#tune in next time for a model with some actual paint on it!

[dwarvenbash]

Dwarf Longbeards!

Definitely one of my top 3 favorite Dwarf units in Warhammer. I tried my hardest to match the feel of the excellent 6th edition designs by the legendary sculptor Colin Dixon as pictured in the bottom-most picture (the standard bearer in the center-left has been promoted to a Runelord), but I have quite a few quibbles with the newer plastic kit.

Even so, while my take on these old fogeys could maybe do with a couple additions to fill some gaps, I'd like to think I preserved some of that grumpy character to help them fit in with the rest of the unit!

As promised though, more complaining under the cut...

Now before I dive too deep into a screed of negativity, I'll gush a bit about the aforementioned 6th edition sculpts.

Colin Dixon is responsible for some of the best Warhammer Dwarf designs in my opinion, and absolutely nails all the elements that make them stand out from their other more generic fantasy equivalents. They are loaded to the whiskers with small details, from the iconic angular "ancestor" detailing of simplified dwarven faces on their weapons and armor, to accessories from beer steins to smoking pipes to rings on their fingers. Each miniature tells a story, and for these Longbeards especially it's like they're carrying a long lineage of heirlooms and history with them into battle!

One of the greatest parts of Colin's sculpts however in my opinion are how he poses his dwarfs. An essential element that seperated old Warhammer Dwarf designs from others were how short their legs were. Most of the time, a Dwarf's boots were all you could see on a miniature, the rest obscured by long-hanging chainmail or beard hair. While this did a great job of helping them have a distinct look, it also meant it could be hard getting more dynamic and characterful poses out of them; not so for these Longbeards, however! Unlike their more follicle-challenged kin, these old Dwarfs are not shown charging into the fray, hopped up on adrenaline. This is not their first battle, and you're sure to hear them mutter something about how that "back in their day" the orcs were nastier, and the ale tasted better, to boot! So to reflect this, they are posed at ease, resting on their great weapons like walking sticks, unimpressed, just waiting for the enemy to come to them.

Now, much like in the Dwarfen kingdoms of Warhammer, the new-fangled miniature designing ways somewhat pale in comparison to the old masterworks, which brings us to the new Longbeard model...

I'm not going to sugarcoat it; in my opinion, this is a terribly designed kit. The eclectic choice of colors here isn't doing this promotional image any favors, but the problems run a lot deeper than that. Designed to pull double duty as both Hammerers and Longbeards, this 8th edition kit saps all the uniqueness and character from both unit types in order to kill two proverbial Dwarfs with one stone. The kit is basically mono-pose: the head slots into the body in a very specific way, and the ball joint sockets for the arms might as well be for show. Jamming two different unit types into one kit also means there is no room for any interesting accessories or fun bits like (nearly) every other Dwarf kit has; there are only extra heads or weapons from the unit you weren't building in the first place, which in my opinion, have different enough aesthetics to warrant two separate designs.

Beyond the kit itself, though, the design you are left with after you put it together (if you follow the instructions) is egregious. Most glaring is the model's scale: these Dwarfs are for some reason far more bulky than any of their brethren, so much so that it's a challenge trying to rank these guys up on 20mm bases! (These 8th edition models I suspect are one of the reasons TOW moved their bases up 5mm) Their stupidly bulky armor, too, is bedazzled with this bizarre flowing curly-cue ornamentation that looks more like elven handiwork than anything Dwarf-crafted. Their helmets don't even have horns of any kind like the old designs, opting instead for an odd football helmet-esque look with these orbs on each side that I absolutely despise.

The worst offender might be the model's pose. While it might not be as bad when they are built with hand weapons, the great weapon pose has absolutely no character or energy behind it. I assume the idea is that they are supposed to be mid-march, but they look like they have about as much agency and personality as a chess piece. Embarrassingly, most of the Longbeard head option's beards barely even touch the ground! The one requirement to make this unit recognizable as what it is supposed to be, and they could barely manage that.

I will say the Longbeard unit champion in this kit (pictured front and center in the above picture) does maintain some of that original repose and character by virtue of leaning on his shield and great weapon, and in order to salvage this kit I relied heavily on these bits for my own Longbeards, which you may be able to spot in the initial photos.

That and some old reliable bits from the 4th edition Dwarf Warrior kit saved this build for me, but what stings the most about this new kit is that it is what two of the most iconic Dwarf units are stuck with looking like for most people for the foreseeable future. It has been kept in production solidly since 8th edition as an Age of Sigmar unit, and now with The Old World, it'll probably hold that course.

That being said, there's still a chance for some new developments with The Old World, as some units like the Dwarf Lord with Shieldbearers will almost certainly be getting new models. I'll keep my fingers crossed, but like any good Longbeard, I'll probably just keep sticking with the old stuff. :)

Thanks for reading this somewhat rambling editorial, I'll try to keep these constructive rather than full on devolve into GW-bashing all of the time (while that is quite fun...), but I had to devote some time to articulate why exactly I feel so strongly about this particular variety of Dwarf, as one does.

Not to end on a sad note, but Colin Dixon passed away quite recently, so if you have a moment, here is a very nice article memorializing his career as a painter and sculptor of miniatures:

#warhammer #warhammer fantasy #dwarf #kitbash #fantasy #tune in next time for a model with some actual paint on it!

[tigerlilla]

act like you like me

(part three) two one

“what is this place?” you frowned, stepping out of bakugo’s car.

bakugo ignored your question, instead placing his hand on the small of your back, his fingers pushing you towards the front door. you stood in front of what looked like a rundown club, the windows tinted black and a suspicious sign in front that had been painted over.

he opened the front door and followed you inside. it was dark, can lights and candles giving some light to the bar. a few people sat at the bar, all quiet and looking down. there was a table in the corner with a small group of people talking quietly, their faces hidden from you. bakugo led you past the bar and to a small room off the main space.

bakugo slipped open the door to the room, sliding in and pulling you in behind him. the laughter in the room stopped as you blinked, eyes adjusting from the dark hall.

there was a poker table in the middle of the room, pro-heroes sitting around it and staring at you. pinky, uravity, chargebolt, red riot, cellophane, shoto and creati, even deku, current number one.

you pulled on bakugo’s sleeve.

“katsuuuukkii!!!” mina squealed, hopping up from her seat and tackling bakugo in a huge hug. she quickly turned her attention to you, “oh my god, you are so much cuter in person!” she hugged you too, not noticing your frown at her backhanded compliment. “‘suki, you bagged a babe. i’m so proud of you!”

“i told you she was a cutie,” dylan chimed in, walking into the room behind you. “everyone, this is-“

“we know who she is,” chargebolt interrupted, waving a hand full of cards at you. “we haven’t even started yet. we can deal you both in.”

you turnned to bakugo, asking under your breath, “what the hell is this?”

“a surprise,” he deadpanned. your left eye twitched.

“a surprise is going to the aquarium or my favorite restaurant, not meeting half the fucking top ten pros in a shitty bar,” you hissed, tuning out the resumed conversation the off-the-clock heroes were having.

“this was dyl-“

dylan called your name from his spot sprawled across kirishima’s lap. “what’s wrong, doll?”

you turned to him, plastering a smile on your face, “nothing! i’m so excited to have been invited. i’ve never played poker before.”

“‘suki can show you,” mina said, gesturing you over to a chair next to her. “you guys have to share a seat so you can share a hand too.” she giggled, her pink curls bouncing. you looked around, there was only one open chair at the table. fucking dylan.

dylan got up from kirishima’s lap, “we’ll get drinks. bakugo, go sit down.” he whisked you away, back out the door and into the dark hall.

