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#thought about making a short story comic

qweenofurheart · 6 months

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im pretty happy with my most recent post but i really do want to get better at writing and comics. imo i could have done better with the pacing and specificity of the character’s feelings and relied less on cliches? and added more subtext and subtlety? basically what im trying to say is prepare for more attempts in the future lol

#art school isnt really giving me a chance to breathe but ive been forcing my own personal projects anyways…#i wrote a short story recently lmk if i should share. or i might make it into a comic #not art #txt #writing #thoughts about writing #comics #writeblr #<- im anti writeblr

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sugar-grigri · 16 days

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Denji no longer has access to his heart

The golden rule in Chainsaw Man is to focus on the title, since it's the key to reading the story.

Rain, Brothel, Removal seem to be three absurdly unrelated elements, and Fujimoto likes to put it that way, because the challenge for the reader is to find a way of reading that links them together.

This chapter is funny as well as disturbing, deeply sad, and in itself this collection of sensations just makes you uncomfortable, since the tone is always reversed, and the protagonist himself refuses to allow his situation to be a comic spring.

Fujimoto confirms an interpretation that is fundamental to understanding Denji: his character thinks only in terms of short-term objectives, incapable of projecting himself, just as he responds only to the satisfaction of needs without being able to verbalize and think about his unhappiness in a more abstract way.

Denji, for example, isn't thinking about whether sex is actually a solution to his problems, no, it's more concrete than that: he's thinking about whether he's masturbated recently.

Another piece of evidence is the rain. I've always thought that when it rains in Fujimoto's works, it's proof that no lies are being told.

Whether in Look Back with a silent victory, the school moment with Reze and Denji.

But that's not what we're interested in here, because there's no doubt that Denji is sincere, or at least the rain only shows us that he's sincerely desperate.

There's a subtlety....

Denji complains that he only thinks with his dick, but there's another, more philosophical and certainly less funny idea behind this: Denji only thinks through his body.

The rain, the amputation, the brothel - they're all proof that Denji only thinks with his senses.

Denji thought the brothel was the solution to his distress, it's when it started raining that he collapsed, as if the change in weather had evoked his own emotional change. Yoru's solution is amputation, another physical sensation and solution.

Amputation is a solution all the more symbolic because it's antithetical to what Denji is: a demon man capable of regeneration.

To amputate is in itself not to regenerate, and not to regenerate is in itself to be more human.

What distinguishes us from animals (although science relativizes this) is the way we think about our own emotions, something Denji is incapable of doing, or at least has great difficulty in doing.

This doesn't mean he can't verbalize it at all, but when he evokes, he evokes a sensation, a dish (a shitty hamburger, a steak, a ton of sex).

Even when he wants to be loved, Denji formulates it in the form of wanting his heart, almost organically.

No one wants Denji's heart because it's gone

And it makes sense, because Pochita has reassembled his entire body, except for Denji's heart, which has literally been left in that garbage can.

That's why, when Pochita lets Denji access his feelings, the place is symbolized by a garbage can.

When Denji asks Pochita to wake up to find Nayuta, Pochita asks him where his legs are, because Denji's only function is to be a body.

And now everything makes sense again

When Denji spoke his dream to Pochita, being Chainsaw Man, I think there was a certain feeling in every reader: what exactly does it change?

What if it changes nothing? It's normal for Denji not to be able to project himself in the long term, as he should symbolically listen to his heart.

Denji's inability to have a dream, a goal for the future, is symbolized by him and Pochita as children.

It doesn't mean that Pochita is an antagonist (although that could be cool), but that Denji and Pochita are prisoners of their own situations.

Denji doesn't have access to his heart, but Pochita is contractually bound to what Denji wants.

This is also why, when Denji reproaches himself, it's his child self who's addressing him, because the only way to reproach himself, to feel guilty, is symbolized by his old self, the Denji that Pochita may have known. Just as Denji doesn't have access to his heart, Pochita has difficulty gaining access to the person Denji has become, all of which only leads to stagnation.

Denji as a child is also the symbol of a scumbag, the remnant of a lost heart, always dressed in poor, dirty clothes, a past that Denji seeks to escape, but a past that is the only time Pochita has been able to get to know Denji.

I know it's a pretty crazy line, but it's precisely because Denji is Chainsaw Man - a being both fused and disconnected - that he thinks with his dick lol

Saving Chainsaw Man by killing Chainsaw Man has never been a truer statement

Chainsaw Man is Denji's prison but also his only hope

A cage

#csm #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 166 #csm 156 #csm 150 #denji #denji hayakawa #asa mitaka #katana man #my thoughts

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rubski02 · 3 months

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First proper comic l've finished for my course :,D my toxic yuri with a human woman and robot Imao.

The project was to make a short 8 page comic (the 8th page is just socials so I left it out here) so l picked these two ocs since I have thought about them now and again. Big fan of A.l. and the concept of Love.

If it looks janky, that is bc I lined it by hand and then scanned it! Wanted to try my hand at inking with pens :D it worked fine for the first half and then the HORRORS!! Rest assured, I am turning to Clip Studio from now on lol tho I did colour in Procreate tho cuz of ✨time✨.

But yeah!! Hopefully there's gonna be some more finished pages for other stories coming out!! Definitely hyped to finish something!!

#art #artists on tumblr #digital art #drawing #procreate app #character art #digital illustration #ocs #comic #my ocs #original character #robot #android #toxic yuri #oc comic

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ncroissant · 1 month

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you can ignore this request but can I ask you to Make a story of Francis mosses and like a housewife reader who has an ignorant husband so when the milkman comes visit she "pays" him very nicely

switch! francis mosses x fem! reader

summary: paying your neighbourly milkman a hefty tip

wc: 2.2k

content warning: nsfw, cheating, double infidelity, masturbation, slight nipple play, soft dom francis energy, slightly subby francis, kind of unrealistic p in v (i was too lazy to write foreplay), creampie, very fluffy

author's note: hii anon, thanks sm for the ask :)) i love this sm and i hope ur okay with some sub married francis teehee >:) this was soooo self-indulgent :O hope u guys enjoy this one !! not proof read, minors please dni!!

your marriage was bland to say the least.

your husband was a busy man, working to provide for you to max out his credit card, but never giving a second of the day. he always blamed his lack of time at home on his job, never taking accountability.

you felt bored. he promised you a life of luxury with no work, but it was boring staying at home all day. weekly visits from cleaners to clean up the apartment gave you absolutely nothing to do at home.

but the longer your husband stayed away, the more time you spent listening in on your neighbors to past the time.

the milkman and his wife were a noisy couple.

you could hear the headboard thunking against the wall, his grunts and her awfully loud moans. he must be so good to her, you thought, feeling your fingers slip down your pj shorts.

you felt yourself passing the time, humping pillows, playing with toys and fucking yourself with your fingers. you could read every book in your apartment, watch tv for god knows how long and still be bored.

but one particular night, you heard a knock on your door.

you perked up, almost skipping to the door in excitement. you haven't had a visitor in ages and it was about time someone kept you some company in this little cage of yours.

"milk delivery." your eyes widened when you fully opened the door, realizing who was in front of you.

the buttons of his uniform were struggling to close, his hands veiny from his grip on the milk box he held in his arms against his stomach. seeing him this late at night was making you think of not so holy thoughts.

"what're you doing here so late? it's almost 9," you peered up at him, unaware of how your breasts nearly spilt out of your lingerie. you were wearing a skimpy little nightgown, forgetful of how you were married and half naked in front of another married man.

he smiled, placing the milk box beside your doorstep. "you're my last stop since we're neighbours. did i disturb you?" he crossed his arms, his biceps bulging.

you felt your heart beating out of your chest, you could feel your fingertips vibrating. "no, not at all..." you bit your lip, feeling your thighs clench tightly.

"i needed some milk for my tea. would you like some as well?" you worked up the courage to ask, looking at him with an expectant look in your eyes. "if you're not tired," you clarified, lifting your hands.

he didn't look like he took much time to think it over, nodding at your suggestion. you didn't wait for a verbal response, ushering him inside, locking the door.

now, here he was, sitting at your kitchen table while you made tea. if only you could see what he could see. the entirety of your back was exposed, a v-cut just above your ass to cover the rest of your lower half.

"chamomile or green tea?" you called out softly, snapping him out of his daze. you looked back at his lack of silence, looking at how flustered he looked for dozing off.

"green tea," he murmured, averting your gaze. he was so comically large, making your kitchen chair look small. his hands were gathered on his lap, his back straight against the backrest, waiting for you to finish making his tea.

you sauntered over to his, leaning your hip against the kitchen table. "n-nice place," he stuttered when he got a closer look of you, trying to break the silence.

you didn't expect him to come in, but now that he was here, you didn't want to waste this perfect opportunity. "mhm...i decorated it myself," you leaned closer, giving him an innocent smile.

"y...you're very good at decorating," he swallowed. his hands were sweating, he felt them grip at his slacks anxiously.

"isn't it so sad that my husband didn't help me decorate at all?" you pouted, puffing out your lower lip. his eyes switched back and forth from your eyes to your lips.

francis mirrored your nod, gulping when he realized how close you were. you placed a hand on his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "you're very cute, francis," you chuckled as you pulled away.

you scurried away to turn off the stove, watching the water spill out of the kettle. when you reached your hand to grab the kettle, you felt a hand reach over yours to pull you back.

"careful, it's hot." he was pressed up against you, his painfully obvious bulge pressed against your ass. maybe it was because the only thing that was preventing your bare skin from touching his was his shirt, or how small you were compared to him, but he was literally shaking.

you spun around, hands now holding onto his sleeves. "help me onto the counter?" you looked up at him, slowly tugging him towards you.

francis was a loyal man. he was dedicated to his wife, to his work and to everything else. but however wrong he wanted to feel about lifting you onto the counter and smashing his lips onto yours, he just couldn't.

"so pretty," he mumbled against your lips, while your hands found themselves tangled in his brunette locks. "you're so pretty," he was almost whining, brows knit from the intensity of the kiss.

your other free hand cupped his cheek, dragging his even closer to deepen the kiss. his kisses felt even better than imagined. lips soft, tongue warm, sloppy.

you were scared that he would hear the way your heart thumping out of your chest. "f-francis," you'd pant, but he'd be too lost in the way your lips felt against yours to focus on anything else.

he'd pull away to just soak in the sight of you, admire the lips of the woman he just ruined. he'd look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, watching the way you'd nuzzle against his hand when he wiped away his spit off your lip.

