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#no one: me: makes a second post in the tags of a post for some reason
urhoneycombwitch · 2 days
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breathe in the air
eddie x reader x steve. part i
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foreword: this is part one/set up for a fic I’ve been chewin’ on. cw is for both parts and will get updated- no actual smut in this first one but please heed the tags anyway. +18 mdni as always. (@somnambulic-thing you inspired me to write from Eddie’s pov! 💖)
cw: smoking (weed and nicotine), R’s hair is mentioned but unspecified texture/length, also wears Eddie’s shirt, R has breasts + V,  Eddie and Reader are both varying degrees of stoned while performing sex acts (please be safe IRL and don’t read if that makes you uncomfy!!), pt. ii will have: voyeurism (Eddie and R fool around and Steve watches), blow jobs, masturbation, both the boys being Down Bad™️
wc: 2.5k (part i)
_____
The sun has sunk low over Forest Hills, Eddie’s room cast in deep blue where the golden path of his bedside lamp doesn’t touch.
He’s lighting up a post-sex cigarette, one of the best things this shitty world has to offer, in his opinion- second only to feeling your warm body against his; writhing and wriggling with pleasure, neck craned to let him lick the sloping sweat from your skin- or times like now, when you’re calm and satiated, nude under the comfort of sheets and the weight of your head on his chest.
Casting a hand out to shuffle blindly through the bedside table, Eddie wraps his other arm around the sleepy length of you, pulling you tighter to himself; your response a wordless, happy little noise. His hand deep in the drawer catches on a stray cigarette, then around the hard plastic of a spare lighter. With a sigh of contentment, he kisses the top of your head before bringing the filter to his lips.
Sparks catch under his thumb, cherry of the cig burning red- like some sort of sleeper agent responding to the click, you sit up with a jolt, stealing the mess of sheets upwards, exposing Eddie’s lower half to the cool air.
Eddie swears, startled- thinking you were almost asleep, he’d been nearly careless with the open flame- tossing the lighter aside, he reaches towards your back that now faces him. “Jesus, babe. Give a guy some warning before you snap to attention like a damn general.”
Thumb pressed to the notches of your spine, palm wide around your lower back, Eddie can feel the quiet giggle that shakes through your ribs.
 “Sorry,” you whisper once you’re finished, still staring at the far wall like you're trying not to break a spell. Your arms are crossed, sheets bunching around your chest- “Had a thought.”
“Must’ve been a good one,” Eddie muses, thumb following the line of your spine down, like he’s petting an oversized cat.
In true feline fashion your back arches into his touch, encouraging his palm to sweep up again, to your shoulder blade this time as you murmur, “I wanna go swimming.”
“Okay.” Eddie’s immediately agreeable, taking a long drag from the cig, letting smoke fill out the hollows around his lungs. “We’ll go to Lover’s Lake tomorrow. Heard it’s gonna be a hot one.”
Hawkins is having a record heat wave for the second summer in a row- as if all the damn underground monster shit and horrific earthquakes of last year weren’t enough already: global warming to top it all off. The sun has been merciless these last few weeks, peaking midday, nothing for it but to lie in a heated daze on the kitchen tiles of whoever’s house is the least amount of bitch to get to.
Not that Eddie’s complaining about you being half-naked most of the time. He thinks this is the year you might actually kill him, now that he can touch you, call you his- every curve of upper calf in those short shorts, every soft slip of stomach peeking out from cropped tops- he’s got enough spank bank material to last until his deathbed. (Which he’s decidedly allowed to joke about, since, ya know, the whole almost-dying thing last spring.)
Eddie moves on haptic memory to set aside his cigarette, searching pinky-out for the lip of the ashtray (ceramic, with a poorly-drawn Snoopy, the ears far too big- you’d laughed until you cried over it at the thrift store; he was fifty cents poorer that day but rich and dizzy off your glee). 
“No, not the lake. And I wanna go swimming now.” There’s a hint of petulance in your voice, walking the thin line of childish whine that only appears these days after you’ve smoked, tongue and desires loosened and lax with the help of the finest hash stash in Hawkins. 
There’s a smile threatening to split Eddie’s face in two. He’s been working at that hard-won wall of your solitude for ages now, showing rather than telling you it’s okay to ask for things, that you’re safe to make requests and hell, even demands, from him. Eddie’s not sure what he wouldn’t do for you, at this point- hasn’t found that line yet. Probably doesn’t exist.
A monster of my own design, he thinks, fondly, sweeping the hair from your neck so he can see the outline of cheek and jawbone, reflective with lamplit glow. “Baby, there’s nowhere to swim right now- it’s dark and that’s not real safe. Tomorrow I’ll make us some sandwiches- we can drive out to the lake, you can get stoned and I’ll play lifeguard.”
It’s probably too much to hope you’ve swallowed this bitter pill of compromise in silence, but based on the lack of response, it’s certainly possible. Eddie presses his thumb into the muscle where your neck meets shoulder, massage a silent apology for saying no when you’d been so good to ask. 
Crickets chirp in chorus outside, sound dampened by the glass window- he needs to open it soon, get the hot air out and night breeze flowing (though he is loath to replace the heady smell of sex wrapped like a cozy blanket around his room).
He feels you shuffle under his hand, eyes popping open to watch- you’ve tucked your chin over the dip in your shoulder, looking down the slope of your own nose at him, an expression on your face that makes Eddie’s stomach flip (with nerves, fear, excitement, hard to pinpoint exactly).
Your voice is quiet but steady when you speak, Eddie’s massaging fingers freezing to a halt when you say, “I know a place, open right now, with a lit-up pool. And a lifeguard.”
A thin tendril of smoke from the ashtray floats into Eddie’s vision as he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he sits up, crushing the cherry into Snoopy’s wavered outline (sorry, pal) before brushing arms with you, patient and stern with a headshake to match- “No way, sweetheart.”
“Why-y?” That petulance is back, Eddie’s heart kicking up in response; it’s your turn to give the physical affection, winding your arms in a closed loop around his neck, forehead bumping against his jaw as he works it back and forth. 
His stitched-tight resolve quickly unspools as the wet plush of your lips track a path across his throat; he clears it before squeezing at your side again, one last argument to try and stick like cooked spaghetti to a wall. “You’re high.”
You snort, puff of breath sending goosebumps across his skin, rapidly cooling from lack of your affection- “Yeah, and you’re not. So you can drive us there, and then smoke again with me before we go in, and Stevie boy will keep us safe in that nice, heated, well-lit pool of his.”
