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mondaymelon · 1 year

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when they first fell in love with you. ♡

(sumeru genshin impact males x gn!reader)

written headcanon style! enjoy ✩

(a/n) might be writing a part two of this with tighnari and some other male genshin characters so please comment which characters you would like to see! thank you for reading ♡

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

cyno ♡

he was never the emotional man, at least not around other people. but to you, he was just the hobby-chasing mahamatra who liked to play card games religiously.

the two of you met a long time ago, years before, during his time at the academia. The two of you had the same biology class. over the course of half a semester and more than a few group projects, you could say the two of you had grown relatively close.

close enough that cyno, being cyno, was comfortable enough to tell always tell you his most terrible jokes.

"hey. why did the biologist break up with the physicist?"

you had stared at him quizzically, not sure if this was a test or an actual question about the work, but replied anyway. "what?"

"they... had no chemistry."

"..."

"do you get it - because like chemistry is a subject of science and biologists study the science of life and we're in science class and-"

he'll never forget the way you laughed that day. the way your serious expression faded into one trying to hold back laughter, and the way your lips curved upwards instantly... he felt his heart skip a beat as you let out a quiet giggle under your breath. he didn't know why or what, but a wave of affection swept over him, almost engulfing him completely before he reeled it back, face tinted red.

"hehe, you're funny, cyno." you had told him, smiling sweetly, still struggling to mute your laughs.

"am i?" cynos crimson eyes were wide as he looked at you with a look of surprise.

"mhm!" you nodded at him, beaming. "oh, are you free after school today? we should meet up to do the homework."

cyno hid his face from you then, face burning and flushed red as he mumbled out a response. "i'm free."

"great!" you slid him a slip of paper, torn off of your biology worksheet. "i figured you should have my number. don't forget to text me, okay?"

"i won't."

and he kept his word.

al haitham ♡

it all happened after the school announced an academia-wide field trip to the desert, quite the far trek in hindsight. you were surprised the school even agreed to it. that aside, the entire school was excited about it, especially to people who had moved from the sandy dunes to the lively rainforest in order to study at the academia.

however, al haitham, your literature class partner, had stayed silent. you glanced at him several times throughout the entire day, but his expression didn't change one bit, nor did he even look from his book.

"al haitham." you called out his name, eyes sparkling curiously. "what are you reading?"

"a comprehensive look at sumeru's last 300 years." his answer was short and quick. you whistled, impressed that he was willingly reading such a text.

"are you going on the field trip?" you questioned, wanting to ask but not wanting to annoy him.

"i see no reason not to." yet another blatant answer. he turned the page absent-mindingly, eyes trailing from sentence to sentence. you decided to let him read, not wanting to bother him more than you already had.

just then, a group of students walked into the room, bustling about loudly and chatting amongst themselves not too quietly at all. if they noticed the two of you, they certainly didn't care. they laughed and shouted some more before taking the tables next to where the two of you sat and continued to squawk about.

you caught al haitham wincing at the noise, mutely noting the fact that he had taken off his headphones. you never realized the ashen-haired man had sensitive hearing, but now a lot more things made sense- especially the fact that haitham never ate lunch, like the other students, in the cafeteria.

hesitantly, you reached up and cupped your hands over al haitham's exposed ears. "is it too loud?" you whispered as quietly as you could, hoping that al haitham wouldn't be bothered by your question.

as you glanced down at his expression, his look of astoundment startled you. his emerald eyes sparkled with a look of tenderness that you would've expected as he gazed up at you, his diamond shaped pupils staring up at you and you only.

then, so subtle you almost missed it, he whispered, face flushed:

"thank you."

kaveh ♡

kaveh was always a friendly person, and that was certainly not an exception when it came to you. after a class, he would always burst into the room and come to walk you to your next one.

it come to a point where you would wait for him to show up after the lecture ended, purposely packing up your things slower as you scanned the door for any signs of the blonde man. and he always showed up.

always.

except, then he didn't. you waited until the students of the next hour began to come in, and then waited more until you were sure you were already late. yet, he still didn't show up. worry began gnawing at your stomach as you fidgeted through all of your classes that day, mind cloudy.

and he wasn't there the day after that, either. you missed his presence, his sunny demeanor, and his blushing reaction whenever you decided to tease him.

after about a week of the constant torture, he showed up again, grinning and raising his hand as if he was expecting a wave after your design class.

and you didn't just give him a wave. you dropped all your things instantly, eyes wide and teary, and leaped onto the man, sending both of you tumbling to the ground as you gave him the tightest hug you could manage.

underneath you, kaveh let out a shout of surprise, trying to get you off of him so he could get up, but he wouldn't budge. and he glanced down at you, confused at what had gotten you so worked up, he spotted glistening tears spilling down your face.

"wh-what's happened?" he questioned with a worried expression as he helped you up, tears still running down from your eyes. "did someone hurt you? who was it??"

"idiot..." you leaned against his figure, burying your face into his chest, not caring if you were to be late or not. "you left without a word...!"

"i-i'm sorry-!" kaveh glanced down at your figure clinging onto him, face flushed as his heart pounded so loud that he was sure you would be able to hear it. "i caught a cold..."

"don't leave me again like that, okay??"

"o-okay."

wanderer ♡

you had known him for a long time now, you would've admitted if you had no other choice but to be truthful. but it was a hopeless thing, since never once did he ever seem to notice you - much less care about you or your wellbeing.

at least he had never outright told you that he disliked your presence. it was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

so it was a surprise when he showed up at your doorstep, clothes and hair drenched from the relentless rain outside. he stared at the ground sheepishly, expression embarrassed as he spoke. "i... i didn't have anywhere else to go."

"oh." you had stood there for quite a bit, mouth rounded and eyes wide before returning to your senses. "you can come inside. i'll get you a towel."

the dark-haired man nodded silently, stepping outside as drops of water fell from the sides of his hat. you halted, whipping around. "leave that on the porch."

"but-"

"it's wet. it's going to be no help when we try to get you dry." seeing scaramouche's face fall, you cleared your throat. "but if you must, you can leave it in the mudroom."

"...alright."

you weren't even sure why he was sitting in your living room, a towel around him and sitting on your couch by the fireside, slowly sipping a hot mug of tea. he didn't seem to be thinking of speaking anytime soon, so you did it in his place.

"did you need something?" you questioned him after taking a long sip from your own mug.

"no, i just..." he shook his head. "can i stay here? just for a little while longer?"

the softness in his voice startled you, but you managed to give him an answer without stuttering either way. "you can stay for however long you want." at your response, you saw the male's eyes light up, along with his face flushing a bit too, an action that was not gone unnoticed.

"...i appreciate it. i want you to know that i really do. thank you."

masterlist ✩ next

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witnesstheabsurd · 5 months

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[ Between Sky and Earth - Between the petrified cities of The Earth, the base reality, and the caustic, blinding freedom of The Sky, the virtual reality, the cyberspace absolute that governs all existence. Between Sky and Earth, a thousand heavens are at war. ]

ANNOUNCING THE KICKSTARTER FOR MY NEXT ARTBOOK!

CLICK HERE

My name is Francine Bridge - also known online as Witnesstheabsurd. I've worked as a freelance illustrator in the games, music and fashion industries, most recently having worked as Art Director on the upcoming "Slave Zero X" . I've also published two artbooks - the Occult Supergiant Primer and Ars Goetia, both of which were funded via Kickstarter. It's been several years since my last, and i'm excited to announce my next self-published artbook - "One Thousand Heavens: A Cyberspace Bestiary".

It's planned to be an 80-page artbook featuring paintings of cyberspace Avatars and the Pilots that control them - an assortment of monsters and cyberpunk weirdos battling for control over the Throne, a mysterious entity that will permit one Pilot to become God and redefine existence. I'm launching a new Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for printing a 300 copy run and also funding the completion of the book itself!

Backers will be able to reserve one of these copies for themselves in physical and PDF format - after the KS ends, they will never be sold at this price again, and only a limited number will be printed for this first run! Shipping anywhere in the world!

Tumblr was where I got my start and everything I have flowed from the support I received on this site - it means so much to be here again, able to share my work with you all. To anyone who chooses to pledge, to share, or even look at this art i've made - thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart.

LINK HERE

#witnesstheabsurd #kickstarter #artbook #one thousand heavens #monsters #cyberpunk #cyberspace #body horror #cyber y2k #character design #illustration

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mcromwell · 16 days

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After 6 hours of scanning over 350 pages of sketchbooks spanning 4 years of drawing, it's here! The biggest sketchbook bundle I've ever released is ready for download.

Not all sketchbooks are perfectly coiffed and polished "sketchbook tours" you see on social media--here is the real, rough, and frenetic workings of an artistic practice.

Never before shared, most of these drawings have never seen anyone's eyes except mine. It's pay what you want, which is a screamin' deal for over 300 pages of raw art. I hope you enjoy the miles of silliness contained within!

#sketchbook #artist #sketchbook tour #sketch #sketching #drawing #doodles #doodling #sketchbook philosophy #coyote #animal art #animals #furry #anthropomorphic #weird art #independent artist #digital download

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radio-writes · 22 days

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Congrats on the 300 followers Vien! for the event:

"They were there, you weren't" + "What keeps you up at night?"

Embracing Faded Pages of Tainted Saints

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Mentions of past physical injuries

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

You stood awkwardly at the doorstep of the new hotel, unsure exactly of what to do next.

You knew there was a chance he'd be the one to open the door and greet you, but truth be told you were hoping otherwise. You thought you had worked through all your emotions about him years ago; but standing in front of him now, you realized that was far from the case.

You felt a surge of pressure almost squeezing at your heart, but you tried your best to ignore it as you offered Alastor a small smile.

"Hey, Al. Long time no see." You tried for casual, despite the way things ended the last time you were together.

"How are you—" Al finally spoke, his grin tight as his eyes narrowed at you.

A bright, bubbly woman shoved her way to the door, effectively cutting off whatever Alastor was going to say.

She grabbed you by your hands, and you did your best to shift your focus to her. You listened, responded, and tried very hard to ignore Alastor's burning gaze on you.

You were very swiftly taken into the hotel lobby, brushing right past the tall man. You were introduced to the staff and guests alike, and you painted your best smile as the blonde host swept you here and there. You merely tried to swallow past the lump at your throat as you greeted everyone.

You heard this place offered a chance at redemption, as well as some sort of protection from all the horrors Hell had to offer. You thought it was worth it, that the solace you could find in here would greatly outweigh having to be near Alastor again.

But his mere presence, just knowing that he was in the same room as you again, was already eating at you—suffocating you.

It was like you could feel the sharp stabbing pain across your gut again. The blood—the life—leaking out of you. The desperation crushing your heart.

"I'll take it from here, Charlie, dear." You heard his voice before you felt a heavy hand at the small of your back. "This lovely demon seems to be a little bit overwhelmed. They can do with some rest, don't you think?"

The bright blonde agreed easily, allowing Alastor to quickly guide you along the halls of the hotel and away from all the excited chatter.

"You're alive." Alastor stated, his eyes set ahead of himself as he walked beside you. His hand had retracted from your body, now resting behind his back.

No thanks to you.

"Nope, still dead." You tried to joke, a soft, fleeting attempt at a laugh following it. But you stopped immediately when you realized that, despite his wide smile, Alastor didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes.

"You were bleeding heavily." He said instead.

You tried to keep your responses vague. "Yes, I...I remember."

You've thought about it many times over since your near-second-death experience. How Alastor had always been a dear friend of yours, through life on earth and Hell. How you both knew you were helpless at that time. How it was perfectly normal for him to choose to save himself instead.

You've forgiven him, at least that's what you told yourself. You still saw him as a friend, even after he abandoned you—and that's why you would never let him find out about your betrayal.

You could never hurt him like that.

You thought that this was all so crystal clear to you. That you've long healed this wound, but evidently that wasn't the case.

Just seeing him now. So well poised, so put together, cozying it up with the Princess of Hell. His smile was as you remembered it, and not a hair was misplaced on his head.

He had continued on like nothing happened, like he didn't once leave you to die.

And there was that awful, bitter, anger slowly filling your chest. That nauseating feeling of betrayal that twisted your gut. No matter how hard you tried to stick to reason, to remember all you've resolved in the past years, you just couldn't help but hate how he was able to move on so easily.

The rest of your time heading to your room was silent. Just a constant soft static noise following your steps. You spent that time fighting your base instincts to just jump him, throttle his neck, scream at him.

How could you? How could you just leave me to die like that?

Alastor finally halted by a door, his clawed hand turned the knob and ushered you in.

You looked up at him, smiling once more as you tried to hold onto your more logical side. "I don't know how I feel about you having keys to my room." You try to joke again.

Oh did you miss the times when the two of you wasted hours in hysterics; just exchanging the dumbest jokes you could think of.

But that felt like almost two lifetimes ago.

"This is my room." Alastor clarified.

"Well that explains the swamp." You say bluntly. You walked slowly in, not exactly knowing what you were doing here now.

"I thought we could sit down for some coffee—" Alastor said, closing the door behind him. His hands reached for a coffee pot, but paused before he could reach the handle. "No no, this definitely calls for something much stronger."

He sat down on one of the seats by the fireplace, easily summoning two small glasses and a bottle of rye on the table.

You watched him tentatively, heart tightening at the familiar sight.

There was once a time when nights like this was something you looked forward to—but it didn't seem that way anymore.

Your eyes couldn't help but narrow at how well off he looked. It's like nothing had changed for him at all.

You attempted to be civil, still, and made your way to sit across him. It's was stupid to hold a grudge against him for something like that. What he did made sense, and you shouldn't be mad about it.

Your eyes scanned the knickknacks scattered about his shelves and walls, eyes catching on a wide set of antlers mounted high above.

"That yours or a friend's?" You once again tried to lighten the mood. Whether it was for your sake or Alastor's, you weren't sure.

"We both know I've never been one for small talk, dear." Alastor said, pouring alcohol in your glass before his. He easily downs the drink he poured himself before filling it up again. "How are you alive?" His head tilted.

The moment the words left his mouth it felt like someone emptied a bucket of ice water over you.

The question simply came out of nowhere. Sure you had expected him to ask sooner rather than later, but to jump right to it?