“oh my god,” you wheezed. “this is a nightmare. i’m going to embarrass bakugo and myself in front of all his friends.” you wiped a sweaty palm down your face. “this was not a surprise, this was an ambush.” you glared at the model.

dylan winced, “i’m sorry. this was my idea. i thought meeting bakugo’s friends might help…calm your nerves.” he steered you towards the bar.

“the thought was sweet, but dyl, how would meeting some of my childhood icons over a game of cards knowing that they’ve probably read at least five negative articles about me in the past 24 hours calm me down,” you replied, trying to smooth out the crease in your forehead.

dylan frowned, “well, when you put it like that i sound like an asshole.”

“i’m just hoping none of them saw the story about the drug store worker who claims i buy hemorrhoid cream three times a week,” you pull at your temples.

“jesus,” dylan looks horrified. “you don’t actually do that, right?”

“of course not! oh my god, i’m mortified. bakugo’s probably so embarrassed by me-“

“stop. calm down. you’re okay. everyone in that room has had their fair share of scandals, true and false. no one will judge you. and if bakugo was embarrassed by you, he wouldn’t have brought you here.” he handed you a drink the bartender had wordlessly given to him, “drink. it’ll actually calm your nerves.”

you nodded, gulping down the fruity thing in your hand. dylan handed you another.

“good girl,” he poked your cheek. “now, let’s go back in there, take pictures with our hot boyfriends, and pretend we know lots about poker. it really is fun, mkay?”

“okay,” you gulped down your anxiety, “i’m just going to get bakugo a drink.”

“already on it,” dylan winked, passing you a beer.

dylan led you back to the room, offering you an encouraging smile. “we’re back!” he sang, entering the room.

bakugo sat at the poker table, occupying the last open seat, with cards splayed on the table in front of him. he accepted the beer with a small nod.

you stood behind his seat, trying to listen in to the heroes’ conversation.

dylan gave you the strangest look from his spot across the table. “what are you doing?” he mouthed. “sit down!”

“where?” you mouthed back.

he rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed you weren’t understanding. “oh wait,” he said aloud, “i need to get a cute picture of you two before i forget.” he pulled out his phone, aiming it at you.

you inched closer to bakugo’s chair, leaning down closer to him.

“jesus, what are you, siblings?” dylan sneered, gesturing you to scoot closer.

you blinked.

bakugo sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

again, you blinked. you were sitting on bakugo’s thigh, your knees tucked in between his.

dylan squealed, “oh my god, i got the funniest picture. so cute!”

you tried not to move, not to focus on your proximity to bakugo, the way you could feel his thigh tense underneath you, his arm around your waist.

“relax,” bakugo said quietly into your ear, his breath warm against your cheek.

it did not help. your face was hot, every single nerve in your body was on edge, you felt like you were on fire.

“so how long have you two been dating?” creati asked from the seat next to you.

you could kiss her for distracting you. you had practiced how this conversation would pan out. “two months,” you smiled, “but it seems a lot longer.”

“and how did you meet?” she asked. everyone at the table quieted down to hear your response.

bakugo huffed. “none of yer business, damn-“

“well, i’m sure that you know this by now, but i work at a bakery and i’ve been working there for over a bit so i know our customers pretty well. this guy walks in with a baseball cap and his hood up and sunglasses, and it was cloudy outside, so i immediately knew something was up. he comes up to the counter and orders four croissants; one fruit, one cheese, one chocolate, and one plain.” for the first time all night, you’re not nervous. “he pays with the shiniest credit card i have ever seen in my life. then i put them all into one big box, but he barks that he wants them all in separate bags. so i take them out of the box and put each into a bag. once there’s three bags on the counter, he just takes them and bolts. i put the last one in the bag and look up to give it to him and he’s just gone.

“there was no one else in the shop and i figure he couldn’t have gotten far, so i go after him thinking that he might give me a good tip. he was already two blocks away. so im running after him yelling, “sir, sir,” and he’s just completely oblivious. he pulls down his hood and i swear that i know that spiky blonde hair. finally, he turned around and i caught up to him. he acts like he doesn’t recognize me so he pulls off his sunglasses to squint at me in that condescending way of his. i immediately recognize who it is, but i’m just standing there holding out the bag with the croissant like an idiot. bakugo took the bag and left, without even a thank you.”

chargebolt snorted, “sounds like bakugo. how’d he win you over?”

now you have to lie. and that makes you feel like shit.

“someone took a picture of us on the street, and of course it was taken out of context. the next day, bakugo comes back to make me sign some paper about the situation and then he just kept coming back. i would like to say that he came back because of me, but i think he likes my fig bars more than me.”

“a modern day fairy tale,” pinky sighed dreamily. “you’re lucky she chased after you, or you would be sad and lonely for the rest of your life,” she frowned at bakugo.

you turned to catch his expression, his face rolling with anger. he still had his arm wrapped lazily around your waist, even though you had begun to relax against him.

kirishima snorted, “are you dating him for the money? the fame? surely not the winning personality? ”

you smirked, “somewhere deep down inside his ridiculously muscular chest is a heart the size of a pea. and i fuckin love peas.”

…

you laughed, smiling at the women beside you.

“mina, you have not changed since high school,” jirou sighed, rolling her eyes.

“i was perfect then, perfect now,” mina winked, throwing cards down on the table.

“fuck, mina! how do you still not understand how to play this game,” denki whined, frustrated that his coaching wasn’t paying off.

“what’s the point when momo wins every time,” mina groaned, shooting daggers at momo, who smiled proudly while laying down her cards.

bakugo grumbled, tossing his cards on the table. “whatever. we’ve gotta go, the princess has work tomorrow morning.” he added under his breath, “‘n my leg’s fucking asleep.”

you slid off his lap, grabbing the jacket draped over the chair.

“byyyyeeee,” dylan sang, drunk and laying on the ground.

you giggled and waved your goodbyes as bakugo bro hugged his friends.

only once you were in bakugo’s car and on the way home did you drop your smile. “that was fun, but i’m exhausted,” you whined, rubbing at your sore cheeks. “you’re probably tired too, especially since you’re up past your bedtime.”

“i don’t have a bedtime,” bakugo growled. “i’m a grown man.”

you smiled, “seriously though, thank you for bringing me. i had a lot of fun.”

bakugo said nothing, half his face hidden in the shadow of the night.

“your friends are really nice,” you added.

bakugo scoffed, “you’re just glad fucking icy hot was there.”

“you are so bad at disguising your jealousy,” you replied, willing your face to remain a mask of indifference.

“i’m not fuckin’ jealous,” bakugo grunted, not meeting your eyes in the rear view mirror.

“mm,” you hummed, picking at your nails.

“don’t fuckin’ do that shit,” bakugo snarled, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“what shit?” you asked, giving him your best doe face.

“yer whole fuckin’ act,” he growled, the light from the street lamps reflecting off the white of his teeth. “don’t act like you don’t give a shit.”

“drop your asshole delinquent act then,” you hissed. “no one thinks your “yer” is cute. i fucking hate it when you drop the end off words.”

bakugo ground his teeth and turned into his garage. “damn, you’re fucking frustrating.”

“you’re fucking frustrating! i make a joke and you get all mad and start going “yer” and “oi.” it drives me crazy.”

bakugo glared at you, huffing and puffing.

“what are you doing?” you started to laugh, “did you just fucking puff out your chest?”

“what?” bakugo’s face twisted. “i fucking didn’t.”

you continued to laugh, stitches running up your sides.

“oi! stop fucking laughing,” he puffed, face red.

“there! you just did it!” you laughed. you lowered your voice and growled, “oi!” you cracked up again, doubling over in the passenger seat while bakugo glared at you.