Even as you speak, Eddie’s shaking his head, but it’s more in disbelief of his own weakness (namely: you). He slips a hand to your cheek, pulling back to take you in- mischief shimmering like twin stars in your eyes as you lock onto his gaze, lips parting pliant when his thumb swipes at your bottom lip. 
“You gonna behave yourself?”
It’s less of a question and more of a check-in, the meaning behind the words an undulating variable, a riddle with a thousand different answers.
The one you do give is complimented by a wicked grin, punctuated with a quick kiss (awfully chaste, considering your bare front pressed against his), your mirthful delight at having won both unsettling and tantalizing.
“Guess you’ll have to find out.”
With a sudden push to his chest, Eddie goes down easy for you, hair spreading riotous across the pillow as you move with shocking fluidity to throw a leg over his hip. Your hands meet in the middle of his chest, just under the rippling ink of a crow in flight, settling your weight comfortably on his stomach. 
Eddie’s sure you can feel his pulse, jack-rabbit fast, as you dip to kiss beneath his jaw. His hands automatically settle on your hips, grip tightening with each loving kiss you scatter over his collarbones, his sternum.
He’s half-hard under the sheets by the time your lips find the hitch of his ribs, stuttering and expanding to meet your mouth- can’t be faulted, really, not when your bare chest gleams in the low light, the top of your head imploring for the warmth of his wide palm to rest. 
Just when Eddie thinks he’s in the clear, that the call of your needs (evident in the slickness pooling just under his navel where your naked cunt rests) will drive the call of your wants to distraction, you sit up again, using your planted hands as leverage to swing completely off and away.
The coldness of your absence is cruel and unusual punishment. Eddie groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, deciding right then that he won’t be above begging tonight- when you suddenly reappear with a clean beach towel in either arm, pulled from the bowels of his closet.
There’s youthful, honest enthusiasm to your movements- something that’s catching, apparently, ‘cuz Eddie’s tipping himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, pulling boxers over his flagging dick and answering your spree of questions about these new evening plans.
“Sure, bring a water bottle. No, babe, we don’t need sunscreen- it’s night. Yeah, I’ll bring more weed. How ‘bout you bring me that old shoulder bag and we can bring some stuff with us.”
As you work on digging through the mess of a combined closet to find something suitable for swimming, Eddie folds the two towels that you’d found along with a baggie of joints into the bag. You’re humming under your breath while getting dressed, and Eddie’s staring at all the leftover space- what does one pack for a nighttime high swim with one’s girlfriend and the guy you’ve both sort-of mentioned threesoming with?
He tosses in a well-loved edition of your favorite book of poems, figuring the Harrington abode will have plenty of snacks. Food for the mind, he thinks, then snorts at his own joke. 
“C’mon, snorty.” You beckon from the doorway, an old t-shirt of his just swishing past the dark strip of your bikini bottoms, van keys held aloft. 
At the front door, there’s a brief argument about coats (you think you’ll be fine without, Eddie disagrees vehemently) which Eddie wins, wrangling your arms into the sleeves of his oil-stained work jacket before locking the front door behind you both.
Eddie smiles, a secret, pure thrill watching you tiptoe gingerly across the gravel on bare feet (too stubborn to actually wear the sandals that hang from either hand). His coat is bunched up around your ears while your legs poke out like some sort of winterized bird with bare legs. 
There’s a bright pang of love that suddenly hits hits sideways, a dizzying urge to sink on denim knees to the ground, sharp rocks be damned, just to kiss the tender spot behind your knees, to feel the hill of your calf under his tongue…
Your giggle breaks his reverie, impatient and pointed jiggling of the locked passenger handle clunking out into the quiet park. “Quit staring, weirdo. You coming?”
Hope so, Eddie thinks, spinning the key ring in looping arcs around his pointer finger. He bypasses the porch steps completely, boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
Your cheery mood is sustained during the short car ride as you chatter animatedly about some coworker drama that you forgot to catch him up on, Eddie’s hand drawn like a magnet to your upper thigh while he drives. 
But by the time he’s pulling the van next to Harrington’s beemer, your eagerness has waned, speech drifting off into silence once he’s parked. 
“Hey.” His voice draws you back to him, a bit, your eyes too wide and roving for his liking, coat sleeves clenched around opposing fists as you hang onto his words. “Sweetheart. We don’t have to go inside. Can go anywhere- diner for some food, back home, the damn trash heap for all I care. Just want you to feel safe.”
“I do,” you counter, earnest but chest still punching a fast rhythm. “I feel safe. I just… you think he’s even awake?”
There’s a yellow glow coming from one of the second-floor windows. Your fingers twist harshly around fabric in the dark, breath loud. 
Eddie nods, then kills the engine and grabs behind his seat for the Ziploc of pre-rolls, an offering held to you between two ringed fingers. “Want a bit of Green Courage before going in?”
The van windows are soon fuzzily obscured with a haze of smoke, sprinklers for the pristine lawn nearby hissing to an automated start at the turn of 11 PM. The weed coaxes your earlier state of relax to the forefront, this time with an added layer of giggles, which Eddie finds desperately cute. 
He’s sure he’s high now, too, ‘cuz he’s unintentionally focusing really hard on your lips as you speak, and you’re letting him, corner of your mouth quirking when you ask, “Gonna take me inside, Munson?”
“Uh huh.” An automatic response, just so he can keep staring- when you pop the handle of your door open Eddie reaches, faltering before landing on your face, cupping the tilt of your cheek- “Meant it. Earlier. Just say the word. Take you anywhere.”
Weed fragments his speech but you melt with understanding, leaning into his hand, your lashes sweeping sweetly at the bridge of his thumb as you whisper, “Okay.”
You’re out the door and he’s left scrambling in the wake, hauling the strap of the packed bag over one shoulder and snapping up your forgotten shoes from the footwell. He locks the doors (nevermind that this is a nice neighborhood, can’t trust rich people farther than he can throw ‘em and Eddie has always been better at running over shotput on field days) and hikes it across the grass to where you stand, a beacon of beauty under the porch light.
“Ready?” he asks.
Your bare foot- flecked with wet grass- trails up the back of your opposing leg, veins at the whites of your eyes spidering pink with anticipation (and the fresh joint) as you turn to smile at him. “Yeah. Bring it on.”
“Your wish, my command,” Eddie says, winking, knuckles pulled into a fist to rap at the front door of one Steve Harrington. 