"are we stopping here?" you frowned with a huff, tugging on the loop of his belt. "or can i tip you, hm? for the delivery?" you pleaded, tilting you head to look cuter.

he fell for it, having no intentions of stopping. "yeah, yeah. tip me or whatever, just don't stopping kissing me," he pressed kisses up your neck trailing up to your cheek.

you wanted to chuckle at his neediness, but you were feeling the same. your arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to effortlessly lift you into his arms.

while you two made out, he carried you to you and your husband's shared bedroom, laying you down. he toppled over you, knee nestled between your thighs and arms caging you in his hold.

"i wish you could see yourself right now," he pulled away, his hand trailing up to your chest. your nipples were poking through the thin fabric of your night gown, his fingers toying with the neglected nub.

you jolted, biting your lip to hide an embarrassing moan. "d-do i really look that pretty?" you hide a moan with a laugh, throwing your head to the side when he pinched your nipple lightly.

"you're gorgeous," he sighed, rolling his fingers under your gown to lift it off your body. you were more beautiful than he had even imagined, waiting so patiently for him to do something.

before he leaned down to kiss you again, you tugged at his shirt. "take this off? 's embarrassing being the only one naked," you blushed, his eyes widening.

for a married woman, you were surprisingly inexperienced. francis never heard you getting railed by your husband. he could only hear your pretty whimpers when you pleasured yourself with toys, but never finishing.

he could only chuckle, reminiscing your frustrated sighs when you couldn't get yourself to finish. he smirked knowing now he could take matters into his own hands.

"whatever you want, sweetheart," he effortlessly tugged at his bowtie, unbuttoning his shirt. he was so handsome. lean, but not entirely skinny. bulky, but not too much. he was perfect.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to press your lips against his. "you're so handsome, francis," you cooed. he felt his ears flush from your compliment, his knee riding higher up your thigh.

you moaned when you felt it reach your core, feeling yourself grind on it for more friction. "make me feel good, hm?" you flicked his loose hairs out of his face, making him bite his lip.

"want it inside, francie," your fingers trailed down to your pelvis, slightly opening your folds. his felt his dick throb, his eyes unmoving from your cunt.

almost immediately, he felt his dick throbbing against his suddenly too tight slacks. he grunted as he finally unzipped to let his cock free, his dick slapping against your tummy.

you gulped at the size, looking up at him in awe. "j-just the tip," he whined, his cock sliding against your stomach. a part of him still wanted to be somewhat loyal, but you so badly wanted him in you, your fingers wrapping around the head.

"you're so big," you gasped, your eyes were still widened. he could only rub himself against your fingertips, whimpering at the friction. "just the tip, hm?" you grabbed the head, dragging it down to your entrance.

when francis felt the warmth of your cunt against his cock, he was almost 100% sure his loyalty would be thrown out the window. "j-just the, hngh..."

he felt himself thrust into your wet, soppy cunt almost too quickly, completely devoid of reason. he was nestled so deeply into your core, allowing you to adjust to his massive length.

"i-i'm suhh...sorry, i said just the tip, but i...mnghh..." he could barely get a word out, too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt sucking his cock in. "y-you feel so, so good. it's so good, so..."

he was chanting it like a prayer, babbling whatever came to find. "francis, can you move?" you bluntly asked, guiding his hands to your waist.

almost like a switch, he thrusted into you wildly. his cock was reaching parts that you weren't even sure were possible to reach, especially with your husband's tiny, flimsy cock.

"am i making you f-feel good?" he asked, his lips just barely ghosting over yours. you felt his breath brushing against your face, the neediness evident on his face.

you nod, pressing a kiss on his lips. you moaned against his lips, feeling so full of him. "p-please say it. please say i'm making you feel good, ngh," he pleaded, pressing kisses against your neck.

your eyes were nearly rolling back, the entire galaxy filling your line of sight. "you make me feel so good, francis," you squealed when he hit a specific spot in you.

satisfied with your answer, his pace sped up. he was entirely bottomed out in your cunt, his pelvis pressing against yours.

you felt yourself getting close when his thumb trailed down to your pelvis to roll it against your weeping clit.

the squelches from him fucking you were so vulgar, it made you remember the sounds you heard when he fucked his wife. and finally you were living in the dream you so desperately wanted to come true.

"'m so, so close. m-might cum," you groaned, throwing your head back against the mattress.

he shook his head, feeling his hips stutter. "no, no. wait for me please. wanna cum together, hm?" he panted, mouth filled with saliva. he had grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand tightly.

you could feel the coolness of his wedding ring against your fingers, making yourself get closer. you, a married woman, were fucking married man. the dirtiness of it all excited you so much.

here he was, the man you've been masturbating to for weeks, begging you to cum at the same time. "t-together, right?" he begged, his high coming so, so soon.

his thrusts were getting sloppy and your cunt was getting tighter. you nodded, his lips crashing onto yours, kissing you until you came together.

his cum spilled so deeply into your cunt, filling you generously. "you're so beautiful," he sighed, wiping the sweat soaked strands of hair off your forehead.

he just stayed inside of you for a few minutes, admiring you.

he'd tend to you right after. taking a bath with you, drying your hair for you, cooking you a meal. he did all the things you wished your husband would do for you.

and when it was finally time for him to leave, you'd be in bed sleepily, arms wrapped around his torso, head leaned against his chest. "don't leave," you whined.

he didn't want his wife to question why he came home so late, so staying the night was out of the question. "i'll be back again, okay?" he smoothed out your hair, patting your head.

"i'll be back here tomorrow same time with another delivery, hm?" he smiled, hugging you tightly. you were so cute when you were clingy and nearly asleep.

"i'll tip you again," you yawned, feeling your eyelids get heavier with every blink.

he placed you onto the bed, tucking you in well. he looked at you once more, brushing your hair out of your face. "sweet dreams," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you smiled as you drifted off to sleep, knowing he'd be there same time again tomorrow.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #tnmn #tnmn milkman #milkman #that #that's not my neighbour #that's not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #x reader #ncrescent asks

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ohdeerfully · 3 months

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Hii!! i’ve never requested smth before but i absolutely adore your lil one shots for alastor and was wondering if you could write smth based on someone’s idea?

https://www.tumblr.com/sockmeat/741700944177315840/alastor-in-rut-but-instead-of-him-being-horny-hes

completely fine if not!! i just thought it was a cute idea and would love to see it wrote in an actual scenario!! :3

this is really simple and short but god writing block is killing me quickly... hope u like it anyway!!!!!! mwah mwah

as stated in the request, this is based off of @sockmeat 's post, which you can access by clicking here!

Jealousy Looks Good on You

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: alastor is super possessive, reader is referred to as female but doesn't really effect story at all, thats it i think

join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

It was that time of year again for Alastor. A few months of absolute physical and mental torture—which, considering he lived in Hell, maybe that was how Heaven finally managed to torment him for eternity. It never took a genius to figure out what put Alastor in such an odd state.

He was a deer.

Deer go into rut.

It was incredibly embarrassing, to say the least, especially for him when the rut was over. However, for his “mate,” who faced the brunt end of his seasonal affections, you didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, it was probably your favorite three months of the year.

You were currently lounging in the hotel lobby, chatting with Angel Dust about a bar he was interested in going to. You had one leg thrown up over the other, clad in a dark red outfit that had been “mysteriously” placed on the edge of your bed when you woke up—you knew who the culprit was as soon as you saw Alastor a few minutes later in a suspiciously similar outfit of the same color scheme.

He had been sitting next to you for a while, making small, nearly unnoticeable bids for attention as you tried to focus on Angel’s words. A pressure on your knee with his own, a light graze of his fingers through your hair as he lifted his hand to adjust his monocle… to anybody else, the contact would’ve seemed only coincidental; however, to you, it was obvious considering the great care he always took to mind his personal space.

A brief glance out of the corner of your eye confirmed your suspicions. You couldn’t help but lightly grin at the tense grin on his face and the growing expression of frustration as you continued to keep your attention on Angel.

“–so, that being said, I wanted ta invite’cha out with me! And Cherri’ll be there too,” Your eyes turned back towards the spider. You could nearly feel the tenseness in Alastor’s shoulders heighten, and that radio frequency of his tuning up ever so slightly, but still noticeable.

“That bar is no place for my lady,” Alastor responded in a snap before you could even open your mouth. You whipped your head in his direction with a frown.

“She isn’t your anything, Smiles,” Angel shot back, also interrupting your own attempt at defending yourself.

It was almost comical, the way your head twisted back and forth with each remark the two made at each other. The tension was rising quickly, and you were getting more agitated with how many times you got cut off from saying a single word.

You were distracted from your own mental anguish when Alastor abruptly stood, hand gripping his cane with more force than usual. There was a dangerous look in his red eyes as he grinned down at Angel.

“She is mine,” Alastor stated with finality. “And what’s mine stays with me.” He reached down and gripped your hand, tugging you up with him. As angry as he seemed he was still gentle with you, at least.

You’d be lying if you didn’t find the possessiveness attractive. Heck, it would probably be impossible to date the Radio Demon if you didn’t want to be obsessed over and practically owned. You were only slightly embarrassed at the heat on your cheeks when you felt the almost desperate grip of his on your hand, to which Angel pointed at with a defeated “what the hell.”

He basically dragged you away from the situation, ears slightly pressed back. He refused to look at you as you caught up to his steps and walked beside him. He didn’t have to look at you, though, because you already knew the turmoil that was going through his head.

“Don’t be so embarrassed,” You tried to comfort as he opened the door to your shared bedroom. “I think it’s very becoming of a gentleman to protect his property.” You enjoyed the way his eyes glittered with pride when you referred to yourself in such a manner. You didn’t truly consider yourself property, of course, but you simply enjoyed seeing that look in his eyes and the way his chest involuntarily puffed up.

What a different being Alastor was during his rut. More expression than ever with the way his affections and frustrations were so visible in his body language. He pulled you closer to him, squeezing you against his body as he let the two of you fall into the bed. You lifted yourself off of his chest with an elbow and looked down at him.

He met your gaze with his own wide, needy eyes and quivering smile. To put it simply, he looked… pitiful. Endearing. You loved it. He hated it. You knew if anybody saw him in this state he would go on the attack immediately without a single thought. You briefly glanced back to make sure the door had been locked. Just in case.

You smiled at him and peppered kisses on his chest and up, finally nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. He sighed pleasantly at your motions, swooping his arms up to position you on your side in front of him, wrapping himself protectively around your body.

“I crave you, my love,” He stated in an incredibly forward way. His voice lacked the typical radio effect as he spoke, and you realized your skin was also not prickling with the sensation that usually accompanied his presence. You responded by layering your hands over his own, which was resting comfortably against your waist. “I never want you out in such a… dirty place with that overly sexual spider.”