“don’t see what’s funny,” bakugo grumbled, pretending to be annoyed, but you could see the red tinge to his ears and the small curve of his lips he was trying so hard to hide. “i’m going in,” he huffed, yanking your stuffed backpack out of the backseat.

you followed him inside, wiping the tears from your eyes. you were quiet in the elevator, quiet as he unlocked the door, and still quiet as bakugo passed you your bag outside the door to the bedroom you were borrowing.

you took the bag, “thank you.” he grunted. you dumped the contents of your bag on the wooden floor, digging out the pair of shorts you were eager to change into.

bakugo paused in your doorway, frowning before he left and slammed the door shut on his own bedroom.

whoever said women were overly dramatic had clearly never met bakugo.

you ignored his sour attitude. although, he wasn’t grumpy until you picked on him. you changed into shorts and a tshirt and spread your things across the floor searching for your toothbrush. you found it and continued on with your nightly routine, taking over the counter of katsuki’s guest bathroom.

when you were done, you lightly knocked on bakugo’s door. “katsuki? i just wanted to say thank you for-“ he opened the door, his freshly washed face inches from yours. “oh, hi.” you stepped away, stumbling against your door frame. “anyways, i wanted to thank you for tonight. i had a lot of fun and i appreciate the effort you put into it.” there. you offered an olive branch of peace.

bakugo crossed his arms, leaning back against the frame of his door. he’d changed too, swapping his black dress pants for black sweatpants and a band tshirt. you blinked. he took his red eyes off you, glancing out the window into the night. “it was mostly dylan’s idea. i fuckin’ hate poker. i‘m shit at it. don’t tell ‘em though.”

you smiled, “i’ll trade you a secret for a secret.” he turned his gaze back to you. you met those fire red eyes straight on, maybe the drinks were kicking in. “i love it when you slip into your bumpkin hoodlum accent. it’s super cute.” you slid back into your room, never breaking eye contact. “good night, katsuki,” you nearly whispered, closing the door gently.

you tiptoed across the floor, quietly crawling onto your bed and burying your head into your pillow.

what had you gotten yourself into?

…

bakugo stood rooted in that spot, leaning cockily against the door, arms crossed.

he stood there, completely still, brain going a million miles a minute, trying to process what happened. the whole night. the past hour. the last minute.

why did he care so much about the way you smiled at him at the stupid poker night? why did he care about the way you snapped back at his snarky comments and then always found a way to take it back? why did he care if he could still feel you leaning back against him, completely at ease, making jokes with his friends?

why did he care about you at all?

…

“good morning, dylan,” you practically sang, your phone tucked between your shoulder and chin, your hands full with a tray of cranberry scones.

“you seem to be in a good mood,” dylan beamed, you could tell through the phone. “my plan worked wonderfully.”

“yeah, it did. there wasn’t a mob ready to crucify me this morning, thank god. and, katsuki insisted on driving me to work at six in the morning and he let me eat a bagel in his car. i don’t know what you said to him, but it worked.” you sighed blissfully.

this morning had been unbelievably nice. bakugo had a bagel on a plate for you the moment you stepped out of your bedroom and had refused to let you ride the bus. he was still his brash, arrogant self, but he was being thoughtful, something you’d seen more and more of in him. bakugo was quiet the whole drive over, not saying anything about the crumbs you got on his leather seats. he even offered to say the morning with you at the bakery, just to be sure there weren’t any crazy fans. you refused, of course. his job was more important. but the thought was nice. more than nice.

“what do you mean?” dylan asked. “i didn’t say anything to him.”

“you told me that kirishima was going to talk to him about his attitude with me,” you frowned. “that was your plan.”

“no,” you could hear dylan’s confusion. “my plan was to post a cute picture of you and bakugo last night and have it blow up.”

you arranged a plate of lemon scones for the countertop. “what?”

“i posted it late last night. i woke up this early just to get your reaction. go look.”

you did a quick search of your’s and bakugo’s name and there it was.

BAKUGO AND GF BREAK THE INTERNET AGAIN WITH PIC POSTED BY INFLUENCER FRIEND

you scrolled down to the picture. you were sitting on bakugo’s knee, turned into him, his arm wrapped around your waist. you smiled widely for dylan while bakugo gave the camera his typical stern frown. although somehow it was softer, less angry and more protective.

“i sent all the pictures to you and bakugo,” dylan added, obviously pleased with himself.

“thank you,” you replied, scrolling through the pictures he sent. one caught your eye, but you’d have to look at it later. “someone’s coming in, so i gotta go, but thank you so much. i appreciate it, dyl.”

the smile you gave the customer walking in the door wasn’t your typical early morning smile, strained and tired, but one that complimented the pink spread across your cheeks and the glint in your eye.

…

“hi,” you smiled at the blonde across the counter. “how was work?”

“fine,” bakugo replied, looking at you oddly. “why does yer face look like that?”

“i made you something,” you beamed up at him, holding up a plate with a brownie sitting in the middle.

he took the plate from you, face full of skepticism. bakugo took a bite before quickly spitting it back out on the plate.

“what?” your face sank. “is it that bad?”

“jesus fuck,” katsuki choked out. he stepped around you and went to the sink, drinking straight out of the faucet.

“really?” you felt the heat rise behind your eyes. “i’m sorry, i thought… i’m sorry.”

“what the hell was that?” bakugo gasped, leaning over the edge of the sink, the collar of his post work workout tshirt completely soaked. “are you sure you can bake?”

“i was trying to make spicy brownies,” you said quietly, trying to not burst into tears.

“what did you put in them?” he replied, eyes locked on you.

“cayenne and chili powder,” your lip shook. “and pop rocks.”

he looked at you like you were insane. maybe if the situation was different, you would have laughed at his face; his squinted eye, raised eyebrow, fierce frown.

“i was trying to make a dynamight brownie,” you admitted.

“too spicy and the popping candy is terrible,” bakugo spit into the sink, the pop of the candy sizzling in the basin.

“i’m sorry,” you frowned, turning back to the kitchen. you had twenty minutes until close.

bakugo caught the edge of your sleeve, “try again tomorrow, less spice.” his red eyes looked sad, like he knew his words sunk too deep this time.

you nodded, heading off to finish your work.

the two of you spent the rest of the night in a quiet peace. bakugo drove you back to his apartment after you closed the bakery, he made dinner while you flipped through a magazine on the couch, and he even let you turn on the food network tv channel after dinner. you’d offered to wash the dishes, but he had some fancy dishwasher that took care of it all.

“hey,” bakugo poked his head out of his bedroom, “i’m going to bed. night.”

“good night,” you gave him a small smile.

…

“can’t taste the spice at all,” bakugo frowned.

you groaned, turning to dump the pan in the trash.

“wait, i’ll take those to work tomorrow,” he stopped you, reaching for the treats.

you rolled your eyes, handing him the pan with a bite missing from the center.

you went back to work, making sure the pastries were ready to be put out in the morning and everything was where it should be. bakugo had scared the high schooler who helped out in the evenings, so he stuck to the back while you cleaned the front. poor thing.

you sighed once you slid into bakugo’s car, the leather seats the epitome of comfort. “how was your day?” you asked the pro.

“shit,” bakugo sighed, fingers right around the steering wheel. “fuckin kid almost drowned and my suit fuckin ripped.”

“don’t you have a backup?” you asked.

“yeah, but this one’s my favorite,” he pouted. you smiled at the number 3 hero whining about which costume was his favorite. “don’t laugh at me.” he growled.

“your suit, it’s polyester?” you asked. he nodded, glancing at you in the rear view mirror. “what about polypropylene? oh no, that burns easily. maybe nomex? it’s like kevlar but moisture wicking and it’s fire resistant. maybe you could reinforce your suit with it in the places with the most wear?”

bakugo turned into the garage. “you can meet with the design team. you’re off thursday?”

“we close at one,” you replied.