Your half-assed smile dropped just a fraction of a bit.

Looking up at your old friend, the ever charming, ever present smile, you realized that perhaps you were being stupid—and not for the reason you originally thought.

You've been friends with this man since either of you could walk, friends through his stupid murder fixation, friends through his takeover of Hell.

But he left you for dead.

He finally found out that you survived and the first thing out of his mouth was an interrogation?

Where was your fucking apology?

So maybe, just maybe, you've been stupid this entire time. That you didn't need to be making excuses for him. That you didn't need to forgive him. That maybe your anger, your want to hurt him back, was more than valid.

You picked up your own glass and downed its contents in one go, relishing in the familiar bitter taste.

"There's no bed." You noted instead of answering your old friend, your grip was tight around the glass you held. "Where do you sleep?"

"I don't." Alastor answered simply. He moved only to fill up your glass again, but his eyes never strayed from you.

You weren't sure how much truth there was behind his words. Sinners still slept, and no matter how highly Alastor thought of himself, he still functioned the same way the rest of you do.

"What keeps you up at night, then?" You couldn't help but ask.

Perhaps it was an attempt to piss him off. Make small talk, delay from giving him answers.

But as much as you hated to admit it, it was likely because there was an answer you wanted to hear. One caused by that part of you that still hoped for your old friend to show you even just a hint of a conscience.

Perhaps if he gave you that, it would be enough for you to hold onto civility. It would be enough for your to at least honor what past friendship you had with him.

"Nothing in particular, really." Alastor glanced away from you, downing his drink once more. "There's just no rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say?"

You followed his lead, throwing your head back and letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

It almost felt like old times when you'd compete with him in old dingy bars.

"Ah, I figured you wouldn't be hung up on it." You held your empty glass in your hands, a finger unconsciously caressing its cool surface.

"My bad, dear." Alastor gave you a faux look of guilt, but the mockery that dripped from his tone easily gave it away. "Did you want me to mourn you for a couple decades?"

You rolled your eyes. "Considering everything we've been through, I'd have expected at least a few years."

You noticed Alastor fill his glass up again, he knocked it back just as quickly as the previous ones.

You both looked like you were drinking your problems away, but it seemed like this was more of a habit. One formed through a lifetime of repetitions.

"I can start now if you'd like." Alastor smiled at you.

Your brows raised. "I am very clearly not dead."

"You might be soon." The static in his voice was heavier, and for a split second you could have sworn his pupils changed to dials.

Your fingers stilled against the glass you held, feeling your skin prickle at the silence that followed.

The wood in the fireplace crackled, and the eerie light coming from the green flames added just a tinge more terror to your situation.

Or it would have if the only emotion you felt wasn't an all consuming rage.

The clear threat hung in the air for a second before Alastor spoke again. "So tell me,"

How long have you been alive?

Why didn't you tell me?

"How are you alive?" He said.

You had no idea why on earth he was angry. What gave him the right?

"We both know the answer to that already, don't we?" Your own smile tightened, teeth clenched hard to keep yourself from growling at him.

You tried to stomp out your anger, but every time you tried to reason that he used to be a friend, you couldn't help but be brought back to that time.

Lying in a pool of warm blood—your own blood. Seeing the exorcists flying down to you, racing to see who could kill you first. Turning your head, using the very last of your strength to reach out to your friend. Watching him stand from your side and melting away into shadows without you.

"Well yes, a deal, of course. But with whom? Not many demons down in this festering tar pit have that much power. You were practically gone, dear."

Ah, so it was a pride thing, you thought. He was bothered that there was someone who could do what he couldn't.

You couldn't hold back from scoffing. "And did that ever bother you? That I was practically gone?"

He paused. The sound of static grew messier for a few seconds before Alastor gave up on his glass entirely. He opted to just grab the bottle by its neck and drank from it.

"You seem like you were hoping it did." He teased as he set the bottle down back on the table. "Shouldn't a good friend be happy I wasn't suffering?"

Your heart clenched, eyes narrowed. The both of you have danced around it this entire time, but it just seemed like there was no longer any way to stop the words as they finally slipped from your mouth.

"Shouldn't a good friend try everything to save the other?"

The accusation, the betrayal, the bitterness, finally dripped like venom from your question.

A heavy tension covered both of you once more. The elephant in the room finally addressed properly, but it seemed neither of you knew what to do with it now.

A beat of silence.

"Then, it looks like we're both such terrible friends." Alastor said, as he sunk back into his chair. You hadn't noticed the tension in his body this entire time, you weren't sure if Alastor himself noticed it either.

But as he rested his head behind him, you noticed something you failed to before now.

He looked...exhausted. His smile was in place, his hair neat, his suit wrinkle free. He looked as perfect as ever; but he looked tired.

You were sure you didn't look any more chipper currently.

You tore your eyes away from the demon that sat across you. "It's been a long night."

"It's been twenty minutes." There was finally a hint of genuine amusement in his tone, but it felt strained.

Like it slipped before he could stop it, a habit formed through decades of banter.

"Twenty too many around you." You simply shut it down.

Still, not one apology. Did he even regret it?

You felt so confused, so conflicted, so angry, and you knew you just had to leave before you did something you would regret later on—whatever that may be.

He looked like he wanted to say something as you got up, but he chose to bring the bottle of alcohol to his lips instead.

It was only when your hand landed on the door handle did he speak. "I would do it again."

It felt like a light went out inside you somewhere.

You didn't turn around.

"I would leave you to die—over and over." Alastor's floaty voice continued. "You were a good friend, but not great enough for me to risk my own skin."

You've known your friend to be quite the liar. He knew what to say and when to say it, and he lived to crawl under people's skin and piss them off.

But at that moment, you knew it was one of the rare few instances where Alastor was honest.

"It seemed like you wanted to know." His normally mocking voice seemed softer. Like it really was just a fact and nothing more.

"The V's were there when you weren't." You found yourself saying. You turned your head to the side just a tiny bit, but still didn't turn to look at him.

The lights flickered and your hand closed around the handle of the door.

"I made a deal with the V's. Everything about you and more, in exchange for my life." You continued, almost unable to stop the words from coming out, really.

"Your defeat seven years ago was my doing."

You really were terrible friends.

"It seemed like you wanted to know, old pal."

You left his room just as the lights fully went out.

#tw: physical injuries #friendly reminder this event has closed #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #vien writes #follower event #we went for emotional pain this time around #more subtle than outright choking the man but I feel like having a dear friend betray him as much as he betrayed them would sting a lot mor #i am firm believer that alastor CAN care if he wanted to #but i must admit i made him a tiny bit ooc here bc i had to tone down his sillies for the mood

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no-name-publishing · 6 months

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Tiny Book? Tiny Book. Pt1.

Idk yall I just felt like writing a little how-to of how-I-do my tiny A9 books! So if you've ever been interested, I hope this will be helpful. This will be neither a beginner typesetting nor beginner bookbinding tutorial; as I go through my process I will only be showing my process and providing a few tips, assuming you already have the basics understood. We can worry about the rougher technical skills in another post.

Also keep in mind that this guide includes images of fic I've bound, and you're zooming into these fics at your own discretion. I am not responsible if you read something yucky. I know you have a lot of options out there but thank you for flying No-Name Publishing.

Tiny books part 2; Tiny books part 3

Just like with regular ficbinding, there are layers, and they are:

1 - Typesetting and Imposing 2 - Printing 3 - Cutting, Folding, and Sewing 4 - Gluing, Rounding/Backing, Endbands 5 - Building the Case and casing in 6 - BOOK

In this part we will be focusing on steps 1 and 2. Please feel free to skip to the area you're interested in most.

1 - Typesetting and Imposing

Okay, so this area has some nuances that you don't have to consider so closely with typesetting for more traditionally sized books. To me, these tiny books are not about readability, they are about novelty. As such, I do not prioritize readability. Instead, I try to achieve something that is closer to scale. That said, neither do I want these illegible. But we'll begin from the top.

You want to make a tiny book, but you're wondering, what would be an appropriate word count for a tiny book? Tiny books are the perfect medium for the ficlettes, the shorties, the one-shots. They are also perfect for the mid-sized, 10-15-20k fics, in my opinion. Here we can see,

On the left we have a fic that is exactly 12,771 words, typeset on a 1.5" x 2" (37 × 52 mm) document, with .3" margins, 6pt Garamond font, and 5pt line spacing. This book is only approaching 1/2" (13mm) wide, and only took 5 sheets of Letter paper to print. On the right we have a fic that is exactly 1,939 words, typeset to the same specifications. This book is only 4-5mm wide, and took only 1 sheet of Letter paper.

In my opinion this format of book begins getting unruly around the 300-page mark. However, making any combination of margins, fonts size, and line spacing will yield different page results for different word counts. For example:

Like the above, in each of these examples I typeset in Garamond font @ 6pt size and 5pt line spacing. Typesetting on an A9 page, this is about as small as I felt comfortable sizing my font while still being legible. But notice the rivers between the words--the rivers of white space bisecting the lines, due to the Justified alignment battling the admittedly tiny work surface. At this scale, with the font at this size and alignment, those will be unavoidable. Over time I began disliking this in my own work, so I pursued a different method, which was typesetting on a quarter letter page (4.25" x 5.5" / 108mm x 140mm), and allowing my imposer to scale the PDF down.

Have you ever seen anything sexier. THIS looks like a tiny book. Little to no rivers, still legible (hand-wobble), and preserves the novelty feel that I desire from a tiny book. This method of scaling down (specifically from quarter letter to A9) does change the final shape of the book, from A9 to A9-ish in this case. Specifically, from 1.5"X2" (37 × 52 mm) to 1.625"X2" (41.3mmX52mm). You're achieving something closer to a square shape, which is delightful to hold. All this to say, you have some freedom with word count, with font size, with page size. I've done as many pages as 376 and as few as 17. The fantastic thing about tiny books--their structure will not be load-bearing, meaning--the only thing stopping you are your tastes.

Quickly, some more examples of features in a regularly sized typeset and their tiny counterpart after the imposer has scaled them down. First, scaling half-letter down to A9, a little-over 4X shrinkage:

And from B6 to B9, smaller by 3x:

You notice the compression of every element, and too how entirely unparcable the text in the first example is, sometimes not horrible, sometimes very. Make your decisions dependent on your tastes!

You have decided on the fic you'd like to bind into a tiny book. I will be using my own fic as the typesetting example, and I will be using Word 365 for PC. I'm sure many of my pointers during this process might not apply 1-to-1 if you are using a different word processing software, but hopefully you can adapt the concepts to your program of your choosing.

Kay, next you will do your typesetting. Since this is not a typesetting guide I'm trusting that you have your preferred methods, but I will go through my key steps for setting up a tiny typeset:

First, for every typeset I delete each default Style, create mine own, and dictate the document size. For this example I will be doing my preferred quarter letter method, setting the custom page size to 4.25" wide and 5.5" tall, and .5" page margins all around (except Gutter; leave 0"). On the Multiple pages dropdown I will select Mirror margins (however, as all my margins are the same size, this is redundant, though may not be the case for you). My body text style will be Cardo font @ 11pt size and Exactly 15pt line spacing, with a .2" first line indent and Justified alignment.

You can use whatever body font you like, I only encourage you to do many many test prints to refine your preferences. Your favorite font for half-letter books might not translate to tiny books. After ~30 tiny books I've found I like Cardo at this size and spacing. And if you're using A-paper sizes, consider doing quarter A4 instead of quarter letter, which is technically A6--4.1"X5.8", or 105mmX148mm. Follow your heart~~nyah 🐱♥

Now I will go to my fic and download the HTML file. I hugely prefer copying from the HTML file rather than the browser itself. It kind of standardizes any goofy formatting that might try to make its way over otherwise, while still preserving the italics and bolds, etc, and makes for an easier editing process. It was important I made my body Style in Word first, so that once I paste the text into my document that Style is automatically applied in one fell swoop (if not, you can change that in your Word settings. Advanced -> Cut, copy and paste -> Merge Formatting. It is a huge time saver.)

Now you've gone through your typesetting process, you have a liddle quarter letter Word document that you're happy with. Gets real close to you. Listen to me--listen, you're going to Export as PDF. Not Save As PDF. Not Print to PDF. Export. It's in--listen--it's in File, then Export, then Create PDF/XPS. You need to Export. Especially if you selected Bookfold instead of Mirror margins in your page settings because we need an unimposed PDF in order for this to work right and exporting to PDF is going to solve 99% of your pdf formatting woes with Word. Okay, I love you 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

Now, your EXPORTED pdf should look something like mine. Straight, unimposed.

Now what we're going to do is take this PDF back to my penthouse and freak it. Go to this link for the Renegade Bindery-created and -curated imposition tool. This has been will be is such an incredible FREE asset to you, maintained by a crew of intelligent, skilled Renegade Bindery members who understand the importance of community and accessibility. If you find someone hiding this link behind a paywall of any kind it is not with the creators' permission, so shame on them.

Anyway I will be assuming that you know what imposing your document means. If you've never used this site before, it's very straight forward, and here are my settings for making Tiny Books.

1 - Upload your unimposed exported pdf. 2 - ignore 3 - Select the paper size you will be printing on. This is not the FINAL size of the book, this is what paper you are printing on. These instructions are for Letter sized paper. Don't change any of the other settings right now, I will explain more about the Single-sided vs Duplex option in a bit. 4 - Skip aaalllll the way down to Signature Format. Under Wacky Small Layouts, click on the bubble next to Little. You'll notice there are a lot of options here. I encourage you to play with these settings later on as well, there are so many things you can make with this tool.

Once that's done, scroll down to the very bottom. You'll see the Signature Info area, telling you the results of your imposition. In the case of using the Little option we've selected, 1 sheet of our paper will make 40 book pages. 3-signature-sets of 3/3/4 folio configuration. That's a lot of pages per page.

Anyway for our document today it will cost us 2 sheets of Letter paper, and will make 6 signatures. Math says that's 80 pages. Now, you may be concerned because your typeset PDF is not formatted in a number equally divisible by 40. And why would it be. The imposer is doing that math for you in the background, organizing your pages regardless. In my case, my finished typeset is 62 pages, which means that from my second page, I will only be using my 3 folio segments, and discarding the 4 folio segment. This will make more sense later. Click the Generate button, and save the zipped folder wherever you want. Don't change the name of it.