___
[END: PART ONE]
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otdiaftg · 2 days
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WHAT'S NEXT:
The out pouring of love for this blog has swept me off my feet. I knew the logic behind the follower count, but this weekend proved to me without a shadow of a doubt just how much this fandom cherishes these characters and this story.
I am overwhelmed with adoration towards every. single. one. of you.
I took the weekend to finally recoup after the whirlwind of this past year but wanted to take a moment now to answer some of the questions I've seen pop up and to inform you all of what my plans are for what's next.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:
WILL YOU CONTINUE THE ACCOUNT THIS YEAR?
This took me a long time to ponder and I wanted to make sure I was in the correct headspace to answer it. Short answer: No.
Long answer: All For The Game is near and dear to my heart. And the reason I began this account was because the dates for 2023 matched that of the dates they were meant to be in 2006. To continue it in the year 2024 would mean the dates would be completely wrong and a lot more logistics would have to occur beforehand.
But also-- I'm not the best when it comes to technology, especially when it comes to BOTS so every post that was published was typed out, formatted and scheduled by hand by me. I did not have help. I did not have proofreaders, or editors, or managers. I contacted all the artists myself, sorted through every single page of the artists to find matches to the story, read and re-read the books for exact or guesstimation of dates/times, and made a hell of a lot of typos on the way through all that.
There was probably an easier way that I could have done all this. But I didn't/don't know it. So that all boils down to: It’s a long and tiring process.
Don't get me wrong, it was worth all the hours. And all the sleepless nights I had getting everything done and out. I already thanked my support network, but without my wife and my best friend being there to make me another cup of coffee, walk our dog, do the chores and generally make sure I didn't crumble from the pressure -- none of this would have happened.
So, putting myself through that again, after everything that has happened this year alone-- felt like it would cheapen the experience I had when the dates won't even match.
That being said.... 2034 isn't that far away. >__>
WILL YOU BE DOING AN OTDITSC?
Short answer: No.... sorry.
Long answer: As stated, it is VERY hard to organize what and how I did. HOURS spent researching, organizing, scheduling, etc. Time spent away from my family and other hobbies. NOT time I regret (need to keep prefacing that) but time I want back now. At least for a little bit.
It also doesn't sit right for me to start an OTDITSC when I know some people are still waiting for their copies. There are so many of us out here (as I've come to find out) and I don't want to exclude people's enjoyment and connection that this account gives. I also feel like the more posts about TSC out there, the harder it is for those who are (lets say) waiting for the physical copies to block/mute spoilers. We can say a tag is enough, but this is the internet. And that's not always true.
And lastly, personally, TSC is still SO VERY NEW. It's not even complete yet and we don't 100% know when the next one will be published. I don't want to start something, get to the end of the timeline, and than have a huge gap between posts that will potentially be moments in the second book. It doesn't feel fair to their story, to myself, or to the followers of this account to have incorrect information for something I love so dearly. If I'm doing it. I want to do it right.
SO, WHAT'S NEXT?
Well. A lot. For me personally, as well as this account. I don't want to leave everyone in such a finite way. I love this fandom. I love its art and writings and the abundance of talent and joy that it exudes.
So first, for myself, as well as those artists who agreed to help with this account, I want to post, for the next 40 days Artist Highlights (that means this account will still be active until Friday, May 24th).
Every day, I will post about an Artist and the work that I wanted to post but couldn't fit in. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, these artists are the reason this account thrives. Art, in a multitude of forms, speaks in a way words can not. And these artists prove that.
I'm excited to show them off for a couple more weeks at least. They are all wonderful people.
AND, FINALLY:
To also tie us over, I am opening both my personal account as well as this account to questions.
Questions regarding the process, the story, the best movie out in theaters, whatever. I will be answering your questions (as fast as I can) until that last Artists Highlight day (Friday, May 24th). After this day, I will leave the questions answered up for a week, and then remove/delete them from this account. I want to make this more of an archive of sorts and will be updating the Timeline Page as this progresses as well, so you can move freely within the timeline.
Keep in mind that I am only one person, have a family and a full-time job-- so answers may be sporadic, but I will answer them.
This has truly been such a pleasure. And whether I get questions or not, I see you and I appreciate you. I hope your life is filled with everything you ever want, everything you need, and that you never let it go.
🦊 🧡- Kelysium
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reyzxzc · 3 days
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pregnant
summary: riley is pregnant. dad nico!!
contains: fluff, pure, pure fluff!!, instagram
————
june 25, 2024
riley’s period was late. like two weeks late. and it started to worry her, she wasn’t worried at the beginning because she’s always had on and off periods.
worlds were over (just a guess bc i have no idea when they end)
they were in michigan, riley was helping jack still, he was out of the sling, but still had trouble with his arm.
riley was with jack, quinn, and luke. “i think im pregnant.” riley stated.
“come again?” quinn said. “aren’t you on birth control?” jack asked. “it doesn’t always work. it’s 99.9% of the time, i think.” riley said.
“condoms?” luke pointed out. “okay i’m married, i don’t need a lecture on protection.” riley hit luke on the shoulder.
“yea well seems like you didn’t use any.” luke rolled his eyes. “i will strangle you.” riley said. “you tell nico?” jack asked.
“no. i haven’t taken a test yet” riley shook her head. “then go take one, the hell?” quinn said. “clearly my own brother don’t love me. i’m leaving, i’ll see you guys later.”
riley gave them each a kiss on the head before leaving.
————
the pregnancy test in front of riley said positive, the second one, also said positive.
riley sighed, “hey nico? can you come here please.” riley called. “of course, what’s wrong?” nico asked walking up to the bathroom.
when nico entered the room, he had a confused look on his face.
“i’m pregnant.” riley stated, pointing at the tests. nico looked at the tests, looking back at riley.
“riley that’s amazing.” nico hugged her. riley hugged him back. riley could feel nico’s tears on her neck. riley kissed his head.
nico pulled away, wiping the happy tears streaming down his cheek. “mom. call our moms.” nico said. “yea, you should call yours.. we can tell mine in person.” riley said.
————
july 16, 2024
“okay, mrs. and mr. hischier, the babies are healthy.” the OB, tommy said. tommy is her nickname. “babies?” nico asked.
“yes, twins. here look, this is twin A, and this twin B, we couldn’t see B at first, as they are hiding behind A. but you can see the four sets of fingers and toes.” tommy exlained.
riley nodded. “so there’s two?” nico asked. “yes, nico. two.” riley said, grabbing his hand. nico hummed, squeezing her hand.