“i’ll take you then,” katsuki said, eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he jumped out of the car, already moving for his apartment.

bakugo cooked dinner while you sat at the bar, flipping through the fashion magazine that had been delivered to the bakery this morning. you read the interview with mount lady multiple times, soaking in the details of how her hero costume grew with her.

you switched over to a cookbook while you ate, bakugo on a barstool beside you, thumbing through a stack of forms. you asked him what they all were and he grumbled something about property damage. you didn’t push him.

you put the dishes in the dishwasher, swiping bakugo’s empty plate. “can i take a shower?” you asked, eyes on the blonde.

“you don’t need my permission,” bakugo didn’t raise his eyes from his paper.

so you grabbed a towel from the linen closet before closing the door to your room. you wrapped the towel around your bare body, your soaps in your arms, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor. you quickly slid from your room to bakugo’s, closing the door behind you.

you eyed his room. it was neater than you expected; the bed made, nightstand clean, floor bare except for a black rug. his bed was massive, big enough for four people at least. most of the rest of his room was taken up by his all might bookshelf. the shelves were floor to ceiling, lined with books, magazines, bobble heads, trading cards, figurines. it was insane.

you moved to his bathroom. the shower was nice; walk in and spacious. his toothbrush sitting on the counter, other items laid out on a cabinet above the toliet. you were impressed.

you moved to the shower, dropping your towel on the ground. you turned the water as hot as it could go. bakugo kept his apartment freezing, claiming that his quirk kept him hot. the warm water was wonderful, you couldn’t help but moan. you were about to take the nicest shower of your entire fucking life.

…

katsuki blinked at the same document he’d been staring at for the past twenty minutes. he was on the first line when he heard you turn on the shower. he hadn’t gotten past that line. the words swam together and all he could focus on was the sound of water running through the pipes. if he really listened he could hear you humming some song he didn’t recognize.

the pro rubbed his eyes, read the first line again. the second line. the third. the shower. the noise was gone. bakugo sat up straighter, glancing at his closed bedroom door.

there you were, trying to quietly slip out of his room, stopping like a deer in headlights noticing his gaze on you. you offered a small smile, rushing into your room, closing the door behind you.

bakugo blinked. he looked back at his papers. he started at the fourth line. reread it. reread it again. again. all he could see was you standing there, his orange towel wrapped around your body, dripping water onto the hardwood floor.

you opened your door and he turned at the sound, red eyes on you once again. you padded back into his room, orange towel in hand. you hung it on the towel bar, next to his green one. his eyes were still on you when you walked back out, glued to where you stood in his doorframe.

“hi,” you said softly, leaning against the door.

katsuki’s eyes traveled down your body, taking in your tank top and sweatpants before flicking back up to your face. “hey,” he replied, voice barely more than a gravel whisper.

“wanna get ice cream?”

…

DYNAMIGHT’S MIDNIGHT SNACK

you smirked at that one. you were back home by 8:30. nothing could get in the way of bakugo’s sleep patterns.

someone had commented, “the snack is that ass!!! he won” which had you in a fit. you took a screenshot and sent it to bakugo.

bakugo: aren’t u supposed to be working?

you: aren’t you supposed to be working?

he didn’t reply.

you: okay i’m sorry please come back im bored out of my mind

bakugo: did u make my brownies?

you: i did but i haven’t tried them yet

“hey.”

you looked up, a smile spreading across your face. you would have recognized that voice anywhere. “i thought you were working.”

bakugo crossed his arms, the muscles rippling. that hero suit really was well designed. you noted that he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets, much to your approval. “‘m on my break.”

you pursed your lips, turning and grabbing the plate off the back counter. you were proud of these. you’d even iced an orange x on the front to match his uniform.

he took a bite, scrunched up his nose, then took another.

“i used cayenne and cinnamon this time. is it better?” you asked, frowning at his silence.

“give me another,” he said through the brownie in his mouth. “please.”

you slid him the whole pan. “i take it they’re good.”

“best fucking brownies,” bakugo grumbled, digging a chunk of out the pan with his bare hands.

you let out a satisfied hum, not bothering to hide your smirk. “oh, and the security company came by and they said that everything would be activated or whatever by friday. they said they’d call you.”

something like anger, or maybe disappointment, flashed in bakugo’s eyes. he quickly turned it off, giving you a nod. “i gotta go. pick you up at five.” he carried the pan out the door with him.

you waved bye to him through the window, blowing him a kiss with a smart ass grin plastered on your face.

NEXT PART

tag list: @cathwritestragediesnotsins @baby320 @nonomesupposedto @thekaylahub @jasmixs @chuugarettes @luvbug4728 @aceredhairliberal @selfindulgenthoe @atsushiki @sarammaitimo @hannas16

#bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #bakugou drabble #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x female reader #bakugo #bakugou imagine #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x y/n #soft bakugou

[tehriel]

Commissioned (Terzo x Reader x Sodo)

It is completely finished!

Blurb

Reader is afab nonbinary.

Against your better judgment, you take on a portrait commission with suspicious beginnings. You are an atheist thrust into the world of Satanism as you meet and paint for the earth's most charming antipope. Will you walk away with your worldview untainted? Or will your little chats with Papa Emeritus the Third leave you changed forever? And what of his ghouls~? —Who is that in your motel window your first night in town?

This fic likes cheeky banter, discourse and character driven plot. It's an extremely slow burn featuring Terzo, Sodo—and a little Swiss. It’s about 110k words to get lost in~

You can find the piece here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44321002/chapters/111461152

Below is the first chapter! I hope you like it :3

Chapter 1 - A message from the clergy

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

I am writing regarding a one-on-one portrait our clergy would like to commission. I am attaching a calendar. Would these dates suit you?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Ahoy!

Sister Imperator, thank you for your interest in my work. I have attached a pricing sheet. If pricing is okay with you, then we talk about dates.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

We have seen your work, and we want you regardless of cost. Do any of these dates suffice?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Thank you for getting back to me so promptly, Sister.

I recently had my schedule cleared, actually. Any of those dates should suffice. Depending on size, I will need two to four separate sessions with the model, rounding up to about 10 hours for a small piece going upwards of 18 hours in person for bigger. It's all in my pricing guide.

If it is interstate, I will need lodging. It is my personal preference that I do not stay with you in your home, of course. And finally, I would like half up front and half once the painting is completed.

If these conditions meet your expectations, I have attached my contract.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear _____

We look forward to meeting you at the Mountview Cathedral next week.

In his name,

Sister Imperator

***

Fuck. It was a drive. It was a whole long ass drive with hours to contemplate just how many red flags you ignored in taking the job. It’s not like you had a choice; you needed the pay. You didn't want to admit it, but you also needed to get out of state.

‘Sister Imperator’ had been weirdly pushy and lightning quick to respond—you had to hard ignore the alarm bells ringing. It was difficult, almost as if your right ear had developed tinnitus as some physical manifestation of alarm. There was a low tuning-fork hum reading over each email.

You thought you might scare the sister off with your prices; most people saw your work online and how effortless it seems in your time-lapse videos and happily told you to go to hell after seeing your prices. Making those videos look effortless took a lot of time, practice, student loans and editing. Then there were the travel expenses. People just don't do sit-in portraiture anymore. And for a good reason, you would have to be a little insane to pick it up.

Most people had you paint from photos, which was fine and a staple for your income. But meeting a person and painting them, knowing a facade of them, and there are many facades to a person—just hit differently. And the job came with such an eccentric clientele; you'd painted a man who wanted to pose in a suit made of squirrels, a woman and her five Pekingese all in matching attire. Once, your commission was gifted to an old person to be painted amongst the forest they had saved. They had wanted to be seen as a fairy. It was beautiful. That all seemed so far away now.

You glanced at a sticker pasted in the window of the gas station. It was going to be one of those kinds of towns. It read, ‘they will rise again.’ Crucifix and all. You adjusted the enamel pronouns pin on your lapel. Both the sticker and your pin said ‘they’; maybe these people would be open-minded kind of rise again.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I use the key to your bathroom? The door said to ask,” your voice came out shitty and meek. You were just tired.

