her fingers and held it up to her eye. It was chalky, unmarked, and altogether suspicious. In her gut, she felt like she could trust Engineer, but in her head, she knew that popping pills from talking walls was a very stupid idea. 

Then again, she might already be in a hallucination. 

Pauling didn’t know why she hadn’t considered the possibility sooner. She’d already had so many weird things happen: humanoid rabbits, magical mechanic workshops in upside-down bomb hatches, and, most unbelievable of all, she’d been given a break!

“Hey, Engineer, you said this is the quickest but is there any other way out of here?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied, doing the closest thing to shrugging he could. “I suppose if you started walking you might end up somewhere new eventually, but I’ve always been content with my projects here. My workshop is a big place.”

“Uh-huh.” Pauling looked around again. Just as she (kind of) expected, the rope she’d come down on was nowhere to be found. When she looked up, all she saw was the same liminal darkness that ebbed the edges of the room. “So, there’s no way I could get back, right?”

“Back where?”

“You know, my world.”

Engineer stared blankly. “I’d have to say no to that. I can’t send you somewhere I don’t know. Besides, travel anywhere outside of Blunderland ain’t really my business.” 

“Blunderland?” 

“Well, where else would we be?” He spoke gently and with a subtle humor as if she was talking nonsense.

“Yup. Okay. Copy that.”

Either this is a dream and nothing bad can happen to me, or this is real and I don’t have a choice, Pauling reasoned to herself. She held the tablet up to Engineer. “Welp, bottoms up.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She popped the tablet and swallowed it dry. 

Strangely, although she barely had it in her mouth, it was extremely flavorful. The idea of char, bread, bacon, olives, and alcohol twisted around her tongue as if she’d just eaten a large lunch. She smacked her lips, trying to tell if the taste was bad or not. 

Aside from the weird savoriness, she didn’t feel any different. She turned to ask Engineer how long it would take for the effect to set in. Rather than the short plank of wood she expected, she was met instead with an eye-to-eye view.

She faltered. “Did you get taller?” 

“Nope.”

“Then did I— Woah.” Her question was answered before she could ask it. Everything in the room suddenly rushed upward, expanding, as she saw herself shrink. 

  Pauling blinked rapidly. She rubbed and tapped her face, trying to come to her senses again. 

She was still standing upright, but it felt as though she’d blacked out. At first glance, her surroundings didn’t look different; machines ranging from giant to tiny encircled her still. They still thumped and puffed along to that odd not-rhythm. 

“Engineer?” She called into the clangor. 

His response was booming. “Up here.”

She obeyed, searching upward to find Engineer was now the size of a house compared to her. She laughed in wonder. “I shrunk!” 

“That was the idea,” Engineer beamed with a humble tint of pride. “Now, just step on the teleporter and you can be on your way.”

“Great! Where’s the teleporter?”

“It’s the first machine I showed you. That little feller.”

“You mean the one I left on the top of the dispenser?” She sheepishly asked. 

“Er, yeah. That would be the one. 

Pauling sighed. “Okay. This is fine. I’ll just have to go for an unplanned climb. Annoying, but not the end of the world.”

“Ain’t that thing like a mountain to you right now? I respect the gumption, but you could just use that little dispenser down there. No disrespect intended, ma’am,” he politely added. “I’m sure you could do it on your own if you wanted."

Pauling looked to her right, noticing a dispenser with a freshly dispensed tablet waiting. “Oh. That’ll be easier.”

She picked up the pill and took it, this time prepared for the dizzying ordeal of size-shifting. The dispenser next to her shrunk down into a miniature. She watched as Engineer also shrunk until he was back to his rib-high height—and then he was waist-high… then thigh-high… then knee-high. When she finally stopped, she could pluck him up like doll furniture. 

“Well I’ll be,” he marveled. “I should probably label the dosage on these a bit more clearly.” 

Pauling was far less casual about the over-corrective rection. “What do I do now?” 

“Right, right, sorry, I get carried away when it comes to my machines sometimes.”

“That teleporter has gotta be smaller than my fingernail at this point!”

“I don't know! You got any tweezers on you or something?”

“Actually, I might. Hold on.” 

Pauling slung the pack she had off her soldiers. She riffled through a side pocket and pulled out a little case, clicking it open to reveal a set of tools tucked neatly inside. 

“Nice. You’re my kind of person,” Engineer complimented.

“Thanks. That’s one bonus of my work, I guess. I always have to be prepared.”

She reached down and carefully lifted the dispenser, cupping her hands to ensure the teleporter wouldn’t fall. She gently lifted the teleporter with her tweezers. 

Now, how am I supposed to get the shrinking tablet? It’s like a grain of sand to me now. She wondered. Hmm. What if I just…

She put the dispenser up to her mouth and licked it. At first, all she could taste was metal like she’d put a quarter in her mouth. Then, that lunchmeats/cider flavor spread through her tongue again, and vertigo coursed through her senses again. 

  An onrush once again overtook her body and the room expanded around her. Or, rather, it expended below her as she was abruptly a few miles up in the air, free-falling and the tiniest she’d ever been. 

The teleporter grew as well, busting out of her tweezer’s grip. It was now the size of a longboard. It hovered in the air next to Pauling for a split second before it began plummeting much faster than her. 

“Ah! Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell, oh hell,” she panicked. 

Her wits took a while to catch up to her as she fell toward the gargantuan steel-filled room below. She flailed before realizing she still had a way out of this that didn’t involve her splatting onto a dispenser like a squished fly.

She gained composure (as much composure as one could while flailing in the air towards an ever-approaching doom) and straightened herself into a diving position. 

Gaining on the teleporter, she shouted to Engineer, “How does this thing work?”

“You just gotta stand on top, it’ll do the rest!” 

Pauling gave a firm and determined nod, although there was no way Engineer would be able to see her response. She stuck her arms out, stretching like rubber, but her fingertips only brushed the edge of the teleporter. 

Too short on time to risk reaching again, she dove again and fell beneath the teleporter and spread out. 

“Oof,” she spluttered as the clunky machine hit her in the chest. 

A glance from the side of her vision let her know she had about ten seconds before she turned into a stain. She wrapped her arms around the teleporter and heaved herself to the right side. The bricks on the end began to spin wildly until all she could see was a blurry circle. 

“Good luck!” She heard Engineer say just before she hit the surface and her vision went bright. 

#tf2 #engineer #miss pauling #Team Fortress 2 #tf2 au #team fortess 2 au #alice in wonderland au #fanfiction #woah those are words I wrote

[strawberry-jammers]

One year

a dreamsmp x reader where a young (y/n) wants to rebuild an old old kingdom before they have to be crowned to rule over their parents kingdom. with the help of their friends and a couple of servants, they hope to rebuild it all with out their parent knowing about it.

part one part 2 part 3

part 2/?

masterlist

The lovely @acidicvolt edited this!

this part is just traveling and fluff lmao. it'll pick up in the others <3

this series is so much fun to write, I'm really enjoying it

word count: 2,215

----------

It had reached midnight, the sun long gone and nearly everyone in the castle was asleep, except for three. Karl and Niki made their way to the teens room, which was at the opposite end of the castle.

"Are you sure the king’s asleep? They have been on edge as of late…” Niki said, walking alongside Karl. Karl nods, clutching the bag he always wore. 

“Yeah, checked and everything. He's out like a light.” 

Niki nods, sighing. “Thank god he sleeps on the other side of the castle. We'd be dead if he found out we were helping his kid like this.” 

Karl nods again, looking ahead at where they were going.

In the young teens room, everything was prepared for their expedition. They packed appropriate clothes to sneak around, fight and blend in with. They had food, tools/weapons, along with the letters, money, and the lmanburg page. They were ready and excited to embark on this adventure.

Niki quietly knocks on the door, opening it a crack. Seeing that (y/n) was alone, she walks in, followed by Karl who closes the door behind them. (y/n) sighed, thankful it wasnt Eret. 

“So, you know the plan?” they ask. 

Niki nods, holding onto her own bag. 

"Okay, I'm staying behind to tell the king you two went on a camping trip for the next year or so. Somewhere in the middle of the woods where he can't check in to see where you are." Karl says to the two of them. 

"Thank you again Karl for doing that. " (y/n) says, leading Niki to their window. "Niki, you know enough of the plan right?" They asked, grabbing the ladder they had in case they ever needed to escape. 

"Yeah. We're heading to Tommy’s castle first right?" She asked, watching as (y/n) opened their window. A soft breeze entered the room. 

"Yep! Then we'll try to find Tubbo. Ready?" (y/n) said, hooking the ladder to the window and throwing it out the castle, trying to not make a noise. 

(y/n) looked down. It wasn't too high up, but it was still a bit scary. They looked back at the two servants, nodding. “Karl, when we reach the ground, bring the ladder back up and close the window. I'll go first. Again, thank you Karl, see you in a year!” with that, (y/n) climbed out the window onto the ladder. the two servants nodded, Niki going over to the window, watching the teen start to climb down the wobbly ladder. 

Once (y/n) got far enough down, they waved their hand for Niki to go after them. Niki smiled over at Karl. “It was nice meeting you, Karl.” she said, making the brunette smile as well. “It was! See you in a year Niki! Take care.” she nodded, grabbing her bag, making sure nothing was left behind. Once she saw everything was in check, she went down, following her new friend.

“Man, I should've worn a thicker sweater.” Niki said, finally reaching the ground. “Yeah, I should've checked before we left. Too late now though.” (y/n) responds, watching as the ladder slowly shrank back up into their room. The two of them waved at Karl, who smiled back at them. “Alright, where to go first? We can't just go straight to the tundra.” Niki said, watching as (y/n) looked around. It was still pretty dark out, so they hoped it wouldn't turn a day before they even left the castle grounds. “Well we need to find some transportation for when we exit the forest. Cant be going thru town, it's too early for that.'' Niki nodded, looking over at the forest. “Got any torches?” (y/n) asked the pinkett. Niki nodded, shuffling into her bag, pulling out an unlit torch and lighter. “Yep, need one?” (y/n) shook their heads. “Only one of us needs one for now, well just gotta stay close together. Let's go, we can't stay here forever.” (y/n) says, chuckling softly. “Of course! Let's go!”

The two of them entered the forest close to the castle, leaving it behind. (y/n) had no regrets, they knew they needed this, even if eret forbid them. Niki was excited, she hadn't gone on an adventure since she was small, so it was a nice change of pace.

“Yknow (y/n), we’ve never actually met properly before this. Only in passing.” she said, stepping over a thick tree root. (y/n) followed, nearly tripping. “Really? I didn't notice. Though, i was held up in my room for awhile there.” they said, looking at all the trees that encased the two of them. No matter how many years go by, they still found nature to be beautiful. “Yeah, I did become one of the king's cooks when you were 16, not too long ago.” she said,pulling a branch up for (y/n) to walk past. “Oh thank you. What were you doing before then? Before you started working for my dad.” Niki thought for a second before answering. 

“Well, i was only 18 when he hired me, so i was doing what any kid did at that time. For a while I took up gardening, growing many types of flowers, though they all ended up dying after a while.” she said. (y/n) stopped, noticing the forest was ending. “i did gardening as well when i was young child. Made many flower crowns and such with them.” Niki gasped excitedly at this. “Maybe we can make flower crowns together!! I haven't done it in so long..” (y/n) smiled. ‘Of course we can! We have a whole year after all!” they laughed together, looking out at the forest in front of them. “God I hope your mom doesn't fire me when this is all over…” (y/n) looks over at Niki, giving her a reassuring smile. “Well good thing I'll be the ruler when we get back. You're not getting fired on my watch.” Niki smiled at this. “Thank you (y/n)...should we go now?” (y/n) nodded, looking ahead once more.

The two of them continue to walk, leaving the small forest behind. “Okay, we should be in a farm area. The houses are spaced out so no one should see us. Should take a half hour to an hour to get through. There should be a train station after that. It'll take us to the arctic kingdom." Niki nodded, grabbing some bread from her bag. "Bread?" (Y/n) shook their heads, declining. "I ate before we left. Thanks tho." 

They both walked through the field, the torches flame flickering as they walked. There were no monsters around, since there hadn't been any around the area in 100s of years. They were safe. 

Niki looked at some of the farmland, noticing they had to walk through some of it. (Y/n) noticed it as well. "How do we get through there? They'll notice someone was here in the morning." (Y/n) said, not completely knowing how to get by. "Got any ender pearls?"  

(y/n) thought for a second, looking in their bag for some. “Oh, looks like I do! Got a bag full of ‘em.'' They hand some to Niki, who throws it over the larger field, hoping to get over without touching the wheat. (y/n) followed, both of them successfully getting across the farm.

“I am so glad that worked.” (y/n) said, putting the pearls back in their bag. Niki nodded, sighing. “Is the trans station past those trees?” she asked, pointing towards the small strip of trees not too far ahead of them. “Yeah, behind there's the train station. An old friend of mine runs it. Lets go!” 

The two of them basically run across the field, not wanting to waste a second of their time. The sun would rise at any moment, and they really wanted to get out of town before it rose. 

They had reached the trees, their original torch being burnt out from all the running. Niki grabbed and lit another, the two of them heading into the small patch of trees to the train station.

The station wasn't too much to brag about, a boring old timey train station was all it was. There was no train in sight, making the (h/c) haired teen sigh. “Damnit, the train might not be here for another several hours.” they said, heading up to the platform. Niki followed, smiling slightly. “Could be worse. Not sure how much worse but it could be worse.” 

The two of them sat at a random bench in the area, looking at the map (y/n) had packed.

“So the kingdom is all the way over there, which is about 6 hours by foot. Taking the train would be around the same pass but we wouldn't be out in the open.” (y/n) says, pointing their finger along the route they need to take. “Is there a way to get there any faster?” (y/n) shrugged, looking over the map. “We could either go through the towns and such, or we could get some horses and get there that way. Wouldn't know how to get any of those, they're kinda rare in this area.'' Niki nodded, thinking for a second.

Both of their thoughts were cut off by someone's cheery voice. “Hello! It's been a long time, hasn't it (y/n)?” They looked over to see their old friend, Jack Manifold, approaching the two of them. (y/n) smiled, standing up and walking over to the said man. “Eyyyy Manifold! Good to see ya!” The two of them hug, separating soon after. (y/n) looked over at Niki. “Hey, have you met Niki?” Niki smiled, putting the map in her bag, standing up as well. “Indeed i have! To be fair, it was a brief interaction. “Nice to see ya, Niki.” 

She nodded. “Nice to see you too, Jack.” (y/n) smiled, looking back over at Jack.

"Jack, we need to get to the arctic kingdom, do you know when the trains coming back?" They asked the slightly smarter man. He nodded. "Won't be coming back till noon today. I'm just here because I forgot something." (Y/n) looked up at the sky. It was getting lighter out. They sighed, looking back down at Jack. "We can't wait that long. Know any other way to get out of town fast?" 

"Well, I could lend you my horse. Most of the time he just sits here and cry's." I looked at Niki, who seemed to be pleased with the offer. "Mind if we take him? We'll return him at some point obviously." Jack nodded, starting to go around the train station. "I'll be in the arctic kingdom a day or so from now, so you can return him then!" We follow Jack behind the station, where his horse sat tied up while eating some grass. 

"His name is thunder, good lad. Constantly sad tho." Jack unties the reins from the pole, handing them to Niki. "Say, what's your trip for anyway?"  Jack asked the two of them. (Y/n) answered. "We're going to see prince Tommy to recruit him to a project we're working on. Top secret stuff man." Jack nodded. "Seems fun. Might join you if I feel like it. Well, have fun you two." They nodded, Niki getting onto the horse and bringing him to the front of the station. "Oh, by the way. You can't tell anyone I was here, at least for the reason I am here. I know I've asked for a lot but if anyone asked, can you tell them I went camping somewhere in the woods?" 

Jack nodded, smiling at the teen. "It's fine, secret adventures are cool anyway. I'll keep your secret, now grab your stuff and have fun on your journey." They smiled, hugging the male. "Thanks Jack, I'll repay you eventually." They say while letting go of their friend. 

He nodded. "Anytime (y/n). Now go, Niki’s waiting." They nodded, running off to the front of the station. They spotted Niki on thunder, who held all our bags. I looked up at her. "You know how to ride a horse?" They asked, trying to get up onto the horse. Niki giggled, helping them up. "Yeah, I was taught when I was younger. Come on, gotta get out of here before the sun rises right?" (Y/n) smiled, latching onto Niki lightly, so as to not fall off. 

"Yeah, lets go!" They took off, running along the tracks. The sun rose as they went, turning the sky into a pinkish color. 

Niki slowed the horse down a bit, staring at the beautiful sky. "I love the sunrise…" (y/n) hummed in agreement, resting their head on Niki’s shoulder. 

"I haven't seen it in awhile. Always amazes me." Niki nodded, smiling softly. "Should we continue or just watch the sunrise?" (Y/n) chuckled, lifting their head off the woman's shoulder. "We should go. Maybe we could watch the sunrise tomorrow. 

Niki nodded, returning the horse to his original pace. 

They left towards a small path in the forest, leaving towards the arctic kingdom where they'll hopefully find the first person they need to reach. 

Hopefully.