“with twins, the pregnancy can be complicated, make sure your taking extra care of yourself, and that husband of yours doesn’t cause any extra stress.” tommy pointed at nico.
riley smiled. “okay i don’t cause stress.” nico rolled his eyes. “whatever you want to believe, sweetheart.” riley kissed his hand.
————
riley_hischier just posted
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riley_hischier
caption: we’ve got twins on the way!! coming march 2025 just in time to watch nico play some hockey!!
tagged// nicohischier
comments:
nicohischier: mini hockey players in the making.
- riley_hischier: or whatever that want to be.
lhughes_06: uncle luke. i’m uncle luke.
- riley_hischier: no luke your an aunt
user: OMG!!! DAD NICO I CRIED 😭😭
user: IM SO HAPPY
jackhughes: okay now this is too much.
- riley_hischier: go home.
_quinnhughes: hey hi, twins. we were twins.
- riley_hischier: hey hi, i know.
user: WHAT THE EFF
njdevils: Congrats mrs. and mr. hischier!! 🎉
liked by creator
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girlg3n1us · 3 days
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𝜗𝜚 Yours and Abby's Wedding Day Headcanons
tags: nsfw, abby x fem!reader, dom!abby x sub!reader
— Abby proposed to you at the most unexpected moment: she asked you to take a picture of a beautiful landscape on her phone. While you were looking for an angle, she got down on one knee behind you and took out a velvet box with a gold ring from her pocket. When you turned around, the smile fell off your face."Will you marry me?" She said it almost in a whisper.You started crying and nodding. She laughed and hugged you, kissing you on the forehead. You were incredibly happy.
— the preparation for the wedding was very long: it was necessary to choose a dress, a suit, a banquet hall, raise money and so on, but you and Abby coped with all this in 4 months
— when Abby saw you in a wedding dress with a bouquet in her hands, she just stared at you for another 40 seconds and was shocked by your beauty
— at the registry office, the registrar did not even have time to say: "Exchange kisses", as Abby already held your face in her palms and kissed you to the stormy screams of your relatives and guests
— when it was time for the first dance, she constantly stumbled over the train of your dress and cursed in a whisper. Her only comfort was stroking your waist and inhaling your scent to somehow quench her ardor.
— she would give her piece of wedding cake to you because "I have to go to the gym tomorrow, I have to be in shape"
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤNSFW
— when your wedding night was just beginning, she untied the corset from your dress for half a year, sighing every 10-15 seconds
— "if you feel uncomfortable or hurt, then be sure to tell me, okay, baby?"
— hearing your every sob, she worries and stops. Continues only after making sure that everything is in order
— "That's it... You're such a clever.. come on...a little more...you can—shit—...do it..."
—runs in a circular motion over your clit, kissing your neck
—uses a brand new strap. Moves slowly, but speeds up over time
—"no, no, no, babe... do not close your eyes... I want to see how good you feelinʼ"
—do it in a missionary position
—Abby drips some cold champagne from the wedding feast on your chest and licks it off your breasts and nipples.
— after you both reach the edge, she will hug you for a long time, kissing your face.
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heey! it's me again. actually, it's not my first work but I decided that posting it would be the best solution. I hope you'll love it 𔘓
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── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗹
paring: amy march x fem!reader
tag(s): fluff, cute, kinda spicy towards the end but it mostly fluff and cuteness and amy kinda worshiping r, period piece, wlw established relationship
warning(s): hint of smut/spicy, grammatical errors, unedited
word count: 1.1k
note: A little Amy March appreciation post. I just... I guess the Bridgerton hype is getting to me and with that comes the Amy hype back again. Hope you all enjoy this one, it's kinda based off of titanic (if you couldn't tell). I love you, M <3
requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3
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“What are you doing?” you whispered right into her ear, causing Amy to jump on the spot a little. 
“Do not do that, Y/n,” she said, clutching her hand to her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I apologise,” you said, chuckling as you kissed her temple. “What are you up to?”
“I’m just trying to find something to paint.”
“What are your options so far?”
“Well, this bowl of fruits,” she pointed to her left. “Or that one,” she pointed to her right.
“Again?” you asked, scoffing and raising your brow at her. 
“I guess I could paint that vessel with the yellow flowers, they are nice, aren’t they?” she said, lost in her thoughts.
“You know, the other day, Aunt March showed me some French painting…”
“Did she now?” she said, gathering her things to paint the flowers, only half listening to your words.
“Yes, they were quite… interesting,” you said, mischief filing your voice.
“How so?”
“Well… they were lovely women, beautiful really…”
“Yes?” Amy was paying attention to you, she was trying at least, but her brain chose to focus more on the flowers in front of her. 
“And they were… um… naked.”
Amy stood still for a second at your words, but then continued on as if it was nothing. Because in reality it wasn’t, the French had a thing for the human body, so what? It annoyed her, just a little, that you saw other women naked. But as long as her body was the only one you would touch, then she could do peace with it.
“They were fascinating, breathtaking even. Imagine being immortalised that beautifully.”
“Mmmh,” Amy agreed. 
“I would love for someone to do that for me…” you said, enough with the playing around and getting to the point.
And then you had Amy’s whole attention. “Are you saying that you would stand, naked, in front of a man, just so he could paint you? That you would gladly expose your body?” she said sternly.
“No! God, no,” you scoffed. “You would paint me.”
You smile as you watch her cheeks turning red. It was no surprise really, you had lost count of all the times you and Amy had seen the other naked, did things while at it. But despite Amy’s strong personality, deep down she was as shy as a baby deer.
She cleared her throat. “I think I have heard wrong, it was as if you wanted me to paint you—.”
“Like a French model,” you finished for her. “Yes, you heard correctly.”
“Naked?”
“Yes, that was the whole point of this conversation,” you chuckled, as you stepped closer to her and took away the paint brushes from her hands to warm them with your own. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, Ames,” you peck the back of her hands. “I just thought… I was not really thinking, actually. You said you were looking for something to paint, and the pictures Aunt March showed me just came to my mind. But if you do not wish to—.”
“It would be my absolute pleasure,” she interumped you. 
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am,” you couldn’t hold back the smile forming on your lips.
“How do you want me then?”
“You remember the pictures, right? Just do as you please, but… um… naked,” she winked at you, turning around to find her paintings, a new canvas and her favourite paint brushes. 