“Rightio,” the gas attendant was an older man. He was chewing something—surely not tobacco. He passed over the key; it had a hefty wooden tag to save anyone from making off with it. “You got gas?”

“Uh yeah, number 3, thanks.” You put the key in your pocket and felt his eyes dip to your chest.

“Oh.” He said, as in, ‘oh, you’re one of those’. So it would be like that. “Here you are. Gas is on me, kid.”

Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that? Nope, he handed you a pamphlet that said ‘Mountview holy trinity’. “Oh.” You said, as in, ‘oh, you’re giving me a pamphlet on a religion that could probably hate me.’ “Thank you very much—I am actually painting for a church in town, so that’s..” you didn’t need to tell him your whole thing, but you had, and you were.

“Not that damned cathedral,” he eyed you warily.

“No, I don’t think so, no….” you waved off. Yes, that one, whatever that meant. You knew Catholics and Christians were not really into each other, but you’d thought most of the vitriol had been lost to history. Then again, you were beginning to think this town might have been stuck in history, like a mosquito in amber. You watched him chew. “Cool, I’ll, uh, see about this.” You pointed to the key. “Thank you again for the gas.”

The worst part of the entire interaction was coming back to him after your stop to the bathroom. You had to return the key and inform him that someone had overflowed the toilet.

***

You had to tilt your head to take in all of the cathedral. Something was off about it; maybe it was darker than you were used to, most cathedrals were gothic, but this was gothic in italics. It was jagged and waiting.. for something. Or maybe there was something off about all churches with inflated infrastructure. Maybe you should have 'inflated’ your prices. You binned the thought as soon as you had it; money and asking for it… made your skin crawl sometimes. The pricing sheet asked for the money for you, so you did not have to.

You rubbed your right ear as it had decided to start ringing again.

“You must be ______,” came a call from the entrance while you were wrapped in the tallness of it all. She was an older woman, her hair greying and pulled back. She had the shape of a kindly woman but with something cold creeping into her smile.

You felt your car keys in your hand. You could still deny your name and drive as many hours as it took to return home. You could shake a pride flag at the church’s face and run for the hills. You squeezed the keys for grounding before slowly delivering them to your pocket. “I am,” you heard yourself say. It'd been a while since you used your voice; why did you think it would be deeper? Commanding? Noticeable. You cleared your throat. “Yes, are you Sister…” fuck, you had forgotten her name from the emails. Super professional of you.

“Sister Imperator, yes, it's a pleasure to meet you. Come, follow me; I'll take you to Papa.”

You were about to thumb over to your shitty van where all your supplies were hiding, 'I need to set up, where can I…’ and/or 'I've been driving for hours and would like to know where I'm staying so that I can freshen up,’ all died in your throat as the woman turned around. You had no choice but to follow her into the building.

“Is ‘Papa’ the person whom I will be painting?” You asked, catching up, absently shining the ‘they/them’ pin on your overalls. Saying ‘Papa’ as a full-grown human being clenched something within you—and not in a super good way.

“Yes, Papa Emeritus the third, he ascended to the ranks of Papa as of last year and has not yet had a portrait painted for the hall.”

You heard most of what she had said, only then noting the Italian accent. You admittedly spent more of your time openly gawking at the ceiling, then gawking at the stained glass windows and the paintings. Did they have the right painter? You had confidence in your work, but these were named artists, named. Masterworks. You made a ‘ffff’ fizzling sound as you held back swearing in a holy place.

Holy place. The iconography only then caught up with you. That was a lot of cloven hooves for a holy place. “That's nice,” is all you thought to say faintly. ‘That's nice he ascended to the highest of high unholy ranks, good for that guy.’ A kind of peace came with the satanic-ness of it all. At least you could flap all your favourite pride flags, and no one would bat an eye. Would they?

“Yes, I understand our ways might not be for everyone, but I hope you will give him your utmost respect, regardless.”

Your head snapped back from scrutinising passing satanic depictions for signs of gayness. “I am always professional regarding belief systems; it will not affect the outcome of my work.” ‘Unless you somehow turn out to be a nazi,’ You added silently.

“Good, good.” She seemed to smile genuinely before the cold crept back into her face, sending a chill to your spine, “This is his office here. He knows to expect you. I hope together you'll make something beautiful for our church.”

Why did everything she had to say creep you out like that? “I will do my best to do that,” you nodded and held yourself back from using a thumbs-up to secure the awkwardness.

“I will find you before our mass to give you the directions to your motel,” she nodded and began walking away. “Again, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

You could read people well; maybe she couldn't. You were shitting yourself, being left in the dead centre of an unknown church, about to bother the head of the said church, without backup. “Pleasure meeting you right back,” you grinned nonetheless with your super normal situation. It's called masking, baby~

Her clipped footsteps began disappearing down the stone-tiled hallway. When silence fell, you could really take in the surrounding church ambience. Yep, it was a church. The incense smelt of something in your childhood. The eyes of statues and portraits looked down on you as if they knew you were not supposed to be there.

You blinked at the aged wooden door; it was detailed with a plaque that read ‘Papa Emeritus III’. This was the most uncomfortable opening commission you've ever been through, and one guy wanted to show off his dead arachnid collection to you. Maybe it was more of a tie then? You swore quietly to yourself before you knocked on the door. The hollow knuckle-on-wood sound gave you flashbacks of a principal's office.

“Not on a mass night,” came a slow answer and a slight groan.

You folded your arms and frowned at what that could mean. Outwardly you looked like a person annoyed by the woodgrain of a door.

“I feel you judging me, Sister,” his voice was an ashy sound. “My days before mass are my own, si?”

What does an unholy minister do a day before mass? Some search answers in your mind come up lewd, and others come up sadistic. You look up and down the hallway for Sister Imperator. Then and there, you were a child lost in a supermarket. You sighed softly and remembered you were an adult in an adult situation. “Sorry, I'm an artist—your, uh, Sister said you were expecting me.”

“You’re sorry you’re an artist?” Came the voice on the other side of the door.

“Eh, I have my days,” you shrug.

The ashy voice on the over side of the wood seemed to enjoy that, with a huff of laughter.

He had a nice laugh, smoky. Maybe painting this ‘Papa’ guy wouldn’t be so bad.

“Give me but a moment, artist. I have to make myself, eh, decent.”

Lewd. Definitely lewd; that's what satanic priests do before mass. “Oh, sure, good. Yep.” You stepped far away from the door to give him privacy. “Take uh, your time.” You did not feel like painting someone half way through the job. Standing so long for a painting while being irritable and unsatisfied does not a good portrait make.

You turned on your heel. You went for your AirPods, played something thrashy to mimic the surroundings, and began treating the area as you would a gallery. Ahead you saw the dancing sunshine of windswept branches through stained glass. You stepped into the light and let the colours paint you in rainbows. The lead lighting portrayed an angelic person with arms around a small boy. It could have passed for any religion—save for the smeared Latin and small horns on the child’s forehead.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Cheezus, chrimany!” You flinched, pulling a bud from your ear. A shorter masculine figure had suddenly appeared in your peripherals. His voice was marred by the fabric and metallic devil’s mask he wore. The mask must have been a church thing—were you supposed to be masked?

The green eyes behind the mask squinted in amusement.

“Were you just waiting to do that or..?”

He shook his head innocently, “are you supposed to be here?” He asked again.

“I really don’t know at this stage, is anyone supposed to be anywhere?” You pulled a straight face, and he tilted his head slightly, “I’m painting a ‘Papa’(?) or supposed to be. You're not him, right?”

The figure dressed formally in all black and suspenders shook his head slowly. He had a lean figure, kind of like a short, straight stick. It was a nice stick.