“I know, Al,” You said with a sigh. “Too many ‘hungry eyes’, you’ve told me this.”

He remained quiet, and you could barely feel the way your hair flicked every time he exhaled against the top of your head.

You also remained quiet, opting to just enjoy the moment. These three months went by so, so fast, so you didn’t want to waste time speaking and bickering over meaningless things. You didn’t care to go to bars, anyway; you weren’t much of a drinker. You also hoped to get Alastor’s mind off of his disdain for Angel. While you trusted him to know better to attack one of your friends—more importantly one of Charlie’s friends—you didn’t want to take any chances. He was somehow even more unpredictable during his rut.

You leaned your head back, tilting up slightly to meet Alastor’s gaze. He placed a feather-light kiss against your forehead in response.

He was in for a long three months, but you were going to enjoy every second of it.

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #alastor x you #im sorry imm taking one million years to write anything #ive been so lazy

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araminakilla · 1 year

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Regarding Death Wolf...

Hear me out (NO, it's not the kind you are thinking)

We know Death has a job, right? To collect souls and most likely release them to the afterlife.

And for this job, he has to be there when somebody is about to die, as demostrated with him being there moments before Puss' eight death.

Supposing he is THE Death and he has been doing this since the beginning of time (or at least when there were enough stories of the Grim Reaper to adquire a physical form) that means he has seen a lot, A LOT of awful things.

Murders, suicides, massacres, death of infants, people who didn't deserve to die alone, animal cruelty, some other heavy stuff I won't mention here, etc etc etc.

And we thought "man, how is he able to cope with all of that? That job has to be utter torture for someone."

Probably many of you could think that he is able to do that because he is Death, and he was "born" with that purpose and only him can reap souls perfectly.

But while he is a force of nature, he also WAS a force of nature. Let me explain it well: He adquired a personality enough to be angry, excited, frustrated, amazed, happy, among other emotions.

While he has supernatural power and is most likely the most powerful being in the Shrek Franchise (or in Dreamworks as many say) he is also a PERSON.

Someone with a code of honor, morals, opinions, beliefs, etc.

Returning to the question "How can he bear all of that?" taking into account he is no longer an inevitable force, but a character of his own.

The answer is something you may relate to, and that is: Creativity and escapism.

To be the embodiment of Death, the guy is a very creative fella.

First of all, his design. I heard many people saying here and in Twitter that his design is something they would come up in their edgy, teen years of drawing their first fursona.

Guess what? They are right, the wolf form is someone's fursona. It's DEATH'S fursona. He clearly came up with this badass, piercing canine form to blend with the Fairy Tale Land assuming the form of the "Big Bad Wolf". He most likely had other forms he designed over the centuries and was able to present as them like if he were on a role play game in the living world.

His sickles? The weapon of choice with the little crossed cats on it to have a bigger effect of terror for Puss? Those who can become knuckles and join to create a scythe? Those are his creation, probably after thinking it for a while and writing all of those functions on a paper.

The way he presents himself? In the bar? The coins in his eyes as a "watching you" sign while being a cool reference to the Ferryman of souls? He transforming Perrito's forest into the background of a skull? The chilling reveal at the Cave of Lost Souls? The fire ring? It was all him.

As for the escapism part...

When the world becomes too heavy to deal with as real life issues tend to make us feel bad, depressed, angry... we tend to escape it somewhere. And in our time the common place would be the internet as in webpages or comics, stories, etc.

But what has to do with Death Wolf you may ask?

Well, while he would NEVER be able to escape his job entirely, he can have moments where he can enjoy a good hunt of people who don't appreciate life, like the whole plot of the Puss in Boots sequel could demostrate.

He managed to have a little time outside his eternal routine to chase an arrogant cat who took life for granted. He enjoyed it, it was thrilling, it was exciting.

It was a way to escape a monotonous, grim "life", if just for a short moment.

So, when the chase ended as his prey no longer feared him and now was ready to fight for his last life, the wolf retreats, happy for Puss' character development but resigned because he once again had to return to "The Eternal Duty"

And that's not even counting all the times Jack "I'm dead inside" Horner had to interrupt Lobo's hunt and remind him of his job even in his "spare time"

Death knew the chase had to end eventually, but he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to return to his own world

And if we look at Death like that, then he is probably one of the most relatable characters Dreamworks has ever make.

In the Shrek Franchise:

Monsters can be loved

Princesses don't have to fit the perfect standards of beauty

Handsome guys can be possesive jerks

Love at first sight doesn't work like one would think

Happily ever afters had to be built and not just obtain them with magic

And Death is the most creative and "full of life" being in the world

Because he would absolutely go crazy with his life/work if he wasn't.

Because in a world of Kings, Poets and Soldiers, he's the Supreme King

And he's also a perky goth but none of you are ready for that conversation.

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lov1ngreid · 6 months

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BOYS LIKE YOU | 1

(pairings): highschool!spencer + cheerleader!reader both intended to be 18 in this story

(warnings): none!

(word count): 2.9k

(author’s note): so long i’m so sorry

hii i decided to split this fic into a mini series cause i have so many ideas and directions for it and i didn’t want to squish it into one long fic, some chapters maybe nsfw ;P i also wrote this with high school in mind, of course Spencer is regular high school age and not like twelve 🤨 but if you’d rather picture them in early college go ahead! also I usually HATEEE when fics have outfit inspos but soz I’m forcing you to imagine these outfits they’re so gorg 😭

okay no more rambling!! if u wanna listen to what i did when i wrote this, here you go!! ➘

“That’s what you’re wearing” Your brother brodie snickered from his bedroom as you strolled past it on the way to the bathroom, usually you wouldn’t have given in to his snide comments, which you were no stranger to. But it was thanksgiving if your brother thought your outfit was ugly, chances are, so would the rest of your family.

Your outfit always happened to be a topic of conversation.

Your movements halt when you finally process what he had said, before slowly taking a few steps backwards meeting his taunting face while he sat on the edge of the bed “What’s wrong with it?” You cock your head feeling the embarrassment trickle through your face up to your ears, usually you wouldn’t care what comments Brodie decided to make about your outfit, but a lot of people were going to be seeing this one.

Honestly you thought it was pretty tame considering the only revealing piece was your skirt, which frankly wasn’t that short, and you thought you had compensated with your boots.

“Why are you wearing… boots?” He laughed looking down at your outfit with furrowed eyebrows before looking back up at your flustered face “and why are they red?”

You scoffed, embarrassment completely diminishing when you find out that was his problem with your outfit “they’re maroon… and you’re wearing a doctor who shirt, don’t think you’re in any position to be judging me” you glare back at him uncrossing your arms.

Honestly, he has absolutely no right to be making fun of your outfit, despite being twins, you were the complete opposites. His outfits usually consist of different coloured converse and some sort of comic book shirt, yours consisting of literally anything else.

“I have a party afterwards anyways, I don’t have time to get changed”

“You have a party on thanksgiving?… who has a party on thanksgiving” Brodie scoffs finishing the lace on his second converse

“A lot of people” you smile sarcastically backing from his door frame to continue your task before you were rudely interrupted “not that you would know” you mumble under your breath before leaving his bedroom.

A little satisfied smile crept upon your face when you heard Brodie’s faint ‘hey!’ Emitting from his bedroom.

You knew your mother would be absolutely furious knowing you had intentions on leaving thanksgiving early to attend a party, which was exactly why you had no plans on telling her. Your family was big enough as is, and considering you had shared thanksgiving with the Reid family for 12 years and counting, with both combined there had to be one, or many pockets for you to escape unnoticed.

The car ride to the Reid family home always seemed so short, always feeling so much longer when you were riding there on bikes, or walking there after school.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had even used your bike, it had to be collecting dust in your garage by now, you truly don’t think you had used it since starting highschool, despite your brother’s efforts to get you to ride to Spencer's house with him, each time you declined, something always more important popping up.

The familiar smell of the house flooded your nose while you took a step in, it always smelt like chai and vanilla, and it always looked like fall threw up on it, decorated with faux autumn leaves and pumpkins all year round, they always just added Santa hats to the pumpkins in December, you knew that was Spencer’s doing.

The wind was almost taken from you while Diana embraced you in the biggest hug, almost knocking over the cupcakes from the tray you were holding, giggling a little you returned the hug one handed of course. She always smelt like the house times ten, the vanilla smell becoming so much stronger the closer you were to her, pulling back she embraced your face in her warm slender hands brushing your cheeks softly with the pad of her thumb.

“You look so beautiful” she smiles, your face turning pink at her compliment, she did this every year. Every year she hugs you, looks like she’s about to cry and then goes on about how beautiful you look for the rest of the night, and every year it makes you feel a little more guilty about not coming around as much.

Both your parents embrace Diana and William before they usher you to the beautifully set dinner table, where the rest of his and your family awaited your arrival, both yours and his grandparents chatting away at the kitchen bench about some sort of football nonsense.

Always in awe of Diana’s meals, you debated on changing your mind and slipping out after dinner instead, not wanting to miss out on her carefully cooked Turkey.

Despite getting swept away in greeting the rest of your family, as well as the rest of the Reid’s, it didn’t take you long to notice one missing Reid.

Regardless of your efforts to talk to Spencer, he never really seemed that interested in befriending you after middle school, every time you tried to talk to him in class he always went quiet and dismissive, or snapped mean answers back at you, and you simply took the hint.

Spencer saw the way your friends snickered to themselves when you tried to speak to him, the way they’d whisper when he walked past, even though you’d smile and wave, he always saw them laugh behind you. He knew deep down it wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t help but blame you when you never actually stopped any of your friends from making snide comments at him or his friends.

Excusing yourself from your family, you hopped up the stairs, muscle memory walking you towards Spencer’s room before you mind had caught up,

Reading the large ‘S R’ sticker on the bedroom door, you chuckle to yourself a little, staring at the crooked R knowing it was like that cause you couldn’t reach it to meet the S in the fourth grade, Spencer had refused to help you, cackling as he watched you on your tippy toes while you begged him to stop laughing.

Before your mind could even process anything, you brought your arm up to knock on his door, swallowing nervously.

You weren’t even sure why you were nervous, he just seemed to shut down any attempt at being friends and you never knew why. He got along with Brodie just fine, they were honestly really close, they hung out at school everyday and studied together after school on Wednesdays and Fridays, it just seemed like your invitation stopped one day.