You took the opportunity, as she wasn't looking, to undress yourself. As you peeled off piece by piece off your body, you felt the temperature in the room shift and realised it was a bit cold. But as you settled in your position and Amy finally looked at you, you felt your whole body burning with fire. 
“Is this okay?” you shyly asked. 
Her eyes trailed down your body, taking in every curve, your soft skin, your chest. She could even tell how hard and heavy your breathing had gotten, which caused a shiver to run down her spine. It was silly, really. She would wake up to your naked body as many mornings as she could, but seeing you in that perfect golden light, exposed for her eyes only, took her breath away.
“Perfect,” she managed to word out somehow. 
She took a deep breath, and let her mind thrift away, only one thought remained in her mind and that was you. She allowed herself to be taken away by her light brush strokes, she let herself capture the intensity in your eyes, the softness of your body, the sun kissing your skin. 
She was extremely immersed in the painting, that she felt as if it wasn't you who she was painting anymore. Sure, you were naked, the piece would tend to have some sexual appeal, but Amy felt as if she was painting something —someone— too pure to ever be turned into just a mere object of lust. She was sure she was painting the vivid image of an angel, and she couldn't believe that she had gotten so lucky to love and be loved by this angel.
“Almost done,” she muttered after what felt like ages, but really it was the fastest she had ever worked on a piece. There were still some more details to add, some lighting to be fixed, some shadows that looked odd. But she didn’t need you to keep on posing, to keep on being naked in the cold room. 
“Is it finished?” you asked in disbelief. 
“Not yet,” she chuckled. “I’ll keep on working on it later, I don’t need you to stand still.”
“I like being still if I have your eyes on me,” you grinned at her.
“I like it as well, but I can’t have you catching a cold,” she said, as she wrapped you around some warm coat she had lying around for the cold days.
“Thank you, for doing this,” you said, pecking her lips. 
“I have you to thank, my muse.”
“Oh, so now I am your muse,” you playfully scoffed, your arms snaking around her shoulder while hers found your waist.
“You always have been,” she muttered as she left a kiss in the corner of your jaw. “I just guess it’s now official,” she chuckled, her uneven breath sending chills up your spine.
“Is that so?” you giggled. “Then, please do tell me more about it,” you said, throwing your head back giving her access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 
“I don’t feel like talking right now,” she bit your skin. 
“What do you feel like doing?” you were already breathless.
“Well…” she said as her hands drifted away to the belt securing your coat.
“Oh, I see,” you laugh, bringing her lips to yours. 
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Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3
-M
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Bagginshield Fic Rec
I can’t believe I’ve had such an intense revival into The Hobbit Fandom after being obsessed with the movies when they came out just over 10 years ago now. There’s just some fandoms that have consistently amazing fanfics that are written beautifully and with such interesting concepts.
Some of these are a bit silly and cracky but i think that’s the appeal of The Hobbit, it’s a bit more cheerful than LOTR (vehemently ignoring Battle of the Five Armies)
So below is a list of fics I have loved reading organised by word count smallest to largest.
If you have any fics that you’ve read and don’t see here please share them with me! P.S, if you need more fics to read after these please check out the author’s other works.
Fanfiction Title - Author
Tags, description of fic | word count | rating
And Down the Road I Goes - pibroch (littleblackdog)
Kid!fic, mpreg, humour, dwobbits, beard problems | 1.3k | T
All That Glitters - BeautifulFiction
Everyone lives, post-BAFTA, Dwarven culture and customs, Dwarven jewellery | 1.5k | G
Truth - alkjira
Body image issues, post-BAFTA, everybody lives, Dwarven beauty standards | 1.9k | T
Brethren, Braids and a Bothersome Burglar - Frankensteins_Monster
Unintentional Dwarven courting, and then intentional after communication is cleared up, Hair Braiding | 2.3k | T
There is A Child - smileybagel
Foresight, canonical character death, Thorin POV | 2.7k | T
Of the King and Consort’s Portraits - undomiel (dolcewrites)
Cultural differences, painting portraits, Erebor and Shire Parallels, domestic fluff | 3.4K | T
Shorn - Avelera
Mourning ritual, Dwarf culture and customs, misunderstandings, pre-slash, Long-beards mentioned! 3.5k | G
A Chance to Make It Right - smileybagel
Thorin is offered a second chance, magical dreams of future children, second part to “There is A Child” | 3.6k | G
The Proper Way To Call You Mine - Fantasyinallforms
Hair braiding, post-BAFTA, misunderstandings, Fili and Kili meddling, getting together, jealous Thorin | 3.6k | T
And in our love u see golden things - Seungshi03
Goldsickness as a mental health condition, domestic fluff, consort Bilbo | 3.7k | G
Riddles in the Dark Brought into the Light - Lucigoo89
Everyone lives, post-BAFTA, PTSD, loooove fics where the trauma from the journey is included, background Dwalin/Nori | 3.8k | G
In More than the Wisdom of Years - jezebel_rising
Dis POV, everyone lives, reunions, Dis and Bilbo friendship | 4.2k | Not rated
A Dwarven Beauty - bevel_bee
Dwarven beauty standards, Bilbo is considered very attractive, but he’s very oblivious to the compliments, post-BAFTA | 4.6k | G
The Seven Gifts - snowmissus (soul_of_blaze)
Dwarf and hobbit courting, awkwardness, Bilbo remains in Erebor, miscommunication | 5.1k | G
The Stone’s Gift - SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Established relationship, consort Bilbo, “the Dwarven equivalent of cabbage patch hobbits”, dwarves made from literal stone, unplanned pregnancy | 5.2k | T
One Remedy for Gold Sickness (or maybe two) - randi2204
Bilbo uses an ancient hobbit remedy for greedy folks, flabbergasted dwarves | 5.8k | T * need to have an Ao3 account
Better an ugly face than an ugly mind - unpeumacabre
Dwarven beauty standards (and hobbit ones), Thorin POV | 6.1k | T
A Minor Problem - fideliant
Smut, thorin finds out Bilbo’s age, obliviousness to different species’ life expectancies | 6.4K | E
Bruises on the Heart - thehufflepuffhobbit
5 + 1 times, soulmate au, Thorin POV, bruises, sharing a bed, during the journey | 7.8k | E
Clue-finder - TheGrayKnight
Post-BAFTA, Dwarven courting, cultural differences | 9k | G
Queen Under the Mountain - benny_Laur
Character death (not really), Dis POV, I LOVE DIS, Requited love, Kili definitely should not be in charge of communications | 11k | Not rating
Call You Home - northerntrash
Hobbit culture, including hidden names (I like the hobbit side as it’s a popular trope that dwarves have hidden names), Thorin’s puppy-eyes, the company | 11.9K | Not rated