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@xx-smiley-xx 

#mcyt x reader #dreamsmp x reader #niki nihachu x reader #jack manifold x reader #karl jacobs x reader #royal au #sbi au #niki nihachu x you #niki nihachu x y/n #jack manifold x you #jack manifold x y/n #karl jacobs x you #karl jacobs x y/n #tommyinnit x reader #eret x reader #wilbur soot x reader #Dsmp Royal Au #One Year fic

[steveroger]

Colouring rainbow gifs

The lovely @buckiecap​ and @djarsdin​​ requested a tutorial of some gifs from this TFATWS rainbow set.

My colouring process is kinda chaotic and it always depends on the gif itself. These three gifs will highlight the similarities and differences in how I colour my rainbow gifs.

You’ll need some understanding of basic gif making and adjustments. I use Photoshop 2021 but I imagine these processes will still work in other versions.

Some basic tips:

When doing rainbow sets, once I've got my base gif ready, I always make a hue/saturation layer on saturation +100 so I can see what colours I'm working with. I just keep it hidden so i can check how my colours are doing throughout the editing process.

Also something to stick at the back of your mind: you want your final gif to be as “monochromatic” as possible - make sure your final palette will be only black + shades of whatever colour you're targeting. This is not only to make the gif as colour-focussed as possible, but it also helps with saving your gif under 10mb. That saturation +100 layer I always keep hidden at the bottom of my gif so I can keep an eye on what colours are present.

It’s also helpful to understand how RGB and CMYK colours work and what to add/subtract when you want to bring out a certain colour. A good example of this is with Colour Balance:

You’ll notice the colours on the left are Cyan, Magenta and Yellow (CMYK), while the other side is Red, Green and Blue (RBG). So if you want more cyan in your image, you’d push the bar towards cyan, but then you’re compromising the reds. In Selective Colour adjustments, the panel is reversed.

This knowledge is absolutely necessary when you’re doing any adjustment, so keep this in the back of your mind as I work through the tutorial.

Green gif - Eli's door

So I start with my hue/saturation on saturation +100 to check what I’m working with here. This gif of Isaiah's grandson opening the door has green, yellow and red as the dominant colours, and I can see a bit of cyan on the right. I’ll keep that hue/saturation layer hidden as a reference.

Normally when I make gifs I start with a curve or levels layer to get any unwanted hues or create a more visible scene. But in this gif, I'm pretty happy with the colours, so I'm just using a simple curves adjustment, because I want to have whatever is behind the door as the ‘background’ and the door frame is the ‘foreground’, so only a slight adjustment is needed here.

Since the colours are already prominent, I'm going to make the green more visible and vibrant. I do this by using selective colour in the green colour to make the green stand out. When thinking of CMYK adjustments, you might think that Magenta -100 would work, as that normally pushes the greens, but I find that this makes things grainy and patchy looking, as you can see here:

Instead, I’m enhancing cyans and yellows, and only pushing the magenta back just a little bit towards green. I’m not sure why green specifically does this, but it’s useful to know this when you’re colouring.

With the yellows, I want to push those more as well, since the amount of yellow usually influences the green-ness of the gif.. I'm also going to max yellow too since that will also make the green pop, but I also have to be careful not to distort the skin colour too much. I also want to balance the skin tone with a little redness so he doesn’t look like he has jaundice (skin tone will be explored later in the gif process)

I've added another selective colour layer on top of that, only adjusting the greens just to make it pop a little more. Don’t be afraid to use more than one selective layer, this can really bring out vibrant colours if you use it right.

Just to get some more depth, I add a colour balance layer, again just subtly pushing the cyan and yellow up and not playing with the green too much. Then my usual last layers are with a vibrance and brightness/contrast - I’m usually quite generous with contrast so I can bring out the different shades and it makes things a little more vibrant too.

This next step is really important when colouring people with dark skin - you want to lower the redness from their skin so they don't look unnaturally orange, as you can see here:

There is a fantastic tutorial here about colouring dark skin tones and avoiding the orange-washed look, and I recommend all gif makers to take note! It's difficult especially when doing rainbow gifs, and it takes some practice. I do this with a hue/saturation layer, and specifically targeting red and yellow and reducing saturation. I might need to play with selective colour or colour balance to get it right. Luckily Eli doesn’t move around too much, so I can use a mask to adjust only his face. 

And that’s the end product! now just ignore me as I re-upload the green gif in my set so you don’t see such a horrible jaudiced skin tone sldkfjsldkf

Yellow gif - Karli vs Sam

I'm gonna be completely honest here - this gif was very tricky to do. I actually have about three different versions of it. At first I thought "this is the yellow gif so I'm only going to have yellow tones", and did selective colour to get rid of any traces of green AND red, because I didn't want any orange at all. It ended up looking quite dull:

I mean.. yeah it’s yellow........... but it’s kinda boring. So I deleted all adjustments and watched the raw gif, and noted the orange light contrasting with the pale light. The raw gif itself already had some beautiful lighting - why get rid of it? It depends on what you want, but I like my rainbow gifs to have a different colour there to contrast with the main colour. 

Starting off with a hue/saturation layer with saturation 100+, I can see there are clearly yellows and reds and a bit of green on the ceiling. 

I thought the contrast of the orange and pale lighting was too good to mess up so I started with that. My first layers are vibrance and brightness/contrast to exaggerate the silhouettes and bring out the colours that are already there. 

I added a channel mixer layer to narrow down the colours. I wanted to fill the white bits with yellow, and with channel mixer I’m able to manipulate colours into something else while still looking natural and blended. I won’t be doing too much colour manipulating here so the settings are very minimal. I don’t know how to explain it but it just takes a little fiddling to figure out what works for your gif. You’ll notice the white reflections on the ceiling are now a solid yellow colour:

Next is a colour balance layer. I'm basically trying to bring out the yellow out. This is really just trial and error. I added a bit of magenta to bring the depth of the orange colours in the darker shades:

Now for selective colour. I'm often adjusting all of these while hiding/showing the hue/saturation layer I have kept at the bottom. This time, I’m aiming to subtract the reds and bring it down to a warm orange, and I do that by bringing it towards cyan/away from red, and away from magenta/towards green. 

Then I max out the yellows so it becomes the most dominant colour. I've also manipulated the green to make sure it is excluded from the gif - again, checking with the hue/saturation layer at the bottom, while keeping my eye on the ceiling and other places where I’ve noticed green lurking about. I don’t want any unwanted shades ending up in the final colour table.

Finally, I finish with yet another vibrance and brightness/contrast layer, just because I like things bright and vibrant!

And there it is! The orange is still there and adds a contrast, but you can tell that the main colour is the yellow. This gif seems very straightforward but I assure you, it took me quite a while to get this one right. This gif was a joy to work on because Sam was so very extra in this fight sequence lolll

Pink gif - suspicious mechanical grenade? idk

While this gif may look simple, it actually took a couple of tries before I got the colouring right. You'll notice when the ball activates, there is a bright green light that highlights the gas released and it reflects on the chair legs and carpet.

At first I tried this with the above mentioned selective colour method - which I thought turned out okay but it didn't sit with me right. Notice the reflection of the blue light on the carpet - it definitely isn't blue and more like a green-orangey kinda colour, and it doesn't look natural at all.

So I re-started from the beginning and had a look at what I’m working with, starting with hue/saturation at saturation +100. I can see that the original gif has red and green as the dominant colours, with yellow bits blending the two on the carpet. That’s what I was having issues with the selective colour - so I’ll be doing it differently. 

Enter: channel mixer. I’m gonna be honest............. I have ZERO idea how the channel mixer really works! It’s all a matter of trial and error, but I’ll try and explain my process step by step. 

I normally start in the blue channel (again - no idea why, it just works for me). I start with the reds, and I know if I go over 0, it will push the reds towards cyan, which will get it more purple-y:

Ooooh looking good!!! then I want to push the greens towards magenta, so that needs to go over 0 as well:

Woohoo! It’s already starting to look good. The green light and the way it blends into the red/pinks have all been completely changed into the cyan hues, so there’s a perfect reflection you can see on the carpet! Yay! I had a fiddle with the green and red channels but nothing too drastic. Here are the settings:

Even with just the single adjustment, I was already pretty happy with it and only did a few touch ups: I added a selective colour layer to bring out a more pinky-purpley colour, then a levels layer to brighten things up. It might seem very backwards to add a brightening tool at the end, but I didn’t want to mess up the original colour shades because I liked having the dark shadows lit up by the ball’s light.

And that’s it! Only three adjustment layers, but it took some time to play with the different adjustments and what worked best. Channel mixer can be really intimidating but it works like a charm when you manage to figure it out.

the end!

Finally I have to give credit to some amazing content creators and their brilliant colouring tutorials that have made such a huge impact in the way I edit. Some brilliant guides include:

this colouring tutorial by @favreaus​​ 

this colouring tutorial by @inejz-ghafa​​ 

this colouring tutorial by @meliorn​​

​I hope this tutorial has been helpful! I’ve tried to explain myself as best I can, but let me know if you’d like any clarification or have any questions. I’m still learning how to do things, and honestly most times it’s just randomly clicking things until something works out! 

#gif tutorial #coloring tutorial #rainbow gif tutorial #gif editing #completeresources #dailyresources #chaoticresources #allresources #photoshop tutorial #fyeahps #dailypsd #**mytutorial

[ikeromantic]

Middle Ground

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic - approx. 2200 words. This scene occurs well after the events of the romantic epilogue. Fluff.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Bonding

“So . . . separate beds?” Mitsuhide’s wry smile was only a little bitter.

“Yes. I know it’s silly. I’d . . . I’d rather be in there with you.” The chatelaine, soon to be Lady Akechi, looked down, her expression a mixture of shame and defiance.

“It’s fine. I will have you all to myself soon enough. What is a night or two apart?”

She looked up without raising her head, trying to gauge his emotions.

Mitsuhide wasn’t having any of that. He took her chin between his finger and thumb and gently lifted until her gaze met his. “It is fine.” Then he leaned forward to brush a kiss across her cheek. With his lips almost close enough to touch her skin, he added. “Are you so eager to be in my arms again? Do you want to . . . test out the guest room? Or your childhood bed?”

He had the intended effect. She shivered and licked her lips. “You are so bad!”

“You are the one protesting our brief separation.” Mitsuhide pressed another kiss to her cheek and leaned back.

She crossed her arms. “You’re right. It’s just a few nights. But when we get back to the city -” a wicked smile turned her lips up at the corners, promising all sorts of fun.

“So forward, my little mouse. So eager. You make me wish we were home already.”

“That’s the idea.” She turned and threw him a saucy look. “Something to dream about.”

Mitsuhide chuckled. “Good night, little one.” Something to dream about indeed. He watched her hips as she walked down the hall, until she turned into her room and shut the door. She really had no idea what impact she had on him. He wondered if it was his practiced art of hiding his true emotion, or simply that she couldn’t see how beautiful she was. How desirable.

He went into the room and shut the door. It was so strange. The electronic hum of household devices. The cold fluorescent light from the street lamps in his window. Distant traffic sounds blending with barking dogs and strains of music. Mitsuhide felt suddenly very alone and very out of place.

Despite his refusal, the thought of spending one night, much less three, without his little one, felt impossible. A burden too heavy for him to bear. He needed to feel her in his arms, to fall asleep to the sound of her breathing, the beat of her heart. Her warmth grounded him in this strange place.

Mitsuhide gave a dry, soundless laugh. Who was the little mouse now?

Slowly, meditatively, he dressed for bed and lay down. He would embrace this world, different as it was from his own. He had to, because it was the one that gave birth to his beloved. And so, listening to the heartbeat of this small town, the viscous thrum of modern life, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Miyake and Sasuke arrived the following day at lunch. They met up at a local restaurant. Youko was friends with the owner and able to borrow a few tables in the back for privacy.

Minoru, the chatelaine’s often grumpy father, seemed to be on his best behavior. Not smiling, but distantly polite to the two newcomers. He thawed a little when his daughter threw her arms around each of the men in greeting.

No one said much as they ate. Youko and Minoru sat beside their daughter on one side of the table, glancing up at her strange friends. Sasuke, Mitsuhide and Miyake sat across from them, looking nervous.

It was Sasuke who finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat. “I understand your daughter told you about our time in the Sengoku. Understandably, you want proof. You have questions. We are here to give you what evidence we can.”

Minoru snorted. “What do you get out of this charade?” He gestured to Mitsuhide. “Is he paying you?”

Miyake looked as if he wanted to speak up, but Sasuke beat him to it. “No. I am here because your daughter is my friend.” He reached into his bag. “I know it isn’t much, but I brought my ninja kit as proof. These - these are smoke pellets. And that is a kunai. This is a sleeping poison, and this -” he went through the items, explaining what they were and how he made them. Detailed descriptions of the tools and materials he had available.

When Sasuke finished, Minoru looked thoughtful.

Youko smiled across as Sasuke. “You seem a very resourceful young man. And you are also the one that discovered these wormholes?”

“Yes ma’am.” Sasuke dipped his head, embarrassed by the compliment.

“It could just be you have a - a fascination with this stuff. Read a lot. Saw some movies,” Minoru said. His gruff voice held more than a hint of doubt. Even he didn’t buy his own explanation.

Sasuke nodded. “I could have. But even that would not yield the encyclopedic knowledge I’ve developed. I would go into greater detail, but I imagine you don’t have the underlying historical education to make use of most of the information I could provide. Unless . . . Are you a history buff?” His voice sounded different at the end, as if this question was important. Light glinted off his glasses, hiding his eyes. The air around him was charged, almost crackling with a sudden and unexpected energy.

“No. I can’t say I am,” Minoru replied.

“Hm, too bad.” The strange tension in the ninja disappeared as suddenly as it came.

Mitsuhide nudged Miyake. The warrior muttered something under his breath and then rolled his shoulders. “Alright, old man. I don’t blame you for doubting us. I’d think I was crazy too, or lying. But what Lady Akechi told you is true. She’s been living with my lord for the last few months. And it’s a good thing too. He smiles a lot more now. Eats too, and sleeps almost like a human.”

“Miyake,” Mitsuhide growled. “That’s not the kind of evidence they need to hear.”

“Sorry, but it’s the truth. And if you don’t mind me saying, well, even if you do, your daughter makes for one hell of a princess. She makes the servants happy to do a good job because she notices the little things. And the guards . . . they’d all die for her, and not just because Lord Akechi demands it. She’s kind and good to all of us. I don’t get to spend time at the castle, but I hear how she remembers birthdays and congratulates newlyweds and -”

Youko laughed, a sound Mitsuhide recognized. Much like his own little one, but matured. More elegance with just the same amount of joy. “It sounds like you have a following,” she smiled at her daughter.

The chatelaine blushed. “I really don’t. He’s exaggerating, mom. Really.”

“He is not,” Mitsuhide chided. “Though I don’t think that’s the kind of proof her father -”

Minoru interrupted, his gruff voice quieting the table. “It’s clear you’ve gotten to know her. My little girl.” He gave her a brief smile. “I am still . . . it’s a lot to take in. This wild story. But she stands by it and there is clearly - something true in it.”

His daughter hugged him. “I knew you’d come around, papa.”

He dislodged himself from her unexpected embrace. “I didn’t say I’m buying the whole story. Just,” he waved his hand, “some of it rings true.”

The tension at their table eased, and conversation began to flow more naturally. Youko and Minoru had a lot of questions, and were finally ready to hear the answers.

***

Kyubei followed Ranmaru through the thick forest undergrowth, barely able to make out the dirt path he led them down. This was supposed to lead to a safe house, one that Kennyo agreed to meet him in. He wished the demon-abbot had a taste for teahouses instead of abandoned forest shacks, but it could be worse.

He could be with Hideyoshi, hunting Motonari across the ports. Kyubei wasn’t afraid of pirates, but being on a boat . . . the constant roll of the ocean waves made him sick as a dog. No matter how many trips he made, he never gained any kind of tolerance for the motion. So this, the dirt and the bugs and the thick air under the trees, was a better deal all around.

“This is it.” Ranmaru stopped just before the path opened on a small clearing. There was a half-rotted shack ahead, once a shrine to some local deity, now fallen into disrepair.

Kyubei was surprised to see he wasn't’ the only one here to speak to the monk. Another familiar figure sat on the wooden steps outside the shrine. “Shingen?”

Takeda grinned up at him, pushing a lock of sweaty hair out of his face. “If it isn’t Mitsuhide’s maid!” He laughed. “Kidding, kidding! I just expected to see the kitsune out here himself.”

“He is otherwise engaged.”

“Is he?” Shingen’s smile was dangerous now. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with our missing ninja, would it?”

“If it does, I’ll send him your head,” Yukimura spoke up from somewhere to Kyubei’s left.

Ranmaru put his hands up, laughing as if this were all so silly. “It’s too early for threats. Come on! Let’s make some tea and relax. The abbot will be here shortly.”

Kyubei turned his head a fraction, just enough to see Yukimura lower his spear. “Tea would be good.” He ignored the younger warrior’s scowl as he followed Ranmaru to the shrine.

He didn’t sit, but stood near Takeda, resting his back against a tree.

Shingen, for his part, pretended to be fully relaxed. It wasn’t quite effective though. His brow held a waxy sheen, his eyes looked sunken and fevered. Worse, his breathing was labored. A rasp, harsh as a winter cough.

Kyubei watched him carefully. This was a bad situation. A dying man had fewer qualms than one that had to live with his decisions. He hadn’t realized Takeda was so bad off though, despite the reports he’d received. The Tiger of the Kai was legend. Not a man to be taken down by sickness. And yet.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yukimura snapped, coming to stand beside his lord.