You appreciated him for a moment, figuring out his shapes and lines before you realised what you were doing and grimaced to yourself. You did that often. Intimidated by the shiny mask, you hid in humour, “And you,” you gesture around, “you supposed to be here? If not, I could keep a secret,” you winked and tried to be playful.

“I am supposed to be here,” he answered, not entirely playing into your shenanigans.

“Ah,” you nod sagely. You looked around, realising your new companion wanted to stay and watch you. “So this you then?” You point at the horned baby in the led lighting and back to his horned mask.

He smiled then, not that you could see his lips, only hear it in his, “no.”

“Oh?” You arch a brow and point to the blackened scripture, “says right here, this be the baby who would sneak up on people admiring its own depiction.” You tapped the glass like you knew what you were talking about. As if you were not just wasting time. As if you weren’t waiting for your satanic portrait model to finish fucking maybe nine people in the room down the hall.

The devil saddled closer to you with a sly look, “So you read the dead language?”

“It's not dead; it's right there.”

He huffed slightly. “What is your name? For the registry.”

“I was supposed to sign in?” You frowned.

“You were signed in, whether you know it or not, which means you're protected while you're here.”

Protected from…? You bit your lips together; why did he seem more sinister than before? “_____ ______,” you replied, trying to read what lay beyond the mask. “And yours? Something in the old language? Something with no vowels and a couple hissing noises?”

“Sodomiser,” there was a slight growl in his throat.

You nodded profoundly, “Oh, like, you just put that right out there, huh?” That was like calling yourself by your kinks, ‘hey, I'm buttstuff’ or ‘hey, I'm one of those pink flamingos you find on front lawns.’ Could happen. “Did I pass your registration, uh, Mr Sodomiser?”

The red light of the window glinted in the mask as he nodded, and you were suddenly captivated by the reflection. It would be interesting to paint, but the lighting was fleeting. Taking that moment in paint would be impossible. And you were then aware of how close he lingered; if he wasn't wearing a mask, would you have let him so close? He seemed to want to scare you, and you weren't impenetrable, but masks didn't scare you. It was what lay underneath that was genuinely terrifying. Wait, was he sniffing you? “Call me Sodo.”

“Can do,” you rapidly turned back to the window and shoved your hands back into your overalls, suddenly self-conscious about how a drive like that would leave you smelling. “Uh, am I supposed to be wearing one of those?” You figured to ask while watching the leaves shift in the wind before gesturing to where his mask had been moments ago but was then missing. You looked around curiously; the guy had just… vanished.

“Ah, you must be my eh, little painter,” came a voice through a mist of incense from down the hall. “Sorry about that… uhh…” he ended up shrugging.

“Oh.” Was all you had to say. As in, ‘‘oh’, that's what a Papa of a satanic clergy looks like.’ He was not much taller than the masked man that had just left you, but the popey hat did lend to height. He was dressed rather popey all over, with a long, dark cloak patterned religiously. He had a simplistic skull face paint; it was fresh, and you could only imagine how it looked moments ago. “Yes, I'm ______.” You offered a professional handshake—people liked those.

“I'm Papa Emeritus, the congregation calls me Papa, so please, call me Papa.” He took your hand in his in a way you weren't expecting, lifting it to his lips. You only then noticed his heterochromia as he captured your eyes in his, one eye stark white and the other shifted green to hazel in the rainbow bath of the window.

“Oh, okay,” not missing a beat, you took his leather-clad hand and bowed to kiss the back of it.

He lightly cocked his head as you returned his hand back to him.

“Thought we were just…people don’t return the kiss?”

“No, not usually.”

You nod slowly, “it doesn't seem fair though. Was it… nice anyway? Or are you more give than take? I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to act. I've done religious portraiture, sure, but….”

“Does our church scare you?” He raised his chin and bored into you with his white iris. “It’s not often Sister looks outside the congregation for hire.” His Italian accent brought a musicality to his words.

“Scared? Not really, but you seem….” You gestured around, “like a Pope? Like a lot bigger of a deal than I am qualified for. That’s a big deal,” you point to the elaborate painting your painting would supposedly share a wall with, “that looks like a huge deal,” you address the window. “Just look how I talk, that’s not really.. this..” you floundered with your hands again.

“Big deal, eh?” He relaxed and shrugged a little, “Sister usually knows what she likes, and she likes you, but you are correct; this is a huge deal,” some of his words sounded like growls. It wasn’t temperament, it was animal. His robes billowed as he stepped to take in the stained glass beside you, “do you know the story of Archon the fallen?”

You shook your head and looked up into the eyes of the angel. You couldn't place gender upon them, which was comforting somehow.

“It is said that after the bible age, prophets became obsolete. Who would believe them after all, hum?” He raised a brow at you, his hands clasped behind his back.

You looked away shyly; you didn't mean to oppose his belief system, but you don't get to choose what you believe in, and for you, it was nothing.

“We have newer stories from a war waged between heaven and hell in the after. In this one, the archangel Archon fell to protect what hell believed would be their next weapon. A prince of hell. Atmos.”

“Weapon… That’s a kid.”

Papa Emeritus smiled slightly, “Archon felt the same; as a testament to free will above all else, Archon saw the child their people were fighting to kill and found him blameless. The child was yet to be any kind of weapon. Archon believed no one decides our future so they saved and hid Atmos. Granted him free will to become a weapon or not, and for it, their wings were stripped. Archon stands for the ultimate rebellion, that fate is a lie.” He growled the word ‘lie’ in a way that ran through your gut.

“Mmm, that doesn't seem so scary,” you said softly, looking into the angel’s face for a new perspective.

Papa turned, and you shared a look. You saw a shimmer of the facade you would paint.

Then you blinked, “but I somehow have to create a painting that can share a wall with that.” you flailed a hand at only the most incredible stained glass window ever.

“I am telling you, if Sister thinks you are able, you are more than able. Come, I know a place where you can set up.”

***

“So how would you like to be seen, P-papa?” you stumbled with his name because, honestly, it didn't want to come out of your lips.

His makeup skewed as he quirked his brow at your slip-up. You’d already had him move through poses and had taken photos for him to see. Your mirror was set up, your canvas… The room you were set into was a study—you think. There was a desk, an eclectic collection of skulls and bones, bookcases and an ornate chair. Taken from behind the desk, the chair was something akin to a throne.

“I am unsure what you mean, caro Pittore.” He leaned against the desk beside you and was peering at your phone. He seemed to know how to pose for a picture, but a painting was different; you had to be comfortable with no intricate hand gestures you could not hold for hours. Definitely no arms out.

“Suppose it's for your clergy. How do you want them to see you, powerful, infallible?” You skip past photos taken early on where it seemed he wanted to claw at you through the camera with the golden-tipped fingernails attached to every finger of his leather gloves.

“A storyteller?” you asked simultaneously as he said, “fuckable.”

“What did you say?” He asked.

“I said storyteller, you told me a story out there, I know it's not your whole being, but it's the facade I have of you, and it was nice… I think I know what you said, but run that by me again.”

“I said, fuckable,” he admitted, “inviting, you know? This is a house of sin, si? I want to invite sin.”

You slowly looked up at him from your phone. And blinked. “You want me to paint you a calling card?”

He smiled slowly. “Non?” He said in a particular way that meant he very much wanted you to paint a calling card.

“I can do it,” you suppose, “now how fuckable are we going? I've painted boudoir before, never a religious figure but, first time for everything.” You sat upon the throne and made a boudoir pose. “oh, or this…” you showed off your buns riding the throne backward and looking back at the mirror in your super attractive stained overalls. “Ooo, ahhh, so fabulous.”

“Okay, okay, I see,” Papa chuckled. “Take a couple steps back, a storyteller, huh? You said it is a facade? I’ve been called alotta things, but not storyteller. Books are more the cardinals thing.”