Planting a Hobbit - northerntrash
Everyone lives, post-BAFTA, homesickness, domestic fluff, Thorin builds Bilbo a garden trope! 13k | Not rated
Forget-Me-Not - kerkusa, LordOfTheRazzles
Established relationship, post-BAFTA, healing Thorin causes temporary amnesia, Dwarf and Hobbit courting (again) | 14k | G
Defying Death (or at least the ones in charge) - Lucigoo89
I have yet to read this yet but it looks very promising! Bilbo has died and now it’s time for him to smuggle himself into Mahalia Halls to see his love again | 15.1k | T
Ere Break of Day - alexaprilgarden
During the journey, falling in love, Dwarven Ones, soulmates, everyone lives, angst | 15.6k | E
The Different Shades of Bilbo’s Love - SunnyRose
Kid Bilbo wants to be friends with Thorin, consenting adult romance later on, friends to lovers, flower language, Belladonna Took! 17.5k | G
I have loved you and you have not known it - KaavyaWriting
Miscommunication, the company come up with a way of making friends with a hobbit that is inaccurate, jealous Thorin, during the journey | 17.7k | G
You Got Me - drunkonwriting
Company-centric, dwarf culture, fluff, during the journey, friendship fic | 18.9k | G
Gardening - The Feels Whale (miscellea)
Bilbo returns to Shire, Kid!fic, cabbage patch hobbits, Bilbo’s under the impression Thorin died (he’s wrong) | 19.7k | T
My Princess, My Love, Marry Me! - mordelle
Alt universe, Princess Thorin visits the Shire, pinning Bilbo, Thorin is considered ugly by Dwarven beauty standards, smut | 36.3k | E
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foxgloveprincess · 2 days
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Pairing: Cole Turner x Female Reader, Curtis Everett x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]
Summary: You always try to be your best at your job.
Word Count: 919
Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist
Warnings: Dark, Dubious Consent (Sex Toys, mild Overstimulation), Manhandling, Clueless Reader, Cages, Pet Names (pup, lamb, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).
A/N: Time to meet the contractor/handyman and his business partner, the toy maker. It’s a side story for A.W.A. that I just wanted to peek into. Don’t know if there’ll be any more parts to this. But Enjoy!
I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.
I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 
This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
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Things you now knew were stupid: answering a sketchy ad on the side of the road for a job in product testing. Apparently not your brightest idea. As Jeanne would say, you’re a dumb bitch. At least you were cute. 
It hadn’t seemed that bad. Cole and Curtis were pleasant, though they made you well aware of your deficient resume. You didn’t have marketable skills. It was something people said a lot. 
But that didn’t stop them from hiring you. They wanted you to start right away. And the benefits? They said they’d be comprehensive. 
What they didn’t mention was what exactly that meant. You were just happy they’d chosen you. With job after job firing you for ‘incompetence’, they’d seen your potential. Had said so, in exactly those words. You’d been on cloud nine, smiling wide. 
Before they opened the door to your office and had you test the first product. 
“Just turn your head toward the camera,” Cole coaxes, his sweet words dripping over you like honey. 
Your feverish body slumps over. The machine between your legs continuing its torturous thrusts and vibrations. 
A warm hand falls to your lower back, the other tilting your head up to meet stormy blue eyes. 
“She’s had enough,” Curtis says. With a flick of a switch, the machine beneath you turns off. 
“Come on, man,” Cole whines, “just a little longer. She’s so fucking adorable when she breaks like this.”
“We don’t want to break her.” 
Bundled into strong arms, you’re pulled off the toy and laid out on a nearby cushion. Your limbs melt into the plush fabric, twitching from overstimulation. Not an ounce of strength to move of your own volition. That’s all been fucked out of you. 
“It’s half the fun,” Cole mutters under his breath, starting a routine of cleaning off the toy. Though he complains, he won’t go against his partner outright. They work too well together for that. 
A quiet moment passes, Cole cleaning up and Curtis rummaging through some drawers. He produces a blanket a few moments later and carefully wraps you in it. You hum and lean close to his gentle touch. 
“By the way, Ari’s got me making a tail for his girl,” Cole says, joining Curtis in putting you away. He tilts your chin up with a finger. “How do you feel about that?”
You blink slowly and let incomprehensible mumbles fall past your lips. Mostly in the affirmative, not quite understanding how they’ll make you a tail. Isn’t that something animals are born with? Or sometimes like your cousin Courtney? Your brow furrows as you try to think.
You shiver and grip at the quilt over your shoulders, tucking it closer to your face.  For one night you wish they’d let you sleep here. Not that you’d complain about your normal accommodations. They could always fire you, and then where would you be?
“Don’t go falling asleep on us now or you’ll forget your form,” Cole reminds. He tucks a pen and paper into your unsteady grip and presses a kiss to your forehead. 
You blink to clear your eyes and look at the short form. Five questions and a comment box. 
“Do you need help?” Curtis asks, a hand on the cushion by your head, close enough to touch. 
Despite the urge to stretch into his touch and accept his generosity, you shake your head. It’s your job, you’ll do it yourself. Dragging your body from the cushion, you sit up and place the paper on your leg. Scrawl the product description on the top line. All five questions stare up at you, a scale of 1 to 5 beneath. 
Is the product enticing to potential customers? 
Is the product innovative?
Does the product seem high quality?
Is the product different from other products?
Does the product fulfill our customer’s needs and wants?
Though sluggish, your brain processes each question and makes a thoughtful rating for Cole’s new machine. The comment box proves more difficult. Words harder to scrawl while your hand lacks its usual strength and dexterity. But you jot down a few notes—about the vibration and the fit, you think? 
A yawn cracks your jaw and you stand on wobbly legs. Holding onto different bits of furniture about the room, you hobble to place the paper in its usual basket. They’ll look at it at the end of the month and determine what to do with it. 
Legs like jelly, you steady yourself a moment too long. Your bosses preparing your next task. You glance over and sigh. Still trying to perfect that thing. They’ve been working on it since you started working for them. 
“Come on, pup,” Curtis beckons, voice gruff, holding the door open. “Time for some shuteye.” 