Shingen chuckled. “So protective, Yuki.” His laugh turned into a thick, unproductive cough. When he finally got control of himself, he directed his attention to Kyubei. “So. Where did your lord and my ninja go off to? And don’t tell me you don’t know. There’s too much tying their disappearance together. I’d rather not have to kill you today for lying to me.”

Another situation he wished he had his lord’s guidance. What information was safe to pass along, and what plans would the ripples of this conversation affect? Kyubei swallowed. “I suspect they have gone to visit the chatelaine’s home. 500 years in the future.”

Shingen nodded as if this was the answer he expected. “Sasuke asked me if I’d like to visit his hometown. He said - he said they could cure me.”

“And then he left without you.” Yukimura punched the shrine wall, causing the whole building to tremble.

Ranmaru poked his head out. “Hey! Careful or you’ll bring the whole thing down on my head!”

“Sorry,” Yukimura growled.

“If it is any consolation, I don’t believe Lord Akechi or Sarutobi left when they did intentionally. The information my lord left indicates the trip was meant to take place later. He was still . . . putting things in place for his extended absence.”

“That’s bull,” Yukimura grumbled, but he relaxed his grip on the spear.

They had no more time to talk it over as Kennyo’s shadow fell across the clearing. He came out of the trees like a spirit, the rings on his staff clinking. “It appears you found me. Again.”

Shingen grinned. “Well, old friend, I did have to hunt through every abandoned shrine in the province to get to this one.”

Kennyo snorted in disbelief.

“Ranmaru brought me,” Kyubei bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“I have little time or patience for guests. Tell me what you want.” Kennyo crossed his arms.

“Your help with the false emperor.” Kyubei didn’t look up from his bow. “We both know Ashikaga is dead. The scribe we set up in his place, or the men around him, have gone astray.”

“I could care less. Let the exiled shogun harass the devil-king. Nobunaga and his pawns can go to hell.” Kennyo’s eyes were dark and full of anger. It radiated from him like heat from a fire.

Shingen shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I hate him too. But it’s not just him getting hit. These idiot daimyos in his retinue are conscripting farmers. Villagers. Innocent folk that should be left out of a power grab.”

The demon abbot’s eyes fell on his old friend. “And you believe this is a worse fate than what the Oda have in store for them?”

“I do.” Shingen’s gaze didn’t waver.

Kennyo’s shoulders shook and it took Kyubei a moment to realize the abbot was laughing. He shook his head. “You always were a fool, Shingen. But fine. I will tell you what I know. I don’t think you can stop what has been set in motion.”

Next: Double Dating

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen kyubei #otome guys #otome #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #hc

[baekhansol]

beauty (k.ys)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college au (kinda?), slice of life?, comfort

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mature

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : boudoir photographer! yeosang x plus size/curvy f!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3260 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : body insecurities, plus size/curvy reader, nudity in a non-sexual way

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 : yeosang helps show you your own beauty

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : despite the images, y/n’s skin color is not mentioned. I used these images mostly for the poses as a visual for you all! this was beta read by the lovely @sugasbabiie and part of @yutasgalaxy's Flashing Lights collab.

When your best friend suggested you do a boudoir photoshoot with your acquaintance Yeosang as the photographer, your initial answer was no. After a week of you feeling really down about your body image, she brought it up again, and eventually gave in. Yeosang told you he likes to meet his clients and get to know them before photographing them, so you met him for coffee.

You knew it wasn’t a date, but you couldn’t help feeling giddy about it. You had a crush on him for a while, but never had an excuse to get close to him. He’s so handsome, and you were about to let him see you in lingerie? The thought made you nervous. But before you could back out, Yeosang sits across from you with a warm smile, a coffee in hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, noticing how you were staring into your cup of coffee. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know. It’s about making you comfortable,” Yeosang softly reassures you. “I know this was your friend’s idea,” he adds gently.

“I’m just… nervous, is all. I know you’re good at what you do… I’ve talked to some of your clients before… but I just… they’re always skinnier than me and prettier,” you admit, tightening your grip on your mug.

Yeosang lets out a soft laugh and pulls a folder out of his bag. “I’ve worked with men and women of all body shapes, Y/N,” he begins, opening the folder and sliding it across the table to you. “I brought my portfolio for you to look at, and everyone in there gave me consent to share these photos, of course.”

You begin looking through the photos, thankful you were in a reclusive corner of the cafe as you do so. They weren’t erotic, but sensual. You knew the images captured the beauty of each individual. They were breathtaking, and you wanted to be one of them.

“Yeosang, you’re really good at this,” you admit, continuing to flip through the photographs.

“Thank you, I try to be,” he says, smiling.

You set the date for your photoshoot, and the day came within a blink of an eye. You had met with Yeosang a few other times after the initial meeting, as he wanted you to be more comfortable with being around him. He gave you plenty of time to go over the client agreement, and you respected how thorough the document was.

Yeosang had instructed you very clearly on what to take out to wear and how to do your makeup. So, you set out your favorite pieces of lingerie, a matching set and a bodysuit, the oversized button-down he chose, and a simple mini dress. You put on foundation and did your eyebrows, but nothing else, as Yeosang requested.

When you hear a knock on the door, you pull your bathrobe around you tighter and peer through the peephole before letting Yeosang in. It was unfair how good he looked, and you tried to force the thought into the back of your mind. He had a few boxes of what you presume to be his equipment with him, and you hope he didn’t have to struggle too much to get to your apartment. You quickly open the door, letting him inside and getting out of his way.

“Hey! Are you excited?” He asks, smiling brightly as he brings his things inside.

“I’m still nervous,” you admit, shaking your head.

“Well, don’t be. I’m here, and it’ll be fun! I promise,” he says, taking in your appearance. “I’m glad you did as I asked; that will make things easier! Now, where is your bathroom?”

You quickly show him around, and he makes himself at home. He plugs in a curling iron and goes through your makeup, glancing at the lingerie you chose and the colors he should use.

“Sit on the countertop and close your eyes,” he requests.

“Okay?” you reply, sounding more hesitant than you meant.

“I’m going to do your makeup. Do you trust me?” he asks, looking into your eyes. You merely nod, trusting him and his craft.

Yeosang’s touch on your face is gentle and calming. You feel him sweeping on eyeshadow, and he soon turns on soothing lofi music as he works. You know he is blending the eyeshadow as he takes his time, and you do your best to keep your eyes close.

“Open your eyes and look up for me,” he softly requests.

You open them, meeting his intense gaze. His lips purse in concentration, and you quickly look up at the ceiling. He sweeps eyeshadow under your eyes, blending it gently.

“Do you normally heat your eyelash curler?” Yeosang asks, causing you to look back down at him.

“It depends on the day,” you admit, watching him plug in your hair dryer and heat the curler. “And how much time I have to get ready,” you add with a slight giggle.

He tests the warmth on his hand, and you close your eyes before he could ask. Yeosang curls your eyelashes, gently setting the tool down on the sink before he applies your eyeliner. You feel the pads of his fingers brushing your eyelids before he has you open his eyes for him to put on your mascara.

He smiles at you, the masterpiece he was accentuating. “Have you ever seen a video where they clean an old piece of artwork?” Yeosang softly asks, beginning to contour your face.

“Yes, I have,” you say, doing your best to stay still.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing with you,” Yeosang explains, putting blush on your cheeks and dusting your nose with it. “You already are a beautiful piece of art, and sometimes you need a new view to see its beauty,” He tells you, picking out what happened to be your favorite shade of lipstick.

You feel yourself blushing, and you glance away, unable to meet his eyes. “You think so?” you ask him quietly, your heart thumping.

“I know so,” he answers, carefully applying your lipstick. You smack your lips together, and he smiles brightly.

“I just have to curl your hair, so you can get off now and take a peek,” he says, stepping out of your way as you jump off the countertop.

You turn to see yourself in the mirror, and are awestruck. You were expecting something less modest, but Yeosang almost perfectly captured how you normally did your makeup. He did it simply but beautifully, and you couldn’t help but gape at yourself.

As you stare, you feel him taking your brush and brushing out your hair.

“Yeosang,” you murmur, meeting his eyes.

“Hmm?” he hums, raising an eyebrow as he begins to curl your hair/

“Can you do my makeup more often?” you giggle playfully.

He laughs, and you love the sound.

“Maybe,” he says mischievously, careful not to burn your hair.

You allow him to do your hair, watching him work his magic.

“There,” he cheers, adjusting your hair before giving it a light coat of hairspray. “Done,” he proudly concludes.

“Yeosang, are you sure you’re not a makeup artist instead of a photographer?” you tease.

“I’m pretty positive, Y/N,” he laughs, turning off and unplugging the curling iron.

“So I was thinking of a few different poses, and I brought some ideas with me,” He tells you, pulling out the photos. “I figured we could do a few nude ones with you under your comforter or sheets, so I won't see anything first?” he suggests, showing you the guides.

“So I basically just hold the comforter up like this?” you inquire, getting on your bed and pulling at your comforter, facing the wall as if you didn’t have your robe on.

“Yes, and then you’ll sit up more to curve your back, like,” he pauses, finding the photograph he wants before showing it to you, “this.”

You feel insecure despite his calm demeanor, and you shake your head. “I don’t want to do any nude,” you say, your voice soft.

“That’s okay then. Instead, why don’t you change into your lingerie and put the button down over it?” He suggests instead, going to grab his equipment.

You nod, your hands shaking slightly as you pick up the lingerie and button down from its place on the bed. You head into the bathroom, shutting the door as you slip into it. Your insecurities try to get you to stop and cancel the photoshoot, but you knew at the same time you would be disappointed with yourself. Instead, you button the shirt completely before coming back out of the bathroom.

Yeosang glances over at you and smiles as he finishes adjusting the lights. He turns them off and guides you towards your window, which he had thrown sheer white shades over.

“I want you to stand in front of the window like you are stretching with your arms up. Lean forward and slightly to the side,” Yeosang instructs you.

You nod and stand in front of it, letting yourself actually stretch out your spine. You lean to one side, letting your body curve more.

“Perfect, you’re a natural,” Yeosang says, and you feel your cheeks heating up again as you hear the fluttering of the camera.

“Now I’m going to have you pose on your desk chair, if that’s okay to bring it over here?” he asks.

When you agree, he easily picks it up and sets it in front of the window, his biceps flexing.

“Just sit on it as you normally would, okay?” He says, and you sit up straight. “Is it okay if I unbutton and adjust the shirt a little?” Yeosang inquires.

“Sure,” you reply, glancing up at him shyly.

He unbuttons the shirt down to below your bra, exposing the floral lace. You feel your cheeks heat up, but he adjusts the shirt to pull down onto your arms, exposing your shoulders and offering a delightful view of your cleavage and bra straps. You look down at yourself, and feel sexy from the simplicity of the new neckline.

He steps away and snaps a few photos, and you start to feel more confident in yourself.

“Now, turn sideways when you sit on the chair. I’m going to have you pose, but will you be comfortable with taking off your shirt?” Yeosang asks, stepping back towards you.

You figure that it would be a sideways view, so you nod and unbutton it, tossing it across the room to be out of the way.

“Carefully lay on your back. Can you balance on it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” you laugh, carefully adjusting yourself.

“Slowly lift your legs up as you lean backwards, so your head will be lowered.”

You slowly do as he says, feeling your abdominal muscles tightening to keep you balanced on the chair.

“Curve your legs with one straighter than the other,” he directs you, gently tugging your hair out from under you. “Now hold your hair slightly to show more of your torso.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Don’t move.”

The command in his voice stirred something inside you, but you do your best to ignore it. You were Yeosang’s client, and in the agreement, there were no sexual relations with him. You hear the snapping of the camera again, and see Yeosang moving to different positions to get multiple angles.

“I have a few more poses I would like you to try, okay, Y/N?” he says, and you merely nod. “You can stand up, since this one is also in the chair,” he tells you.

You carefully roll out of the chair as he explains, “I want you to climb onto the chair and be sexy about it, okay? Leaving a leg straight out with one in as you face me?”

You nod as he turns the chair sideways before carefully doing as he asks. You reposition your legs and body, and he opts to take pictures of each change.

“Are they coming out okay?” you timidly ask as he puts his camera down.

“I think so. Do you want to see?” he asks, showing you his camera and flicking through a few of what he has taken.

You look sexy, and it surprises you. “Whoa,” you murmur in shock. .

“Of course it is,” he giggles, smiling brightly. “Now, how about you change into that bodysuit?” he suggests, pointing to it.

“Sure!” you say, picking it up and going into the bathroom.

You do your best to change quickly, and you hear him moving around in your bedroom, presumably setting things up.

When you take off your underwear, you're embarrassed to find a small wet spot. You hadn’t thought your crush on Yeosang would do this to you now of all times. You groan slightly and make sure to throw them in the hamper as you slide into your bodysuit.

You come out shyly, and see a soft sheet on the floor with the lights around it.

“I think you’ve seen this pose a few times before. It’s where you lay on your back with your legs up on the wall?” Yeosang says, tilting his head.

“Yes, I have! I really like that one,” you admit, carefully sitting on the floor and resting your legs up against the wall.

Yeosang nods and continues, “Do you want to wear heels? I know some people do, but it isn’t always comfortable for everyone.”

You look up at him through your lashes and shake your head.

“That’s fine then,” he says with a smile, bending down and adjusting your hair around you.

He moves one of the lights ever so slightly before snapping more photographs. “You’re doing really well,” he praises you.

You sit back up as he goes to get something out of his bag and ask, “Yeosang, do you ever get aroused while taking these photos?”

You can’t see him freeze, but he does. “Do I what now?” he questions, pulling out some fabric and looking at you.

“Do you ever get aroused when taking photos…?” you repeat.

Yeosang sits on your bed, holding the fabric in his lap. “Normally, I don’t,” he admits. “Every now and then, yes.”

You nod, playing with the sheet underneath you.

Yeosang quickly changes the topic back to what you were doing, and you don’t notice him snap a few more pictures. “I know how you said you didn’t really like showing your arms, so I brought you this sweater,” he tells you, showing you the soft ivory sweater. “It was oversized on me, so it should be about the same for you,” Yeosang adds, gently setting it on the bed as he helps you stand back up.

You sit on the bed and carefully put it on with his help, avoiding smudging your makeup. It was cozy and soft, not too itchy. You pull your hair out of the neck of the sweater, and you hear Yeosang snap a few photos.

“The final prop I have are these,” he says, reaching into his bag and pulling out fairy lights.

“Oh?” you ask, tilting your head as he plugs them in.

“I’ve never done it before, and I’ve always wanted to play with the lighting on them,” Yeosang admits. “And if they don’t turn out well, well, at least we can say we tried,” he says with a laugh.

“What am I supposed to do with them?” you ask, smiling brightly. You were excited that he wanted to try something new with you.

“Just kind of… wrap them around you and play with them,” he suggests, picking his camera back up.

You nod and do as he says, laying down in one of the positions you had seen in his portfolio. You lay on your back with your legs bent, and you look up at Yeosang as your head bends off the end of the bed.

“Ohh, very nice,” he says, clicking away. “Now, try on your stomach with your legs up and ankles crossed,” Yeosang suggests.

As you move into position, Yeosang gently moves the lights around you so you wouldn’t be too restricted.

“Rest your head on your arms, but keep one out and face me,” he instructs, and you do just that. Yeosang gently fixes your hair, his fingers combing through it.

“Perfect, just like that,” he says, snapping more photos of you.

He set his camera back down, a bright smile on his face. “Okay, I think I’m done!” he says. “I should be able to get them back to you in two to three weeks.”

You nod and begin untangling yourself from the lights, and Yeosang quickly helps.

“You did really well, you know,” he assures you, smiling.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say, hesitating before hugging him.

Yeosang took longer packing up, but you didn’t mind. You begin to take off his sweater, but he stops you. “Y/N, please, keep it,” he begins.

“Yeosang, I can’t-”

“Please. It suits you,” he insists, his pleading look making you give in.

You purse your lips and instead slide on a pair of shorts before cleaning up your bathroom.

After he left, you laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. You really did just do a boudoir photoshoot with a male photographer.

Two weeks went by, then three. After the fourth week, you were beginning to worry that the photos didn’t turn out well.

When the fifth week came and went, Yeosang finally messaged you.

Yeosang: Do you think you can come over sometime this week?

You: yeah, when works for you? I’m free most of tomorrow

Yeosang: Can you come tomorrow around 8?

You: sounds good

Yeosang: see you then!

After running into traffic, you managed to navigate Yeosang’s apartment complex and find his apartment number. You adjust yourself before knocking on the door.

“It’s Y/N,” you call.

Yeosang answers it with a worried look. “Hey, are you okay? You were late,” he mentions, knowing it wasn’t like you to be this late.

“Yeah, sorry… I ran into traffic,” you explain, not meeting his eyes as he lets you in.

Yeosang nods, leading you into his studio. He ushers you to your computer, but you’re awed by the photographs adorning the walls. You recognize some as the samples, but some almost looked like yours.

“I’ve been doing my best, but I can’t seem to get them to my liking. Some of it is a matter of filters, and I can’t choose which looks best. You really are a natural,” he tells you, pulling up your file.

You were shocked by the results. You could barely believe that they were supposed to be images of you.

“Yeosang, I-” you gasp, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yours are by far the best I’ve done so far,” he murmurs, clicking through the countless photos, some of which you didn’t know he captured.