Unzip that baby, and inside you'll notice 2 files--(filename).pdf_little_packed_backs, and .pdf_little_packed_fronts. Appropriately named as one file contains one side of the sheet that will be printed, and the other file the other side.

And when you open them up, they will look like:

2 - Printing

We are manually duplexing this bad boy, because working at this scale amplifies and compounds every millimeter of difference. Manual duplexing will keep printer skew to a minimum, as the printer will not have to perform gymnastics in order to print on the reverse side of your page. Here are some examples:

Two auto-duplexing examples of skew, one horizontal and one vertical, dependent on which direction my paper was loaded into the feeder. There is significant skew. Not a horrible issue on full-sized books but these will matter much more on our tiny books, the key issue being that we do not have much to work with in the margins department. Trimming 5-6-7mm of margins of your half-letter sized textblocks might not be much of an issue; however, here, in order to remove all the trim lines during the cutting process, you will be significantly impacting the margins of your tiny textblock.

Now here is an example of the skew from manual duplexing:

MUCH subtler. Your skew with manual duplexing will range from this--less than .5mm--to no skew at all, and you will have to cut off far less of each page to remove the trim lines, maintaining the consistency of appearance of your tiny, beautiful pages. This is why during step 3 of the imposing process we selected Single-sided (which is MANUAL duplexing), and not Duplex (which is AUTO duplexing) appropriately. This will result in you either getting two files for manual duplexing, or one auto duplexing file.

Your next consideration when it comes to printing your liddle book will be whether you want to use an inkjet printer or a laser printer. I've until recently only had a laser printer available to me. I can say after about 6 or 7 little books on an inkjet printer that I prefer the laser printing on tiny books. Here is an example of why:

On the left you have a tiny book printed from an inkjet printer printed on the highest quality setting, and on the right is a tiny book printed from a laser printer. These were both printed at the same scaling, same font size, same line spacing, everything. The inkjet printer, printing at this scale, introduces pretty glaring feathering on the letters, whereas the laser printer is crisp as can be. I've said before that to me tiny books are more for novelty rather than readability, however I do still want to make out the word I'm looking at, you know what I mean? For this reason I prefer printing my tiny books from a laser printer. Use what you got though, you'll get a tiny book regardless. Make sure you're flipping on the short edge with these tiny books too, and double check to make sure your page numbers line up. And when you're done you got...

BOOK(-adjacent).

Continue on to part duex.

#bookbinding #ficbinding

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somanyratsinthewalls · 4 months

Note

hello! idk if ur still doing the 300 followers thingy but can i request a cinnamon and hibiscus ^^

WOOOOOOOO friend, boy did I get carried away with this one! You are in for a treat because *wipes brow* yikes I am down bad for this himbo man.

Pairing: Ace x Female Reader

WC: 2700 I got carried away >:)

Prompt: “So do we like… holds hands now?”

*authors note- it takes 300 years and so much porn to get to the prompt and I’m SO sorry lol*

— —

*slam slam slam* “Yes? I’m working!?” You shout from your desk in your room, still pouring over maps and textbooks you had recovered during your last raid of an island. You knew exactly who was knocking (really actually pounding) on your door from how many times you’ve heard that exact impatient, powerful knock.

The door to your room whooshes open and Ace bursts his way in.

“Uh oh, nerd alert, wee oo wee oo!” Ace lights the tip of his finger and spins it around over his head to mimic an emergency light. You roll your eyes. He carries a bottle of rum in his other hand and flops down in the armchair across from your desk.

“Just because you and the rest of the boys are acting a fool, doesn’t mean I need to participate.” You look above your reading glasses as they sit low on your nose.

“It doesn’t? What kind of crew mate and best friend would I be if I didn’t drag your boring ass out there to enjoy the party?” Ace hops up from the chair and sidles his way behind you, towering over your sitting form. He runs his fingers along the page that you’re currently reading.

“Yap yap yap, blah blah blah, boring as shit.” Ace slams your book closed.

“Ace!” You protest. He places his hands on your tense shoulders and digs his thumbs in firmly to grind at your sore knots. His hot digits release the tension with ease.

“You work too hard, y/n. Come enjoy the night with us. You deserve it.” Ace prods you in your shoulders to get up out of your chair. You sigh.

“Fine.” You finally relent. “I’ll be out in a minute. Let me change first, you brat.”

Ace flashes you a goofy, elated smile.

“Great! See you in a few! I’ll save you some shots!” Ace jogs out of your room to return to the festivities.

After Ace leaves, you get up from your desk and move towards your closet to find something to wear other than the grungy sweats you were currently sporting. You pull your drawers open and grab a tight black low-cut shirt and an even tighter pair of jeans. You change into the shirt and forcefully pull the jeans up your legs.

“come… on…” You jump up and down and eventually get the jeans over your ass and the button done. It wasn’t often that you dressed in anything nice. You brushed your hair and tossed it in the mirror, giving yourself a once over. You spray your perfume on your neck and head out to the deck of the ship to join the party.

You reach the deck and find it full of lively music and several fleets of the Whitebeard Pirates together enjoying the celebration of success with much food and drink. You spy Thatch whipping up a large pan of hot food and you immediately gravitate towards him You grab a plate from besides his wok and you hold it out for him to fill it.

“Oh look who it is! Finally decide to come out of your dungeon, y/n?” Thatch jokes as he fills your plate with a steaming pile of fried rice.

“Hah. Hah. So funny. I’m not staying long.” You begin to shovel the food into your mouth. “Mmm… not bad..” You comment on the food.

“Ace convinced you to come out? He’s been talking about it all night, hopefully he shuts up now that his girl has arrived to the party.” Thatch smirks at you.

“His what? I am no one’s anything, thanks.” You furrow your brows at the cook.

“Oh come on, y/n, still just friends are we?”

You scowl.

“You’re being weird.” You finish your plate of fried rice and leave it on the table so you could exit the uncomfortable conversation.

“Y/n! Come drink with us!” You turn around and see Ace waving you over to a table littered with shots of clear liquor and other pirates sitting around it. You hesitate, not wanting to prove Thatch’s point any further, but you eventually join the group at the table. You settle in a chair next to Marco, who hands you a shot glass filled to the brim. Ace lifts his glass and the rest of you follow.

“A fine day to raise the Whitebeard Jolly Roger! Cheers!” He throws his shot back and you were quick to follow. You cough briefly, not used to heavy drinking.

“You alright, y/n?” Marco pats your back gently and asks after he takes his own drink.

“ M’ fine. Are we doing more?” You question with a smirk. Ace smiles back at you from across the table. He looks at the bottle and his expression changes.

“Shit, gotta get another bottle. Don’t go anywhere guys!” Ace happily scampers back to the galley to retrieve more booze.

“So… things still the same there?” Marco asks you once a few of the other people around you had dissipated.

You groan. “Why do people keep asking me that? We’re friends, that’s it.” You roll your eyes.

“Because he’s so obviously in love with you and you’re too deep in your books to figure it out.” Marco laughed at you. Your eyes widen, you could have slapped him.

“He is not, and you’re being ridiculous. No one is falling in love on a pirate ship.” You roll your eyes. Ace soon returns with more alcohol and you all partake in several more rounds of drinking.

As the night goes on the rest of the pirates eventually leave one by one to return to their quarters and fall into drunken slumbers. You are left at the table with just Ace and Marco. You felt that you should cut yourself off and begin to stand up from the table.

“Well boys, it’s been real, it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun. I’m headed off to bed. Night.” “Ok, y/n, goodnight- OOf!” You hear Ace grunt behind you so you turn around to face the two men again. Marco was glaring at Ace… did he just kick him under the table when you excused yourself?

“I mean, uh..” Ace stutters. “Wait, y/n. Let me walk you back to your room.”

You furrow your brow at his request. Ace looked at you with somewhat pleading eyes.

“Um.. sure I guess?” You were confused, but you didn’t want to be rude if he was insistent on escorting you back to your cabin. Ace hops up and you both bid goodnight to Marco before you turn and head to your room. Ace walks next to you closely and reminds you of funny things that happened during the party to make you laugh. You feel his warm arm brush against yours more than once. An accident, you’re sure, you both had been having a few drinks after all.

You eventually reach your room and you extend your hand to turn the knob.

“Y/n wait.” Ace suddenly appears between you and the door, causing you to jump back a bit. “I have to tell you something.”

“Ok…” You look up at him with concern.

“So, um, okay, so I just- you know how we’re friends? So I- maybe we could? I don’t know-“ Ace can’t even look you in the eye, his head hanging towards the floor. He is stumbling over his words and you just wanted him to get on with it.

“Ace what the fuck are you trying to say to me.” You were annoyed and frustrated. You grab his shoulders and shake him a bit to try and get his words out.

“IloveyousomuchandIwannakissyousobadallthetime!!!” Ace basically shouts at you.

You pull your neck back, still trying to process what he was telling you. He picks his head up to look at you finally.

“I-I’m sorry, y/n… I just can’t keep it in anymore. I’m in love with you, you’re all I think about and I’m tired of being just friends. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way, I completely understand. I’m really sorry if this ruins our friendship, I just can’t help it anymore-“

You cut off his blathering and cup his face in your hands gently.

“Oh, Ace…” You whisper and lean forward, tilting your head slightly. You lips were now mere millimeters apart and you could feel his irregular breathing on your face.

“Is this… really happening?” Ace breaths out as you close the remaining distance.

“Will you shut up for once?” Your mouth twitches into a soft smile before you finally press your lips on his.

Your hands remain on his face as he wraps his warm arms around your torso in a bear hug as he kisses you back deeply. You kiss for a few moments before you pull back and look up at him, freckled cheeks flushed pink wand eyes blown wide with both lust and disbelief.

“Come in with me?” You ask as you pull away from Ace to enter your personal cabin.

“Yes ma’am.” Ace raises his eyebrows and grins comically. You giggle. Barely before your cabin door shuts behind you, Ace’s body is on you again and attacking your mouth with his. His hands are exploring your curves experimentally, and at a quick pace as if he’d never get the chance to do so again.

You pull back breathlessly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ace.” You smile up at him. He grins back.

“You better not be! I’ve waited for this for too long…” Ace growls as he starts ripping your clothes off your body. After removing your shirt and bra, he pulls your tight jeans and panties down, helping you step out of them. He attaches his lips to yours again in a wet kiss before he lifts you up and tosses you back on your bed. Ace rakes his eyes up and down your naked form with a slack jaw as he fumbles to remove his shorts and boots.

“Enjoying the view, division commander?” You smirk and spread your legs for him.

“Oh sweetheart I’m going to be doing a lot more than just viewing.” Ace finally sheds himself of his briefs, his thick, erect cock bouncing teasingly in your direction. “Now let me have a taste.” Ace hops onto the bed in-between your legs and starts groping your plush thighs while giving them bites and kisses. You sigh out and keen into his warm touch on your sensitive skin.

After giving attention to your inner thighs, Ace finally reaches where you want his kisses the most. Ace hooks and arm around your thigh so he could bring his hand to your pussy and spreads it messily with two fingers.

“Look at that…” You cover your eyes with your arm, trying to hide from his scorching gaze somehow. “So pretty…” Ace coos at your dripping sex begging to him to touch. He immediately dives in and laps harshly at your clit.

“Oh fuck! Ace!” Your left hand moves instinctively to grip at his messy black hair. He continues licking and sucking at your most sensitive bit. Ace’s left hand moves up and grips your right, interlocking your fingers with his in an intimate gesture. Using your hand that was tangled in his hair, you guide his head in the exact movements you need to reach a climax and he happily accepts your instruction.

“Fuck, that’s so good, I’m gonna cum, shit-!” You cry out. Ace moans against your sex without stopping his expert tongue work. You tense and release, moaning wildly feeling the waves of your orgasm crests over your body.

You compose yourself and find Ace on his knees between your legs, positioning his now leaking cock up with your entrance.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Ace slides his thick tip through your wet folds waiting for your approval.

“Gods yes, Ace, please.”

Ace wastes no time and pushes his thick length all the way inside of you. The both of you gasp at the sensation. Ace is hovering over you, arms propping himself up over your panting face. His eyes are slammed shut, feigning giving you time to adjust to his size, but he was clearly trying to control his own pleasure, not wanting this to end too soon.

“Fuck me, Ace, please.” You buck your hips to encourage him to start to move inside of you. He obliges, pulling back and pushing into you again slowly. He captures your lips again in a messy kiss and slowly but deeply fucks you.

“Shit, y/n… it’s better than anything I’ve ever dreamed of… you’re perfect…” Ace starts to speed up his thrusts slightly, succumbing to the heavenly feeling of your warm cunt sucking him in over and over again. Maybe it was the alcohol or just pure lust, but you wanted him to give it to you hard and rough, much rougher than the gentle lovemaking he was giving you now.

“Harder, Ace, fuck me harder.” You plead from underneath him.

“Anything you want, baby, I’ll give it to you.” Ace obliges and roughly digs his fingers into your soft hips and drills into you at an intense pace. The sound of wet skin slapping and your collective moans filled the room, surely to be heard elsewhere on the ship.

“That’s so good Ace, shit, you’re so good for me.” You cry out and throw your head back. You feel Ace’s hips stutter and his cock twitch inside of you. You could have sworn your heard a whimper.

“I-… say it again… tell me again…please… ” Ace says barely above a whisper. You smirk, realizing what he was asking you to do.

“You feel so nice inside of me baby, you’re doing such a good job.” You reach your hand up and cup his sweaty face. “Keep fucking me just like that, you’re gonna make me cum again.” Ace fucks into you harder, determined to feel you release around him.

“Hahh.. please… wanna feel you cum…. wanna be good for you…” Ace huffs out, humping into you impossibly fast. You feel yourself tip over that delicious edge and you moan out your lovers name.

Your body was buzzing from your orgasm and you impulsively bring your hand that was on Ace’s face to gently circle his damp neck.

“Will you fill me up like a good boy, Ace?” You purr up at him.

“Mhmm yes, yes please y/n! Wanna be a good boy for you… gonna fill you up so good… FUCK!” Ace shouts as he shoots his load deep into your waiting walls. You whine as you feel rope after rope hit your insides, stroking Ace’s back as he collapsed on top of you.