You stop posing, “Yeah, it comes with the job, right? You stand up before mass and tell a proverb, tell what you see in it, add a dash of charisma, and make it alluring; I can’t paint all of you; of course, I can only paint what I see. People are diamonds, multifaceted; this will be one facet or façade—of you.” And you had just gone on a passion rant in front of a new client. You internally grimaced.

He looked into the middle distance in ponder before responding, “I like alluring,” he admitted.

You realised you were just putting on your usual act for your client to make them feel at ease in the space, but he was really looking at you. You realised how you were sitting, realised the silence and moved more meekly away from the throne. “Then take a seat, Papa; make sure you're comfortable.” His eyes were on yours as he passed. His warm shoulder slightly brushed yours as he took his throne. At first, he was just sitting, then looking in the mirror, he arranged his robes, shifting his legs apart to rest a hand on his thigh and lean back in his chair.

“What do you think, caro pittore? Does it say, eh, let Papa tell you a story? Is it alluring? Hmm?”

You felt your ears go pink, “Yes, all of those, but this hand,” the one not welcoming the viewer to his thigh, “it's not really—” He touched it to his chin, and you shook your head, then he touched a finger to his mouth, “still… oooo, skull.” You hurried over and picked up a very human skull. “Something with this.” You passed it over, and he held it in one palm. “Oh, I saw this piece on Pinterest where there was a rosary coming out of it, not that we have to physically do that; I can add that later. But it means I can draw attention to your… ‘not-crucifix’(?)”

“Grucifix,” he quietly corrected, eyes following you around the room as you inspected for props.

“Oh, you learn something new every day… uh, is this important?” Sat on a tall bookshelf was a helmet like the one the man in the hallway had been wearing. You shifted a wall-riding ladder to get a better look.

“It's one of the masks our ghouls wear.”

“Does it seem like something you want to be portrayed with?” You moved your head to watch the sheen before taking it down towards Papa. You wanted to paint the colours of the stained glass window in it.

“I know what to do with it,” You were hyper-aware of his movements as he took his hand away from his thigh and received the mask from you to put it beneath his boot before replacing his hand.

“Uh, not a fan of ‘ghouls’? What are they about anyway? I met…..” you then pulled a straight face knowing what you had to say, “I met ‘Sodo’ in the hallway earlier.”

“I hope he, eh, played nice? I love my ghouls, and sometimes, they love being stepped on. They’re something like the church’s protectors; some help lead our rituals.”

Your brain was left behind when he admitted to stepping on ghouls. “Oh, good. Good, good, good, good, good. Yeah, he played.” You supposed.

“Sodo is… how to put.. eh uno stronzo corto--small and fucking angry,” he laughed sympathetically.

You hadn’t quite got angry from Sodo, maybe a bit cold. You snapped more photos on your phone and were reviewing them when you felt Papa come in close behind to look. He was quite a curious man. For some reason, the incense peeling off his body didn't seem stuffy when it often did for you. You could also smell the leather of his gloves.

“You, uh, like this pose?” He asked about the one your brain decided to stutter on, his voice lower with proximity.

“Yeah,” your voice was faint before returning to yourself, “yes, the background and the lighting just need some adjustment. In the afternoons, we should get some nice lighting through that window; I'll bring some diffusers.. maybe something coloured to mimic the stained glass outside.” You looked up and found him staring at you with his mismatched eyes.

You paused.

He paused.

“I should…”

“You should…”

You weren't about to be caught in another spider’s web. “I should grab my equipment. You’re going to be stuck in that chair for a while… go, you know,” you gestured about, “whatever you need to do, give me an hour or so,” you nodded and gave Papa a sparkly thumbs up.

“hmm, I wasn’t wholly thrilled about Sister making this appointment, but uh, it seems I am changing my mind.”

“Good, we like a willing participant,” you said with all your sparkly masking ignoring the mood he was trying to set. Keep up the energy, keep up the image, keep up the unthreatening. Hide your teeth. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it :3

#terzo x sodo x reader #terzo x dew #dew x reader #sodo x reader #terzo x reader #the band ghost #Ghoul #ghost #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #sodo ghoul #fire ghoul #sodomizer ghoul #sodo #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #ghost band #GHOST FIC #papa emeritus iii #Papa Emeritus #papa terzo #papa #papa emeritus lll #fanfiction #slowburn #character plot #I am very proud of this I hope its as good as I think it is but i can't really see past my own eyes #I really hope you like it #i liked writing it

[saitama-division]

While the brightest orb in the sky has already turned low over the city of Saitama, one jet-black car has also reached its destination at Miyuki's residence.

*rings*

“Hello there, this is from Nara division! We’ve got some presents for Miyuki-san —But hmm, or perhaps there’s no one home at this moment?” 

After getting no reply from the nth attempt he tries calling for someone in the house, now the red-haired boy begins to have another thought. 

—Maybe they’re out for some special dinner. From what he has heard, Miyuki-san seems to be someone who strongly devotes her time to her family after all.

Thinking something like that, the boy decides to carefully carry the large box with his elder companion named Chishio and places it on the floor in front of their entrance, hoping that the birthday person will easily find it when she gets home.

“Okay, if there’s some camera recording this, tell Miyuki-san or someone from the house that the Nara division has come to say Hi and Happy Birthday! So, pardon me if I’m taking my leave soon. Haha, I can't let my teammates wait for the dinner.”

And then, the Yuuya and Chishio left.

Inside the box are the butterfly lamp which he thinks kids would love, the box of Mizu Yokan that his teammate specially designs to welcome the season of autumn, and the brand new coffee machine with butterfly wings.

——30 minutes later at somewhere on the road back to Nara City

“It’s a bit funny to find out that you kids and my young master are all sharing the same birth dates as someone else in the DRB.” 

The elderly man remarks it at some point when their car got stuck in the traffic jam.

“Yeah, coincidence is pretty scary huh,” the boy laughs a little at the surprising fact he heard from his older companion.

He soon averts his gaze to the faraway horizon with some glint of melancholy swirling in the enigmatic shade of his eyes.

“Actually,”

With the soft shades of pink as it is painted in the last light of the day, the scenery outside the window right now is so beautiful that one couldn’t take one’s eyes off.

And suddenly, once the traffic light turns green, their car starts rushing forward again. one crimson maple leaf has fallen from the nearby tree and was blown to the distant sky.

Summer has already ended and it seems like the next season is now arriving.

“…Today is also the birthday of someone precious to me too.”

September 23rd of this year is also known as the ‘Autumnal Equinox’.

An hour later, a car pulled up to the Miyuki Residence as Sayaka, Lola, Kureha, and Yoshiko all got out of the vehicle. The four of them had just came back from the park after having a picnic to celebrate Sayaka’s birthday which had gone very well, Sayaka humming a soothing tune as she held a sleeping Yoshiko in her arms. The group however stopped short upon seeing the box on the porch, Lola smirked and gave Sayaka a nudge on her side with her elbow. “Somebody’s popular~” The model giggled and Sayaka felt her face flush slightly, smiling bashfully.

“Ah, I feel bad, I should’ve left a note saying that I wasn’t going to be home. I hope it wasn’t left out here to long.” Sayaka spoke quietly, careful not to wake up Yoshiko. Kureha stepped up to pick up the box so that they could enter the house, after putting Yoshiko to bed, Sayaka went to the living room to find the box opened and Kureha and Lola looking through the gifts. Sayaka put her hands to her hips and pouted, “Excuse me, I don’t think those belong to you.” She jokingly scolded and Lola stuck out her tongue at her in response. “We’re just making sure everything isn’t broken, they aren’t by the way, looks like Nara Division decided to pay you a visit, man they always give the best gifts.”