“Yeosang, I have to ask…” you shyly murmur, your cheeks heating up. “Why did it take so long?”

This time his cheeks and ears slowly turned red. “You looked better than I thought in my sweater,” he murmurs. Noticing your furrowed brows, he continues softly, “I really liked you, even before doing these for you. It was a nice excuse to get to know you better. I know it's bad to ask former clients on dates, but…”

The question lingers for a moment, and his expression slowly turns into one of disappointment from rejection.

“Yeosang, I’d love to,” you breathlessly admit.

#ultkpopnetwork #kpopscape #kpopficsnetwork #ateez fluff #ateez comfort #yeosang fluff #yeosang comfort #yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang fluff #kang yeosang comfort #yeosang x reader #ateez fanfic

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #reverse robins #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #injuries tw #death mention tw

[pkg4mumtown]

Signs of Attachment - Ch. 1

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Star Wars fic, so have mercy on me. This request was for my friend, Jaime, who gave me all sorts of information and I’m forever indebted to them for it. The timeline is probably very off, but…oh well!

To clarify before we start:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 1 - Effort

I slid the last tool into place and closed its drawer, the Halls of Healing finally back in order after the last rush of injured Jedi passed through. I thought bitterly about the war that I was barred from, except for the occasional medic deployment to forward operating bases. My saber hung uselessly at my side despite every test I passed to prove my worthiness to the Council.  It’s not that they didn’t have faith in me, they just saw me as a liability, which is probably just as bad. Despite how hard I tried to explain it, they were convinced that I could never be focused enough to be on the front lines. Yet, I passed every test while purposely being fully deafened and even being both deafened and blinded, which was somehow easier than the former.

Being assigned to the Halls of Healing seemed almost harder than combat, considering I had been far better at fighting than healing throughout my entire knighthood. Semi-dangerous solo missions before the wars? The Council saw no problems. A full scale war with plenty of droids as target practice? A big problem, apparently.

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I had barely registered someone, no two someones, or rather their force signatures, entering the Halls.

Swoosh

I didn’t even have a chance to decipher any of what they were saying as their words and voices started to blend together immediately due to their arguing.

“Sop.”

“Yaioyu satowep beeineg doifficultat.”

“Lletat muoe gaorn.”

“No."

“Atnakin, ei doon'tat noeead tolorn beoe heneroe.”

I glanced over at my Droid for help, but its signing was a mess as both voices talked over each other. I eventually stopped looking at it and took a deep, calming breath. I tried to pick apart the voices and focus on one but both faded in and out, making it nearly impossible.

Shove. Scuffle.

“You do…”

“Eeim f—ine”

Slap.

“Yu figelol otan muoe.”

“Ei tolrippead.”

“Muaster, poleasoe tolelol heniem.”

Silence.

“Muaster?”

More silence.

“Muaster…?”

Oh. The closeness of the strongest signature was behind me now, poised and ready to—

Tap.

I turned and faced the two, rather loud, intruders to this calming place. My Droid wasn’t yet in place behind them, so I couldn’t quite get everything but I got enough. I had never gotten quite good at lip reading with Master Plo as a teacher, so he had learned Basic Sign Language to help supplement what was missed in speaking. I relied on my droid to sign to me quite heavily when dealing with patients to understand what was wrong with them, but it was only helpful if one person was speaking at a time. Definitely not whatever this train wreck of a duo was.

“Master?” the spikey-haired Padawan asked, staring straight at me.

“Forgive my Padawan, he toakess atfteer muwy Muasteer,” the older Jedi rolled his eyes, noticeably leaning on his Padawan and clutching his side.

“I do not.”

Feeling another round of arguing bubbling up, I held my palm up, “Both of you stop, please, and start from the top.” My Droid finally stepped in place behind them so I could see the signs over their shoulders.

“We just landed back at the temple, everything was fine—"

“Things are fine,” the Master snapped.

“—and he just collapsed on me. He wouldn’t let me check over him—," the Padawan continued.

“There’s nothing to check, Anakin.”

Ah, yes, the infamous Master Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin.

“Obviously theroe iss.”

“Eim fignoe.”

“Stop,” I sighed and closed my eyes and opened them after centering myself. “Padawan Skywalker, please leave us.”

“B—”

“Now, please,” I urged, not bothering to give him an explanation. Not that I needed to give him one.

The Padawan made a face of displeasure before bowing to both of us and leaving the room.

“—overreacting—,” Kenobi sighed.

I blinked at him, then glanced at my droid, who filled me in on the whole sentence.

Anakin is overreacting, really.

“Master Kenobi, please sit and take off your tunics and tabards,” I ask and look away, not that it was going to matter because I was going to see him shirtless regardless.

I tried to ignore the broad expanse of his chest, littered with scars and copper hair. My eyes lingered a little too long while raking over and looking for injuries. I was just being thorough.

When I saw the wound that caused this whole ordeal I sucked in a breath quickly. The skin on his side was badly burned and the wound was at least a few days old, so naturally it had infected because he neglected to take care of it.

“It’s infected,” I shook my head almost hurriedly grabbed the large tub of bacta we kept on hand.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” He brushed off my comment, obediently lifting his arm when I nudged it.

“Have you looked at it recently?” I scoffed as I further inspected the wound.

He was silent for a moment, making me look at my droid confused as if I had missed something but the Droid confirmed that I hadn’t.

“Master Kenobi?”

“The less I acknowledged it, the easier it was to manage the pain,” he grumbled back. “And surely, you can call me Obi-Wan, we were in the crèche together.”

“That hardly constitutes a first name basis,” I squinted at him. “I don’t even recall speaking to you. They were troubling times for me, it was easier to keep to myself. Less to…process.”

“Oh, believe me, that message was loud and clear,” Obi-Wan chuckled, making me roll my eyes in an attempt to not focus on the way it lit his face up or brightened his eyes. “I also seem to remember that you were one of the best saber wielders out of all us.”

“A lot of good that did me,” I gestured to the sterile room.

“You still have the honor of humiliating an advanced saber instructor in class while being completely shut off to auditory and optical input.”

A blush rose to my cheeks, “Ho—”

“Every Padawan in the temple knew about it…”

“Well, it couldn’t have been that impressive if it wasn’t enough for the frontlines,” I slipped bitterly.

“They’re not all fun, unfortunately,” he murmured.

“I’m a guardian trapped as a healer, Obi-Wan, anything is better than this.” I took a deep breath, “Anyway, you might feel some discomfort.”

I closed my eyes and hovered my hand over the wound and focused on purging the infection first, feeling it attacking the cells around it as I finally attuned with said infection. I pulled the infection away from his body, pleased when there was no resistance and it begun to trickle away. I tilted my head as I sensed another pain but in his leg, so I investigated without breaking the healing I was already doing. The pain visualized as five red dots, the cause hard to place while my mind was otherwise occupied.

Then, it dawned on me that he was gripping his own leg so tightly as a distraction to the pain in his side that even I could feel it. Blindly, I found his knee and then his hand clenching his thigh. His hand relaxed slightly as mine touched his, allowing my hand to worm under his for him to squeeze instead. With the infection released into the force, I focused on knitting the wound back together. In response, Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed mine even tighter. If I could have sent something calming to him, I would have, but didn’t want to break my concentration when I was almost done. Instead, I let my thumb brush back and forth over his knuckles.

Finally, the wound was completely covered with new skin so I let the force healing trickle away. I blinked my eyes open, a little woozy but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially after a long day of healing.

“—that—pleasant,” I vaguely heard through the humming in my ears. It always took a while for the force to stop thrumming in my head after force healing, only amplified by my condition.

I knitted my brows at him, knowing it was anything but pleasant and then looked over at my droid.

Stars, that was not very pleasant.

“Oh, well, yes I suspect the day it becomes pleasant will be the day that Jedi actually seek out treatment, rather than avoid it,” I stressed the end just for him.

“Sorry, I should have waited until you opened your eyes.”

“It’s fine,” and really it was, I was used to it by now.

“I’m sure it gets tiring having to have a conversation with someone over their shoulder,” I didn’t get to appreciate the sincerity in his eyes because I had to glance at my droid again, only proving his point.

“Well, it was a little hard to learn to lip read growing up with Master Plo…,” my mouth turned up into a smirk, clearly trying not to laugh.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, didn’t hold back and snorted; laughing immediately after, “Sorry, sorry…”

“But, he did learn and teach me BSL, so at least I have something. Even if no one else here knows it, the droid helps. Though, in the field I don’t bring it, so I just tell everyone to shut up at let me work.”

“That’s…unfortunate.”

“It gets taxing, if only because I don’t always catch everything so conversations are hard to carry without the droid. Especially if someone starts talking to me without getting my attention first.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head like he was deep in thought, “Maker knows we learn enough languages here, they should teach BSL, too,” Obi-Wan squeezed my hand, making me realize I’d never actually let go of his hand. Though, with his hand now squeezing mine, I’d have to rip my hand away and to be honest? I didn’t want to.

“I don’t think we have anyone fluent enough to teach besides myself and Master Plo…”

“Hmm, I’d still like to present it to the Council. Someone has to be able to teach it,” he smiled gently.

I had no words to express how grateful even the thought of presenting it to the Council meant to me. So I didn’t speak. Instead, I sent my feelings of gratitude through the force and our joined hands. I took the time to read the genuine twinkle in his eyes as I hadn’t been able to this whole time, and the subtle way his eyebrows relaxed as he realized what I was doing. My eyes drifted lower to the way the corners of his eyes and cheek wrinkled just slightly with the upturn of the corner of his mouth, a subtle smile for me. Lower still, to the coppery mustache and beard on his face, with flecks of gray from the war. Or his Padawan…probably his Padawan. I let my eyes drift over the endearing way his mullet curled just behind his ears and rested against his shoulders.

He was right about one thing; I had taken for granted just looking someone in the eyes as they spoke to me. It was something that was necessary for BSL, and while Master Plo didn’t have the most expressive face, it gave me back a semblance of normalcy to be able to carry on a conversation face to face. It helped bridge the gaps between any words I had missed and ensured I had the whole picture, even going so far as to express words or ideas I was having trouble expressing with speech.

I cleared my throat, realizing I was staring far longer than I should have been, “Sorry, um, here…”

I reluctantly untangled our hands and grabbed the container of bacta, scooping a generous amount on to my fingers. I applied the cool gel to the new, pink, raw skin, which looked far better than the angry, red and purple open wound he had come in with. He jumped at the first contact, whether it was because of the cold or not, I didn’t know, but his sigh of relief after was a good sign.

I wiped my hand of and grabbed a new travel bottle of bacta for him, before pausing and grabbing two more, “Here, try not to lose these…”

He took them gratefully, knowing we normally didn’t give that much to just one Jedi, “Thank you, I—I didn’t lose mine. I gave it to my men, they needed it more.”

His men, his clones, whose health he put above his own.

“I’m not surprised,” I shook my head, “but do try to take care of yourself. They need you to lead them as much as you need them to succeed.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

My brain halted for a moment, my eyes widening slightly. This was the first real conversation I’d had with him and yet he knew my first name without hesitation.

“You shouldn’t be all the surprised, our masters were good friends after all. Master Koon, talked about you a lot with Master Jinn. He just never brought you along, I suppose,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

I hummed, “He was quite protective of me and tried to overwhelm me as little as possible…”

“I wish he had brought you, though. You would have gotten along well with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan had a far away look in his eyes that I almost missed.

“I’m sorry, about…”

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled. “Now, I should get out of your hair lest my Padawan get into trouble.”

I stepped back to allow him to stand and handed him his discarded clothes from earlier, before turning and giving him privacy.

“Thank you,” he murmured, casually watching the droid out of the corner of his eye as it automatically translated into sign language.

When I turned back around, he was fully dressed again and stowing away the bacta in his belt, “Have a good rest of your day, Obi-Wan.” I bowed my head slightly to him.

“And you, Y/N,” he smiled, waiting for me to meet his eyes.

Thank you, he signed with a small smile adorning his face.

He bowed his head and took a a couple steps backwards and exited the room, offering a wave just before the doors closed behind him. My stomach flipped as I replayed the scene over in my head, realizing he had mimicked the droid in order to sign.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

#Obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi #gender neutral y/n #gn!reader #gn!mc #hard of hearing reader

[zelkams-art]

#ShowYourProcess

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

I was tagged by @milkcrates​, who showed her process of making this gorgeous piece with Wei Wuxian and little A-Yuan!! It was awesome to see how it came to life - and thank you for tagging me! ✨

So I got tagged to show how this Yunmeng brothers + golden core art happened! I already included the digital sketch for it in my sketch vs final compilation, but I guess I can show some more!

This is gonna be long because I like talking a lot, so putting the rest under a cut!

1. Planning

SO.  A golden core pic was on my to-draw list as soon as I finished watching the show. I had a WIP of a different pic for that waiting, but actually I noticed that a very similar thing has already been drawn, so that was kinda dropped. But I’m glad I waited until the idea for this one slapped me! It was pretty much a moment of “w a i t a second” and I had to grab a random piece of paper to sketch it while I still had it in my head.

This is the sketch - as you can see from the coffee stains, it has been through some stuff. On the left I actually tried out some different ideas for the golden core - the 1st one was the winner and led to the whole leaking/water/rain theme. I ended up mirroring the whole sketch because I didn’t want Wei Wuxian’s hand to cover Jiang Cheng’s front hair wisp, as that would make that area too crowded.

Meta-wise: I wanted to show that the whole thing was kept as a secret from Jiang Cheng. But we also knew about it - so Wei Wuxian is breaking the 4th wall and looking at us [the audience] directly, shushing to keep it a secret as well. Then there’s his hand hovering over the blindfold - it was included in the show, but also sprinkles in that extra symbolism. Then there’s the rain - the sky crying for the two brothers, so you’re not sure if those are raindrops or tears on their faces + lotus pond for the Yunmeng vibes. As for the golden core, I wanted to make it kinda messy and leaking like blood + shining and make it the main light source of the piece. Also kinda like a glow stick liquid.

I also like finding fitting music to go with my art and this one was actually supposed to go with Avicii’s Hey Brother, but when I was looking it up on Spotify I saw Kodaline’s Brother right above, gave it a listen and then the lyrics hit me. So I already knew that they’re gonna go in the caption. Also apparently it’s like The Song for them and yeah, makes sense.

2. Creating

2.1 Set up and tools

I use Paint Tool SAI + Wacom Intuos S to do all my art! The entire pic was made on a 2000 x 3000 px canvas, since I don’t like to work too big because of limited brush sizes in SAI + I don’t want to torture my laptop, as my art takes up quite a lot of processing power with a lot of layers and modes and sometimes things like to crash at the final steps 😬.

2.2 Planning and composition

So I started off by doing a digital sketch and focusing on the composition a bit more - I wanted something geometrical, so I went for the diamond shape with Wei Wuxian’s silhouette and the placement of the lotuses. Also the composition is vertical, all the important info is in the middle column - you could cut off 2/3 of the picture and it would still tell the story.

2.3 Lineart

Then I did the lineart over the sketch layer (there was a more detailed one than the “planning” sketch, but it looks like I deleted it once I finished). I usually draw more than I have to and on separate layers, so that I can move/modify things easily later - for example JC’s headpiece here didn’t really make it that much into the final piece but It Was There. Once I was satisfied with the lineart, I cleaned it by erasing overlapping things, like Wei Wuxian’s clothes behind Jiang Cheng’s head.  

2.4 Planning the lighting

After doing the lineart I blocked the characters with a single color and planned the lighting. The golden core is the main light source here, so it dictates which parts are gonna be lighter and which darker (although there is gonna some ambient occlusion from the background + reflected light from the water). I also added water and lotuses in the foreground + painted the background.

2.5 Shading the characters

After that, I started shading the pic. I usually do two steps here - one with “base” shading - focusing on the details and values based on the light source, then the mood shading with more coloring - based on the setting the characters are in. The first one is mostly done with the Multiply tool and base layer blending/painting, the second mostly with layer modes like Overlay and Luminosity. I also colored some parts of the lineart to make the shapes stand out (see: wwx’s front hairs)

2.6 Environment and touch-up details

Then it was time for the water and lotuses + the “special effects” for the rain and all the stuff associated with it - water splashes, mist, sparkling drops! Also some more mood lighting. Lots of new layers to keep everything organized and separated.

2.7 Finished pic

And done! After finishing I usually adjust the contrast/gamma/saturation of my art (or just edit it all in curves) + sometimes sharpen it to bring out details → I make a few different versions and pick the one that works the best. Although with this pic I was satisfied with the raw result so no major changes happened.

3. Posting

For posting I always scale down the pictures and upload them as a draft on this art blog. Then I check if things look okay on mobile as well - from what I’ve noticed my phone makes everything more warm-toned. Depending on the time I finish drawing, I either post it right away or wait until the next day, when there is more traffic on tumblr. I finished this one around 8PM of my local time, which is fine - so I posted it right away (also I was just excited, couldn’t wait 😅)!

As caption I used the lyrics from Brother by Kodaline, as mentioned before!

So yeah, that would be it! 

If you made it till this part - thank you and I hope you have an awesome day! ✨

Let’s keep the artist vibes here - I’m gonna tag (not 5 ppl but shh) @still-snowing​ and this piece that still breaks my heart @driszol​ and this Song Jiyang pic that lives in my head to this day @kushexi​​ and this pic with fox Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan bc it still makes me melt → no pressure of course! or if you want to do some other piece that’s awesome as well!