“My sweet, good boy…” You twirl his hair around your finger as your lightly scratch his back.

“Nnnnhhn…” Ace whines into your shoulder. “Don’t do that, I’m gonna get hard again.” He complains, voice muffled by your skin.

You laugh.

“Alright alright, let’s get some rest.” You gently push your lover off you and turn over to curl up into his side. Ace nuzzles into your neck and promptly starts snoring.

— —

You awoke still wrapped in Ace’s warm embrace feeling a slight soreness between your thighs. You smile remembering the filthy things you and Ace did to each other last night, but curse yourself knowing that everyone really was right about the nature of your relationship after all. You feel the man behind you stir awake. You flip around and lay yourself against his chest.

“Hey.” You look up at him.

“Well hey yourself.” Ace smiles sleepily down at you. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on your lips. Your romantic moment is interrupted by a large grumble coming from Ace’s stomach.

“Ace!”

“What? I can’t help that! It’s been hours since I last ate! Let’s go get breakfast, I’m sure Thatch is up by now.” Ace quickly hops up from the bed and dresses himself. You put on some sweats and you both head out the door. You close and lock your door behind you.

“So do we like… hold hands now?” Ace asks.

“Sure… but if you try anything fresh like grabbing my ass in front of the guys, I absolutely will throw you overboard.” You retort. Ace smiles and grabs your hand. You both start walking towards the kitchen.

“Well I wasn’t going to… but now you’ve put the idea in my head…”

— —

xx Mo

#one piece smut #one piece #one piece fanart #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace smut #ace smut #one piece x reader #ace fluff #one piece fanfic #ace x y/n #law x reader

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knightsickness · 22 days

Text

lovee reading reviews for mediocre 70s slashers on letterboxd oldhead horror fans are my favourite group on the internet. a hidden gem from frensen’s splatter period, though far from his best work. some good scares after a slow first half, and a novel fusion of home invasion genre and nunsploitation. the only thing worth seeing really is the alligator sex scene, a gloriously lurid piece of gory kitsch, its only a shame you have to slog through fifty minutes of wooden acting to see it. four stars for introducing the lovely linda melburne, the greatest scream queen of the period (if not all time?). you go to linda melburne’s actress page to see she’s been in over 300 films you have heard of 2

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oracle-of-dream · 2 months

Text

Nothing But Bad News

Summary: In the bar you work at you live by three rules. 1 - Don't walk anywhere at night alone. 2 - Never tell a client too much. 3 - Never look for trouble.

Warnings: Drinking, Smoking, Gangster Leehan, Flirting from older men

Wordcount: 2.5k

Making ends meet has been hard. Balancing a medical social life, school, and a night job to pay bills. You barely have any time to yourself to rest and relax at all.

The alarm jolted you out of your nap. Your naps were scheduled between classes and shifts at work since you never had enough time for a full night of sleep. You rolled out of bed, knocking your textbooks onto the floor. Most of the pages were folded with sticky notes, notes you'd taken during classes or that your friends had helped give you when you slept in class. Scooping them up, you tucked the books into your backpack and set the bag by the door to take with you.

It was time for another shift at the bar, hopefully, there would be some of the heavy tippers coming by since it was a Friday night. Most of the heavier tippers were the ones who liked talking and asking questions. You hated telling those drunkards anything, but anything for a good tip at the end of the night. Sometimes you'd walk out with $300 if you were a "good boy". Luckily no one's taken the opportunity to try and press you for more service other than that few overly drunk new patrons, but management was pretty on top of security. They even let you study behind the bar when it wasn't too busy.

You slipped on a jacket and a dark-collared shirt. You learned your lesson about wearing light-colored shirts after someone threw up on you. Much easier to work in dark clothes.

The bus stop was a few minutes walk from your apartment. The weather was decently so you didn't rush to the stop as you soaked in the last drops of the sunset. You waited at the stop for about ten minutes before the bus arrived. Your usual spot at the back, by a window, was open and you took a seat. Headphones in, music on shuffle, and a short snooze on the bus.

Like clockwork, you woke up three stops before yours. There were mostly familiar faces on the bus, the same faces who ride often to go their several ways. As your stop rolled on, you stood from your seat and your feet hit the pavement in a fast walk. It was dark with the street lights few and far between. You learned fast that it was always better to mind your business and not look at anyone, especially if they were looking at you. Keep your head down.

You stopped at a street light, waiting for the signal, as another man stood oddly close to you. Maybe a pickpocket, but you knew that if you reached for your wallet, you'd just give your money away – as if you had any to really lose right now.

The man had long brown hair, a black leather jacket, and baggy jeans. Probably, 20 years old – maybe a little younger, but the shadows on his face made his facial structure stand out.

He glanced over at you, and you looked down at your phone.

It was a good idea to get this look in case you needed to identify him for robbing you, but getting caught doing that wouldn't be a good idea... The signal lit up and you crossed the street with other people waiting. The man's hand grazed yours, and you grabbed him and pushed his hand away from you.

"Sorry," You muttered, pretending you'd just bumped into him.

You looked slightly over your shoulder to see the man looking downcast at you among the crowd, not moving at all. He locked eyes with you, just for a moment, before you turned back around. It was time to leave.

Walking into the bar, soft jazz playing from the live band and men were already sitting and drinking at their tables. Most of them were older – 50's to 60's, and smoked fat cigars. Some played cards most talked and laughed with each other.

"Whoa! Here comes the hot stuff!" One man whistled as you walked in. A regular, Mr. Tony. He always told you to call him Tony, but policy says you have to call everyone Mr. or Ms. Your boss was an old-fashioned man, gender-neutral terms were a little over his head.

"It's good to see you, Mr. Tony. I hope you plan on paying for your own drinks tonight, I have too many angry gamblers in here when you start playing." You threw a smile in his direction which got a wink in return from Mr. Tony.

"Well, you can always sit with me and play a few hands! We all know you're better at this than us," He chuckled.

You stepped behind the bar and into the storage room. The lockers were old but useable – but wouldn't lock though. You put your backpack inside the locker, checking all your belongings before your shift. Inside the locker was a note.

Hey Champ,

The other tender called in sick today, I'll be on call but I'm a lil busy. If you need me, call me – But I know you can handle these lousy bastards. Keep them from makin' a mess.

- Boss

You rolled your eyes at the note. Of course, you'd have no extra help tonight. It was like that every Friday night... So there wouldn't be any extra study time for you...

Stretching yourself in preparation for a long shift, you cracked your neck and knuckles, let out a long sigh, and then walked back to the front of the house.

"Okay, fellas, the bar's open. Who's first?" You asked.

One after another, all the men would take their time coming up to the bar to make requests. Some wanted singles, others wanted shots for the tables. You'd been working there long enough to earn some respect amongst the clients, so they were more than willing to be polite, especially with the muscular bouncers watching from the side exit door. She never spoke, Boss called her, Silent but Deadly, and the name stuck. SBD for short.

Everything was going about as well as you expected. It was a semi-busy night; a few spilled drinks, some first-timers complained, and some occasionally flirted shooting their shot with you.

At about 12 AM, two hours before closing, there was a sudden change in the atmosphere. The main door opened and everyone got quieter, the room got colder, and expressions hardened. You knew what that meant – someone from the mob had walked in. Great.

You didn't look over, just shouted from the bar, "Welcome in, take a seat. If you wanna order, you have to come up here." Pretending to clean a cup, you did everything in your power not to look in their direction. But, as luck would have it, the figure sat right at the bar. The other patrons at the bar moved and found a table somewhere else, leaving you alone with this person.

You bit your lip and swallowed your anxiety. It's just another customer. "How can I help you?" You looked up to see the face of the man from the street.

He smirked at seeing you, letting his head lean back slightly so he could look down at you, his nose, a straight slope, pointed up slightly.

"We meet again," He chuckled. His voice was deep and he spoke softly.

You cocked your head to the side, "Sorry, I don't know you. And no we haven't met in a past life."

"You've heard that one before?"

You shrugged, "a few dozen times tonight."

He put his elbows on the bar, "What's a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this? Community service in an old folks home?"

The draggers in the back he was getting from the onlookers were almost visible. Everyone clearly didn't like him, but that wasn't enough to call for security to kick him out. Boss had always been clear that there needed to be a good reason for kicking someone out. Otherwise, it could bite us in the ass.

"Can I get you something?" You slip a glass into your hand.

He took a second to think, "Sure. Got any lemonade?"

You filled the glass with lemonade, tossed some ice, and slid it to him. "Call if you need anything else, I got more guests," You started to walk away but he whistled at you. Normally, you wouldn't respond to a whistle but on instinct, you turned on your heels. "Yes, sir?"

"Don't I get one of those little umbrellas? With the flowers?"

You clapped your hands in front of you, "No, sir. I'm sorry, we don't do that here."

"Eh, that's a shame," He slumped.

You tried to turn around again.

"What's your name?" He asked.

Oh, this was going to be a long night. "My name is Y/n," You replied.

"I'm Leehan."

"Interesting name."

"Not my real one. Not that it matters to you."

"Can I go, or do you need something?"

"What's the rush? Can't you talk to me for a little, just us?" Leehan snuck an eyebrow raise at the end of his sentence.

"I'm sorry. I'm not an escort, and I'm working. If there's anything you wanna say – you'll have to say it in front of everyone."

"What about when you're not working–"

You leaned closer to him on the bar, "Look, Mr. Leehan. I'm trying to be nice and chat, but I gotta work. Otherwise, I'll lose this job. So if you don't mind, I'll be stepping over there. And you shouldn't ask a bartender a question like that."

You knew you'd get chewed out for that later, but he was really starting to push your buttons.

Leehan smiled at you, "You're kinda cute when upset. Sorry for holding you up, go ahead and work."

The other patrons were watching the bar like hawks. While they were all old-timers, they seemed to like you and were more than a little protective of you. When you got to Mr. Tony's table, he waved you closer to him.

"Do you need this guy outta here?" He asked.

You shook your head, "That's alright, Mr. Tony."

He sucked his teeth at you, "You know how I feel about you calling me, Mr."

"And you know how Boss feels about me dropping the formalities," You scooped up the empty glasses and placed them on a tray.

Tony scratched his beard, "Keep an eye on this guy. He's off."

"I keep my eye on all of you."

"I'm serious – that boy seems like bad news."

You nodded, "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Tony."

You finished your rounds and walked back to the bar. Leehan's lemonade was still the same as you'd left it. He'd not even taken a sip of it. You pointed at the drink, "Not want you wanted?"

Leehan shook his finger, "I wanted to drink it while talking to you. So I don't mind waiting."

You put the tray down and started to rinse the cups, placing each in their slot under the bar. "So, what do you want to talk about, Mr. Leehan."

"I like, Mr. Leehan. It's so cute," He leaned back in his seat.

"It's what I'm supposed to call you."

"Say it, again?"

You sighed, "Mr. Leehan."

"But with feeling, like you don't hate saying it."

You bit your tongue so you didn't curse at him. You took a deep breath and smiled brightly, "Mr. Leehan, are you enjoying talking to me?"

He nodded, "Yes. You're divine."

Maybe he's a good tipper. "Well, I'm glad you think so. You're not so bad."

That really made Leehan giggle.

The two of you talked for the rest of your shift. He inquired about school and work. You gave the least amount of information possible. Each time you tried to ask about him, he'd turn it around and ask you more questions. These types of people were always tricky...

By the end of the shift, you'd closed out everyone's tabs. Clients went on their way, saying goodbye to you. Mr. Tony stayed the longest before it was time for even him to go.

"Be careful out there, hot stuff," He warned.

"I always am, Mr. Tony," You replied.

He glared at Leehan as he left out the door. Meanwhile, Leehan hadn't taken his eyes off you, sipping at his drink occasionally until he finished it.

"Well, Mr. Leehan, thank you so much for such a lovely night. I hope we can see each other again," You take his cup from him, trying to hurry him out.

"Do you need a ride home? It's dark out," He asked.

"No, that's alright. I've got a ride."

You always took the bus to and from work, but none of your clients knew that. You'd always mention someone coming to get you at the end of the night so they'd leave you alone, but no one had ever offered you a ride before... Leehan left with a smile and a wave as SBD locked the door behind him. You look at Leehan's seat, to find a wallet in his chair. He'd left it behind!

"Hey, a customer left his wallet, I'll be right back," You told SBD as you unlocked the door.

Outside, it was darker than usual. The lights from the bar were always unreliable, so you had to use your phone's flashlight. You spotted Leehan leaning against a motorcycle, putting on gloves.

"Mr. Leehan! You left your wallet inside," You walked over and handed it to him.

He took it with a smile, "Sweet and nice. Should I be counting the dollars in here?"

"I didn't take anything–"

"I was kidding," Leehan opened his wallet to show a wad of cash. He took out a handful of bills and handed it to you, "I forgot to tip you."

It was at least $400! You wanted the money badly, but your heart... couldn't accept it. "I'm sorry, this is way too much for just one lemonade."

"Consider it a thank you then. For keeping me company, talking to me, and returning my wallet."

"I–"

Leehan shoved the cash into your hand, "I mean it. Plus, there's way more coming your way. If you're interested."

The thought of more money piqued your interest. This tip alone was enough to cover half your rent. "What exactly do you need?"

"I need someone I can talk to every once in a while. I want to hire you to be that person."

"Just talk?"

Leehan shrugged, "We can add on to that if needed. Of course, more payment would be required from me for anything extra."

You considered it while holding the cash in your hand, "Sure... If it's just talking."

"Excellent," He extended his hand to you.

You took it and shook it.

"You'll start immediately."

"Huh–" There was a sudden pain in the back of your head and then darkness... The last thing you could see was Leehan looking over you with a sweet smile.

#oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader #boynextdoor leehan #leehan #kpop boynextdoor #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor #leehan boynextdoor

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red-might-be-dead · 24 days

Text

hello hi here to force strange thoughts into your brain once again, this time about jrwi (wow who could’ve guessed)

been thinking about this for a little but it’s basically what i think some campaigns would be if not podcasts, i haven’t listened to some of the older ones so i’m sorry they’re not on here :(( if you have any ideas feel free to add them btw :DD

RIPTIDE!!!!! - really long animated series

not an anime though, no matter how much grizzly wants it, it would be an animation style where the characters could have very clearly different nose, face and body shapes, really pushing my riptide nose agenda here sorry, each episode would be like 20-40 minutes long and instead of coming out in seasons there would be massive gaps in between episodes, from 2-6 months long, to leave time for writers and animators to get stuff done (massive team of animators btw, i feel like it would be pretty successful)

PRIME DEFENDERS!! - comics

literally nothing else they could be, just really well made, well performing comics (i’ve already talked about this before you can stalk my talk tag if you really want to find it lmao), the comic company making them would be keeping well away from movies n shit btw

APOTHEOSIS!!! - i wasn’t really sure about this one to be honest

i had to ask my friend and she said anime which i don’t agree with but i can see it, i think maybe a short book series where each book is 150 - 300 pages and is about a different god they have to kill/a different episode, i think that works but if anyone has any better ideas please tell me :D!!

BLOOD IN THE BAYOU!!! - i hate to say it, i really do…

bitb would be a really long really good 80s horror book with strong homoerotic undertones, a satisfied fanbase and lots of active members in the community making fan comics, films, writing, theories and art ect… until well after the book came out……….. and then it would be made into the most egregious and awful live action movie you have ever seen, the most awful casting (like chris pratt as officer dudes….. throws up) and even worse sfx, oh yeah and the characters would be ruined and the story would become so butchered it wouldn’t make sense, they would do some shit like cut out becky so kian just kisses some random lady (removing both a really good and well written character and a layer of kian’s character that i think is super important) and make rolan really be an evil bug spy the whole time so rand has to kill him to save the town also add in a whole new sub plot that never existed like the rand family is secretly a long line of bug alien hunters or something fucking stupid like that and the entire fanbase would murder whoever thought re-writing the story was a good idea (ahaha can you tell ive been through something like this before ahahaha, character morals and motives being removed and whatnot ahahahhahahaha.)

anyways………

THE SUCKENING!!! - live action series

it would be well made though, unlike the bitb movie it would be its own original thing, have great makeup and effects also be well casted and well shot, well written, ect ect, it would bloody and gory and not suitable for people who can’t handle showing bones and organs all over everywhere, lots of shitty rip off merch would be made though and the fandom would be 99% gay little freaks (normal suckening enjoyers) and 1% homophobic straight white men who get mad whenever they see soda and emizel having gay sex on screen or whatever fag shit that biting thing was

again feel free to add your thoughts and ideas and shit in the reblogs it would be nice to read them :DD!!

#red rambles relentlessly #jrwi show #jrwi pd #the suckening #jrwi riptide #jrwi apotheosis #jrwi bitb #jrwi spoilers #jrwi the suckening #jrwi prime defenders #bitb spoilers #suckening spoilers #i think i wrote some shit that could be considered spoilers in those two sections #definitely the bitb one #which i definitely didn’t base around a certain netflix adaptation of one of my old favourite books cough cough #I HATE THAT FILM SO MUCH WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO SOPHIES CHARACTER SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A BITCH STOP TRYING TO MAKE HER NICE #anyways like maybe one person who sees this post will know what that’s referencing #and i will admit the books weren’t perfect but at least the characterisation made sense

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pathetichimbos · 1 year

Note

hiiiii

was wondering if you’d like 2 do a quick “where is she” type hurt&comfort prompt with thomas and/or bo!! maybe some victim vs slasher action thatd be funn

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hurt / Comfort / Reader is kidnapped under false pretenses of being 'saved' / Their slasher bf does Not Like That / Canon Typical Violence

…

Hi! Thank you for sending in this ask and I hope you're doing very well.

This... Did not turn out to be a quick drabble, haha. I, as usual, got carried away. When I checked the page count I was at 12 pages and had only written Thomas' part, so there's that. I don't want to overload in one post, or keep you waiting any longer, and I'm currently struggling to write Bo's part at the moment, so I'm going to post Tommy's part for now and update this later with Bo. I welcome any pointers for his character, by the way, I've never written for him lol. Anyways... I hope y'all enjoy!

Quick side note: I just recently reached 300 followers!! Yay!! I'm so excited and happy that you guys enjoy my work <3 I'm going to try and start writing more often so please, send in all your requests! Thank y'all for taking the time to read my stories and follow me, it means the world to me.

Thomas Hewitt:

The Texas air was hot and heavy, as it was in most August days, weighing everything from the birds to the pigs down, not much of anything caring to move about in this heat. Even Hoyt elected to take the day off, currently lounging about on the front porch, beer in hand. Though that wasn't too unusual, at least now he had somewhat of an excuse.

Luda Mae was in town, running the store, today being one of those rare days where she took Monty with her so he could “get his stinkin' ass out of the house”, as she had so graciously put it.

Not even Thomas had a lot to do today, so the two of you were taking advantage of that, currently set up on the living room couch.

You were sitting on the back of the couch, with Thomas situated between your legs, mask off and hair down so you could properly comb through it.

It was late morning by this point, so the strongest wave of heat hadn't come through yet, and you had all the windows open to try and keep the air flowing through the house before it did.

The radio played an old song from its corner, echoing a woman's voice throughout the living room. You hummed along, gently separating another section of hair and spraying a light mist of water over it with a spray bottle so you could carefully brush it without hurting your husband.

Thomas currently had his head leaning against your thigh, partly to give your more access to that side of his head, and partly because he was dozing off from the mix of humming and having you gently work through the knots in his dark curly hair.

You finished brushing out that section, running your fingers from his roots to the tips a couple of time to be sure, before pulling it to the side to place in a loose ponytail with the rest of his untangled hair.

You could start feel the soft, deep rumble as Thomas began to snore, and let out a soft laugh.

He had a habit of falling asleep every-time you brushed his hair, enjoying the close contact and the chance to take his mask off and let his skin breathe.

You let out a soft hum and bent down to place a kiss on his head, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone as you did.

You pulled back and continued to work, putting in even more effort to be gentle and soft as to not wake him. You carefully moved his head to your other thigh and began to brush the other side of his head, the brush easily combing through the knots, a stark contrast from when you initially started brushing his hair for him a few months ago.

After another fifteen minutes or so, you were finished, and pulled his hair together to give it a final brush through before setting the water bottle and brush to the side, sitting up straight to stretch your back and arms.

Thomas was still gently snoring, face pressed against your inner thigh as he continued his midday nap. You didn't really have the heart to wake him, but your ass was starting to fall asleep and hurt from sitting on the hard surface of the back of the couch, and it was getting close to time to start on lunch.

You let your hands run down his hair and to his shoulders, giving them a gentle but firm rub as you planted a kiss on his temple, speaking softly, “Tommy, baby, wake up. I'm all done.”

Despite what most people would assume, Thomas wasn't too much of a heavy sleeper, especially when he was on the couch, and that little bit was just enough to stir him awake.

He sucked in a shallow breath and let out a yawn, stretching his arms under your legs before hooking them over your thighs, letting his head fall back to look up at you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning.” You joked with a smile of your own.

He hummed a bit and leaned over, pressing a kiss to your thigh.

“I've gotta start on lunch soon.”

He shut his eyes and let out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Mhm.” You hummed back, running a hand through his hair again, “And then I've gotta--”

You were cut short by the rigid sound of the telephone ringing from the table behind you.

You sighed and reached around, pulling the base up and into to your lap.

“Hello?” You answered, holding the receiver with your shoulder while you idly played with Thomas' hair.

“Y/N? Could you put Hoyt on?” Luda Mae responded, skipping a greeting as she always did. After all, she's calling her own house, why should she have to say hello?

“'Course, Mama, lemme call for him.” You agreed, covering the receiver with your hand before yelling, “Hoyt, it's for you!”

No response.

“Hoyt?”

Nothing.

“Hoyt!”

Typical.

You reached down and tapped Thomas' shoulder, catching his attention, “Tommy will you go grab Hoyt? I think he's passed out in the rocker out front.”

He let out a disgruntled sigh but stood up, reluctantly sulking out the front door.

“Thomas is goin' to get him now, Mama, I think he fell asleep on the porch again.” You explained into the phone.

“Alright.” She sighed, “Just tell him to hurry up.”

After a few moments you could hear Hoyt yell from the front porch, followed by him stumbling in, still half asleep, with Thomas in tow.

“Phone.” You set the base back down and held out the phone for him to take.

“Who is it?” He slurred out, yet still grabbed the phone.

“It's Mama.”

“What the hell does she want?” He grumbled, before repeating the question to her, “What the hell do you want?”

You silently ushered Thomas over and grabbed his mask before standing straight on the couch to help him put it back on. It wasn't your favorite thing, having your husband hide half of his face, but Hoyt was awfully mean when he was drunk and it made Tommy feel more secure.

“Uh-huh. Alright. Yea. Yea. I'll be there in 'bout half an hour.” You could hear Hoyt finish mumbling and hang up the phone behind you before much too loudly announcing, “Thomas, get ready, we got supper comin' in down at the store!”

Thomas and you both let out a sigh. Well, looks like your day off was cut short.

There was a routine in place for days like these and falling into it was rather easy. You were placed on Hoyt duty, meaning you had to get his sheriff uniform ready to go and Hoyt sobered up enough to drive, and Thomas had to prepare the basement for the arrival of new guests, to put it delicately.

The two of you set to work, Thomas planting a quick kiss to your lips before tucking himself away in the basement, and you sat Hoyt down with a plate of carbs and a large glass of water to try and sober him while you tracked down everything he needed.

By the time you finished finding all of the things he carelessly threw around from the day before, he had sobered up enough that you deemed him safe enough to leave the house.

You assumed you had quite sometime before Hoyt would make it back, so you decided you'd take the time to get a few chores done beforehand, even though you knew it would upset Thomas if he found out.

It was his request that you stay in your shared room when Hoyt brought any new victims home, always worried that something would happen.

Normally, you listened to him, but the longer you waited the more chores would pile up. Besides, it would just take a few minutes.

You started with the dishes from breakfast, what with it being a lazy day and all, you figured you could do them at lunch instead. You had a couple of other things to clean up in the kitchen and finished it off with gathering the trash to take it out on your way to feed some leftover slop to the pigs.

Only an hour and a half. You smiled to yourself as you checked the wall clock, happy that you finished the chores so fast.

You dropped off the bag in the can by the back door and dumped the leftovers into the slop bucket that you kept beside it and made the short walk to the small barn out back where the pigs stayed, passing the chicken coop on the way.

The small pink pigs squealed with delight when they saw you approach, having gotten used to either you or Thomas being the ones to bring them food.

They gathered around the long feed trout that was set up in their pen, happily squealing in anticipation as you dropped the spoiled leftovers into their pen, each of them happily chowing down on the food. You kneeled down and patted one of their backs, one of the females, if her large, very obvious pregnant belly gave any clue. Tommy had noticed a while back that she was pregnant, and you gave extra care in keeping an eye on her.

You cooed after her, ushering her to eat all she could for her and her little babies, gently rubbing her back as she ate.

You sat up after a moment, stretching your back again before standing up and grabbing the slop bucket to carry back to the house.

You cringed when you picked it up, however, this time catching a whiff of the moldy food that caked the sides. Apparently it had been a while since the bucket was washed out.

You carried it out of the barn and to the side where one of the outside hoses sat, turning on the creaky faucet to wash out the bucket.

It was a messy job, and by the end of it, the dirt you once stood on was now mud and your shirt was soaked with a large splash of water. At least it helped cool you down a bit, being out in the heat like this was exhausting and you were already sweating.

You turned the faucet off and shook the bucket out a bit more before the sound of running footsteps caught your attention.

You turned back to the house, only to see a young man you didn't know running straight for you.

You jumped at the sight, taking a step back out of surprise and fear. However, when you did, your shoe hit the mud and you slipped, landing clear on your back and knocking the breath out of you.

You tried to take in a sharp gasp of air, only to be met with pain coursing from your spine to your chest, making it tighten.

You sat up, grasping at your chest and trying to breathe, tears streaming down your face, all while the man finally reached you.

“Hey, hey--!” He called out in a loud whisper, shaking as fear lined his voice and filled his wide eyes.

You shook your head no, pushing yourself back and away from him.

“No, no, it's okay, it's okay,” He raised his hands as he kneeled down, “I-I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help.”

You continued shaking your head and pushing away, desperately trying to breathe so you could scream for Thomas.

He ignored your obvious attempts to get away from him, and grabbed your arm, pulling you up and towards the back of the barn. You finally managed to pull in your first breath, coughing as he continued yanking on your wrist, practically dragging you across the dirt and grass.

There was a second door in the back and he found it easily, pushing you into the barn and towards the ladder to the loft where the hay was kept.

The pigs squealed in surprise, running around in their pen in distress as you tried to fight against the stranger.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” You pushed and pulled against his grip as he tried to shove you up the ladder.

“No, it's okay, I-I'm not one of them, I'm not gonna hurt you--” He ignored your pleas as he spoke over you, “I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help--”

You could feel the old creaky wood bend and groan against your back as he shoved you into the ladder repeatedly, trying to force you up there.

Sharp pain shot through your elbow as it slammed into the wall, finally managing to get your wrist out of his grip.

You ignored the pulsing and shoved him back, freezing when Hoyt's revolver fell from the man's pants.

You thought about diving for it, but he was faster, his hands in the air as he knelt down to pick it up.

“No, don't, don't worry, I- I'm not going to hurt you, I got this, before I ran--” He grabbed the gun and shoved it back into his jeans, “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

How stupid could this man be? Did he still not get it yet?

You were shaking, your racing heart almost loud enough to cover up the sounds of the pigs fearful squeals and Thomas' chainsaw echoing back from the front yard.

There was no way he'd hear you, not all the way back here, and definitely not in time.

You took a shaky breath and silently cursed yourself for reloading that same pistol before sending Hoyt off just earlier today.

Your mind started racing as you tried to think of a plan, your hands grasping at the air, looking him up and down.

He was on the younger side, early twenties at most, splashes of blood covering his open red button up and gray t-shirt. He was blond, making his light five o'clock shadow almost hard to see against his tan skin. His brown eyes were puffy and red, practically shaking with fear, his chest heaving and fists curled at his side.