The door swung open while your mind had still been dissociated thinking about all the attempts you made to talk to him, snapping you from your brain fog, Spencer stood at the door almost equally as confused as you, honestly you didn’t know why you were there, and as smart as he was, he didn’t know either.

“I brought you a cupcake” you chuckle pushing the baked good towards him with your right hand, eyebrows furrowed he takes a look at the seemingly vanilla cupcake in your hand before looking back up at your eyes.

“I don’t like cupcakes” Spencer shakes his head quickly while his hand grips harder on his door handle, debates in his mind about closing it on you.

“Yes you do” Cocking your head you stare at Spencer confused, he loved cupcakes, he also loved your cupcakes “I literally saw you eating one in the library the other day” you scoff at his obvious lie.

“And why were you in the library” he raises both his eyebrows, glancing back down at the pretty cupcake you had offered him, which he began to quickly regret declining, because he really did love your cupcakes.

“Reading?” You conceded pulling your arm holding the cupcake back “are you implying I don’t read Spencer Reid?” This was the most he had talked to you in months, you never realized you could miss a person's voice despite them being alive and well.

“If the boot fits” he shrugs leaning on his door, the grip on his door handle loosening a little, you stare a little taken back, he doesn’t talk to you for years, and then all of a sudden on thanksgiving he decides he’s going to spit back sassy little comments at you?

“Can you just take the cupcake?.. it’s pumpkin spice” you admitted pushing the sweet back in his direction, a little part of Spencer’s facade broke down, almost giving into the cupcake “I even made the little pumpkin out of fondant… it took forever” you whisper the last part almost talking to yourself.

He tried his hardest to stay strong but you had just about broken him down at this point, with a displeased groan rolling his eyes he reached out to snatch the cupcake from your soft hand, earning a small smile to form on your lips.

It only took him seconds to dig into the treat before a soft chuckle escaped your lips “can I come in?” You smile glancing behind him into his room, it looked almost exactly the same as it did when you were fourteen, posters in the same place, no furniture was rearranged, you even spotted the mini dalek figurine you had bought him on his top shelf.

Hesitantly Spencer nods stepping away from the door frame to welcome you in, his room was always kept neat, sheets tucked perfectly under his mattress, and books always in the correct spot. His weakness, however, was the countless amount of school work pages spread across his desk.

Taking a seat at his desk your eyes still gaze around his room, feeling like a blast from the past, all the books you read, series reruns you watched and stories you wrote coming back to you in a wave of memories.

“So…” he mumbled, mouth still half full with your cupcake before sitting down on the edge of his bed “do you need science homework?” Shrugging boring his eyes back into yours.

You scoff, frankly offended he would even ask you such a thing “no?.. Spencer, you and I have almost the same science grades." You'd be lying if you said you’ve never thought of asking Spencer for homework, especially on nights where cheer practice ran late and you didn’t have nearly enough time to finish, but you’ve never actually asked.

“Yeah almost” scoffing while he brushes his hands against each other wiping the crumbs of the cupcake away, you sat there stunned a little, he knew you’d never ask him considering your friendship… situation, you wouldn’t use him.

You felt the rage boiling in you for a little at his attitude towards you, considering you had done absolutely nothing for him to be mad at you for, sure you weren’t in the same friend group, but he would know more than anyone the statistics of middle school friends drifting apart in highschool, you swivel his desk chair to face his desk, frustrated palming your face with your hands dragging them down a little.

You allow your eyes to rake across his messy paper filled desk before they’re drawn to one page in particular, written in pink pen on beige lined paper, quickly snatching it from the pile you let your eyes scan over it a little before letting out an unexpected laugh.

Catching Spencer’s attention his eyes had almost bulged out of his head once he realized what piece of paper you had in your hands.

“Dear Spencer…” you start reading aloud ignoring Spencer’s loud attempts to make you put it down “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our conversations and wanted to let you know-”

“Put it down please” he groans, reaching forwards to grab it from your hands, only for you to snatch it towards you standing up from his desk chair.

“-That I’ve liked you for a while now- Sadie Keller!” You gasp grinning up at Spencer while he makes every attempt to steal the paper back from your grip “you never told me you liked Sadie Keller!” you playfully smack him with the piece of notebook paper before letting him grab it from your grasp.

“I don’t really tell you anything” Spencer crumpled up the paper before tossing it back onto his desk, you face fell a little at his words, only because he was right, he didn’t really tell you anything at all, because he didn’t ever talk to you, because you weren’t really friends.

You almost could’ve sworn you felt a lightbulb click on above your head while you watched Spencer scurry his papers together to make a neat pile “come to a party with me” you rush causing his movements to halt slowly turning his head to meet your gaze.

“Why on earth would I do that… it’s thanksgiving” he reasoned, confusion painted across his face. He simply could not fathom why you would want to take him to a party, he also couldn’t fathom why he was considering it.

“God” you groaned, moving to take a seat on his bed now “people have got to get over that” rolling your eyes you pat down your skirt a little before continuing your attempt to read his face for clues on what was going on inside his head.

“Why would you want to be seen at a party with me?” He queried, attitude dripping from his sentence, watching as your face dropped and your brows furrowed coloured him confused, why would you want to be seen with him?

“Sadie will be there… and I can’t see a potential love story and not indulge” you snicker, almost dismissing his question, you thought you’d spare a sentimental conversation about how much you missed him and instead go an easier route, you wanted him to come for his benefit.

To your surprise, he looks as if he considers it for a while, it was the first time you actually took in what he was wearing, a fitted doctor who shirt and gray sweatpants, the same exact doctor who shirt your brother has on, you cringed a little at the thought that they had coordinated that.

“Fine” he says after a while of silence, you simply cannot help the grin creeping up on your face “but only because of Sadie, and not because of you” he rushes again, almost sounding like something he was trying to convince himself rather than you.

Holding your hands up in defense you smile at his surprising compliance “how are we even supposed to leave without anyone noticing?” Beginning to worry that both your families were beginning to wonder where both of you had gone.

In all seriousness, your family actually had not noticed that the both of you were up in Spencer’s room, and were much more occupied by the game of football they all huddled around to watch.

“Follow me genius”

go to PART TWO

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic recs #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert

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obriengf · 1 year

Text

My Beloved || Thomas x Reader

Summary: Thomas is filled with emotion as you both seek out a way to show just how much love you truly hold for one another. Words: 7.5k Warnings: SMUT18+!!!, loss of virginity, masturbation, p in v, this is honestly very fluffy and sweet okay Notes: okay so... this started off good then towards the end i got desperate to finish it and it turns rushed i think?????? a little bad??????? anyway, these guys would have NO idea about sex ed tbh just what they’ve learnt from each other... because i feel like WCKD had better things to do, like brainwashing everyone, instead of teaching kids about the birds and the bees. long story short just go with it and no judging on my smut please i dont write it often!!!

There’s a boy, and he’s so beautiful it hurts.

Among the fiery glow of the bonfire flames, his eyes luminate with golden specks - so bright, so mesmerising, that you cannot stop staring from beyond the heated curtain. You catch his gaze and the way his smile quirks upward, bashfulness flushing his cheeks and provoking his teeth to sink sinfully into the plusness of his lip. It brings a warmth to your chest - a sensation of adoration, burning hotter than the flames separating you both. It travels to your fingers with an itch that wants you to jump to the boy, embrace him, kiss him, love him. He had been everyone’s saviour, but to you, he saved more than just your life; he brought colour back to your dull days, allowing you to see the vibrancy that radiated with pure intentions from your daily sunlight. He returned hope to your anxious mind and settled the prior need to look over your shoulder for danger every spare second. He made you feel so incredibly loved to the point where you stopped breathing and your heart would swell with anticipating warmth. There’s a boy, and he’s so perfect it hurts, in the most breathtaking way.

Thomas could feel you staring. He revelled in the way that your eyes sparkled, and how you looked at him as if he put the stars in the sky. He was still getting used to others viewing him as their paladin, but you were different - it was much simpler, housing purity and sincere devotion, seeing the boy as your ending. You fell in love in the wrong place at the wrong time, surrounded by chaos and imminent peril, but the clawing need to stay by the other’s side brought you both to your much-deserved salvation; and better yet, into the forever hold of each other’s arms.

The boy couldn’t understand his emotions as they intensified, but he knew that it was longing. He knew that they yearned for you. He didn’t have the time or space to stop and consider how his body was growing and reacting to being around your own, the desperation to run and hide and fight had eventually become all that he could think about - until it was all over, and you were all safe. Now, those feelings returned and his thoughts drifted to how your kiss has started to ignite something in his gut, and how it spread through his veins to the point where he wanted to dig his fingers into your flesh and never let go.

It was a topic of conversation that he had previously brought up through loose lips and in between inebriated breaths; Minho on the receiving end with a bit more sobriety, but he was still dazed as he listened with widened eyes and unsplit attention. It was near comic how Thomas had him on the edge of his seat - he couldn’t put into words just how he was feeling, but his friend could see the depth behind the amazed look that glassed over whisky hues and how a curt smile perked at his lips. Minho very much understood that desiring need, the way complete and utter endearment could make a person feel like they were floating effortlessly on cloud nine. Thomas was the first person he went to when he was ready to take that step further with the sweet girl from the kitchens - and now it had turned full circle, and Minho had never been happier that love had struck his closest friends.

The flames began to die, juxtaposed to the rising moon that now bathed the Safe Haven in beautiful luminescence. Thomas could see you much clearer now, and it made your stomach flutter at how fervently he appeared. You found yourself growing more heated the further you allowed yourself to fall for the brunette boy; your eyes lingering that little bit longer, the need to nestle into the side of his body growing stronger, and your heart rapidly reverberating in your chest just that much harder. It was as if every nerve was ablaze with want, and it was such an unfamiliar sensation that you were starting to feel nauseous. And you didn’t want it to end.

It wasn’t long before Thomas stood, dusting at his covered thighs to rid the ash that sprinkled from the rising smoke. He moved slowly, almost with hesitance, but it was the bashful and budding thump from his heart that drew him toward you. Through the curtain of your lashes, you peered up at him as he stopped only a mere foot or so in front of you, his hand extended, and a chest filled with held breath that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. He was bathed in a fiery afterglow, his figure enveloped by golden flickers. You sighed dreamily.

“Want me to walk you back to your hut?” His voice was quiet, a gentle hum as it held the possibility of diffidence. He always held a sort of shyness when it came to you, especially when it allowed him to hold your hand and selfishly receive all of your undivided attention.