#showyourprocess #[and now tags for my own blog →] #not art #art process #oh this was fun - thank you for tagging me!! #always crying abt those self-sacrificial siblings :'')

[mypoisonedvine]

A Rare Brew (dark!Steve x Reader oneshot)

Summary: The second he met you, Steve sensed your innocence.  So shy, so adorable, and so perfectly sheltered.  He knew instantly that he had to have you, that you would be the perfect blank slate to train into his obedient slut.  And the first real step of his plan began once he finally got you to join him for a drink.

Warnings: heavy dub con (if not non con), sex pollen/drugging, stalking

Word Count: 3k

(cause sometime you need to write something with a naive reader and manipulative, creepy Steve, so you do it in two hours and post it immediately)

“Drink?!” you replied incredulously to his proposition.  Sure, he’d been hanging around your desk from time-to-time since you’d begun working as a graphic designer in Stark Tower, but you still never expected for Captain America to ask you on a date.  That’s what this was right, a date?  That’s what “join me for a drink” meant?

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol.  Do you like tea?” he asked.  Of course, he already knew that you did, because he’d been tracking your every move for a month now, but he feigned ignorance.

“I do,” you answered.

“Me too,” he smiled.  “I’m sort of a tea snob, actually.  I have some unique blends that I keep in my kitchen.  It’s the one thing I spend a decent amount of money on.”

“I don’t want to waste your expensive tea,” you blushed.

“Sharing it is anything but a waste.”

You hesitated, finding it all a little too good to be true, but decided that moving to New York was about trying new things and experiencing life to the fullest-- so why not?  Plus, free tea!

“Sure,” you smiled shyly, “I’d love to have a cup with you sometime.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sort of busy…”

“You have plans?  With somebody else?” he asked in a way that felt a little aggressive, like he was accusing you of something.  He knew you didn’t have plans, which was the real cause of his change in tone, but you didn’t realize that and let him call your bluff.

“No, I-- it’s fine.  I can work hard this afternoon and finish everything.  Can my keycard even get me up to your floor?”

“Yeah, I’ll have somebody update your clearance in the database,” he offered.  “I’ll leave you be now, so you can finish your work… don’t be late.” “Of course,” you nodded, watching him get up from where he was sitting on your desk before turning back to your screen and continuing progress on the logo you needed to finish.

~

You wished you’d dressed differently today as you rode the elevator up to Steve’s quarters.  You hadn’t realized this morning that you’d be on a date with Captain America.  You would’ve worn something fancier, flashier, and not your current, preppy-yet-plain work outfit.  You were surprised that he would even want to go out with you when you were dressed like this.

“You can set your bag down on that table, if you’d like,” Steve offered when you stepped into his open door.  He must have seen you clutching it for dear life.  “You seem a little nervous.”

“I am,” you admitted.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he laughed, and you couldn’t tell if he meant “don’t be sorry” or “don’t be nervous.”

“I feel a little out of place knowing I’m in Captain America’s kitchen,” you explained.  It was nice-- everything was steel and sleek.  Unexpectedly modern for a guy like him.  You wondered if he was actually able to pick it out himself or not.

“You’re not out of place.  This is exactly where you belong,” he dismissed.  “So, I’ve got a whole cabinet of teas… you can try anything you like.”  He opened a door to reveal an extensive collection-- bags, looseleaf in jars, even an array of decorative steeping tools and a mortar and pestle. 

“You really are a tea snob!” you exclaimed.  

“You like it?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you sighed.

“I do,” he grinned, reaching for a small black box.  He opened it to reveal a few small bags.  “I just picked this up recently.  It’s incredible.  If you’re a serious tea addict, this is the next step on your journey for sure.”

Just looking into the box, you could smell the aroma a bit.  “It’s strong.” “Yeah, but there’s a mildness to it, too.  You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, sure,” you smiled, “I’ll try it.  You’re sure you don’t mind?  It looks really expensive.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he waved his arm, pulling out a bag and closing the lid.  

“You aren’t having any?” you asked.

“No, I’m gonna keep it simple tonight.  I just want to watch you experience this.”

You were a little confused by that but said nothing, moving to take a seat at his dining table as he picked out a mug for you and filled it with water from the kettle.  

He steeped the bag for you, and you were shocked when he brought the mug only to see a deep red liquid inside.  “I didn’t expect it to be this color.” “It’s the rosehips.  And I bet you can smell the ginger.” “But there’s something else in it…” you realized as you let the steam rise into your face.  “Is it… cayenne?” “Damn,” he laughed, “you know your teas.  I was hoping to surprise you with the spiciness, but oh well.”

“It’s not gonna melt my face off or anything, right?”

“No, no, it’s just a little heat in the back of your throat.  Nearly an aftertaste.”

You felt a little awkward as you realized he was staring at you while you went for your first sip.  It was just a little too hot to drink but you kept on anyways.  It was delicious, that much was obvious from the moment it hit your tongue.  Swallowing it was what brought the heat he’d mentioned, though it was stronger than he described.  Not too spicy, thankfully, but it was definitely apparent.  There was something unexpected about the flavor.  Maybe it was just the way the natural acidity of the ginger mixed with the spiciness of the cayenne.  There was an earthiness to it as well, moreso than you were used to from rosehips.  

You didn’t notice the sweetness until you had swallowed your sip completely-- it was that kind of sweetness that you could only taste on the sides of your tongue, bright and fruity.

You looked to where Steve was watching you expectantly and gave him an approving nod.  He smiled.

“It’s good,” you informed him.

“Just good?”

“No, it’s… it’s really good.  It’s great.  I’m still processing it, honestly.  It’s very complex.”

The mug was half-empty when you started to feel… off.  Tea always warmed your chest from the inside out, but suddenly the warmth was beginning to spread.  You didn’t even notice it until you started to feel a little light-headed, like you had just woken up from a dream, or maybe like you were just beginning to have one.

Steve was talking about something but you couldn’t pay attention anymore as you tried to understand what was happening.  You felt like you needed to go to the bathroom, or maybe you needed to take a cold shower, or maybe you needed some air… but you really, really needed something.

You realized that Steve wasn’t talking anymore.  You looked to him and saw him staring at you, his eyes trailing to your chest which heaved with quickened breaths.

“Steve, what… what’s happening?” you whimpered as you felt your knees shake a little, your whole body becoming weak and tingly.  Your core ached in a way you didn’t understand, and you pushed your thighs together without realizing you were doing it.  

“Is the tea getting to you?  It’s a very rare brew... I’ll admit I’ve never tried it before.  I didn’t realize it would be so fast-acting,” his eyes got a little darker and his voice got deeper as he watched you unintentionally roll your hips against the chair, “or so strong.”

“What’s in this?” you asked nervously, staring at the mug as if it would suddenly reveal its own contents.

“Exactly what I said was in it: rosehips, ginger, cayenne.  I just forgot to mention the black market aphrodisiac.”

You whimpered in fear, your hands gripping the ceramic so tight that your nails dug into your own palm.  You felt hot, suddenly, and yet you found yourself wishing Steve was standing closer.  Your eyes trailed over his body as they welled with tears.

“Don’t worry!” he piped up.  “It’s organic!”

“I don’t feel well,” you murmured, “I don’t… I need to go…”

“No, baby, you need to stay here,” he cooed, moving closer to you and sliding an arm over your shoulders.  His touch made your skin erupt with goosebumps and you suddenly wished that you weren’t wearing a cardigan and that he was touching you with nothing in the way.

“S-steve?” you whispered.  “What… why?”

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?  You’re gonna feel so good.”

You knew he was right, and even as a little part of your mind was screaming that this was not right, that this was not going to go well, you melted into his touch as he scooped you into his arms and carried you to his bedroom.

You whimpered as he set you down on the fluffy quilt, feeling like a doll in his strong grip.

He reached up to push off your cardigan and start unbuttoning your blouse.

“Steve, what-- what are you--” you gurgled.

“Shh,” he soothed, but refused to explain.  He pushed open your shirt to find your nipples visibly hard through your bra.  “Oh, baby,” he praised, “you’re so needy, huh?  You want me so bad.”

You yelped when he grabbed your bra and tore it open from the front, exposing your breasts to the colder air.  And yet his hands were so warm, hot even, as they grabbed them and massaged them and traced over your nipples.  It felt good, nothing like you expected it to.  You hadn’t even realized it could feel good to be touched here.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, “been thinking about these since you first came in for that interview.  Did you even realize how perfect your tits looked in that dress?”

You had no earthly idea what he was talking about.  And it scared you, even as your body begged for more; your back arched, pushing your chest into his hands.

“How do you feel?”

“I…” you began, unable to find the words.  “Sore.  Achy.  It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt, baby?”

You blushed but couldn’t answer.

“Does it hurt between your legs?” he asked with a low voice.

“Yes,” you admitted, “please, Steve, help me.”

“I’m gonna help you, I promise.  Gonna make you feel so good.”

His hands moved down to your skirt which he pushed up to find white cotton panties-- soaked as you squirmed under his touch.

“Oh,” he groaned, clenching his jaw, “no wonder it hurts.  You’re dripping.”

He reached down and pulled the fabric aside, nearly coming right then and there as he saw your perfect little pussy; he had to look away for a second to compose himself, before turning back and biting his lip as he rediscovered it all over again.

“So wet,” he purred, “so wet for me.”  He slipped a finger over your folds and you gasped, your legs kicking a bit.  

“I’m not supposed to…” you began with a whimper.  “I’m not supposed to let people touch me there.”

“Almost,” he nodded.  “You can’t let anybody but me touch you here.  Do you understand?”

No, you thought silently.  “Yes,” you answered aloud, fearing the response to any other answer.

“Good.”  His finger suddenly moved to something that made your leg jerk as pleasure jolted through your body.  He touched it again and you moaned before you could stop yourself.  You tried to ask him what was going on but he just kept going, drawing little circles around the spot, until you were a total mess with no shot at forming sentences any time soon.

Something was building in you, something so powerful that you couldn’t keep from moving your hips against his hand and you couldn’t stop yourself from gasping and moaning desperately.  Suddenly, his hand pulled back and you bucked up against nothing.

“Why… why did you stop?” you asked breathlessly.

“You were about to come,” he explained.

“I was?”

“Yes, but you have to ask my permission before you do that.  Okay?”

“O-okay,” you nodded.  “Will you… touch me again, please?”

“Hmm…” he considered.

“Please, please Steve, touch me more,” you whined, “I’ll be good, just please--”

He finally acquiesced and began rubbing circles around your clit again.  “I know you’ll be good,” he praised, “you’ll be good and come for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I will,” you promised with a sob.  He wrapped his other arm around you and pulled you close until you were surrounded by him, your face buried into the crook of his neck.

“Say my name when you come,” he demanded.  “Always say my name when you come.”

“Can I?” you murmured.

“Ask nicer,” he instructed.

“May I please come, Steve?” you repeated, louder.

“Yes,” he hissed, and his name poured from your lips in a chanted moan as you came, your whole body tensing up all at once as electricity tingled across your skin.

Only for a second did you feel relief before the feeling of need got even worse.  “Do it again,” you demanded, “make me come again.”

You were sobered out of your trance with a restrained slap across the face.  You gasped as your eyes shot open.  “Never tell me what to do,” he barked.  “You take what I give you, okay?  I know what you need.”

“Yes, Steve, I’m sorry,” you whimpered, eyes welling with tears.  

“I forgive you.  Now lay back.  I’m gonna make you feel good again, but I’m going to do it my way.”

You were apprehensive but felt you had no choice but to do as he asked.  You laid back on the bed and watched with wide eyes as he stripped, pulling off his t-shirt and making quick work of his boots, belt, and jeans.  You gasped when you saw the shape of his cock through his boxers.  

“Have you ever seen a cock before?” he asked with a serious tone.

“Once,” you admitted.  “On a dare.  I watched porn.”

“Then you know what I’m going to do with this,” he presumed as he rubbed the shape of it through the fabric.

“You’re… you’re going to put it in me,” you realized with a gasp.

He pulled his boxers down to reveal it in its full glory and you scrambled backward on the bed.

“Steve, it’s too big,” you whimpered, “it won’t fit.”

“You’d be surprised,” he laughed, climbing on top of you and pinning you down.  “It’s what it’s made for, doll, it’s what you’re made for.  You can take it.  You will take it.”

“Steve, I--” you whimpered, but he was already touching you down there again and suddenly you couldn’t think straight.

He slipped a finger into you and hissed at the feeling of your soaked walls fluttering around him.  You bit your lip and tried to focus on anything else.

“You’re so tight,” he praised.  “Too bad it’ll go to waste; with a cock like this, it really doesn’t matter.”

You nearly screamed as he pushed into you.  You felt like your whole body had to relax to fit him and even then, you felt him molding you to his shape, stretching and opening you to his will.

Your head was spinning from the unbelievable mix of pleasure and pain, satisfaction and need, fear and hope.  

When he was finally sheathed inside you entirely-- a moment you thought might never arrive-- he stilled and let his head fall back with a choked moan.

“God, it’s so good.  You’re so good.  Knew you would be.”

You could only choke on nothing as he pulled back out only to slam back home.  He moved with slow but deep thrusts, pulling noises from you that you couldn’t even believe were originating from your body.  You grabbed onto his arms and gripped them for dear life as his movements rocked you on top of the bed.  You could feel how wet you were, you could hear how wet you were, as he slid himself into you each time.  He looked down at you and smiled at your flushed face, hair sticking to your skin from a thin layer of sweat, eyes wrenched shut yet mouth fallen open into a perfect little moan… you looked exactly how he’d pictured you that first time he met you.  You were exactly as perfect as he’d imagined.

“Steve, Steve, I need to--  please let me--” you whimpered.

“Not yet,” he frowned, and you whined with frustration.

“Please,” you cried.  

“Don’t beg,” he sternly warned.  “It’s unbecoming of a lady to beg.  I’ll let you come when I’m ready for you to come, alright?”

“Yes, Steve,” you sighed, putting all your energy into holding back the wave of pleasure threatening to break through at any moment.  His own moans got louder as he started moving faster inside you, balls slapping against your ass with a lewd clapping sound.

He could feel how badly you needed to come, but he needed you to prove you could be good for him and obey.  “Fuck, baby,” he cooed, “so good.  Fuck, just hold on a little longer.”

“Steve, please,” you sobbed.

“Say that you’re mine,” he growled.  “Say that you belong to me.”

You blushed just hearing it, but you knew that the time for pearl-clutching had long since passed.  You would do anything to come at that moment.  

“I’m yours, Steve,” you sobbed, “I belong to you.  Please let me come.”

“Fuck,” he moaned in approval, “so good.  Just like that.  Say it when you come.  Say it when I come inside you.”

“Steve!” you cried out.  “I’m yours, please!”

You lost track of what you were saying as he slammed into you so deep that it made your head hurt.  All you could understand was the feeling of his cock flexing inside you, painting your walls with an absurd amount of thick, hot cum.

He moaned your name as he did it and you felt dizzy.  He stayed like that for a while, holding you down even as you tried to squirm away to avoid the overstimulation of him inside you.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he pulled out, leaning back to watch his cum drip out of your hole.  He felt a sense of accomplishment as he compared how your pussy looked now to how it had when he first saw it.  There was a tinge of guilt for ruining you so thoroughly, of course, but pride as well.

“Why do I still feel funny?” you groaned as he laid down beside you.  “I thought it would go away, once you… did that.”

“Oh, it lasts all night,” he shrugged.  “Don’t worry, I just need a few minutes to recover and I’m gonna fuck you again.  At least, as long as you ask nicely.”

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america smut #steve rogers smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #chris evans fanfic #dark!chris evans #dark!chris evans x reader

[imgoingtohellsofuckit]

But Baby Bird

Cheating!Hawks x Reader 

Warning - Cheating! Toxic ass behavior. 

Summary - You catch Hawks cheating on you - and you decide to take him down a peg

Apparently cheating Hawks is a trend right now? And like I’m down... But in my way. Also listen to the glee version of Bust your windows and it 100% fueled this.

Today was a normal day for you. You got off at work, went to pick up something for dinner, and headed home for the night. Work had been stressful. All the heroes at your agency seemed to need a hundred things. And running the behind the scenes of the agency was already hard enough. So you were longing to be home. In the arms of your fiancé. He’s always great with helping you recover from a bad day. 

As you walk into the penthouse you notice a distinct lack of Hawks. Normally he greats you at the door- a drink and hand and a sweet kiss. However he was no where to be found. You don’t think too much on it. You’ve been at the office extra late the last couple weeks and with his hero work you know it brings natural conflicts in your schedules. However the pros boots at the door reveal he’s here. Still he could be asleep. He is one for laying around in his free time. 

“Hawks baby?” You call “I’ve got us dinner.” 

He doesn’t reply. You roll your eyes setting down the takeout bag on the kitchen counter. Starting to set it up. Knowing he’d be grateful to wake up to the meal. You move to grab some paper towels only to catch site of two wineglasses in the sink.

“The fact he can’t just reuse a dish-” You groan lightly.

“Baby bird-” You hear a distant groan. You move looking down the hall to the bedroom. “Oh Baby Bird.”

“He couldn’t fucking wait for me,” You growl, “what a tool.” You move marching towards the bedroom. Clearly annoyed that your boyfriend started with out you. ”Hawks I’m sure I’m better than your hand-”

The scene in front of you isn’t that of catching your partner jerking it off... No instead it’s Hawks balls deep in on of the interns from his agency.