You nod and bend your knees, ducking into the small metal cage. They finally got the cushion on the bottom thick enough that you don’t feel the bars digging into your side as you lay down. And they added some personal touches—a few pillows, your favorite blankets, a stuffed animal—to ensure the space still allows comfort to fit a full-grown human. 
Another yawn breaks free of your lips. Your head falls to the pillow and you let your eyes flutter shut. 
Fingers caress your cheek through the bars. You peek open your eyes to see Cole, a soft look of satisfaction on his face. 
“Time for a little nap, little lamb,” he whispers, “then there’s a few more things we need to test.”
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harmonysanreads · 2 days
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Trivia - Jeux de Vagues
I suppose this is the somewhat ‘lore’ of the aforementioned fic. I recommend reading the fic first before diving into this as this contains spoilers :> I normally wouldn't do this but per the vote of @verridaiya I was encouraged to regardless. Something to note would be that even though this is what I had in mind while writing, readers' personal interpretations are equally valid!
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“Jeux de Vagues”
I mentioned this in a reblog already but the title comes from the second movement of the symphony “La Mer” by Claude Debussy, a French composer. It literally translates to ‘Play of the waves', quite fitting for a leisurely tea-party with Neuvillette, no? I also highly recommend listening to the piece in general, it might take some patience but if you love daydreaming about watching the sea waves away from your struggles as well, this is the music for you!
“6 to 12 O'clock”
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Before I tell you why I'm showing this particular line, I want you guys to take a guess on what I meant by the 'noon to evening and midnight to dawn' part :>
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One of the rules of afternoon tea etiquette is that when you stir the tea, the appropriate motion to do is a 6 to 12 O'clock (so towards yourself and away from yourself) instead of going in circles. I thought just outright saying it wouldn't be fun so I instead used the four time indicators of 6 and 12 ! But of course, this could also symbolize the duration of Reader “scheming” since the beginning of the marriage.
“Fin de siècle”
Fin de siècle is a French term meaning “end of century,” a phrase which typically encompasses both the meaning of the similar English idiom “turn of the century” and also makes reference to the closing of one era and onset of another. [Taken from Wikipedia]
I kept on thinking about how to incorporate the ‘Isolation’ theme for Yandere!Neuvillette while also respecting his ideal of fairness. In one of his voice lines, he encourages to speak-up against grave injustice. With that in mind, this idea of “Keeping Reader isolated but giving them a chance to gain freedom by debating against Neuvillette once every century” was born. If Reader can successfully prove that Neuvillette is a terrible husband or their marriage is unjust, they can leave. But obviously, that's just false hope.
“Mon trésor”
Mon trésor is a gender-neutral French term of endearment which means “My treasure” in English. Huge thank you to @cerulean-castle and @iceunhie (please excuse me if I wasn't supposed to tag you two ;—;) for responding to my cry of help for this one as I was puzzled about French terms of endearment for a while. @/iceunhie gave me the link to a post of gender-neutral French terms of endearment which I found really helpful <3
As for why I chose Mon trésor as what Neuvillette calls Reader, it was due to the specific connotations between dragons and their treasures. Or in Neuvillette's case, Reader is his treasure. Hence, after sufficiently provoked, he doesn't flinch from referring to them as ‘abandoned property’.
“The words unspoken are the flower.”
Directly quoted from Neuvillette's [About : Wriothesley] voice line. According to him, it's an Inazuman proverb which means “Some words are better left unsaid.” which is Neuvillette's answer to his subconscious question of why he goes to such lengths for Reader.
Now, you can interpret this in a variety of ways and I'll say some of the “possible” ones. Perhaps he refuses to verbalize the causes because doing so would force him to face the hypocrisy and irrationality behind his actions. Perhaps he truly doesn't know, as there are many things he's on the path to understanding. Etcetera.
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I might add onto this post if anyone has more questions from the fic itself. Writing Jeux de Vagues was quite difficult because I had a deadline of sorts but I was determined to finish it. Although there might be room for further improvement, I'm still happy that I pulled it of :') I hope that at least, my love for Neuvillette's character can be felt through the fic <3
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spider-man-2o99 · 11 months
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individual stills of miguel Scampering on all fours and showing off his more distinct individual movement style (that he has because of his spider-man's Similar-but-still-distinctly-Weird-and-unique powers as compared to the more-graceful Others) so that i don't have 2 keep rewinding the clip(s) to see it. im REALLY excited to see him scuttling and skittering all over the place in the film just like he does in the comics-- and, like, seriously, Miguel Specifically being just. made Massive for some reason in his atsv design will never NOT be funny to me hes SO freakin Bouncy why did they Do That.
don't be Weird on my post or i'll kill you for real
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sadkois · 11 months
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10 mins later after majima convinced nishiki to go out on a guys night :)
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10 YEARS IN THE JOINT
KIRYU WITH NISH EXPRESSION JUMPSCARE
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mizzyislost · 4 months
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ultrakill doodle dump because none of these were good enough to warrant their own post. and also some of them are like months old and im never finishing them so
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hrokkall · 1 year
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Saw a post the other day asking how P03 is able to see; my best guess is something like this.
I actually inspected P03′s 3D model for this which I don’t usually do (and then I proceeded to draw it off-model anyway. Whoops) but even outside of its hypothetical camera-vision, there’s a few other things of note:
P03 seems to have a lot of large vents (or at least things that look like some sort of ventilation/cooling). Two major ones on the chest, three on the top of the head (with potentially another on the side of its head), and one on the underside of its base (though that one might be for the hologram projection it uses to float). My best guess is that it’s because his factory is built right by the water where there would be a TON of moisture in the air. For that reason, some of them have got to be exhausts to make sure all of the air circulating in his torso is dry. That or he just overheats extremely easily I guess, but I’m leaning towards the humidity explanation (or it could be a combination of the two).
Its “eyes” are somewhere on the front of its face; whether it sees through a camera or just through the eyes on the screen via video game magic is up for debate, but it turns to face the player when they stand up so its vision probably isn’t on the sides of its head or something.
Similarly, P03 has some sort of sensitivity to touch (he reacts to Leshy’s hands gripping his monitor before Leshy says anything). I don’t think any “touch sensors” would be externally visible though.
Presumably (based on the ending to Act 3) P03′s head isn’t just a monitor, there’s vital systems in there as well (otherwise tearing its head off wouldn’t do anything to disrupt its upload/its ability to function). My best guess is that his power supply is in his chest so it would be the equivalent of just... unplugging your computer while it’s trying to preform updates.