A rosy hue climbed your neck, speckling your cheeks with a blush that exceeded even the dancing flames of heat before you. It felt so incredibly right as your palm confidently slid over his own, granting Thomas permission to lightly grasp at your wrist and provide some strength in pulling you up. He always escorted you, these days. Part of him dreaded that if he didn’t, then something would happen to you. Whilst other parts craved the company you gave and the adoration you unforgivingly showered him in. Maybe, it was just his way of showing the supplemental gladers that surround you both that you would always leave with him, because you’re simply his.

Regardless - your hands were quick to wrap around his arm, tugging the boy close to you as you clasped your fingers with his. Bidding farewell to your friends and fellow survivors hardly took any time before Thomas was guiding you away, the path he followed so well-known by now that he swore he could travel it in his sleep. The lanterns that usually adorned your way had already died down, softened by the late night, yet complemented beautifully with the rising blanket of radiant moonlight. It would be hard for you to form words around just how contented you felt in this moment; calmed by the gentle breeze wafting from the ocean shores of the Safe Haven, and lulled when it rustled nearby palm trees in harmony with the now distant joyousness abandoned back at the bonfire.

Thomas’ thumb absentmindedly rubbed at your hand as your head dropped to his shoulder, the faint smell of burnt wood tickling your nostrils after becoming woven into the cotton of his shirt. You managed a small hum, surprising yourself when you inner thoughts left your lips with quiet notes, “Do you think it’ll stay like this forever?”

“What will stay?” He replied, his eyes briefly glancing down to you, lips curling into a slight smirk at how in thought you seemed to be.

You paused, lips pursing as you racked your brain for the right words. Everything, is what you truly wanted to say, but even then you wished that some things were different. You wished for Newt to be there with you all, and Chuck, and Winston. You had also often thought about Teresa and just how much she would have contributed to this new society. You really didn’t want everything to say the same, but some things were just simply perfect in your eyes.

“The tranquility.” You ended up with, squeezing Thomas’ forearm with your spare grasp, “The calm after the storm. Being able to take a deep breath because you know you aren’t always looking over your shoulder. Nights like this… so beautiful, merciful. Seeing our friends smile in what felt like forever. Us.”

“Us?” He questioned, peering to you again before focusing on the upcoming silhouette of your hut. Thomas laughed lightly, “We aren’t changing, not anymore. I have you and I’m keeping you forever. No take-backs, sorry sweetheart.”

A tender giggle echoed lightly in the air as it fell from your lips, prompting you to nestle even closer into Thomas’ side. He always made you feel protected, and you know from the bottom of your heart that he will also continue to until his dying breath.

You pressed your lips just under his ear, breath igniting his skin, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It was a force that managed to shake the walls; such harshness in comparison to the soft velvety feeling of his lips sliding against yours. Thomas’ brows furrowed slightly after forcefully kicking the door to your hut closed behind him, but it was the sweetness of your amused laughter that drew him so effortlessly back to you.

“A little eager?” The warmth of your breath fanned over his still rosy cheeks, reminding Thomas that you were so close. You watched as his lashes fluttered against his cheekbones - delicate, yet sharp - framing the doe-like brown eyes that you’ve grown to love, and beyond, and it made the boy appear so incredibly pure. He was a snowflake shining against the sun, a flower’s petals fresh as they begin to bloom, the dancing flames of a picturesque fire that you were only just admiring him through.

Thomas managed a smile through a breathless exhale, as if you were there taking his breath away with your bare hands, grabbing and keeping it as your own lifeline. He lent in, this time with closed eyes, the tip of his nose nudging against yours, and it was your turn to hitch at his whispered words, “You have no idea.”

His hands were rough. Callouses adorned them from the past year or so, memories and scars that captured how he survived and that those hands were the reason you were safe. They often trembled when he slept due to the nightmares that haunted him - the monsters that made him bleed, and the people that he watched perish before his tear-glazed eyes. Those hands carried the lives of legions of people at one point, and sometimes Thomas thinks that they are under pressure to still do so. Those hands were strong and could hold so much from so many people.

Yet, as one grasped your hip and the other cupped your cheek, they had never felt more tender. Oh - and how you desired the benign fingertips to soothe over your skin and touch you in places that have gone undiscovered by most. And if Thomas wanted to tread in those uncharted waters, there was no way that you would decline, not when you dreamt of his touch for so long.

You breathed him in once more, intoxicated by the most mundane of scents that built up who this boy came to be. The smoke was strong as it continued to linger, but the salt water that had dried on his skin and the subtle waft of dirt from his earlier exploration this morning was a concoction that on the best of days, drove you crazy, but right now you wanted nothing but to bathe yourself in it. With a small swallow of the lump in your throat, fingers grasped at the unbuttoned opening of Thomas’ henley, and you pulled him even closer than before until chests were flush and hearts beat in thumping unison.

His lips found yours again with ease, wrapping around your own and taking you as if he were a starved man. It drew a small moan to elicit from your throat and he knew that he would do anything to hear that sound again, over and over, a broken record that could both lull him to a lustful sleep and keep him awake at all hours with a curled fist and an overworked forearm. It wasn’t until his tongue slipped; dragging with deliciousness over your bottom lip, and taking refuge against your own as he licked so casually into your mouth. That’s the moment you blacked out and allowed your stance to lose all sense of muscle, becoming jelly-legged and at the mercy of Thomas’ arms wrapping further around your submissive frame.

Thomas slowly walked you both backward until your knees collided with the frame of your makeshift bed. You released a small gasp, enough to wake you from your short absence from reality, as the boy took it as his cue to lift you carefully until you were laying down against the thin sheet that you deemed as a blanket. This was the first time that he was ever situated above you - usually pulling you into his arms as you stood with friends, or tugging you down onto his lap so that he could cuddle against your back. Kisses would be shared, but they were never this hot, nor this needy, and Thomas’ breaths stopped momentarily as he took in how stupidly beautiful you looked underneath his heaving body.

He wasn’t sure what changed between you both so quickly with this new angle, but he had a sudden overwhelming sensation to kiss you with every ounce of passion he could muster, and meld himself with you until a single unit was left in your wake. He was throbbing in his head at the salacious thoughts that drowned his mind with images of you in positions seemingly compromisable. Throbbing in his heart at how emotion could so easily play such an intense role in how he never wanted to be a part from you for as long as he lived. And throbbing a little lower at how it all seemed to come together as one want, an impulse, a craving for your touch and taste and sounds that could drive a man mad in the absolute best way possible. Thomas was already halfway there.

You could feel it too in the way he was gazing over your frame - the heat that loved to submerged your body was now between your legs, and you had the itch to squirm from the slight discomfort it gave you. It was formidable once before, during a night where sleep was off the schedule, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you yearned for being between Thomas’ arms and held to his chest. The heat was like a heartbeat as it pulsated, and under the curtain of nightfall, you had eased the pain with your fingers and a hasty soothing rub. You remember seeing Thomas flash behind your fluttering eyelids before they settled closed, and it made you press harder, chasing after a feeling that was odd at first… but so quickly became pleasureful until you squealed his name and your chest sank from a high that pulled you up from your bed. It was euphoric, and you were quick to understand what some of the others meant when they talked about making themselves feel so good. All you wanted now was that feeling again, and Thomas to be the one to grant you such elation.

With vulnerable movements, you reached up to cup the boy’s cheek, your thumb dragging from his nose to the softened skin under his eye, teasing his lower lash line. You bit your lip at how stunning he truly was and how the subtleness of moonlight played shadows across his face. He nuzzled into your hold and placed a small kiss to the skin, the tip of his nose dragging with fragility over your palm until his lips pursed once more. You needed him closer until all you could feel was him, all you could taste and hear, too. You were aching to settle the feeling that had now reached your lower abdomen as it screamed to be soothed, to be taken care of.

“Kiss me.” You slipped, a softened whisper that Thomas almost missed until you said it again, “Kiss me, Tommy. I need you.”

You didn’t know what the words truly entailed except for how right it felt to say them - Thomas, clearly on a wavelength that matched yours with perfection, as he dropped to your lips with a smile and groan that you happily swallowed whole. Arms and legs clung to him for dear life as he slotted between your thighs, lips smacking and tongues dragging and suddenly that alluring cool night air became thick and humid. He covered your frame and slowly sank his body weight onto yours - a puzzle piece that was cut perfectly for you, embedded so sublimely against your curves and dips.

Hips clashed with harmonising force, a kind of friction that was heavily sought as it was chased. It drew a throaty groan to echo past Thomas’ lips, his brows furrowed as he tried to overcome the near pained feeling of pressure against his crotch as you absentmindedly pushed up against him. It was bittersweet torture - the kind where he knew how to relieve it, but was riddled with nervousness about sharing it with you. He sat a curled fist beside your head as his other held your hip, hoping that you wouldn’t notice how frisky your touch and taste were making the boy. Thomas was holding back every instinct to lose control over a sensation that had only ever met his right hand.

You were lost hopelessly in his lips. They held slight chappedness from the salty air, but an ever-forgiving softness that so easily held you captive and vulnerable. Whenever he kissed you, it was as if you were nothing but his - simply a figure that had fallen victim to his tender touch and enrapturing words, you wouldn’t dare move in case it burst the bubble that separated you from the outside world. It was simply an addiction and you craved it always, a constant need for Thomas, a constant need to share your love.

Absentmindedly, your ankles pulled his lower back further into you, and it was the meeting of his hardness against your heated core that ripped a sudden moan from you both as synchronised calls filled the space of your hut. You clung even further to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck among the thin sheen of sweat. It was the type of stimulation that you needed again, or else you’d stop breathing. Tentatively, your hips rose again before you gently rubbed over the pulsating hardness through the thick denim of his jeans, and you swore that stars exploded behind your eyes as you whined against his neck.

Thomas breathed out heavily, his throat thick, “Shit - shit, that feels good.”

You nodded weakly, desperation clawing at you as you pressed kisses down the column of his throat, remembering the patches of skin that made him shudder with fragility. Thomas was melting against your frame - a puddle of a boy between your limbs as he began to rock over you, slow drags until a comfortable pace was met and he could feel your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

His senses were enamoured by you - completely and utterly taken, infatuated to no end. You were all that he could feel and it made the air thicker than he thought possible as he swallowed your panting breaths. The need came rather quickly as Thomas grasped at the back collar of his shirt, his ears perking at the small whine you let escape as he sat back on his knees to remove the obstructive piece of cotton. Your lips were still pursed and they chased him with weak effort from your sobered drunken haze, much to the boy’s admiring amusement.