“No fucking way,” You say harshly. Hawk looks over at you. Eyes wide. Guilt filling his expression.

“Love Bird-” Hawks start pulling away from the girl. The intern moving to grab the blankets from your bed to cover herself. Hawks standing and pulling his boxers from the ground as you stared at the scene. 

The emotions flooding over you weren’t deafening. The anger. The sadness. The helplessness. The shock. All blending into an overwhelming mess. You just walked in on your fiancé fucking his intern. The man everyone warned you about proving their point. 

For a moment you don’t do anything. Then you just start to laugh.

“This isn’t- let me jus explain.”

“Explain what?” You ask him laughing lightly, “that you’re fucking some bimbo from your office?”

“Y/n-”

“Fuck off Keigo,” You say harshly, “I’m done. I hope you and your little slut over there have fun...” 

“Babe-” 

You pull away harshly. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” You spit back. 

You left. Wanting to be anywhere but there. So you ended up over at Rumi’s. Your friend giving you the usual break up kit. The pajama, ice cream. The whole nine yards. She tried to cheer you up as you sobbed. You wanted to understand why the hell he’d do that. Why he’d risk your relationship of 4 years all for a girl who’s barely legal. You wonder how long he’s been letting this happen? If she’s the only girl?

“Fuck Keigo,” Rumi says harshly.

“I tried that- didn’t work out so well in the end,” You say slightly amused. She laughs lightly.

“That’s the spirit babe,” She says, “he sucks- but he’s a learning exprience. Now you can go find a guy who treats you right-”

“Or I can burn his apartment down,” You say harshly.

“That’s an option,” She says, “I’m sure you’re dad will love that one. Mr. Hero Commission watching his sweet daughter burn her fiancé’s house to the ground.”

“You think he’d let that get out?” You ask her slightly amused, “man would have that covered up in a heart beat.”

“Well as much as I love the arson- let’s think smaller,” Rumi says, “like moving on... Show him what he lost.... And he lost the hottest bitch he’ll ever see.” You chuckle through the light tears. Moving to wipe them away. “Now no tears- pretty bitches down cry over fuck boys.” I laugh lightly. “Step one to cheering up is get under some hot guy- how’s Zawa sounding?”

“As much as I’d love to tread that wave of daddy issues- I can’t even think about that right now,” You say sadly, “Hawks and I were supposed to get married! I spent our entire relationship defending him from people telling me it would end up this way. I feel stupid.”

“That’s not your fault,” Rumi says, “you love him... Besides you aren’t the only girl who’s ever gotten hurt this way... Heroes fucking suck. Whores... All of them. They’ll stick it in anything that has a pulse- and even that’s not stopping them sometimes.”

“Ew,” You chuckle sadly. She starts to laugh. 

“Bird man sucks- and you deserve so much more,” She tells you, “I promise you that this will only bring you closer to the guy who’s gonna treat you right.”

“Thanks Rumi,” You tell her. She moves pulling you into a hug.

“Any time song bird,” She says. When she pulls back she gives you a firm look. “Now go to bed- we’ve got moving out to do tomorrow.”

“Fine,” You tell her. 

You try to head to sleep. You really do. But you barely get a wink when the sun starts shining through the large windows in Rumi’s living room. Outside you can hear birds chirping. The sound fills you to your core with anger. Stupid birds... Stupid Hawks. You toss a shoe at the window. The birds immediately flee. 

“I know the man with wings fuck you over but don’t take it out on the birds,” Rumi says chuckling lightly. You look back to see her in the kitchen. She’s in her hero costume. Her bunny ears standing tall. “Morning song bird.”

“Ew” You groan, “I don’t want to hear that nickname ever again.”

“Oh come on I called you that before he who shall not be named ever did,” Rumi says, “your mother gave you that nickname. Don’t let him ruin it.”

“Too late,” You say as you stand from the couch. Moving over to grab a cup of coffee. Rumi rolls her eyes lightly at your comment. “I’m going to get my stuff- you still gonna be able to do that?”

“Sorry Y/n I got called in for patrols if you wanna wait here-”

“No I’m gonna go get a head start,” You tell her, “It’ll go faster that way anyways. You got any boxes?”

“No but Aizawa does- and he’s meeting us at yours to help move your stuff,” She says, “I’m giving you another chance to fuck him.” You roll your eyes roughly. “Come on! He’s hot- and before Hawks you would of killed to get under that man.”

“There was a lot I’d do pre hawks - but a lot of thats changed,” You tell her, “so I guess I’ll meet you there?” 

She heads out for work. And you go through the basics of getting ready. You had called your boss to tell them you needed the day for a family emergency. This was kinda a emergency. Honestly you just couldn’t handle needing to run around for everyone else after all of that.

The penthouse isn’t too far from Rumi’s house. It’s a ten minute taxi ride. You stand out in front of the door for a minute. Anger slowly filling you as your mind replays the events of last night. You shove it away and finally open the door. The light of the morning reveals what you didn’t notice last night. Napkins with lipstick on the table. A few spare feathers on the couch. Small signs of the build up. You scoff loudly. Marching back to your room. You’re thankful that the intern isn’t there. Even more thankful Hawks isn’t. You start in the closet first. Grabbing your clothes in armfuls and tossing them onto the floor of the bedroom. Next you move to the dresser. Pulling the drawers out to dump your belongings out. You can hear the soft moans fill your ears on repeat. Keigo calling her baby bird. Something he’s called you a million times. You growl lightly. Trying to focus on getting your things. As your grabbing the picture of you and your late mother you notice a picture of you and Keigo the night he proposed. You were so happy. He promised it would be you two for the rest of you life. You move grabbing the frame. You don’t even know why. But it doesn’t stay in your hands long. In a split second your slamming it against the wall. Then you move tossing the other ones of you and Keigo on the floor. Glass is everywhere. You don’t care. You rip the frames off the wall letting them smash as well. 

You calm down a bit. Moving to the bathroom to grab your stuff. However you catch yourself in the reflection. Smirking lightly as you catch the tube of lipstick on the counter. You uncap it and lean forward. Writing the word ‘Cheater’ across the glass in large red letters. Satisfied you toss the lipstick in your makeup bag then grab it to move it with the rest of your stuff. Next you move into the office. More pictures in frames around the room. You pull the down tossing them at the wall. Not caring about the scattering glass or the memories your destroying. You grab one of the markers from your desk to keep up with the redecoration. Scribbling ‘Whore’ ‘Player’ and other insults across the wall. You don’t care about what your doing. All you care about is the inconvence he’ll have cleaning this all up. 

You move dragging the marker along the walls as you head out to the kitchen. Opening the shelves to toss plates and bowls on the ground. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You turn to see Keigo. He seems to be just walking in. He’s got his costume on. You smirk lightly as you drop a stack of plates on the ground. “Oops.”

“Y/n what the hell?!”

“You don’t like the redecoration? That’s a shame,” You say.

“Are you still mad?” 

You don’t answer. Instead you let the teapot you toss at his head answer for you. He barely ducks it.

“Listen what happened-”

You move throwing a mug at him. He steps out of the way and it smacks the floor behind him.

“It was an accident.”

“You accidentally fucked her?” You ask harshly, “oh that’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“I meant it was a mistake- I messed up.”

“Oh shut the fuck up Keigo,” You growl, “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“We need to talk about this- like adults not throw a tantrum!”

You angrily toss the toaster at him. He smacks it away from him. 

“You’re acting like a child!”

“You cheated on me!” You shout, “don’t give me that acting like a child shit.”

“I’m trying to talk to you and you’re throwing shit- so yeah you’re acting like a child,” He shouts back.

“Fine Keigo - what’s you’re excuse?” You ask him, “what lead you to this mistake?”

“You’re never around and I felt so alone-”

You don’t let him finish. You’re tossing the silverware drawer at him.

“You’re blaming you fucking your intern on me!” You scream, “oh my fucking god! You’re a joke.”

“Let me explain-”

“I- don’t- want- to - hear - it!” You scream in between tossing wine glasses at him. You’ve made a terrible mess of your kitchen. You couldn’t care less though. All you can think about is Keigo standing in front of you trying to blame him cheating all on you.  

“Stop throwing shit!”

“Keep your dick in your pants!” You scream back.

“Did this little tantrum make you feel better?”

“No!” You scream, “you broke my heart Keigo! You cheated on me! I can’t believe you don’t understand why I’m so upset-”

“I’m trying to explain-”

“You’re trying to blame me!”

“Just let me talk!”

“No!” I scream, “I don’t care! I don’t want to hear your stupid reason!”

“Baby bird I love you-”

“HOW DARE YOU CALM ME WHAT YOU CALLED HER!” I scream on the top of my lungs. Anger radiating off of me. “You stupid- fucking- asshole!” More of the kitchenware goes flying. He’s dodging them. Mumbling explanations. You stop. Laughing lightly. He watches you clearly confused. You grab the lamp from the table and toss it straight into the middle of the TV.

“Babe oh my god!”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m done! I’m done letting you walk all over me! Defending you when you clearly don’t deserve it! And I’m done trying to love you when you clearly don’t love me!”

You yank the ring off your finger and toss it at him.

“We’re done.” I say firmly. He looks at me. Tears starting to well in his eyes. Suddenly the anger fades. You just felt numb. Over it all.

“Hey Y/n- Oh my god.” 

You see Rumi and Shota at the door. Looking over the disaster of an apartment. Concern covering their faces.

“Are you okay?” Shota asks, “did he hurt you?”

You chuckle lightly.

“You think he did this?” You ask him, “I’m fine- Let’s get my shit and go... I don’t want to be here for another second.” You move past Hawks over to your friends. 

“But Baby Bird,” Hawks says lightly. You look back to the man. 

“Maybe next time you’ll think before you cheat-” You tell him, “see ya Bird Man.”

#cheating hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #cheating hawks x reader #cheatinghawks

[sardonicallys]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗼 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Hyunjin + Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Fluff (just a touch of angst)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Vague mentions of the news reports pertaining to accusations unproven

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Time heals all wounds, but exactly how much time does it take? For the past few months, you spent almost all your free time with Hyunjin, entertaining one another with the mundane company of everyday passings. Rather than being bad at expressing yourself, you found that your silence could support him in a way that allowed him to figure out what was going on in the gray matter, without any pressure. Besides what good would it do if you told him if he didn't believe it himself? You're never too far, however, always keeping up with his wandering thoughts to catch him whenever he fell out of his mind.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,349

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: Just as everyone else is anticipating with eager hopes, I want to manifest the safe return and exciting journey ahead for Hyunjin. We're ready to welcome you, whenever it's time, whenever you're ready.

The valley of Seoul was scooped out perfectly like a spoon drove in and hollowed the crust of land out, dolloping mountain ranges that hugged the capital. An advantage of the uneven terrain left much of the vegetation intact, tracing along the origins of trees that grew through millenniums that most of us have never seen. Nestled in the tall grass, the shade of a sprouted ginkgo tree’s arm gently drifted along with the summer breeze, brushing its shadow over the paled skin of your a-little-more-than-a friend a-little-less-than-a boyfriend counterpart, as if washing away his thoughts and troubled memories into the fan shaped leaves. Your stolen glance captured the sun just barely brushing along his cheekbones as you watched the imprinted shade of his lashes dance across his skin, the two of you abandoned somewhere in a park that was tucked away, despite being in Seodaemun.

There’s a sense of guilt, allowing your focus to be whisked away by the ethereal beauty of the focused boy before you when his intention of inviting you was to draw together amongst the scenic backdrop of nature, and perhaps to mentally escape for a while from the cruel cacophony of fabricated and exaggerated stories that were shrouding his every waking moment that never quite belonged to him. Visual art, particularly sketching, was a new hobby he picked up — with ease, might you add — not too long ago. You listened to the consistent strikes of graphite against the thick sketch paper, cadencing amongst the whistling of leaves as you unconsciously began to trace the profile you saw before you, sloping from Hyunjin’s forehead and nose before curving the tip of your pencil to create his lips. You never dared mention the sudden increase in invites you received after seeing the slew of news that belittled his character, knowing he could never speak honestly on what actually occurred, on what an average life of most kids his age likely reflected. People and the public knew better, of course — you hoped — but you most of all, did.

“I’m just taking a break,” you recall him mention, unprovoked, one night while you both silently ate ice cream on your rooftop. But he was stiff, his eyes projected into the distance of the night sky but you could tell they were galaxies away, swirling somewhere you had never been. These words seemed more for himself than for anyone else.

“I know, you needed it anyways,” you assure him, hoping your words can envelope him in an embrace you were too afraid to offer, afraid it wouldn’t be enough to carry his worries.

Hyunjin, that night, looked so different than right now before you. Shoulders slouched over his canvas, he let the pencil sit on the surface of his sketch pad as it rolled down and rested against his abdomen, flicking and stretching his fingers before making a quiet fatigued sound. You bit back a grin as you slowly turned Hyunjin’s lips into thatched leaves, drawing in the veins of stems before retracing your way up his profile to create the foundation of thickets. Smoothing out petals that sprouted from the crown of his head, the portraiture disappeared as it grew into a bundle of amaryllis, a symbol of strength, the narrow and pointed tips reaching out in every direction as you sealed a wish into each stroke of your graphite — please give him strength, as an artist and as a person.

So consumed by your mantra and creation, you didn’t notice the sudden uninvited stray pencil mark in the corner of your sketch pad. Since you had taken too long to register the first attack, a flash of flesh sprung past your vision as yet another mark appeared. Furrowing your brows, you looked up at Hyunjin to see him feigning concentrated contemplation while staring at his drawing, twirling his pencil between his fingers. You were tempted to return the favor but decided against it as you took your eraser and buffed it over the mark. Continuing to sketch, Hyunjin carefully sat as high as he could to peek at what you were so immersed in. Flowers? Casually rotating his head back and forth, he wondered where you were capturing them from.

Using your kneaded eraser to adapt to the dimensions along your shaded petals, you gingerly created shadowing onto your page before watching Hyunjin’s pencil run along the spiral of your pad, back and forth, while it clicked out notes and nostalgia. Peering up at him, you tilted your head curiously before nudging his pencil away with your own but not before he playfully jabbed the tip in your direction, emulating a saber. The body of your pencil suddenly in defense as you blocked the flick of his makeshift weapon. Soft taps of the tools countered back and forth as you felt your smile deepen into your lips.

“…So you’ll only give me attention if I challenge you to a duel?” Hyunjin’s voice reeled your eyes up as you focused your awareness on him, belatedly realizing he had not as he flipped his pencil and poked your hand with the backend of the instrument, “Ha, I win.”

Snorting, you rolled your eyes before shooing his hand away, "You know you're the one who said you wanted to draw."

"And I did."

"Did you now?" Combing your fingers through your hair, you returned to your unfinished sketch as you smudged the uneven blends of your pencil residue, giving the image the realism you desired.

"Mhmm, around the time you couldn't stop staring at me."

Abruptly, you stiffened before attempting to play off your awkward body language, "...Who said I was staring at you?"

"No one said that, I just saw you staring at me."

"Well you saw wrong."

The corners of his eyes creased downwards, drawing an imaginary line that pinned the ends of his mouth and dragged them up to meet in a harmonious smile, his expression exuberant and full of delight as he cackled from your response. The warm and pungent fall of his voice warmed you deeper and more fluidly than the sun above you, causing the infectious sound to travel up and down your throat as you returned his laughter with your own. When you both finally subside, he hummed quietly in satisfaction, "...You know, I don't know if you saw it but, we won."

Something clutched at your chest as the tear ducts in your eyes began to swell at the word we instead of they. For months, he had been using the other pronoun, removing himself from association as if he brought a stained shame. They curated this amazing choreography, did you see it? They arranged the song to fit this refreshing theme. They were exhausted but look how hard they pulled through. Even though you distinctly remember several late nights when you pillow talked to sleep and listened to Hyunjin's tired whispers of confessional involvement, and how he supported and encouraged them as an unlisted creative amongst their project. You knew it had always been we, but you waited patiently for him to realize it, all on his own. All these words you were unable to vocalize, afraid the dull stone in your throat would evaporate and melt down your cheeks in the form of tears seemed to reach Hyunjin as he brushed your hair away from your face and tenderly pressed his lips against your own while cradling your cheek in his palm, a quiet form of gratitude that meant more to you than anything he could have ever said otherwise.

You wished to keep these selfish moments for you and you alone, quietly showered in his undivided attention because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his company. Now more than ever. But as he grew into his own strength, evolved and molted into a new skin that prepared him for the journey ahead, his long rest well deserved and savored, you wanted only his happiness. From the looks of it, it seemed he was ready to pursue and receive it too.

#stray kids #stray kids scenario #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids one shot #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfics #stray kids fan fic

[fluffyblaire]

why can’t Hawks refuse?

‼️MANGA SPOILERS‼️

Tootooroo~ 🎺Buckle up, folks, it’s time for a Hawks character analysis! 

Today, we’re going to talk about what kind of person Keigo is, how Keigo reconciles with Hawks, how much of the HPSC is inside of Hawks and how all of that comes together to answer the question: “why can’t Hawks refuse?”

Section I: Keigo

Looking at Keigo as a grown up, it can be hard to tell which of his actions are natural to him and which ones are a result of the HPSC’s upbringing. However, there is one place where we can see what kind of person Keigo is at the very core, before the HPSC or any other major societal institution touched him. 