“We, we've got to hide--” He took two bold steps towards you, “Before they come looking for us.”

You pressed yourself harder against the ladder as he did, taking in a shaky breath and nodding. He didn't know who you were, and you needed to keep it that way until you could escape.

You turned around to face the ladder, the old wood creaking under your weight as you climbed up, pushing the thick wooden door open with a thud before climbing in.

The scratchy hay dug into your knees and hands as you crawled further into the loft, giving the man room to climb in right behind you.

He immediately shut the small door and looked around, “We should put something heavy on the door.”

“B-But what if we need to get out quickly?” You countered, not wanting to make it harder to get out.

“It'll make it harder for them to get in.” He ignored your input and walked over to the nearest bale of hay, “We need to keep them out.”

You watched helplessly as he struggled to drag the heavy bale across the dusty wooden loft, finally falling down with a thud after he managed to cover the door.

“We can wait here until we get a chance to escape.” He crawled his way over to sit beside you, still shaking but seemingly calmer than before.

He swallowed and took in heavy breaths, trying to process the last few hours in his mind as you silently begged whatever god that was willing would help you get out of this alive.

You could've practically jump for joy when the familiar sound of a idling chainsaw and heavy footsteps against the barn floor became apparent against the calming squeals of the pigs down below.

You could almost feel the man tense beside you as he started shaking his head, quietly pushing himself away from the bale of hay that covered the loft door.

“No, no, no, no...” He mumbled to himself quietly, covering his own mouth as he pressed himself into the old wall of the barn.

You looked to the floor, Tommy's footsteps slowly circling around the barn, and felt a firm grip on your arm as the man quietly pulled you back with him.

“Shhhh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and pulled out the revolver, looking back to the bale.

It was your turn to shake your head, lifting your hands as you spoke, “No, no, it's okay, don't--”

He slapped his hand over your mouth as the footsteps stopped.

Thomas looked up, to the loft.

He could've sworn he heard a woman's voice, even over the anxious pig's squeals.

He gripped the chainsaw tighter, confusion overcoming him.

The victim Hoyt sent him after was a man, so, did that mean there were two of them? Had Hoyt somehow overlooked an extra person? It wasn't completely uncommon for him to make such a mistake.

He stayed silent, listening. There were no more sounds now.

He took a step towards the ladder, noticing the mud marks leading in from the open back door, even against the ladder.

The chainsaw weighed heavy in his hands, send vibrations through his fingers as he readjusted it to hold it in one hand.

He grabbed the ladder with his now free hand, the ladder creaking loudly under his weight as he took a couple of steps up, positioning the chainsaw to press against the door.

It didn't budge, so he squeezed the trigger, the chainsaw revving up and cutting through the old wood with ease.

He pressed further, the spinning chain suddenly flinging wood chips and hay back at his face with enough force to actually leave some small scratches on his exposed cheekbones.

He ignored it and moved the chainsaw in different directions, cutting at the hay bale that was apparently left on top to deter him.

Within a few seconds he was able to use the base of the chainsaw to get enough leverage to sling what was left of the door open, the remaining hay flinging to the side with ease.

He pushed himself up, grabbing a hold of the side of the loft's floor to help him balance as he pulled himself up with enough force so he wouldn't get caught off-guard by the two victims undoubtedly waiting for him.

His chainsaw slammed on the loft floor, still rumbling in idle as he stepped into the loft, deep brown eyes darting to the man sitting across from him, to the gun pointed directly at him.

He ignored the threat as he stood up straight, chainsaw tight in his grip.

“Don't come any closer!” His voice was unsteady, his hands shaking.

He took a step.

“S-Stop!” He stuttered over himself, thumb slipping more than once as he pulled the hammer down.

Thomas listened this time, staring the man down.

“Drop the chainsaw.” The man ordered, “Now!” His voice cracked.

Thomas did as he was told, the chainsaw hitting the floor with a loud thud.

“O-Okay, now grab it!” Thomas could hear the floorboards creak as the second victim walked up behind him.

His hand flexed as the footsteps stopped.

He could use her, as leverage, even a shield. All she had to do was reach for it. The moment she did he could grab her.

His eyes darted right and he saw dirty, shaky hands grab the handle.

His hand shot out, catching her with force as he turned.

You screamed, out of surprise and pain as Thomas gripped your wrist with enough force to bruise it.

Confused eyes met yours as he stared, his strong hold loosening out of reflex.

“Let her go!” The man yelled from beside you two, still pointing the gun at your husband.

He did.

He pulled back, fear and hurt in his eyes as he tried to figure out why you were here.

You hated yourself as you picked the chainsaw up, heavy in your grip as you dragged it away from him.

You walked closer to the man, the chainsaw sending vibrations through your hands and to your arms, turning them to jelly. You were unfamiliar with handling the large tool, only ever using it once before when Thomas had taught you how.

The man hurried to stand, still pointing the gun at Thomas.

“H-Here.” You offered, pushing it out to him, “I don't even know how to use this thing, I'll end up hurting myself.”

The man nodded, falling for your lie, “Okay, then you take this,” He shoved the gun towards you, “I can handle that thing.”

You switched weapons, Hoyt's gun feeling much easier to handle in your hands.

It wasn't light, the weapon weighing heavy in your hands as you slammed the butt of it against the man's head, a few drops of blood splattering against your hands and face as he hit the floor.

You turned to Tommy, letting the gun hit the floor as you let out a heavy, shaking sigh.

“Thomas--” You stepped over the man's unconscious body, arms wide as you threw yourself at your husband.

He met you halfway and slung his thick arms around you, clinging to you as he crushed you against his body.

You choked on a sob as you buried your face in his neck, hot tears streaming down your face out of relief.

He pushed his masked cheek against your head, pressing a kiss to your mud caked hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to steady his breath.

He had been ridiculed, relentlessly beaten by bullies, threatened by coworkers, attacked by victims and almost killed dozens of times, but nothing compared to the fear he had when he saw you in that loft.

He couldn't understand why you were there. Had you randomly changed your mind and decided to leave him? After so long? Were you taken against your will, threatened and forced to do these things? Were you hurt, scared, afraid for your life while he was off doing what Hoyt told him to? What would've happened if he hadn't shown up? Did he scare you, or hurt you?

You pulled back just enough to place your hands on his cheeks, Thomas holding you up as you pulled him into a kiss.

You opened your mouth and he deepened the kiss, your hands snaking around his neck and trying to pull him even closer while teeth clashed and tongues fought to explore each other's mouths like teenagers sharing their first kiss.

You sighed through your nose, pressing your forehead to his as you pulled back to look at him.

“I'm so sorry.” You whispered, “I didn't think he'd be back so soon, I- I thought I had more time...”

His brown eyes were filled with fear and relief, feeling like he had almost lost you.

You cupped his masked cheek, letting your eyes flutter shut as you finally felt safe again.

It was a long time before Thomas let you out of his sight after that. He was glued to your side, overprotective and worried for months to come.

You often caught him staring at your deeply bruised wrist while it healed, angry and ashamed that he hurt you.

You constantly reassured him that you weren't angry at him, or scared that he'd do it again. He treated you like glass long after it healed, gentle and afraid, like you'd break into a million pieces if he didn't take extra care in his touches.

Needless to say, it took months before life went back to normal for you two, but after that, anytime any victims were expected, the first thing he did was safely tuck you away in your shared room before anything else.

#slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o #Jamie Writes

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idesofrevolution · 1 year

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Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

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legendofmorons · 5 months

Text

Smudged pages (Wild)

This is the 1st place prize from my 300 follower event. @daeyumi requested this one, and it took longer than I'd like, but I'm pleased with how it's turned out.

Pairing: Wild x reader

Rating: G

Summary: Wild loves when you draw- so he decides to leave you a little gift in your sketch book.

Warnings: None

Other: Wild is so sappy, y'all- if I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You are an artist - you carry a sketchbook around everywhere. It may be in your bag sometimes, but still.

You find it helps to be able to create art while struggling to stay above the water that is this hylia damned quest.

Between creating art and the lover you've found- you're handling things better than you thought you would be.

Wild has seen you draw before - you like to draw by the fire at night. You've even shown him things on occasion. The odd bird sketch or colored plant life. Or even just half finished lines that didn't quite work out.

He likes to sit beside you while you create - it always calms him a little.

The way your hands are often covered in smudged art supplies is more than endearing. He likes that there's proof of a hobby you enjoy so much. Wild likes to take your hands and trace them while he counts the smudges of charcoal or pencil or paint or whatever you've used this time.

If he has a few pictures of you with art supplies smudged on your forehead - well, that's really not really anyone's buissness. (He will, of course, delete them and stop taking pictures if you ask, he dosen’t want to make you uncomfortable.)

He definitely smiles when he sees that sight, though. Wild has always loved when you allow yourself to just exist.

He's continually amazed by your skill. He looks forward to when you share your art with him. It always takes his breath away.

(You take his breath away.)

So far, his favorite piece you've done was of Epona, with flowers in her mane and a water colore-esque background. It's beautiful, and when you'd shown it to him and Twilight, they had both loved it.

Wild has a picture of that one on his slate, saved to a special folder for your creations.

Other works of yours he has saved in that folder include a sketch of him cooking with fireflies around him, a river landscape, and a sketch of all of the boys and you. There are more, of course, but those are the ones he treasures the most.

Tonight finding you is pretty easy. You're all staying at an inn.

The others split into groups. Though they are all settled across the backyard of said inn, chatting happily amongst themselves.

He spots you talking to Time and Legend by the stairs.

Before he can walk over, he hears his name and stops.

"Hey, Wild?" Twilight asks as he walks over.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any more mushroom skewers? A kid was asking about them."

Wild snorts, resigning himself to helping Twilight entertain the kids.

He'll catch up with you later. You have all night.

This gives him more time to figure out what he can give you as a gift. He doesn't have a particular reason, but he wants to anyway.

He can always ask Sky and Time for advice - as long as he doesn't ask Wind.

The sailor is smart and kind - but the last time Wind gave relationship advice, it was clear that he was still a little young. (It wasn't bad advice perse but none of the others thought that 'shmoopie' was what they wanted to call a partner.)

Wild sets himself to the task of finding the mushroom skewers within his slate, careful to pick the ones that won't give a side effect if eaten.

-------

It's not until after the inn has provided dinner that Wild realizes he hasn't seen you in a while.

In fact, Wild hasn't seen you since you arrived at the inn, and neither have Hyrule or Sky when he asks them.

It's not exactly worrying, but he does find himself a little anxious. He knows this isn't your hyrule, and he's always worried you'll get left behind - which he knows is silly.

And he definitely trusts you- but anxiety has never cared about logic.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that not only are you more than capable of taking care of yourself - this seems to be a fairly peaceful time.

He relaxes a little, the reminder doing him a little good.

After looking around a little more, Wild finds you sitting on your own with your sketch pad.

You look fairly at peace, sitting on a large rock by the inn. The lowering sun shines across you in a flattering way.

Wild smiles softly when he sees you. He's very happy to see that you look so content. He has to resist the urge to snap a picture. (A habit he's picked up after losing his memories. He wants to have pictures of everything he cares about, so if he forgets, he dosen’t lose it all.)

Wild walks over to you and sits down beside you. He's just glad to be around his beloved partner.

"Hey Wild." You greet, looking up from your work with a smile.

"Hey, (Y/n)."

"It's a nice evening. It makes me jealous of your all's times." You say with a wry laugh.

"It's still odd to think you can't see the stars back home."

"Mh- I guess. It's always been that way, though." The shrug you give is nonchalant.

Wild gives you a surprised look, brows raising as he tries to imagine such a thing.

He can't. Your world sounds foreign and impossible to him. And yet- you exist as the pinnacle of your home.

He supposes he's glad that ypur home existed - as odd as ot seems to him because you would've exist without it.

Wild looks back to the sky - back to the stars.

"That sounds absurd." He says with a snort.

"It feels like that these days."

"Huh."

You look back to whatever you were working on and put a few more artistic strokes down.

"Do you think I'll ever learn all the strange constellations you have?"

Wild looks to you after you ask that, something warm swelling in his chest. "I can teach you."

"I'd like that."

The delighted look that crosses his face is definitely something to remember. It's amazing how easily he goes all smitten and fond around you.

-------

It's not until later that evening that Wild sees your unattended sketch book. And he has - an idea. One that he hopes will make you smile.

What if he puts something in your sketch book for you?

A doodle?

A note?

A portrait of how he sees you?

All three?

Maybe just the portrait and the note. Maybe if you see yourself through his eyes, you'll see why he's so fond of you.

Wild knows that you get self-conscious sometimes. He'd like to help.

His decision is made.

He thinks this is exactly the kind of give to leave you. Non pressuring and personal.

Wild picks up your art book and begins his work.

He takes a moment to try to picture what he wants to draw.

What angles? Should he include a background? Should it be flat or shoukd he add depths and shadows?

Once he knows what he wants to draw, he sets to work.

First, he starts with a light pencil sketch of you. First your head, then your neck and shoulders, then your features. He pays special attention to the skine in your eyes.

It takes him a while, but eventually, he finishes his work, erasing the guidelines and putting in shadows and highlights.

He writes his note, and then he closes the sketchbook.

He will wait until you find it.

He silently hopes he can see your face when you do, though. He also hopes that it makes you smile. He does love your smile.

-------

You are taking a break by a creek, a little ways from the others when you find the two pages Wild left something for you.

The first is a picture of you - all done in pencil, and yet there's no lack of detail.

You can tell that every line, smudge, and stray erased part is full of love and until fondness.

You are posed in a three-quarters view, laughing as your eyes look straight to the viewer of the art.

The background is filled with your favorite flowers, all carefully done.

It's like looking at yourself through a softened lense. Your eyes seem brighter, and your laugh is more genuine.

It's unbearably soft.

The shadows are carefully done, and

You know, without asking or even looking at the note that this is Wild's work.

You wish you weren't so touched by how he's chosen to portray you. Not because it dosen’t matter but so you could better find words to express the feeling.

Then you look to the note.

'(Y/n),

I don't think I've told you how much I love your art. Not enough, at least.