With a chuckle, Thomas lent down to you, his lips ghosting over the rosy hue of your cheek before pressing gently against it. He allowed the tip of his nose to nuzzle against the soft skin before he spoke in a whispered tone, “Who’s the eager one now, hm?” A shudder travelled down your spine as warm breath danced below your ear; a sensation that was enough to rip another moan from your thumping chest, a sound so melodious that Thomas found it a hasty necessity to imprint it permanently in his mind.

You replied breathlessly, “I can’t help that you’re hot, Tommy.”

He gripped your waist after his fingers slid over the exposed skin from your hiked-up shirt with desperation to run his touch over every inch of your body. He didn’t want to push you to follow suit with the removal of your own shirt, but it didn’t stop the clench of his jaw and sudden strong grip as he held himself back from pursuing the hunger that was slowly developing within him.

You knew him, more than yourself, and how his demeanour would change, and how every emotion or action was a chapter in his book that you’ve read too many times to count. It promoted your hand to lift and squeeze at his bicep, Thomas’ eyes drifting to your widened gaze and the glint that sparkled among your coloured hues, “Take it off, it’s okay. I trust you.”

He nodded, his chest fluttering at the faith you so easily had in him. You always did - have faith in Thomas - after all, he saved your life and in turn, you saved him by providing the limitless unconditional love that he deserved. His encouragement allowed you to find yourself after being lost within such a cruel world, and he never stopped believing in you. He never would. Thomas’ fingers flexed below your ribs, the toughed skin of his fingertips dragging with savour as he pushed your shirt further up your body. As it bunched under your chest, you managed to sit up slightly, quickly tugging the shirt until it let your skin breathe free, and it was tossed somewhere presently unknown across the room. The boy’s breath suddenly hitched as eyes raked shamelessly over your now vulnerable frame. His mouth felt dry, yet he was in complete awe.

“You’ve seen me like this before.” You noted though the silence, your voice barely loud enough to break the intimate atmosphere. Your chest flushed slightly, only growing more vibrant as it reached your cheeks. You grew bashful under his doting stare, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip adoringly.

“Yeah, but…” Thomas thought back to the times where you all would swim at the beach, enough clothes to cover you, but to which still left little to the imagination. He shook his head once more, still in complete wonderment at you laying beneath him, “This is different. What I-I feel… it’s so much more than I can handle, you’re just so beautiful.”

Your hand cupped his cheek and history repeated itself with such endearment; thumb rubbing under his eye to which he turned and kissed against your palm. It was quickly becoming your thing, your couple thing, something so small but so symbolic that ran the same path as screaming from the treetops that you’re in love. It was your silent communication of forever, and always, and until the end of our dying breaths to a world if there is one beyond ours. It was a promise and a reminder - that you both were there, and you weren’t ever going to leave. You were telling him through a simple touch of your hand that you were real, and his kiss was a reply of sincere gratitude.

Thomas lent down to peck the tip of your nose, smiling widely as your face scrunched with joy. His lips were quick to attach themselves to your neck next, wanting you to feel the ecstasy that you supplied him. They trailed with a wet path - his tongue darting out against pressure points and sucking at the spots that drew groans of satisfaction from you. Your head lulled back against his bed when teeth tickled your collarbone, and it didn’t take long for you to surrender yourself completely to him. Thomas’s tongue dragged heavily down your sternum before tracing along the cups that prevented you from bareness, eyes peering through thick lashes to silently ask for permission to go further. You couldn’t dare say no… not when every ounce of sunlight and warmth sang to you through such a simple look.

You snuck a hand behind your back to unclasp the bra, suddenly releasing an unknown-held breath when the cool night air mixed with the heated moans that Thomas fanned against your chest. He swiftly reattached his lips as he relished in the new canvas for his kisses, his moistened trail continuing. You squeaked as he passed over your sensitive nipple, promoting your hand to grasp the back of his head and hold him closer to you. Thomas continued by sucking lightly before his tongue swirled in time with his hand squeezing your opposite side. He kneaded and squished the flesh tenderly, feeling his trousers tighten at the mewling sounds you made.

He swapped sides and continued whatever sweet assault he could muster to prolong your symphony of sounds. It was building inside you - the desire for more. You felt like you were ignited, but wanting to be more than a spark… you needed to be an explosion, and you needed Thomas to be the one to set you off. You wiggled as you huffed out his name, your fingers fiddling with the button of your shorts when the boy pulled aware with a raised brow.

“More… I need more. Please.” You begged, lifting your hips as Thomas helped pull the material away. He stood back by a step or two, whisky-glassed eyes absorbing your writhing body in nothing but a pair of cotton underwear and a wet patch that matched the erotic stain over his crotch. He was robotic as movements forced him to remove his own pants, the playing field even, and his cheeks redder than the Safe Haven’s sunset when you immediately ogled at the tent that was pitched under his boxer briefs.

This sort of intimacy was alike a perilous expedition - unsteady footing at first, unsure how to press forward, but leading to a bewitching and alluring adventure with such rapturous salaciousness. It continued when Thomas’ hands were placed on your thighs, rubbing cautiously against your skin before dipping in between your legs. Just knowing that he was so damn close made you whine under your breath, quiet, yet pitched enough to catch Thomas’ attention.

Your fingers moved absentmindedly as they circled the moistened patch that you created, chest swelling with a held breath. You shuddered, trying to compose yourself, voice humming with please, “I-It feels good when you rub right there…”

“Is that what you do?” He questioned, eyes wide as he took in the information, and fingers dancing hesitantly close to your core. All you could do was nod and whine, hips squirming just from the thought of the pleasure that you’ve previously made yourself feel. It was an instant snap - the build of a rubber band being held back by Thomas’ fiery imprints, before the pressure was released, and the bounce back hit you hard when he pressed into the place that throbbed with wet need.

Your body trembled with a softened sigh, the attention you were receiving easily turning your mind to mush, and he had barely dipped below the surface. Thomas’ eyes widened as his movements traced in the same tempo as his heavy breaths, chest thumping and skin igniting with warmth - he was in wonderment at the sounds that he drew from you, the squirming and the delicate fluttering of your lashes. It was a side of you that he was seeing for the first time, that anybody was seeing for the first time, and he felt so damn privileged.

The boy stopped quickly as you grasped at his wrist, big brown orbs looking to you in worry; but it quickly dissipated when he saw your loving ghost of a smile as it perked at your lips, and how you gently pushed him away to be able to remove the final piece of clothing that separated you from him. The cool breeze over your exposed slick provoked a shudder up your spine, a second one eliciting when you realised that Thomas’ flushed face was staring at your most private area.

He didn’t hesitate when his finger dragged back over you, collecting moisture that made your body tick when slathered across your sensitive nub. The pressure increased and you were sinking, melting, dissolving into the sheet beneath you. Your body was heavy, yet you felt weightless, allowing Thomas to take every ounce of control to drive you into ecstatic oblivion. His touch drew slightly down and circled the sensitive hole that was swimming in your pleasure, your breath hitching as his fingertip breached until his first knuckle. The boy’s hair was tugged with a needy grasp, the sheets below him shifting as they were too curled within your other hand.

Thomas cursed under his breath as he rutted slowly against the side of the bed, his finger beginning to pump as he relished in how you squeezed him. He sighed loudly with a teeth-bitten bottom lip, “You like that?” It was rhetorical by what he saw before him, but he needed the affirmation, to know that you were going to unravel in bliss. And that he was why you were floating in a euphoric daze. You managed a whine in reply, head nodding as words were stuck among your hitching and heavy breaths. The tip of Thomas’ middle finger slightly curled as he shifted his position, and you released a sudden cry after he unknowingly rubbed against your spongey roof. He stopped immediately; scared that you were hurt, his chest tightening with worry until he noticed the cry settling into a moan, and your hips instinctively chased his touch for more attention.

Thomas was known for being brave - diving in head first, running on pure instinct and spontaneity. He wasn’t one to back down, and now he knew what provoked those sweet wanton sounds of a symphony to escape you, he would do whatever possible to keep it going. He pumped his finger harder, his cock twitching against the bedsheet whenever you clenched around him, that one special spot being harassed over and over again until he swore you stopped breathing. His bravery shone when he inserted his pointer finger, his own throat now paying homage as it growled out a groan of desperation at how you both stretched and tightened. His mind travelled to thoughts of how you’d feel wrapped around his throbbing member, and if he didn’t get himself sorted soon, then he’d be leaving behind a spray of stickiness in his pants.

“T-Thomas…” You panted, hips rising and chest heaving as you felt fire bubble in your abdomen. Your voice cracked at the overwhelming sensation, “More… I need more…”

He was careful to remove his fingers, but hasty when he rose up your body. Lips found yours instantly, as if by a magnetised force, two pairs that were destined to be slotted together with a taste that you could so easily get drunk off of. He licked between your lips until you granted him access to explore you properly, sliding with juxtaposed delicate hunger, and swallowing your breath and moans until they settled as his own. Thomas was slightly started as your nails dragged down his naked chest, goosebumps trailing in their wake before the elastic waist of his final piece of cotton was being attended to. The need was growing substantially as he pulled back - much to the disappointment of both himself and you, your lips pursed and eyes growing wide as you stared to him with such childlike doeness.

It was becoming too real now as his hands began to shake, but any doubt was wiped clean when Thomas saw the adoring expression that flushed your face and prompted such a beautiful glint in your eye. You were his, and he was yours. That’s how it was and it’s how it would remain. Thomas was ready to give everything and more to you, as you were to him. Always.

The boy drew a deep breath before his boxers were dropped and he toed them to the side, his body bare in front of you. Thomas was pure - the epitome of a dream, a handsome man with arms that could protect you for the rest of your days. It wasn’t until you looked closer that you properly noticed the scars that showed his true story; both small and large imprints that represented sacrifice, and loss, and success. You lent forward with tentative movements until your fingers danced over the marks, and for a moment Thomas flinched, but easily settled as you traced each one with care. With pursed lips, you pressed against one near his navel; a recent wound that would forever remind you of his escape from death, where a bullet pierced his skin and left him unconscious for days. It was a time when you waited by his bedside without reposition, watching the steady rise of his chest as day turned to night, until he awoke in what would be your rightful Safe Haven.

The thought alone provoked wet tears to coat his lower stomach, and Thomas gently slid his hand into your hair as his thumb soothed you with consistent rubbing motions. Thomas was here with you, he was alive, he was real, he was safe and he was so utterly and completely loved.

It was as if he could read your mind as he cooed against the crown of your head, “I’m here, babygirl. I’m not going anywhere.”