Exhibit A: “Top heroes have stories about them from their school days. Most of their stories have one thing in common: their bodies moved before they had a chance to think.” —All Might

When Keigo was a kid, he saved this entire family. This is his origin story, the story “from [his] school days” if he had gone to school, the story where “[his] body moved before [he] had a chance to think.” As a child, he saved a family from a disaster, and that should tell you a lot more about his character other than just that he was a very physically capable boy.

Keigo has the heart of a true hero, and he had it long before hero society’s influence reached him. He didn’t need the society around him to tell him to be selfless. He didn’t need the media broadcasting heroics every day to tell him helping people is good. He just does. He lived in the slums and if anything, his environment and thief relative would have taught him the opposite: be selfish, that’s how you survive. But he’s not like that. He gives and gives and doesn’t even stick around for recognition. 

This is who Takami Keigo is and while he will lose and gain layers of personality after the Commission recruits him, the core motivations, values, and emotions that compelled him to save this family do not change.

Section II: Hawks

After the HPSC recruits Keigo, Keigo’s heroic heart begins to blend with the tools and habits the HPSC gives him. Keigo, combined with the Commission’s training, becomes Hawks.

Now, what did the HPSC do to Keigo? I don’t think they physically or emotionally abused him for years—at least not in the conventional sense. If that were the case, I believe we would have gotten the details by now. I do think that Keigo must have suffered and that he was taken advantage of by the adults around him in a very strategic and unethical way. Let’s look at all the things I can dissect about Keigo’s upbringing by the Commission.

Exhibit B: “My back just ain’t broad enough to put the people at ease.” —Hawks

The first thing to note is that baby Keigo had big dreams when he was first recruited.

He wanted to be a shiny hero the likes of Endeavor but when we meet Hawks, one of the first major character depth details we find out about him is that he thinks his own back isn’t enough.

Sometime between when he agreed to the HPSC’s training and when he became the No.2 hero, something in Keigo died. A dream died, and he has accepted that he cannot be like his childhood hero. Comparing himself to Endeavor, Hawks thinks himself inferior in more ways than just power stats.

Keigo knows there is a disconnect between what he wanted to be and what he actually became, but he also knows his role well and still tries his best with it even though it isn’t the one he thought he had been promised when the HPSC recruited him. He is unsatisfied but he still does his best. Why? Because after all these years, the kid who flew straight into an automobile disaster to save an entire family is still there underneath the Commission’s manufactured hero. 

He still wants to protect people who can’t protect themselves; his dissatisfaction with how he achieves that didn’t dampen that spirit. This is why he works his ass off but still seems discontent with himself. His role may not be his ideal one but through it, he can protect people, and that’s enough for him to keep doing his best.

Exhibit C: “A special program... to become a special hero.” —Unknown

The second thing to bring up is that if the Commission did not make Hawks like his role model, what did they make him? 

Keigo just wanted to be a flashy hero that saves people from bad guys. A very simple, honest type of hero. The Commission did give him the skills for that, but they also gave him skills that a simple, honest hero should never need: espionage, acting, lying, manipulation, and who knows what else.

Hawks’ hero education was not the same education the UA kids are getting. In this panel, Hawks narrates as if his “negotiation skills” were a convenient coincidence, but come on. What straight forward, honest hero (like All Might, Endeavor, Miruko—you get the type) would need social manipulation skills? The HPSC knew what they were doing when they selected Hawks’ curriculum, and the material came in handy at last when they assigned him this mission that a simple, honest hero should never have to take on. The HPSC never intended to turn Hawks into a simple, honest hero; they wanted to turn him into a hyper-competent soldier to whom they can assign the hardest, dirtiest work that no ordinary hero would be willing to do. 

Judging by the way he joked about the HPSC’s “proposal,” I am led to believe that Hawks is used to his own feelings and concerns not mattering. People, especially children, do not naturally accept that their wants don’t matter, so what does this tell you about how Hawks was raised?

Exhibit D: My Hero Academia ED7

The third thing I need to talk about is this photo. I think one look at this photo of Keigo from ED7 should tell you something was off with his childhood even after he was taken in by the Commission.

Out of all the photos Bones could have shown of baby Keigo, they chose a photo of him in a hospital gown, blindfolded, surrounded by nameless, faceless men in suits with a chain-linked fence in the background of a cold metal training facility. If you look too quickly, you’d think his hands were tied in front of him because of the way his posture and pose is drawn.

This photo choice alone is enough to submit to me that something unethical was going on when the Commission picked Keigo up, and Horikoshi and the producers of the anime want us to read it as unethical. We are meant to read Hawks as a victim here, but we are given no indication in the story that Hawks thinks of himself as a victim. Once again, I am led to believe that he is accustomed to his own feelings not mattering in the grand scheme of things. He has no expectations of being treated more considerately, so he does not view himself as a victim of anything.

Exhibit E: Lonely Birdie

The fourth thing I want to bring up is Hawks’ lack of human connections. The Commission talked as if he had a family when they picked him up, but there’s no mention of that family when we see Hawks as a pro. He leaves his sidekicks behind. He has a professional, frosty relationship with the HPSC, the people who raised him from childhood. He has no one who is a friend close enough that the question of his civilian name would have even come up. The colleague he trusted most with info on his PLF infiltration was Endeavor who he’d only know in person for a few months.

Hawks can be very likable; his approval rating is high and the common folk love him. He is also very perceptive of and constantly thinking of others. And yet he has no close human connections, and the only explanation I can think of for this is that he distances himself from others either consciously or subconsciously.

This tells me either Keigo had no chances/time to seek out human connections on his own as he grew up or he was discouraged from forming those connections altogether. In either case, I doubt he was shown much affection during his training. He was not treated as if a child adopted into a family; he was treated as a new recruit to be guided and whipped into shape. A lack of human relationships while growing up likely led to his lack of relationships as an adult.

Exhibit F: Guilty Birdie

The fifth thing to note is that Hawks blames himself for anything that is not swift, decisive success. He always moves like he’s running out of time and thinks like he must do everything on his own. 

This mindset is very self-destructive and the consistency with which he repeatedly monologues lines like “think of the citizens/think of Japan/if only you did X” tells me this mindset was something that was drilled into him from the outside. These don’t sound like things you would monologue to yourself to psych yourself up. These sound like things a trainer or coach would tell you repeatedly in order to guilt you into working harder. 

Section III: Why Can’t Hawks Refuse?

Accepting that his own feelings don’t matter, distancing himself from others, using guilt to push himself, etc.—I think these are small habits the HPSC strategically instilled in Hawks through his environment as they raised him. The HPSC had an agenda while raising Hawks, but it’s nothing as dramatic as brainwashing. Instead, the Commission focused on building small and seemingly harmless habits like the ones I’ve noted. These habits can be positive if applied correctly but instead, over the years, they’ve subtly broken down Hawks’ sense of self-love and made him a slave to his own heroic heart.

His own feelings don’t matter when it comes to fulfilling his role, so Hawks will never refuse a mission just because he doesn’t like it. He habitually guilts himself with a reminder of who he is doing everything for—the people—so he’ll always work hard and fast. He distances himself from others, so no one will ever get close enough to him to teach him his human value and change his habits. Take these tendencies and make them second nature to a man whose heart is far too giving, and it’s not hard to see how the Commission trapped Hawks without having to actually trap him.

I don’t think the HPSC is doing anything dark like threatening/blackmailing Hawks. They don’t need to. Hawks can’t refuse their request because, deep down, he is simply too kind. If he is given a chance to save people, he won’t let himself abandon the opportunity. If he can take the burden of a dirty job off of someone else’s shoulders, he will. 

Keigo wasn’t a good hero candidate just because of his Quirk. His nature is too kind, especially to those he doesn’t know, and the Commission saw it from the beginning and took advantage of it. They don’t have to brainwash or leash him. All they had to do was teach him some self-destructive but seemingly heroic habits and those along with Keigo’s innate selflessness are more than enough to keep him focused on his role and unable to flat-out say no to the Commission.

Exhibit G: The Diamond

Lastly, let’s talk about how the diamond on Hawks’ hero costume matches the diamond on the HPSC building. It’s subtle, but I think it means something. It’s subtle just as the HPSC’s influence on Hawks is subtle in the form of small personal habits. The habits the HPSC strategically fostered in Hawks won’t disappear just because he has his own agency now and can carry his career alone. The diamond on Hawks’ chest is like a brand. Once property of the HPSC, always property of the HPSC even in the smallest ways.

In conclusion: If the HPSC wanted to indoctrinate Hawks, they could’ve easily done it, and the Hawks we know today who is skeptical of the HPSC and who observed that a villain could be a good person would not exist. Instead, the Commission knew they could make him independent (therefore, low maintenance) and easy to order around when needed if they went the subtler route: shaping not his values, moral code, or motivations but his internal habits. It’s sneaky, it’s shady, it’s unethical, but it’s kind of brilliant. 

#does this make any sense at all people #i spent too long on this #the effort i put in for this boy #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bnha hawks #hawks #takami keigo #mha hawks #blaire's delusions

[marlynnofmany]

Dead Wood

“We know what you are,” hissed an unpleasant voice from the doorway.

Shari turned from arranging a display of wooden cutlery to aim an unimpressed glare at the pair of strangers. They could have blended in well enough with the passersby outside, but they were clearly from out of town. Again.

“Do you?” Shari asked, deliberately turning her back on them. Her shop was tidy enough, but there was always work to be done before the regular customers started filtering in. “So which big-city woodworker feels threatened by my success this time?”

They were silent for an awkward moment, then blustered on. “This isn’t about your store. This is about you being an abomination that should leave town before the nice people outside get wind of it.”

Shari turned, hands on her hips. “They already know, you idiots. Are we done here, or do I have to threaten you back?”

Surprise flitted across both faces. The shorter man who’d been doing the talking sneered and pulled an amulet from his shirt. “We’re protected from any unclean thing you can throw at us. I find it unlikely that these people really know. I was doing you a favor by giving you the chance to leave before we blow your cover, but no, you had to bluff instead.” He shook his head and moved toward the street.

“Look around you,” Shari snapped, spreading her hands at the room, which was half storefront and half workshop. “Do you see any woodworking tools in here?”

The men looked around at the planks and logs, and the many intricate things made from them. “So?”

“So this is all dead wood,” Shari told them. “Did you think necromancy was just for animals?”

Any response they might have made was forgotten when Shari shaped the air with her hands, causing the nearest stack of planks to spring forward into spindly wolflike forms with lengthy teeth. A hefty log stood up into a looming creature of sticks and nightmare. A pole turned into a snake that slithered toward them with the rasp of wood across the floor.

The men were stumbling backward, clutching their amulets. “You can’t touch us! Stay back!”

Two more gestures, and a board rose behind them to catch their heels, sending them toppling onto the fresh sheet of needle spikes that were just long enough to pierce the skin.

“Enjoy the splinters,” Shari said as the men yelled louder than necessary. “Go tell your boss to quit being a sore loser and just make better products instead of making it my problem.”

They got to their feet in a mix of fear and anger, solidifying into fear as the roomful of wooden monsters closed in.

“I promise you,” Shari continued. “They will not be happy if they become my problem.” The monsters lunged in unison.

The men fled, scrambling into the street and shoving people aside.  

“Sorry about them,” Shari called out as she flattened the spikes in the doormat. “Troublemakers that won’t be back.”

A passing seamstress stopped to stare at the fleeing men. “Did that rich guy send more thugs after you?” she asked.

“Somebody did,” Shari said, busy reverting her constructs into blank wood. “If they show up again I’ll get the name from them.”

“I’ll be happy to report them to the city guard,” the seamstress said. “We don’t want you to have to defend yourself in a way that they can use against you.”

“That’s why I stuck to splinters,” Shari said. “ ‘She scared me, Your Honor. Then I tripped and got these grievous wounds.’”

The seamstress smiled. “Yeah, grievous wounds are what they’d get if they tried anything serious and the rest of us got involved. Grieg still wants to thrash somebody for the damage they caused last time.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t fix,” Shari said. “But thank you.”

“Of course. Say, do you have any more of those three-color bowls? My mother saw mine and wants her own set.”

“Give me a couple minutes and I will!” Shari waved her in. “Just got the right wood in yesterday.”