I'm not sure that I can ever tell you how much both you and your art mean to me. I don't know how you feel about it, but I've always seen your art as an extension of you.

You made it after all.

Your art is so amazing. I'm always excited when you let me see what you've made.

I hope you can see yourself through my eyes now. And I hope this isn't rude to do- but I wanted to do this.

I wanted you to know how much you matter to me. I'm so thankful to have you in my life.

I wish we could have met a more natural way- but I'd fight the shadow the rest of my life if it meant I get to have you in said life.

I will treasure every single picture of you I have. You're so stunning - it takes my breath away every time I see you smile.

I appreciate that you go out of your way to make things easier for all of us.

I appreciate it when you stay up on watch with me even though you don't have to.

I hope you know how much it means to me that you treat me like a person outside of being a hero. Thank you.

I am going to keep trying every day to make sure you know how wonderful you are.

And I hope you know that I love you for you, not for what you do.

I love your sense of humor, your smile, and the way you interact with others.

You're my safe place - if that makes sense? I hope it does.

Anyway, I know this is probably silly, but I thought it might make you smile.

Love, Wild.'

Oh- that's really sweet! You need to find him and thank him and maybe kiss him just a little. (Maybe more.)

You can't ignore the way your chest warms, and your adoration flutters like a butterfly.

This is truly lovely - you've never had someone do this for you before. But it's super sweet, and you are head over heels all over again.

(Maybe ass over tea kettle is a better descriptor if we're going to be honest. But that's just between you and Hylia.)

You close the sketchbook carefully before moving to find Wild.

Finding the man is easy enough - he's cooking lunch.

You walk over to Wild, and the sketchbook is still in hand.

"Hey, firefly." Wild smiles at you, stirring the stew before him. He seems to be at ease for the most part.

"I saw the note and picture you left me."

You watch his reaction - his ears flush a little, and he looks a little like a deer in headlights.

But he relaxes enough to say, "Oh! I hope you liked it! I hope it wasn't too weird..."

"I loved it - it's one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me!"

You pull him into a hug, beaming at him.

You can't find the words you want, but you really hope Wild can tell just how much you love his little gift.

You'll hold onto it forever - you should get it framed when this is all over. That's a good idea.

"I'm glad you liked it. I'm not that great at art -"

"You're amazing at art. What are you talking about?"

"Purah and Zelda are better than me. I'm not the best. But I get by. I don't think I'm awful." Wild explains with a shrug.

"You're amazing at it."

Wild laughs, shaking his head a little. But he dosen’t defelct, instead he just says, "Thank you, (Y/n). I appreciate that."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Wild, let's the spoot rest on the pot, turning to fully face you. He's so thankful you're in his life. And he's so glad you liked his surprise.

"After dinner, we can work on those constellations." You say as you smile at him.

"That sounds nice." He smiles.

"So... could I ask you to draw me again later? I ... have never seen myself the way you made me look."

Wild softens more, which seems impossible until it happens.

And everything is - well maybe it isn't perfect but it's very nice.

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu wild #lu wild x reader

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kosmicdream · 4 months

Text

The FATE of FEAST FOR A KING

.. and Nasty Red Dogs…

And some other miscellaneous thoughts about comics, writing, and time.... AND ENDINGS...

=============

As I’m approaching 10 years on FFAK and NRD is currently 5, I’ve been reflecting a lot on How far this journey with comics has taken me and how far I still have yet to go. For those unaware, my first webcomic was actually Eggshells, which started in 2011, but i only started posting pages publicly in 2013. It too is unfinished, but its planned for 7 chapters. (I’m currently working on chapter 5, which probably will come out early next year.) I have 9 ongoing comics I’m working on. NINE!! 3 of those are FFAK related. (FFAK, After Dinner Treat, and the prequel series “Help.”) It is so many comics though. And beyond that! I have two other stories I’ve been working on for the past few years in secret, one being Nice Blue Cats, which I might still draw as a comic someday.. As well as a series of “one shots” that is meant to be its own collection. Slugmom and “The Teacher & The Fairy” are part of these one shot collections. Which, uh, it was designed to help me practice writing short stories. Which TT&TF is now going to be three parts long, and roughly 300 pages. So I guess that’s short enough…? Ha.. laughs… Anyway, as I was saying.. Sometimes I’m sure, readers might wonder. “Do you ever feel overwhelmed, with so many projects Kosmic?” Yeah dude. I sure fucking do. I got 9 of them! That’s more than a full pokemon team of projects that are potentially a decade + of work. A couple of them already are a decade old/older at this point. (Praeymoon is actually one of my oldest-lasting projects, even tho its first chapter only finally released in 2023.. I first attempted to draw ch1 back in 2016, but was unable to finish it and scrapped the “full color” angle i was trying then. ) All my current ongoing comic projects are as follows: Feast for a King, Nasty Red Dogs, Eggshells, The Teacher & the Fairy, Replacer, The Eyes of Miasma, FFAK: After Dinner Treat, FFAK: Help, are all written. The only one which isnt fully written is Praeymoon, which I don’t mind because the way that story is organized is almost more of a sandbox-fantasy world of mini stories. I’ll be honest, if you havent heard of Replacer or The Eyes of Miasma, I don’t blame you- its not that i don’t like those stories. They just kind of are the “most neglected” comics yet I’m also kind of amazed they exist at all, like I DONT know how I found the time to draw over 100 pages for both of them. They also have fully written outlines and all things considered, are probably only going to be under 400-500 pages in length. But that’s still a decent amount of work there. Its been ten years since I more or less started making webcomics… and as I plan, and try to calculate all my projects for the next 10 years, my main priority at the moment is well.. Finishing all of these fucking stories one way or another. Its hard! I don’t know if I can as I put way too much on my plate. But at the same time like.. Whatever. I could easily drop most of them, if I felt inclined to - but I don’t. They are my library of work, and I’ve sort of made an artist oath to myself that I will see as many of them to the end as I can. I’m excited that three are very close to its end. (Nasty Red Dogs, The Teacher & the Fairy, and Eggshells.) After that well.. I’ll see what I can cross off my list next once I get there.. That’s still going to take years to get those done. But hopefully not too many.

[Spoilers for potential LENGTHS of FFAK/NRD.. And other things.. I speak very transparently about writing and working on comics here AND including my thoughts on ENDINGS.. You’ve been warned]

I’m comfortable enough sharing that the fairy comic is 3 parts, Eggshells is 7 chapters, but when it comes to FFAK/NRD.. Its much harder to give an estimate, or if sharing those things will only be disappointing or annoying to hear about.. If you have ever been around me for more than 10 minutes, i am constantly talk about the “length left” on these projects a lot anyway. At night, i count them in my head. In the day, I write little lists as if I’ve forgotten the names of them.. They are MY LIST.

But for those who do not know and wish to, NRD is likely going to end with 10 chapters. I have extended this in the past, so it could still change.. but it only really has gotten “longer” due to pacing of scenes rather than the actual content. And Honestly, it was paced out specifically to avoid this next chapter. Not that I didn’t want to draw it, its because i was Scared to do it.. Why? Because there’s cars I have to draw in it. And dogs. I have drawn those things before, at least once or twice. But I do not enjoy drawing cars or dogs. Dogs are okay now, but i hate that they have legs. Dont give me references, i have those. Its just how my brain is, with those fuckign legs and how there’s four of them. I know practice makes perfect. Or do-able. I have drawn amost 1000 pages of NRD, i dont remember how they bend and i’ve forgiven myself for knowing there’s just some things god cannot do, which is to give kosmic the ability to look at a dog leg and understand. Anyway. Because of this reason, somehow, finishing NRD with it only possibly being 4 more chapters, still feels harder than finishing ALL of FFAK - which (drumroll) might be .. only around 10 or 12 chapters left. Yes, you heard me- for the second AND third arc. 10 or 12 more. Will that also change? Probably!!!!!! Like, yes… its been 9 years and I’ve completed a lot more than just 10 chapters of comics in that time.. But wrapping up a story is way harder and I dont know what that’s like..yet! But i feel still confident that i will. I mean, i don’t really have any other choice than to experience it. I used to recoil and fall apart just emotionally contemplating finishing FFAK. my FUCKING baby. My joy. You mean that has to end?? NEVER. My attachment to it and the characters was incomparable to anything else I had done, and in my mind ever WILL make… (and that is still true.) But.. I’m okay with that now and I actually look forward to seeing how it could end up. Even if its bad!

Its kind of weird to say, I just don’t really think it will be.. super good? Like.. it could be? I don’t know how readers will react. I dont even know how I feel about the whole thing.. I have felt so many feelings about this comic already, now I’m kind of.. Past it in a new stage. Zen like peace almost. There’s just.. so much that I wanted to PUT in FFAK and so much i could STILL put in. But I kind of just am okay with what i wrote, does that even make sense? The whole comic has felt like such a fluke to me, from the very start. And I managed to accidentally make so many great things in it I don’t actually understand sometimes. And my dreams for the comic has been nearly limitless. I couldn’t possibly contain all the feelings I’ve had over this story over the many years I have been making it, and all the incredible narrative outcomes I could see the characters going in.. the possibilities, the parallels.. The anime music videos.. I would NOT compare my writing style to GRRM, I haven’t read his books. but I can’t help but feel a bit like a weird baby version of him with the amount of cast members I have to push around and draw.. And I want to be clear. If FFAK was written as a book, it wouldn’t happen. I cannot write books. I do not think writing books is easier/faster than making comics, but sometimes it is hard to have to draw everyone. Point is, I understand the reality of a long-term comic project now, I have numbers and logs to prove it and my range. And I’m fairly consistent, even in my low days. So.. in recent years my writing style has.. has changed to accommodate.. Those.. General Realities i’ve observed in myself.

That’s why the second arc excites me. It has a lot of uhh, urgency that underlies it. You might have already noticed a change in the tone in chapter 16, which I’ve been working on for almost a year now. (I mean, I’ve been working on the written version for.. LOL.. much longer.) Maybe you haven’t! It could all just be from my own POV with how differently i feel that I delegate time to characters now. I did not start “writing” FFAK until chapter 10, and then i did not really start WRITING writing ffak until about.. Honestly, i want to say as late as 2019. It TOOK SO LONG you guys. I dont even know how many fucking thousands of pages of madness word documents I’ve got, with revision after revision and trying to list, contain, every possibly plotline… character backstory.. Blah blah blah.. Ive cut it down so much its impressive only to me. I don’t remember my lore anymore , and i love it. My readers probably know my lore better, and I don’t love it. Except when it benefits me. Then Its good. I would not describe myself as a RUTHLESS cut THROAT author, im actually too way sentimental to really let go of anyone. That’s why it took me so long to kill off Rock, but also because I wanted spoon to look really sexy and evil and that’s hard to do sometimes when I cant remember what half side he is. And when he was flipping around, I had to actually make a paper doll for him so i could TRY .. TRY to draw his arm on the correct side. Sometimes I didn’t. I just let it go if the drawing is good enough and i let it be a fun game for the readers to catch. But anyway, That’s why characters like Aeschylus are still around. Now that time has passed, I kind of regret it. Rome was right.. I dont need Aeschylus here and I’m mad he brought his friend Randall too. That being said, they’re some of my favorite characters in this arc even if they’re totally useless. In general, i have tried my best to not repeat all my writing sins and all my regrets of arc 1. I would not have been able to do this without the help of NRD to help get me to see that I can get attached and motivated to write new stories. When I hit my writing block in 2016/2017, it almost broke FFAK. FFAK still continued, but it also didn’t. But i was patient, and i worked through it.. And now I look forward to the ends of my comics, not because I want them to end but I’m very deeply excited for all the new opportunities my imagination to go to. I don’t know what that will be like. I don’t know how long it will still take me to get there, but I have it on [digital] paper and it does feel good to see that. Its affirming. I feel like i have a clear mission and I feel strong enough to really do it and commit to it. The second arc has barely started but in my heart I’ve made peace with the ending, whatever it might actually result as.

Plus if I finish it and its so bad, I’m sure that will be inspiring in itself! People might actually write fanfics!! I think a lot of readers are NOT going to enjoy the ships, for one. The MEAN greedy part of me hopes they don’t. That’s the most ruthless part of my writing to me is the ship choices. Oh! My evil mind. I mean theres no possible way to please everyone, or even myself, but there is a possible way to displease a lot of people. Including myself. So that’s kind of the route I find myself drawn to. Why? Because it gets me out of the hole of like.. I dunno, being stuck.

I used to write out a lot of big posts but over the years, I’ve kinda stopped. Mostly bc they were honestly really repetitive..or about lore that didn’t truly matter too much… That hasn’t really changed. This post is more or less “im still working on it, everyone! Just hang tight! Wow it’ll be a crazy wild ride” but it also is something I wanted to write to myself as words of encouragement. This has been a tough year. Like so tough that its hard to think about. But its very nice to feel like, i guess, my drive for my stories hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, i really feel like i’ve gone through the mourning and ego death of “not being able to write a thing how you want” and now I’ve made total peace with it. Its just gonna be what it is, and I like that actually. When my life is tough, my comics at the moment serve as a place of hope for me - and assurance that I can survive through tough years. That’s the message they have ultimately given me, finished or not. And… I honestly don’t think of FFAK or NRD as my masterpieces or anything, but i know they might very well be the only stories people will know of when they think of me. If they think of me! So I wanna do a complete job with those. Rest assured, it’ll get there. I cant make big promises about all the comics I work on… even the bonus comics for FFAK, but at least those main two are my main priorities. That has not changed. THE FIRE is still in me. Even if FFAK took a like.. Mental.. 5 year hiatus its back baby.

I’m about 30 pages in to my 50 page script for chapter 16, so I guess it’ll be around 300-400 pages more before its done. Things are picking up speed! So it could be less. I am also preparing for the monster that is the 7th nasty red dogs chapter. I cannot stress ENOUGH that this next chapter, I have put off since chapter 4. Yes, I’ve actually buffed the story out to be longer than it intended, just to avoid drawing it. I even put a horse guy in there, I never draw horses because those ALSO have legs but they’re worse than dog legs. And, its not that i didn’t want to draw this part of the comic! But I didn’t think i could do it. It intimidated me. It still does, but, I’m gonna do it already. I know chapters 8-10 will be hard too but like…eh… I know in my heart its gonna really be about 7 for me. It always has been about 7 to me.. 2024 will be a big year for my comics for sure, just because of that alone I think. Not only will I have chapter 16 done, as the first step of the 2nd arc and a new adventure of my apocalyptic wormy drama, I’ll be facing my fears of the dog variety. Its TIME.