You showed your understanding with more kisses over more of his scars, until every one had been offered endearment. You sat up further on your knees until you could gaze into his caramel eyes and the shade of burnt honey was easily your favourite; they gleamed especially under the afternoon sun, mesmerising swirls that could drag you to the deepest of depths, and you’d let them. They showed kindness and amusement, but right now, they darkened within the thickness of the room and you could’ve sworn that if given the chance… he would eat you alive, right there and then. Oh, how you wish he would.

But this moment was tentative - shared among inexperience, but budding romance and the strongest desires to be held and cherished. You needed to be closer which is why you kissed Thomas slowly, your lashes brushing against his pink cheeks, and your hands tightly squeezing his shoulders as his hardened cock twitched over your stomach. Flames were still burning brightly in your core and they needed to explode before they could be pleasantly extinguished.

Your mind was too hazy to recall how your hold shifted to arms sliding around his neck, pulling him further in until teeth clashed and silenced groans were exchanged, and Thomas took it in stride to poke his tongue at every crevice he could before sliding it deliciously over your own. He lowered you to the bed before placing himself between your thighs, your ankles returning behind his back, and two hearts reverberating with slight anxiety against the other’s chest.

Thomas pulled back slightly as his nose nuzzled with yours, a deep breath taken, “We don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready.” He offered quietly, trying to convince himself that his words were purely directed toward you.

You smiled; the feeling of his wet and puffy lips brushing against your own as you did. You rubbed your nose back against his, “I’m ready if you’re ready… I love you, I’ll do anything for you, Tommy.”

The boy chuckled in near disbelief. He knew a long time ago that he'd love you - that you’d take up every thought, every dream. That you’d so seamlessly enter into his life like the need for oxygen, and without you, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. You weren’t just needed or wanted, you were necessary to Thomas, and the love he had for you was unchallenged and indescribable. And now, it was also so incredibly mutual. Not that he had any doubts.

“I love you too, so much.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “So, so much.”

Thomas’ hips rocked against yours and the desperation was building fast. He thrust once, twice, three times until he was coating himself in your wet slick and it pulled a guttural noise from his throat. There was a time when he felt embarrassed listening to how his friends would recount their sexual experiences, and what they did to their partners, and how good it really felt. Neither of you had gotten to that stage until now, but he was thankful that he listened otherwise he wouldn’t be able to truly experience you.

The boy’s large hands tugged at himself a few times to properly lather himself in your wetness and you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the package he held, your bottom lip quickly being held captive. You exhaled deeply, eyes widening, voice softening, “A-are you sure that’s gonna fit?”

He laughed, a sound so sweet, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But…it might hurt, okay?” He huffed into your ear, face buried in the crook of your neck as you pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses to his flushed skin, “So you need to tell me when to stop if it gets too much.” You whined, nodding in acknowledgement as Thomas began to line himself up, the head of his sensitive girth meeting your lower lips. But he didn’t push further, taking another deep breath, “You need to say it, please, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

Instinctively, you ground up against him and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the anticipation grew, “I will, I promise.”

He didn’t need much more convincing as Thomas pushed into you, so incredibly slowly as he savoured how tight you clung to him. Your warmth forced his eyes to roll back and knowing that he was stretching you brought on utter determination. His cock was burying deeper, and deeper, and even he was starting to question now whether he’d fit inside you. Thomas opened his eyes after realising that they were closed, not remembering when he squeezed them shut, and he looked over your scrunched face with a gentle coo. He lifted a hand to your face before his thumb was gentle in pushing out the wrinkle between your eyes, his touch dragging down the curve of your face to cup your cheek. He whispered to you - affirmations and encouragements, reminders of love and pride.

The lack of reception was a worry that nearly made him stop until you covered his hand with your own, face tilting until you could kiss over Thomas’ palm. You huffed as you were being filled, swearing that you could feel him in your stomach, but the pain would surely dissipate. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” Your mantra repeated like a broken record, getting lost in the heavy panting of your breath, until your back suddenly arched and Thomas had reached the hilt.

He was already spent as hands braced themselves beside your head, caging you in until all you could see was his kiss-swollen lips and lustful dark eyes checking you for any kind of discomfort. The pressure sucking him into you was a sensation that he could never grow tired of, yet he waited for your face to soften and for the curl of your lips before he was granted permission to finally move.

It was harmonious when you both sang out in pleasure; the four walls of your hut hopefully thick enough to not draw in any unwanted attention, but at this stage, you could care less about anybody or anything outside of the bubble you and Thomas found yourselves within. His rocking turned to a fastened pace, driven by just how close you both already were to reaching your highs. Hips clashed and lustful sounds echoed as your arms curled under his own and grasped at his shoulders, pulling the boy closer until an inch couldn’t be spared between your sweat-sheened skin. Curses fell from your lips with ease and Thomas relished in the way that he was making you feel, your bodies moving as a single unit as you were pushed and pulled across the bed.

He nosed your cheek before brushing his lips against yours - not quite a kiss, but a flash of want that was sure to leave behind a burn, and you hoped that the feeling would stay with you forever. He nuzzled into you as he moaned out, “I love you”, his words so sweet in contrast to the near-pornographic moan that followed when you clenched around his cock. It made you rut back against him and meeting his hips halfway was nearly your tipping point. You were chasing after the feeling of ecstasy as it continued to build and continued to run, your arm held out and it was within reaching distance. So close. So close.

You knew you had crossed the finish line when your vision turned to stars; a white light coinciding with delicate heat, your body trembling as you droned against Thomas. You were weightless again - floating in euphoria, your bones melting as you collapsed completely into Thomas and he made sure to hold you against his naked chest with a protective arm across your back. It was the first time you truly felt pleasure and it was perfect.

“You did so well…” Thomas cooed, trying to withstand his own release as he kissed over your temple, his fingers massaging into your spine when he felt a quiet sob escape you. His lips pressed once more, “Just so you know” He started again, his thrusts slowing before he went too far, “You look so beautiful right now.”

“I’m crying.” You scoffed, eyes scrunching when you pulled back as his cock throbbed from inside you, dragging over the spongey spot that had the potential to drive you to insanity if probed enough. But the feeling was too strong and you were becoming too sensitive.

Thomas noticed before he pulled out with haste, his tortured girth being fisted roughly within his hand. He took a deep breath, the urge to cum growing nearer as his head threw back and his eyes screwed shut. “You’re beautiful even when you cry.” It wasn’t until he looked at you, the feeling of soft skin cupping his cheeks and your lips slotting against his own, that Thomas finally let go. You swallowed his moans as the boy shook under your grasp; strings of white stick painting his fist and reaching your chest.

He was the first to break away, the need for air nearly forgotten as he was getting lost in your touch and taste. Thomas’ forehead pressed to yours and his shoulders sagged in absolute content. Your relationship consummated on an entirely different level, and you both had never felt closer to one another. Thomas hummed, his heart rate slowly coming down, yet he couldn’t help but express excitement, “That, fuck… that was amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He grinned as you giggled under your breath, arms wrapping back around his neck, “And you, babygirl.. that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I survived a week in the Scorch.”

He flinched slightly as you slapped at his shoulder, embarrassment flourishing and your face was hidden as it nuzzled against one of his pecs. The boy continued to rub your back through his tamed chuckles, admiring what he deemed as adorable behaviour, and you acknowledged him with a series of kisses over the damp skin of his chest and an amused tone, “You’re such a dork, Tommy.”

“I’m your dork.”

You murmured something incomprehensible against him, followed by a yawn and a satisfied smile. You were worn, in the best way possible, through a moment that would stay with you for as long as life allowed you to keep it. Thomas has saved you in more than one way - allowing you a new lease on life, full of different experiences and emotions, with a promise held in the cusps of forever love. It was a struggle to get to where you are now but you’re glad, no, you’re gratified that it eventually led you to a life with Thomas.

The boy pulled you back to his chest as he squeezed a final hug, his brows furrowing at the feeling of cooling slick between your bodies, a bittersweet end to where love was made, “First things first, I’m gonna have to clean us up.”

#dylan o'brien x reader #thomas tmr x reader #tmr thomas x reader #tmr thomas #dylan o'brien smut #thomas tmr #tw smut #afab reader #the maze runner #tmr x reader

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maxwell-grant · 6 months

Note

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Worm irreparably destroys your ability to engage with superhero fiction the same way ever again, as evidenced by the fact that it destroyed the author's own ability to engage with his own superhero fiction ever again. And everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

#replies tag #worm #worm spoilers #wormblr #wildbow #superheroes #web serial

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chongoblog · 2 months

Text

A Moment: A Short Story

Simon had always heard about just how beautiful Zion Canyon was, especially from the end of the Angel’s Landing trail which lead to a breathtaking view over the canyon. Now that he was there, he knew in his heart that his 50 day hike was worth it. At least, he assumed that’s about how long it would have taken if time had moved a single second. The hardest part about stopping time for this long is that it was so easy to lose track of just how long it had been for him since time had moved. No clocks or watches to keep track. No day or night. It was just him wandering across the world within that one single moment.

But what a moment it was. He paused to drink in the view from the top of the trail, even if he had all the time in the world to do so. The sun was setting, bathing the wall of the canyon in a warm glow. The trees that peppered the canyon walls reached up to the orange sky, adding touches of life to the hard rock that made the gorgeous structure. In the bed of the canyon, life exploded with greater abundance, with thousands of trees and even a small town settled along the river.

While the view provided Simon a sense of peace, he felt something underneath his foot. His instincts led him to move his foot to see what had disturbed his tranquility, finding a pebble. He tried to kick it off of the steep cliff face to watch it fall, only to see the pebble remain completely unmoved. Frozen in time, just like everything else.

What good is stopping time if you can’t change anything?

The question lingered over his thoughts like a vengeful specter. This so-called “superpower” of his was a joke. When he had heard of people stopping time in movies and comics, it usually had more utility than this. The superheroes could use the time-stopping to move from one place to another instantaneously, or to perform long and arduous tasks in the blink of an eye, or even to play some kind of prank. Simon couldn’t do any of that. Everything was completely frozen in place, and time could not continue until Simon returned to where he had begun.

At least he had chosen a good moment to pause time, with the gorgeous sunset rewarding his efforts. His mother had always told him how amazing the view was from atop Angel’s Landing, since she once hiked this trail when she was his age.

He sat down atop the rock to take it all in. He had all the time in the world, after all.

—

Simon had been on plenty of nature hikes with his family when he was a child. While his father had passed away a few years ago, his mother continued to take him hiking in his stead. On almost every hike, she would say “Well the hike up is the tough part! Once you’ve seen the sights at the end, the hike back doesn’t even feel like a hike!” And while that was true for most hikes, walking all the way home from Utah to Boston still felt like a hike.