The seamstress thanked her, and the two of them disappeared inside the best little woodworking shop in three kingdoms.

~~~

Inspired by the thoughts of necromancy + plant magic. This isn’t even the original idea; there’s so much more to do with the concept. Anyone else is welcome to add their own take!

#my writing #writeblr #necromancy #necromancers #plant magic #death magic #life magic #there's a lot of overlap in the magics #if you're creative about it #and I always enjoy #creative uses of magic #vegan necromancers

[koboldsoul]

a new little day within my hand

this was supposed to be for sg week but I’m bad at finishing things period, much less on time. in any case, we get to have some indulgent h/c between our two emotionally constipated wizards. as a treat. special thanks to @strwpup for betaing! 4585 words, shadowgast, gen, ao3

“I have more of Caduceus’ mixture,” Essek said from the doorway, the little ceramic pot in his hands testament to the words. Caleb nodded his assent to a question that had not been asked.

“Ja,” he said aloud, rather unnecessarily. The hoarseness was new, but welcome: for two days after that final, awful battle, he hadn’t been able to speak at all. Maybe he was still relishing the ability to coax sound from a shredded throat. “Thank you.”

That seemed all Essek needed to be confident in his approach, and this, too, was new. Since reuniting in Eiselcross, mutual hard worry had softened into gentle concern somewhere along the course of relearning their dynamic, and though Caleb had warmed at the change, there was no telling what had inspired it.

In any case, Essek settled beside Caleb on the low settee without apprehension, and removed the lid from the little pot. A week into his recovery, Caleb no longer flinched at the sharp smell of herbs; now, as Essek took his battered hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages, there was a comfort—nearly a sweetness—to both the touch and the scent.

Caleb’s hands immediately began to tremble without their wrappings, the tendons flexing in uncontrollable spasms. Time had yet to complete its work on their appearance, either: to Caleb’s eyes, they seemed a stranger’s, warped and scarred beyond what his past teachers (the archmage, the streets, the call of adventure) had managed on their own. There were many things he used to know like the back of his hand—they were a mystery, now, and the limbs themselves unrecognizable.

He glanced at Essek’s face instead of contemplating that further. His impeccable recall wouldn’t let him forget what his ravaged flesh looked like, anyways, and he would much rather commit to memory the dusting of silver across the bridge of the drow’s nose and the sharp angle of his cheeks, a shade darker than the platinum of his lashes and hair. His brows, knit together in concentration, matched.

They were seated close enough that Caleb could feel the puff of air from Essek’s soft sigh. It accompanied a flash of hurt in his eyes, something vulnerable and sad, when he brought Caleb’s exposed fingers up for inspection. “Your hands look…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the words. Caleb was not sure what would hurt most, what would ache best—there were no words for the destruction he had wrought on his one infallible tool. “...better,” Essek eventually decided, and got to work applying the salve.

Caleb could argue, but it was true enough. Each day of intensive healing, of careful application of potions and poultices and therapy, had made them more closely resemble what he remembered. Neither cleric was sure if they would ever be the same, though Veth was—as always—recklessly optimistic, promising he’d be back in fighting form in no time. Sometimes it chafed, the hope. It burned and blinded the same as any raw magic.

“Any sensation, yet?” Essek asked, voice low.

Caleb watched the salve spread over his skin and imagined it cool and smooth, faintly tingling as was typical of many of Caduceus’ blends, but...he shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped, and tried not to let the terror behind the admission show on his face.

He must not have been able to keep it out of his voice, however, for Essek paused in his application to shoot him a look of concern. Why he had elected to oversee Caleb’s treatment when he was not well-versed in the healing arts—and moreover, why Caleb preferred his fellow wizard in the role as opposed to another, better-suited member of the Nein—was still something of a puzzle to them both.

Perhaps it was reassuring to be tended by someone who understood, better than anyone else, that a wizard’s hands were his life. Perhaps—and this was a notion Caleb loathed to put words to—he simply enjoyed Essek’s company, the practiced motion of his fingers. Or perhaps Caleb was simply a coward, and could not bear to look the Nein in the eyes, not after what he had done to ensure they all returned to the Material Plane alive.

Saved us, Veth had said. Scared us, Beau had said. Really done a number on yourself, Caduceus had said, and Jester: Protected us, so now it’s our turn to protect you for a little bit, okay?

Caleb knew they meant well, and a part of him longed for their companionship and their care; the rest of him, however, could not bear to see them, or to be seen. Because...for a little bit was optimistic. For a little bit implied a promising prognosis. For a little bit was not—was not what was in the cards for a scholar who could not write, an adventurer who could not fight, a mage who could not cast.

But even after a week alone with these thoughts, Caleb was hardly about to articulate this to himself, much less say this to his friends. So he let Essek finish his treatment in silence, patiently massaging the salve into each hand and working them through stretches that Caleb could not feel. When he was done, they simply sat, hand in hand. Breathing. Thinking.

Essek cleared his throat and absentmindedly rubbed some circles into Caleb’s ruined palms. “I…” he started, trailing off, and Caleb tensed; these treatment sessions were not habitually accompanied by conversation. “I understand, how...how difficult this must be—”

“Difficult?” Caleb repeated, the consonants catching in his throat so sharply he had to bite back a cough. He knew he was meant to be resting his voice, but although there was no vocabulary to describe his present circumstance, not in a way that captured it faithfully, difficult was so woefully inadequate that reticence was out of the question.

“Essek,” he went on incredulously, “I—I cannot do anything like this—write! Eat! Dress, even. I can’t cast or light matches or turn doorknobs or—anything. Without my hands, what am I supposed to—how do I—” It was too many words at once, and he tugged his hands out of Essek’s grip to muffle a round of coughs with his arm. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the discomfort and could only hope that his nurse also ascribed the symptom thus.

Essek remained quiet through the outburst and fit alike, but out of patience or unease, Caleb did not know. Palm-up and empty, his hands rested loose and...forlorn, almost, in his lap. Oily residue from the salve gleamed in the lantern-light, gold on the dark of his skin.

Lanterns, for once. Lanterns—because Caleb could not muster the dexterity for even a simple cantrip he had learned to cast at six years old. His eyes continued to burn even when the fit passed. His throat remained tight.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Essek addressed their knees, knocking together on the narrow couch, but the unexpected honesty still hit Caleb full in the face. Uncertainty, Essek had once said, was the surest way to lose one’s footing in the court, and though his time with the Nein had given him ample opportunity to labor at vulnerability, it seemed to Caleb that developing the habit was a glacial process. “You are...such a gifted mage, and I—”

He broke off again, but Caleb had nothing to add. Was, he might have corrected, but the past tense would have grated like broken glass, and he choked it back with the tears.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Essek said at last, studying his own hands, flexing his fingers and rubbing at his palm with the pad of his thumb, “how it would feel to lose my own hands. How...terribly feeble, and exposed, and...and useless I would suppose I seemed to others.”

Caleb scoffed to cover up his sniffle, and turned his head away and down so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Essek’s eyes when the drow inevitably looked up to meet his gaze again. “Ja,” he said, harsh and bitter, “you have the right of it.”

“But,” Essek went on, louder, more firmly, “I am not any of those things, and neither are you, do you hear me, Widogast?”

Essek might have thought this a kindness, these trite words, but all they did was sour the hopeless feeling in Caleb’s chest. It was heavy enough on its own without the gall of false affirmations.

“Like this, I can open a locked door, blur my form, and cross a space, and that is all,” Caleb said, and the rasp only made him sound angrier. He had catalogued his spells over and over again, every morning and evening, mentally flipping through the books whose pages he could no longer physically turn.

“That is all,” he repeated, and it was wet where he wanted scorching. Fire was familiar. Anger was easy, and burned better than sorrow. “That is the extent of my ability without my hands, you understand? I cannot protect them this way. I cannot—I cannot even summon a place for them to stay, a place for us to regroup while they plan around my...my inability to—”

“They don’t keep you merely for your ability to—”

“I know!” Caleb burst out, and there were tears falling in earnest now, landing on his useless, scarred-up hands and leaving dark splotches on the blanket over his legs, left there lovingly by Veth some hours ago. “I know. But I...I need this, Essek. You have to know this. You know this better than anyone else I have ever met.”

Essek did not do him the disservice of trying to argue. “I...I do.”

“If I don’t…” Caleb dashed uselessly at his eyes, and it was clumsy and humiliating the way he couldn’t feel what he was doing, the heel of his hand catching on his nose before he could reach his cheek to brush away evidence of at least this one failing.

Foolish, this attempt at subterfuge. As if he were without an audience. As if Essek had not already seen him at his lowest. As if crying like a child was the only sign that things were terribly, terribly wrong.

“If I don’t recover, all I can do is get them killed.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

That brought Caleb up short. He abandoned his attempts to scrub his face dry. “Was?”

“You could have let go,” Essek explained, kindly, as if this weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. “As soon as you felt the magic begin to burn, you could have let go. Let the gate close. If you could go back—do it over—would you have let go?”

“You know I wouldn’t have.” He said it softly, like a dirty secret, even though it was insultingly self-evident. The alternative—it didn’t bear even considering.

Essek nodded, and when Caleb turned his head away—tried to escape some of the intensity in Essek’s gaze—the drow dropped to his knees on the rough wood floor, equally unyielding. “You weighed the risk,” he agreed, and insisted, “and you chose their lives over—” Essek bit his lip, one sharp canine peeking out as he laced his fingers, folded his hands in front of him. “Well. You...you have to understand what you—what I—what...what it looked like to...to watch.”

Caleb could only imagine. The gate had resisted his touch with violent intent, endlessly fed by a wellspring of terrible, raw planar magic. He remembered...pain. Remembered the iron conviction that his friends—the Nein—his family—needed more time. He remembered...counting out the seconds, holding the gate open with his bare hands, even as his skin bubbled and melted and his nerves weathered the assault of surging magic, waves whipping the Weave about with the furious abandon of a storming sea, and the burn burn burn of power—too much, not enough, everywhere.

He didn’t remember screaming, but by the state of his voice afterwards, he must have. He didn’t remember Veth and Jester making it out, though they must have—they were here, safe. He certainly didn’t remember passing out, but that must have happened, too. So no, he supposed he did not fully know what his suffering must have looked like to an outsider, but...

He chuckled entirely without humor. “I assure you it felt worse.”

Essek nodded. “I don’t doubt that,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt that. And you knew, if not before, then certainly very quickly after, what was at stake. Am I wrong?”

He was not. Caleb didn’t need to say the words aloud for Essek to know.

Shoulders slumping, Essek settled on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “And you would do it again,” he said. “Even knowing you might never cast again, even if it cost you the magic you love, the alternative...that price would have been too steep, and no one would disagree with you on that. Caleb,” Essek said, leaning forward and taking his face between his hands, brushing away frustrated, shameful tears with his thumbs, “they both would have died. Veth, Jester—neither of them would have made it out.”

Instinctively, Caleb’s hands came up to take Essek’s wrists—not to tug them away, but just to hold—but he could neither feel them nor sufficiently flex his fingers for a satisfactory grip. It was the final straw.

“I know,” Caleb said, voice cracking along with what remained of his composure, and he did not fight when Essek pulled him down into an embrace.

This, too, was new, and—Caleb hesitated to call it good, because touch had always been a fraught thing between them. There were so few touches they had ever shared without pretense, but...he did not have the energy for pretense now. He didn’t even know what agenda he would be pushing if he had.

Numbness in his hands aside, every other inch of skin seemed abruptly hyper-sensitive, and Caleb rattled apart in Essek’s hold, blind and trembling. Careful fingers found their way into his hair, gently guided his head into the crook of a neck, encouraged his hands into the tiny gap between their chests as arms tightened about his shoulders. Claustrophobia warred with the awful certainty that he would shatter without this grounding pressure to hold his pieces together.

It had been a long, long time since Caleb had cried with such abandon. He had tipped past some long-forgotten (or long-buried) threshold, found himself drowning in the great whelm of fear—grief—fury—relief—and knew, suddenly, that this was why it was always Essek who insisted on treating Caleb’s injured hands, who never suggested Caleb accept help from one of the clerics. That Essek had been patiently anticipating this—and had wanted to spare Caleb the anguish of losing control in front of the others.

Trust was a complicated thing, and this was not trust so much as it was understanding. Essek was not safe in this sense, but—he was a place free of condemnation. Hypocrites they were, both, but playing at judgment was a thing of the past, and despite the uncertainty, the still-healing rift, they had both silently agreed to turn their eyes towards the future.

And so Caleb sobbed like a child and ignored the many warring voices inside of him that by turns berated and applauded him for this show of weakness. All the while, hands that had rent reality, started wars, plucked at the threads of fate like the taut strings of a harp—these hands cradled him like something precious. Comfort and protection in one.

There were no words for this, not even those that could be expressed in touch. If Essek tried to speak, Caleb could not hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, the hiccuping gasps and involuntary wails coming out of his own mouth. If any of them resolved themselves into intelligible speech, he had no inkling of what he was trying to say.

He had saved his friends, yes, and in so doing had damned himself beyond the point of no return.

It was a long time before the shaking stopped, and when it did, Caleb slumped, exhausted. He ached from his knees to his sinuses, scooped out and hollow. He was warm here, tucked up against Essek’s chest, and stooped—Essek was slightly shorter than him—but Essek’s fingers were cool where they rested against the back of his neck.

Embarrassment quickly rushed in to fill the empty space left behind by this great purge of emotion. Though it tested what little reserves of energy Caleb had left, he tensed. Essek’s grip tightened in response, and faintly, over the sound of his own rattling breaths, Caleb heard him whisper shh, shh, shh.

This is alright, he seemed to say. This is alright for a little while. And Caleb did not have the wherewithal to argue, so he curled in tighter and resolutely did not think about the arms wrapped around his torso.

“Let me teach you something,” Essek murmured into his hair after some time. “Something new.”

The words were difficult to find, and when they came, they were rough. “How would that work?”

“We will start small.” Essek pulled away—Caleb mourned the contact briefly, though the relief of being able to breathe freely again washed over him in a confused wave with his release—but only to resituate at Caleb’s side and stretch his right arm out over Caleb’s, his left underneath. Caleb’s palm, he sandwiched between both of his hands. “You will remember if I show you, I have no doubt, but...this is better.”

Wish I could feel it, Caleb thought, absurdly, but that was fruitless thinking. Wish I could feel you was even more sincere, but that was a step too far. “What does it do?”

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, and Caleb supposed it didn’t.

For several long minutes, Essek manipulated Caleb’s shaking hands and useless fingers into careful shapes, puppeting him through a series of somatic gestures that he narrated in a soft voice directly into Caleb’s ear.

Fingers curled, wrists twisted. Over and over again, they formed poetry in angles and strokes, some of the elements—the careful geometry—familiar from past lessons in the dunamantic arts. Their hands blurred together, deep blue-gray-purple and angry red-pink-white, exhaustion or the lingering burn of tears painting their shapes with a singular uniformity.

Perfect memory had Caleb anticipating each movement by the second sequence, and it felt good—even satisfying—to trace out the gross motor elements with his arms, though he could only watch the finer motions take shape. He was putty, malleable clay. And then...Essek’s ministrations stuttered, an uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you just—” Essek cut himself off. As if trying to forget the moment entirely, he made as if to finish the sequence. It was slower, though, and sloppier, and no sooner had he completed the final flick than he seemed to reconsider. “I thought I…” he started, faltering. “Did you…?”

“Do it again,” Caleb whispered. Seven times Essek had gone through the motions, and on the last...Caleb could hardly dare hope, knew he was likely imagining things, but…for a split second, maybe…

They traced the rune on the air together. Essek tugged Caleb’s pointer finger in, extended the outer three. Brushed them through imaginary gossamer, lack of intent unable to bring them in proper contact with the Weave, and then—a simple thumb stroke. But Essek’s gentle grip was just a split-second behind the movement of Caleb’s thumb against the outside of his index finger.

Neither of them spoke. Bringing it to light, giving voice to it—it was not up to them to tempt fate in this manner. They only sought out fate with intent to control it, and this was too fragile a thing.

But Caleb could hear the tension in every inhale-exhale. Excitement—curiosity—very nearly hope—was in the very air they breathed. There was no sensation in his hands, but the frisson of thrill was an illusion of lightning arcing down his arm, making the hairs stand on end and...and easing the tremble in his fingers.

They repeated the somatic component one final time, but Essek did not let go of his hand. He laced their fingers together and let both fall to Caleb’s lap. “Now with the material component?” he suggested, and it was the most tentative sort of excitement Caleb thought he had ever heard from the man. Essek was a reserved individual, yes, but his anticipation had never been a frail thing.

“What is it?”

In lieu of answering, Essek freed one hand from their tangle and reached back. Caleb heard the jingle of metal and precious stone, much closer to his ear than he’d expected and—he craned his neck, curious.

“Ah,” Essek said, and just as he managed to free one piece of jewelry from his left ear, he said, “any crystal will do, though of course quality can, ah, affect the spell’s potency. Not in the shape standard for this particular spell, but it will do in a pinch.”

And how like a mage to ensure he was never without his tools of trade. How like Essek to ensure that his components were both beautiful and quick to hand. They were both ever-practical, but where Caleb’s pragmatism was, by necessity, ruthless, Essek’s had always been a touch elegant.

“Between your third and fourth fingers,” Essek instructed softly, and demonstrated himself. The stone shimmered between his knuckles, and when he twisted his hand, it caught the lantern-light and flashed like a tongue of flame. “Here.”

Essek slipped the gem into place—Caleb dutifully raised his arm to an appropriate casting height—and used both hands to mold Caleb’s into proper formation.

“I’ll drop it,” Caleb warned, as Essek went to release his fingers in order to begin guiding him once more through the somatic sequence.

“You won’t,” Essek replied, and it even sounded sincere. “We will...we will go slow. All you need to do is hold on.”

And wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how Caleb had gotten here in the first place, what he had told himself as he counted down the seconds through a haze of pain? All you need to do is hold on.

He took a deep breath in. Held it.

Hold on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the edge of Essek’s profile. His chin rested lightly on Caleb’s shoulder. His cheek brushed Caleb’s jaw.

We will go slow.

Caleb thought about dancing, and circling, and spiraling inevitably towards gravity’s center until you were close enough to walk hand in hand. He was human; he was not accustomed to going slow. Essek, with his elven lifespan and his particular expertise in the arcane, had so much more time at his disposal—

And he had chosen to spend it here. With Caleb. All you need to do is hold on.

Caleb breathed out, focused hard, and steeled his will. “Ja, okay. I can...I can do that.” He felt Essek nod, then heard his verbal acknowledgement.

“Just hold on,” Essek said again, and Caleb did. He honed in on the crystal between his fingers, bid his deadened nerves and healing muscle to bend to his will. And when Essek let go, left the gem entirely at the mercy of gravity and Caleb’s grip, it—it shook in his grasp, but it didn’t clatter to the floor.

The sharp laugh that Caleb barked out startled them both, but the sheer delight—sunlight breaking through clouds, the first POP of a corn kernel in the pot, the last term slotting into place to make a formula work—could not be contained to his chest. How ridiculous to be so pleased by so simple an act, and yet—

Essek let out a disbelieving chuckle that quickly gave way to several more in succession before devolving into a full bout of giggles that he tried and failed to muffle in the crook of Caleb’s neck. Had Caleb been wearing his scarf, the sound might have found some measure of cover, but clad as he was in clothing for sleep, each giddy exhale was a spark against his skin and deafening in his ears. Infectious.

They did not manage even half the somatic sequence with the crystal in hand—it fell to the ground when Caleb curled his arms over his aching abdomen, quaking with hysterics—but he had not laughed like this in...in...he did not know how long. He was wrung out. There was nothing in him left to dampen the hilarity of it, to absorb the heady, intoxicating spread of this great wildfire feeling.

Was this it? Was this the tipping point? Where the simple act of holding a stone between two fingers was enough to promote wonder? Had he finally cracked entirely, gone over the edge?

(Maybe. Maybe. But was that so awful? Especially when it might be enough, too, to send them both over a different edge entirely?)

Briefly, Caleb considered the fact that this small victory was no indication that things would truly improve, that the future held anything more than the tragedy of a slow and incomplete recovery, but nevertheless...he laughed. It was something. It was something. Hearing his voice and Essek’s mingling—wordless mirth—and reveling in a shared moment over a personal triumph...it was something.

When the laughter died, Caleb became aware that they were leaning solidly against one another, foreheads pressed together and Essek’s nose brushing his cheek as they both recovered their breath. Joy—the first he had felt in weeks—faded to simple hope, but that was no small thing. It ached, still, but...not quite as unbearably as before.

“What is the incantation?” Caleb panted, drunk on the feeling of it.

“Ah, it is—” Essek cleared his throat. “Gyllenek’eroth zere. Be careful not to—ah, to agitate your throat. Repeat it...repeat it slowly. You should feel it, ah, here.” And so saying, he pressed his fingers to the vulnerable skin under Caleb’s jaw, just to the outside of his jugular. It should have been a viscerally distressing sensation, intrusive at best, and though it certainly wasn’t what Caleb would call comfortable, he found he didn’t mind.

“Gyllenek’eroth...zere,” Caleb repeated. With Essek’s hand there, he was keenly aware of the vibrations of the rumbling consonants.

“Nearly,” Essek whispered, breathless. “Again. Slower.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Caleb complied. “Gyllenek...eroth...zere.”

“Again?”

He repeated the incantation, softer. Then again, even softer, tilting his head. They both sighed when their noses brushed, when Essek’s hand slid around the back of Caleb’s neck. Once more—carefully enunciated—Caleb murmured the incantation, and felt the warmth of his own air against his lips. It would be a matter of millimeters to press their mouths together.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, and wondered how many steps were left in this dance.

He felt Essek’s answer, a breath against his skin, before he heard it. “Your pronunciation is perfect.”

Just a few more steps, then. “Okay.”

“Once more?” Essek asked, and Caleb was braver with his eyes closed.

He whispered the incantation into Essek’s mouth and swallowed the gasping reply.

#critical role #cr fic #critfic #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shadowgast #so I started writing this early in the aeor arc before we had any idea what the final battle was gonna look like so uh #ya girl was speculating and wringing every ounce of h/c potential from the complete lack of limitations as she could #so here there be vague references to events that didn't actually happen BUT it was my excuse to write wizardly intimacy #which I now realize might be becoming my brand :| #whelp nothing for it I suppose #my fic #fun fact the spell essek is teaching caleb here is reality break #why? it's the only dunamancy spell with components that worked for the scene I had in mind 😂😂 #L E T T H E W I Z A R D S T A L K