The wire it uses to connect to the modules to update cards in Act 3 seems to come from either its neck or its torso, but in act 2 it’s very visibly on the side of the head. Granted the act 2 sprites are all pretty different from the Scrybes’ 3D models so that’s not an outlier.
The range of motion in P03′s arm seems pretty similar to a human arm; he has a ball-and-socket joint on the shoulder and a hinge joint on his elbow plus separate segments for the “wrist” and “hand”. The only thing it probably can’t do is twist its forearm.
I don’t have any idea what either of the cranks do. The head crank moves when it changes its expression so it might have something to do with its display, but the arm crank is only shown doing anything on the G0lly Uberbot hologram. My best guess is that P03 used to have a lot more built-in functions but ended up removing them in order to operate faster so a lot of the buttons and switches on it are just vestigial leftovers. (The idea of the arm crank being able to function as a hand-crank motor in a pinch is really funny though. Spin it a few times when P03 is out of power and you can generate just enough battery for it to tell you to fuck off then go back into sleep mode again).
I have no idea how the levitation works either. It’s cool and that’s why it works. No need to get more complicated than that.
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ivegennedmylastloss · 9 months
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so. i was thinking. in generation loss, why was charlie given the moniker “The Villain”?
because ranboo and sneeg’s titles make sense: Ranboo “The Hero” was showfall’s hero, no problems there, and Sneeg “The Taken” was taken prisoner in the first episode, taken captive when he tried to escape the carousel in the episode two, and was taken for granted had his life taken permanently (maybe) in the finale.
however, Slimecicle “The Villain” feels like it only really applies to the first episode, with him playing the antagonist to the hero in the form of the slime demon. in the second and third episode, he didn’t really play a villain, just mega chet and then himself.
unless, of course, charlie slimecicle was labeled the villain because he was the one that got the hero killed in the end.
be it intentionally or not, at the start of the trail of dominoes that leads to ranboo being crucified, sits charlie. in a mockery of his streaming set up, oblivious to his surroundings, unaware of the horrors around him until our dear hero saved him. an act of kindness that gave the employees the time they needed to lock the doors and seal the exits. had ranboo not stopped for charlie, they would’ve made it out and been free, they would’ve lived.
instead, our hero wanted to save their friend and in turn they were strung up and slaughtered for their good deed.
and what kind of good person would lead their friend to getting killed? who would let such a cruel fate befall his own brother? no, that’s something only a villain would do
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rogdona · 5 months
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YIPPEEE HERES THE FIRST FEW MONSTERS!! thank u sm @kindercelery and @ideas-4-stories for the ideas!!!🙌💕🙌💕🙌💕
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i am going to stand on my Raph Is The Sun soapbox forever ftr. not that anyone has said not to.
i don’t mean that in an “everything and everyone revolves around raph all the time, bc he’s the most important one of them all” way. bc i’ll reiterate forever that there is no one member of this family who is the Most Important or most special, there is no member of this family who would be the most or least devastating to lose. like. if the hamatos lose anyone they’re never fully recovering.
i do mean what i say in the general sense of raph being a source of warmth and support, and in the sense that he does a lot of holding everyone together.
but more than anything when i say raph is the sun and his family is his solar system i mean like
raph isn’t the sun bc he’s the most important one that everyone revolves around, he’s the sun bc without a planetary system, a sun isn’t a sun. and i think so much of raph’s sense of personal identity and purpose is wrapped up in the roles he serves for his family so like. it just all checks out
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Quahaug Concept Art
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Quahaug's concept/reference art! Translation notes and image id under the cut.
Translation notes:
"OP sort of powerset" was literally translated as something like "cheat-like." I feel like OP is the more common English term for that sort of thing, so that's what I used, but some of the meaning was probably lost there.
"Older-tween-ish" was specifically a reference to a particular middle school year for children who are about 12-13 years old. Since grades and names of grades vary a lot from country to country, I just went with "older tween."
ID:
[Image id: Several images displaying different parts of 2 pages of the Triangle Strategy artbook, with both the original Japanese as well as versions with English translations. There are several disclaimers noting that the translator doesn't speak Japanese, and that there are likely many mistakes.
On one page, there is a large colored version of Quahaug's canon portrait, along with a smaller, uncolored version. There is an illustrator's note at the bottom that translates to read, "'Manipulating time' is an OP sort of powerset, so though he looks like a child, I aimed to create a look for him that conveyed a sense of unknowable power. (Tatsuaki Urushibara)".
On the second page, there are many drawings of Quahaug, including a closer bust-up portrait in which he's compared to Lyla, with an arrow and label reading, "Mother." There's also several notes that explain the construction of his costume. The costume is labeled as a Greek "phelonion" (a priest's outfit with no real sleeves, just draping fabric). There is a small drawing of this version, with an arrow leading to another drawing that does have sleeves, with the note, "If you can't display this in pixels, use this one." There are several notes that explain how this draping cloth should be considered his everyday clothes, while the ceremonial decoration that goes around his neck is placed over it. There is a close up of the ceremonial dressing's fastenings underneath the metal decoration. Some more notes highlight details on his staff, emphasizing the hourglass on top and the small wheel to the side that can be turned to flip the hourglass. A larger piece of text underneath one fullbody drawing reads, "Character Who Manipulates Time."
On the second half of the second page, there are drawings of some beta designs for Quahaug. He looks much more punk-ish. On one bust-up portrait, there are the captions, "The burden of the time demon caused some of his hair to go gray…." and "All-natural highlighted tips." On the same portrait, he is snapping his fingers, and there's a note that reads, "Manipulating time is as easy as snapping your fingers. You just have to want it or whatever." A speech bubble near his head reads, "I don't think of Anna as a mother." A caption pointing to some green markings on his arm reads, "Demonic time seal on body." In a fullbody drawing of his beta design (which is made up mostly of chains that barely cover him as well as a long roughed-up cloak, there is the note, "Almost naked cloak."
At the bottom of the second page, there is another note that reads, "Initially when we hadn't quite figured out the setting, we had an idea for a more older-tween-ish character as displayed here, but after discussing it with the producers and Mr. Ikushima, we went with his current form. As a boy who manipulates time, I placed an hourglass at the tip of his staff, and his face resembles that of his mother, Lyla. (Tatsuaki Irushibara)". /end id]
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