Just like the nature hikes, this trail known as “I-80” was full of wondrous sights, like the incredibly flat prairies that seemed to go on forever with nothing in sight except more highway and some power lines. However, in case he somehow got bored of stewing in his own thoughts, there were always gas stations. They weren’t exactly Niagara Falls in terms of majesty, but they were a break in the monotony, especially if he was lucky enough to catch them with the door open.

Somewhere in Iowa, he came across a cheap looking fuel stop with its door open, and decided to go check it out. After all, he had time.

The dim fluorescent lighting illuminated the small, cramped building. The fragrance of cheap corn dogs hit Simon’s nose like an unconvincing temptress, making him glad he didn’t have to eat to stay alive in frozen time. His eyes looked around to see what everyone was doing at this moment in time. The cashier was giving a customer change for a twenty, with Simon noticing that the cashier was accidentally giving the customer one too many dollar bills. The customer was paying for two bags of Funyuns, a bottle of grape soda, and a bottle of orange soda, all placed on the desk. Behind him was a young boy, who Simon couldn’t help but focus on. He was holding an ice cream cone, but the ice cream scoop was falling towards the floor.

Simon looked at the expression this kid wore on his face. It was a face of shock, surprise, pain, even grief that stared at the ice cream scoop as it fell victim to gravity. Obviously, this wasn’t going to ruin this kid’s life, but the look on the kid’s face at this precise moment told a different story. At this moment, the child felt more sorrow than could be put to words.

When Simon was walking to Zion Canyon, he had stopped here as well. He hated this child. Yes, it was a child, but someone feeling this much pain over something as trivial as ice cream sent him into a fit of rage.

Simon stared at the agony written on his face for a few minutes (or at least, a few minutes for him), and finally spoke for the first time that felt like months. “That sucks, what happened to your ice cream. I wish that I could use my power to stop this from happening to you. But I can’t.”

He crouched down, meeting the child at eye-level. “But it’s going to be okay. At this moment, you probably feel awful. But…time heals all wounds. Once I start time back up, your dad will probably offer to get you another one. Or at least, I hope he does. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with feelin’ bad over it. You just…can’t stay like that forever.”

After another few seconds, Simon sighed. “I gotta get back home. The sooner you get a new ice cream cone, the better.” He stood up, and left the store, continuing his long, long, long hike.

—

Simon was finally home. The world around him had been frozen for what felt like months, and yet Simon still felt the knot in his stomach swell as he approached Tonio’s Pizzeria. It was always his favorite restaurant, since they always melted the cheese in their cheesy crusts just right. He and his mom had just finished their meal celebrating his acceptance letter into UMass Boston. The delightfully tacky exterior flooded its multi-colored neon lights all across the few available parking spaces in front of the building. Unfortunately, Simon and his mother couldn’t find any available parking in the front. After fighting the knot in his stomach, he walked behind the pizzeria to where they had ended up parking their car.

Unlike the front of the pizzeria, the parking lot out back was shrouded in darkness of nighttime. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, but next to one of the cars was a familiar sight that still managed to freeze Simon in place.

There stood two people. A masked man with a gun, holding it towards his mother. In the air between the two of them was a single bullet, directed straight for his mother’s head.

Before he had embarked on his expedition out west, Simon had spent a long time in this parking lot. He lost count of how many times he had tried to do something. He had tried moving the bullet. He had tried moving his mother. He had tried picking up something to throw at the bullet. He had tried punching and kicking the masked man. He had even tried moving himself between the bullet and his mother and resuming time. But nothing had worked. Everything had been set in stone, with Simon meant to stand right next to his mother.

Simon took a few deep breaths, knowing what he had to do. If he didn’t, that kid would be crying over his ice cream forever, now wouldn’t he? Every step felt heavy as he made his way into the correct position. He could hardly bear to look at his mother’s face one last time. It was a face that he could never forget. One stricken with shock and fear, but with an unmistakable look of acceptance.

“You were right, mom. Zion Canyon was…incredible.”

And so, Simon resumed time once more.

#writing #short story #i hope you guys enjoy it #its an idea thats been in my head for a minute

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doctorsiren · 8 months

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So I said this in the tags of my last post, but then I went wacky and doodled up some pages of this other AU idea that stemmed from the idea of that comic I did

In this AU, Miles goes to Diego Armando’s office a few weeks after the Fawles trial. There is no cocky, arrogant, or smug air about him like there was during the trial and instead he seems really shaken and nervous. Diego’s like “hey what’s wrong?” And Miles is quiet but then says that he needs help. He tells Diego that he can’t get the image of Fawles’s suicide out of his head and that he has no one he can talk to about this. Diego asks about Miles’s mentor, but Miles says that there’s absolutely no way he could ever go to his mentor for help with emotional stuff because it would show “weakness” and he also isn’t comfortable with von Karma. To make a long story short (because I’ve thought so much about this), Miles ends up pleading with Diego to protect him from von Karma just in case he goes after him for switching sides to be a defense attorney. He knows that von Karma will see him as weak and a traitor for switching teams after a single case, but Miles can’t be someone he’s not. Diego points out that Miles seems to be trying to be who von Karma wanted him to be. So he asks Miles what he wants to be, and Miles responds by saying he wants to be his dad (just like in my 1985 animatic 😭).

So Miles decides to renounce prosecution. He rips off his cravat and throws it in the garbage in Diego’s office and declares that he’ll become a defense attorney. He also asks Diego is he could be his mentor to help him in both being better at defense law and also just being better with interacting with people.

He joins the Grossberg Law Offices and works alongside Mia and Diego to gather evidence on Dahlia Hawthorne, as he now too believes that she has done terrible things.

After Diego is poisoned, Miles freaks out because people just keep dying or getting hurt around him and it scares him. (Oh…baby boy just wait until Mia dies too-)

He takes the case to defend Phoenix, gets TERRIFIED when Phoenix eats the poison necklace, and then at the end, Phoenix was like “oh wow! You’re a defense attorney now?? Lmao when did that happen??” Bc he had been too busy simping over Dahlia. But Miles tells him that he should still pursue law so that they could work together and also so that Phoenix’s law classes and studying wouldn’t have gone to waste. So Phoenix becomes a lawyer and works with Miles and Mia at the Fey & Co Law Offices until she dies and then it becomes Edgeworth & Co Law Offices because he had been a lawyer for longer.

I like the idea that in this AU, Phoenix and Miles obviously have huge crushes on each other, but these idiots still refuse to acknowledge or admit it <3

Also :((( when Diego wakes up, he still goes on his whole antagonist arc as Godot, and Miles refuses to tell Phoenix the truth about who he is. See, I also like the idea that in this AU, Nick and Miles are still as cagey with their past and truths as they are in normal AA

As you can see, I am perfectly normal !! I think about ace attorney a very normal amount!! 🤭

#doctorsiren #ace attorney #ace attorney au #miles edgeworth #diego armando #mia fey #phoenix wright #feenie #bratworth #narumitsu #wrightworth #prosecutor godot #maya fey #iris fey #franziska von karma #defenseworth au #ace attorney fanart #doodle pages #art #digital art #my art #fanart #procreate #what should I call this AU??? for some reason i can come up with really good ones for other fandoms but I have a hard time with AA AU names #I mean one of my AUs is literally called ‘silly little monster AU’ soooo #he looks way too much like Milo Thatch /pos #I AM NORMAL!!! HEHEHE #dude how many AUs have I made in the past few days?? like 4 counting this one? and not counting SLM AU bc that started a month ago #for funsies!! we can combine this AU and the Godot AU I made and so everyone can be happy!!!! 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥#<- I live in a constant state of denial /j

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barrenclan · 4 days

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i think rainhaze is one of my favorites characters ever genuinely, issue 37 was AMAZING and i really loved how rainhazes arc finally ended. I feel rlly happy bc this was a very poingant way of putting that rabid dog down but also i mean. I am a little sad. I pity rainhaze but in a way you pity a cocroach or something... He had it coming, his death was soooo well executed!! rain and all of defiance see killing as a divine right, and seeing that turn on rainhaze was very cathartic.

The casual way he spoke about asphodels murder was genuinely sickening. As if it was all a favor to HER, instead of rainhazes cowardice and trauma and brainwashing and selfishness making him kill his niece im cold blood. The way his own death dragged on and on, how painful and terryfying and gruesome it was - this is what asphodelpaw went through. Her death was not like falling asleep and neither was his. It was scary and painful and cold. So cold.

The way this comic completely subverted audience expectations with rainhazes character is sooo so good... At first he was just a chilli dead guy. then he turned into a classic winter solider type - morally dubious but still symphatetic, a 'poor little meow meow' who was stuck in a horrible situation he had no way of leaving. and then he killed asphodelpaw in cold blood. That moment, when he chose to embrace the violence, the damned coward, was such a delicious and twisted reaveal - forcing the reader to reconsider the whole story and character from an entirely new perspective.

i think we as people well versed in fandom tend to woobify and water down characters like rainhaze and make them into 'poor little meow meows' - removing their agency in the situation entirely to make them more personable and toned down - and rain feels to me like a purposful dissection of that. he IS sympathetic, to a degree. the shit he want through was undeniably awful - and it broke him and molded him into a monster.

rainhazes character was always about choice, i think. about decisions you make and the decisions made for you, and how you respond to the latter... about the question of autonomy. where does your choices end and other peoples influence begin? and does it really matter, in the end? does it matter whether or not rainhaze did what he did out of his own will or under rangers influence? he still did it. even if he were sorry, and hes not, would that matter? he killed her. there is no bringing her back and he had to deal with the consequences himself. abandoned by his family and his tormentor alike.

his death was pathetic and slow and pitiful, and above all disturbing - just like rainhaze himself. i think thats the word that describes him best - pathetic. rest in pieces, you cold bastard. ill miss you.

sorry this is so long..... i tried to put my thoughts into words here and i still fell short, i hope at least some of it makes sense

So, so many people have wonderful, intricate and moving thoughts about Rainhaze in my inbox, and I want to share them all with you. So here is the first one.

Rainhaze really did make for a great deconstruction of the "poor little guy" trope that I was interested in exploring. Shellspring also did, to an extent, but with Rainhaze I wanted to get really deep into it. How much of this is his fault? What could he have done differently? Is his death cathartic, satisfying, triumphant, painful, tragic, or anything else? It was a lot of fun to write and I'm glad so many people seem to have enjoyed it.

#ask #rainhaze #analysis #currently i have about 240 asks so like. it may take a bit to get to them all understand #patfw spoilers

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