I’m so happy people have stuck around for my work, or shared it with others, even if they’re a strange mess. Its interesting to see, who comes and goes. I still enjoy refreshing my comments every morning when I wake up, and right before I go to bed. Its comforting.

My closing thoughts on this. I don’t HATE the ending of FFAK. I… like it! Its an ending. But I LOVE the ending to NRD. i think that ones legit good, i hope. With FFAK, part of me kinda hopes that turning up the pressure on myself of proceeding anyway will help the story. I don’t really know, or expect the ending to change though LOL…. Maybe i’ll come up with something better, but it will be too late so I cant do it or something, and then we can ALL write fanfics together of something else. Then sometimes I think about GUNNM and how the first ending was retconned but then last order was like? Basically the first ending again? I dont know actually, its hard to remember. THATS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN BTW. Also the ending is not everyone dies, even though that ending is fun and tempting. I didn’t do it, because end of evangelion already exists and its got a great song to go along with it too. YES it is also tempting to have someone go “WELL That was A FEAST.. For a KING” as the like final line, but I.. it wont wont. I prommy i take the ending seriously.

The reason I wanted to write all this, with webcomics, I think in general too people are so scared about writing their big comics that take 328523895235 years and the ending being bad. I see so many webcomics just, kinda die before the finale.. Which I totally understand, But I just.. Wanna show everyone that its much better and much more satisfying to just write the ending even if its a fucking disaster LOL. Because ultimately, its a webcomic. I don’t even know how to spell but people read mine! And so.. If theres anything I feel like i can promise and deliver to the world of the internet/my readers, is this big fucking disaster mess.. But it will end someday! And I’ll miss it. I hope readers will too, when that day comes (?) in probably another… 10 years…. idk.... BUT UNTIL THEN.. I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of chapter 16!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Kosmic Dream

#ffak #feast for a king #nasty red dogs #long post #webcomics

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

#book review #sff #horror #the only good indians #stephen graham jones

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minustwofingers · 4 months

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love is a laserquest p.2

series masterlist (read p1 here!)

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

cws: explicit language, kind of suggestive phrasing? (i get a little feral with guitar playing descriptions), shitty bosses, mentions of nausea and throwing up (no one actually does tho dw), y/n is anxious asf, my writing is a little....yikes...in this one, loser!ellie

a/n: i lied i lied hehe. here's the next part. im still working on building this stupid app so i havent been able to write as much recently + holiday family stuff but oh am i back!

here's a playlist inspired by this fic

wc: 2.4k

tags: tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie@galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @diddiqueen @krisyslostsoul

enjoy mwah

It starts slow, like the drip of a broken faucet. It’s not like you’re actively seeking out anything Ellie William’s related, but somehow it seems like everything Ellie Williams related is seeing you out.

In the grocery store, one of her hit songs from her newest album blaring over the speakers.

On the street, where you see crumpled pages of magazines with her face plastered all over them.

And—perhaps the most offensively—on NPR and the New York Times, quite literally days after you’d met her. Suddenly Steve Inskeep and Leila Fadel begin the Up First podcast with a familiar song and devote an entire third of the morning podcast to Ellie and her band’s rise to fame.

You decide to switch to the BBC World News for a while, but even they seem to be under her spell.

It’s not that you don’t like Ellie. She seems fine. Normal. Really cute, actually, and clearly very talented. But whenever you think about her, you think about the ill-fated, awkward, charmless interview.

“What happened?” Alyssa had asked you when she’d come back from surgery. “That wasn’t you out there.”

Which was actually very hurtful to hear, because you’d been holding onto the hope that you’d been all in your head about your interview being a failure. It all culminates in Eric, your 300 year old manager, sending you a strongly worded email that told you that your performance in the interview was so underwhelming that you were being pulled from the interviewer pool and exiled to article writing land. Which could be worse, you admit. You could be unemployed on the streets of LA. At least you’re still writing.

And write you do. You spend all your waking hours either at your keyboard, on your yoga mat, or sat in a chair somewhere at a local cafe for a coffee chat. You’ve mostly deleted social media, since all you see nowadays are pictures of Ellie and Becca’s posts about her experience working and loving her life in New York (the algorithm apparently knows exactly what you want to see the most).

It’s bizarre that, even as you try your best to place your focus on honing your craft and consuming only content that you think will make you a better writer, you still somehow learn everything and more about Ellie Wlliams and her band. It’s in the emails at work whose chains you’re CC’ed on. It’s in the advertisements and the billboards everywhere. It’s even in the conversations you have with your two roommates, Greta and Maureena.

“She’s so fucking cool,” says Maureena dreamily as you sit around the TV in the living room. “I still can’t believe you got to talk to her.”

“It’s not like I actually got to, like, get to know her or whatever,” you say. “It was honestly kind of dry. Just awkward small talk.”

“That’s more than anyone else I know can say.” She reaches forward and grabs a fistful of popcorn. “How come she gets interviewed by the person who probably cares about her the least in all of LA? Like, what are the chances?”

“I care,” you say, and it sounds unusually defensive coming out of your mouth.

Maureena gives you a long, suspicious look, but before she can respond, Greta comes bursting into the apartment, purse swinging from her shoulder.

A greeting is halfway out of your mouth when she cuts you off.

“You guys will not believe what I just did.” She’s nearly bursting with excitement, her eyes bright and wide.

“Like, in a good way?” you ask.

“Yes. Obviously!” Greta fishes around in her pocket until she pulls her phone out, waving it around. “Check your email.”

The last time Greta had come in with an entrance this energetic, she’d been coming to inform you both that she was getting engaged to her loser boyfriend Brian (which—thank God—didn’t actually last), so you and Maureena trade nervous looks.

Maureena gets to it first.

“Tickets to see Ellie Williams? Tonight?” Now she’s about to explode with giddiness, leaping from the couch and throwing her arms around Greta. “I love you, I love you, I love you. How did you get these? I thought they were, like, totally sold out. Or ten thousand dollars.”

She grins wickedly, holding her hands out in a “who knows” sort of way. “You can all thank me later. We have to leave in about 20 if we want to get there in time. Y/N, you good?”

You’d been staring on in horror, jaw dropped and body completely frozen. You had registered that Ellie was playing in LA tonight—it’s all anyone you knew talked about at work today—but you never once considered actually going to try to see her. “Uh, yeah. Give me just a few.”

By the time you get to the venue, you’re convinced that you might actually puke from the nerves. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like three broke 20 some year olds were going to get last minute seats to an Ellie Williams concert that were genuinely good seats. It’s not like she would see you and realize that the girl who flopped while interviewing her was a big enough fan to attend. You’re going to be fine.

“Shit, Grets, how are we so close?” asked Maureena as she leads you both closer and closer to the front.

Horror steadily rises within you as you approach the front row.

“I got these from my boss,” she says, turning around with a devilish glint in her dark brown eyes. “Her daughter got food poisoning, bless her. She had to stay back to take care of her, and I was the only one who stayed late to work, so…”

Greta’s boss was some filthy rich nepo baby who was a partner of a big talent agency. All of a sudden you feel stupid for not realizing this sooner.

“Shit,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Oh no. Oh my god.”

“Isn’t this so cool!” Greta jumps up and down, hands on your shoulders as she tries to rile you up. “Dude, what if she recognizes you?”

“I think I’m going to puke,” you say miserably. Somehow the thought of her seeing you made you want to crawl inside your skin in shame and hide for the next calendar year. “Did you guys not see how ass it was? I was so fucking awkward.”

“It wasn’t even that bad.” Maureena pats your shoulder.

“I literally was forbidden from ever interviewing again because it was so bad.”

“Because Eric hates women,” says Greta. “It’s not your fault he’s a horrible human being. Give it, like, a year or so until he croaks. Then they’ll let you back in the game.”

“Uh huh,” you say, feeling very harrowed.

You remain in this state of abject terror for the entire opener performance. The nausea doesn’t subside. It only gets worse when you realize that if you actually puke, Ellie’s definitely going to see it. Just like she’s going to see you, with the stupid stars Greta had insisted you paint on your cheekbones with glittery eyeliner and eyeshadow.

“She really likes space,” Greta had told you while you’d been getting ready, pretending like you didn’t already know all about this. “So all of her fans wear star stuff to see her.”

Before you can think to wipe off the glitter, everything goes black. Then the crowd goes wild.

When the silvery blue light spills onto the stage, it illuminates Ellie, standing just a number of feet away from you. You barely have enough time to take in the black leather coat and loose white shirt she’s wearing before music explodes out of the speakers, her fingers flying up and down the fretboard.

You’re spellbound as you watch her. Her voice rings loud and clear and slightly gravelly when it snags on her words. She’s nothing at all like the girl you’d met a month ago—there’s no discomfort, no awkwardness. She looks like she’s born to be on stage.

When the first song ends, she steps back, grabbing the standing mic next to her.

“Uh. Hi,” she says, and it’s so endearingly nervous compared to how she’d just sounded that something in your chest twists. She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m Ellie.”

Greta and Maureena join the crowd, screaming and cheering.

“I LOVE YOU!” someone shrieks, louder than everyone else.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people reacting like this to me just, like, saying my name. It’s really fucking weird. Oh. Shit. Sorry. Are you guys okay with me swearing?”

The roar that comes from the crowd is entirely undecipherable.

“Right,” says Ellie. “Um. I’ll take that as a yes. Sorry to anyone who brought their kids or something. Anyway, this one’s about the ex who cheated on me and gave me mono.”

Before you can react to that, she starts playing.

As she proceeds through the setlist, you’re struck by just how close you are to her, how many things you can notice that hardly anyone else in the crowd can see. You see the outline of her phone in her pocket, the pieces of hair that have fallen out of her little half bun and are sticking to her face, the way that the glitter on her collarbones trails down her shirt in little rivulets.

And, above everything else, you can see the horrible way her fingers straddle the fretboard, curling and pressing with ease so practiced it looks tender.

Apart from this bad, bad development (you can feel your mind going a million miles an hour about things you should not be thinking about), things are going great. Ellie hasn’t noticed you. Or even looked in your direction. You’re not even sure she can see you, given how little light is shed onto the crowd. The false sense of security makes you feel comfortable singing along with Greta and Maureena, your lips forming the lyrics you’d been pretending to not listen to whenever her songs came on.

It happens during a slower song, a sort of ballad that makes your heart thud harder in your chest to hear from her mouth. The lights on stage dim a little. Light spills just the slightest onto the front of the crowd, and Ellie’s eyes fall and snap onto yours so decisively that it almost feels audible.

For a moment, you can’t breathe. Ellie’s voice suddenly catches mid-word, faltering and missing a beat. She thrusts her hand with the mic into the crowd, which eagerly picks up where she left off and finishes the verse.

It’s impossible to see on the screen projecting her image behind her, but you can see the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the stiffness that comes with realizing that you actually know someone from somewhere.

You’re the one who breaks eye contact, focused with a sudden intensity on the way the thin fabric of your sleeves are situated on your arms.

Greta pokes you so hard in your ribs that you gasp.

“What the fuck!” you snap, but the words are swept away by the noise around you.

“Why didn’t you wave?!” she hisses in your ear. “She totally recognized you.”

The realization falls over you with the subtlety of an anvil. Oh my god. You totally should’ve waved. That was the normal, well-adjusted thing to do. Now she was going to think you were weird. And it was too late now. But she didn’t wave to you. Wasn’t she supposed to wave first? Because you of course remembered her, but she might not remember you. Yeah. You could go with that.

Maybe she didn’t remember you.

You can’t relax for the rest of the concert. You try your best to just act normal and dance along with your friends and casually mouth the words, but it’s hard when it feels like she’s staring at you. Which is completely impossible. The light doesn’t fall back onto the crowd until the concert is over and Ellie and her band are long gone backstage.

Two months later, all you can think about is the way that Ellie stuttered over her words when she saw you in the crowd. Of course, this is definitely something you’ve made up in your mind, because there’s a number of reasons why she might’ve slipped up. Maybe she just thought she knew you from somewhere and couldn’t place it. That’s why she (allegedly) kept looking in your direction afterwards. Or maybe you’re completely batshit insane, and she didn’t look at you at all. Because if she had, wouldn’t she have waved? Right?

It’s almost bad enough to distract you from work. You find yourself prowling on Twitter, watching the #elliewilliams tag blow up following every concert date. It doesn’t give you any clarity, because in every picture, she looks just as perfect and cool and confident as she was at the LA show. You don’t know why you assumed she’d look different if it was true that she’d recognized you. More human, maybe. But she’s just as bathed in starlight as she was that night many weeks before, just as far away and untouchable.

You spend so much time thinking about her that you’re convinced you might’ve slipped into a dream when Eric appears at your cubicle with the news.

Instead of saying hello, he plops a stack of papers on the desk in front of you, all labeled “PopNow! Interview Etiquette”.

“Excuse me?” you say.

“Start reading up, kid,” says Eric. “You’re back in the game.”

“What?”

“You have an interview scheduled later this week.” He scowls down at you, gum smacking in his mouth. He smells faintly of tobacco.

“But I thought I was removed from—”

“You still are,” he says. “But someone requested you. Their manager told us they wouldn’t talk to us if they didn’t get you.”

“What?”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Believe me, I was surprised too. Don’t know what they’re on about after the last time you talked to their client. Fuck this one up and you’re out, okay? Got it? The info’s in your inbox already.”

Somehow the words don’t quite sink in until you open the email and see the words on paper.

SENDER: Maria Miller

RECIPIENT: Eric Bal

CC: [email protected], y/ny/l/n@popnow!.com

Eric,

Great to hear back from you. Glad that 3 next Wednesday works.

Best,

final a/n: lmk how u guys feel about this...feeling a little unsure about where this is going but enjoying writing it anyway there are two wolves inside of me etc. etc. also ive missed u all! i hope everyone is doing well! dont b shy!

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams self insert #ellie williams fluff

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