Sayaka sat down with them and took one of the Mizu Yokan, plopping it in her mouth, she hummed in content at the taste. “That’s so nice of them.”

Kureha eyed the coffee machine with fierce longing, curling her hands into fists to stop their twitching. “Yeah, anyways, I’m kinda thirsty, I’ll be right back.” Before Kureha could stand up, Lola quickly took the coffee machine and held it out of reach much to Kureha’s annoyance. “Lola, are you serious?” The bluenette deadpanned and the blonde gave her a stern look. “You ain’t fooling me, moonlight. We had a deal, you get only 3 cups of coffee per week and you already used your last cup this morning.”

Sayaka covered her mouth to muffle her giggles and Kureha clicked her tongue and looked away, sulking slightly. “I should’ve never agreed to that stupid deal.”

Lola smirked smugly. “One of these days you’ll thank me.”

“Thank you?!” Kureha said incredulously and Lola beamed. “You’re welcome!”

“Shut up!”

Thank you for the gift!

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis microphone #sayaka miyuki #lola takahashi #kureha koizumi #femme fatale #nara division #yuuya kanata #asahi tomoharu #saigo fuyugami #happy birthday sayaka 2023 #gift

[rennyji]

remote viewing thru eyes/face of pics/tv shows, is point, more than pleasure

4 my needs (DR visits, prescription drug copayments, supplements, gym memberships, paying2have oldCollege transcripts sent2 new employers, food, living) I need money. I’m in restrictive situation leading 2 limitations. Unemployment might give $500 weekly, & I don’t even get that.

Desensitized guy looking for sources and avenues of horny-ness; hit me up…

Need reliable way 2indicateProblems amidstHackers, as they couldB remote viewing thru certainAvenues/channels-project stargate-1960s-USA military trying 2B everywhere, testing militarizing/sending instructions around 1 individual-using conscious streams 2 spy. Direct/indirect spy

N’Ala (Hindi&Arabic says 1 thing, backwards spells out something) Is causing problems mentally/physically/environmentally.TheTeamOfThem, under 1mapping isMaking every1 think it’s camera behind tv whenManipulating stream others R knowingly/unknowingly experiencing.-the fine print,

Y would there be cameras or y would I be painted as a prude or sedated? Let’s assume something w/brainwaves is occurring. Something will amplify a persons waves 2 get a handle of that person. Do u no wats most basic way 2 decrease waves? Here’s a hint. Y r priests celibate?

These people doing this 2 me have obsession in promoting sexuality under guise of making me sexually unconfident, 2 I guess cripple me out of hate, or to 2 mind read thru brain waves. Whether my genital is big/small, my business, whether I last 5 min/5 hrs, my business.-

-thesePeople?unbelievablyClever, underNiceFaces/sympathetic tones, seem like doing humanity, good, when just creative w/ruining me. I don’t understand reason4hateWhenIve neverSpoken2them. Just absolute hate. You should know: they sing "you're going to die with rhymes and corresponding tunes to me periodically throughout day while telling me my last love interest is f*king & s*king and apparently killed herself by having my allegedly powerful emotions transferred into her. The hate and its source is beyond me. The endless attempts at humiliation. They drug me like a guy drooling over cocaine, talk to me about s*x and insert penis notions to the point where I'm on verge of asking a priest for a giant penis. I limit self2B model ofDiscipline, noing ImOnSpot, inChaotic time-IveNoIntentionOnDying4that

- next thing N’Ala over here, behind my face, in my head, while youth voices talk in background, restrict me from saying: 4 years I’m practically a lobotomized vegetable. I know I’m writing/eating, but my functionality is limited.-

- While in daze, I’m told a girl or now 2 girls, R waiting 4 me, 4 18 years. Now I have moment of lucidity, it seems astounding. Im not sure if it’s part of psychological manipulation2manipulate me. What a deustche I’d be, 4 screwing around amidst notion of some1 that incredible? Neither of these individuals I know or remember how they look like, whether they actually exist, but the idea is told to me repeatedly.-

- then I’m told I’m going to get married…remember …half the time I’m a vegetable. They insert thoughts, remove my convictions, my foundations, my values, my memories, my wisdom. The world's best minds interpret "seeing it my way" literally by planting their already decided upon perception, in someone else's head. "Seeing it my way", when done with words, is by giving someone the choice to agree/disagree while matching an idea with someone else's brains' experience, knowledge, and wisdom. The worlds best minds need to be told this...wow...-

-I recall Cing AshtonKutcherMovie, where girlFriendQuestions whether2marry basedOn# OfWomen slept w/.MovieFrom90s/early 2000s. I? born in late80s&beenVictimized4 @ least 18 yrs. Im presented w/marriageIdea. Now Im told Im dying 4not ReducingMyBrainWaves thruSex?! Wtf. LikeIdCare. These are personal things that would or would not have happened anyway without it being made into some weird formality. Other people's personal aspects are theirs and not for public entertainment. This is what is wrong with American culture. Years ago, I said indicate I have character and the ways I have it. And now a group of retards make it into every detail of nonsense. Inside voice/outside voice. Personal topics/public topics. Family persona/public image. I have to tell the world's best minds these things?!

&nowTeamOf N’Ala s , actingLike God, in myHead, claimNeed2finish 1/2 a*s slop ofFixingUnbrokenBrain,while givingFeelingOfScrotumFondling, never volunteered-nonsenseProtocol. CommonSense/doNoHarm takeNoPrecedence. In Islam,noEyes/Faces inPaintings-b/cOf Americas remoteViewingTech.

Im feeling choppiness inConsciousness/perception/darkenedVision, &these people make me cough2makeCough causePhysicalPain2myBrain. I'm finding blood in my mucus when I blow my nose, and my nose is endlessly crusty with dried blood crust. So apparently something IS happening wirelessly, which is impacting my brain, tied in with the pain I'm feeling. That's not scary. Typical American nonsense. It's like the European perceptions. Always a stupid cowboy. "Lets do ummm...brain surgery...like a group of f*gs while "he's still "in" the phenomena" and scare him and not tell him and let him figure it out..."They then fondleMyBalls whileMaking p*nis focused. Americas FBI, CIA, military- justSitTightIn CRUSADE AGAINST A BROWN MAN. American f*ggots, assemble.

This has nothing to do with being p*ssed, although that's an inherent right after 18 years of this. This is definitely a waste of my time. This is a hate crime and a crime against humanity, while people are focusing on s*x and a guy interacting with a tv. Someone is making fun of you as a group of neanderthals and ur taking the mantle.

And then echoing things like what I do in my spare time...why is it even relevant. I am happy waking up in silence, simply showering/brushing my teeth, eating my favorite breakfast, riding my Peloton, hitting the gym and pushing myself, maybe working if I could get a job after two degrees, hitting a coffee shop, maybe dancing at a European style/Indian style club, doing martial arts, maybe returning to with my head on my potential wife's lap at the end of the day, like a pillow and watching a movie.

[justmba]

Sonos move

#SONOS MOVE PORTABLE#

#SONOS MOVE BLUETOOTH#

It's wider and taller than the Sonos One and it weighs a hefty 3kg - so you'll need a pretty decent-sized backpack to lug it around.

#SONOS MOVE PORTABLE#

There's a Lunar White model too, which are the same colour offerings as the Sonos Roam.Īs we say, though, this portable speaker is not small. We had it outside in 25C with the sun shining directly on it for several hours but it didn't feel too hot as a result. Everything inside has been considered, too, from a custom-made polycarbonate basket case reinforced with glass for the mid-woofer, to the colour of the Move itself - it is Shadow Black and not just plain, absorbant black to take UV exposure into account. To achieve this, the bottom of the device is silicone with a clear coat of paint over the top to deter dust. Sonos says the Move can withstand pretty much every obstacle life might throw at it, whether that be sand, water or a drop on concrete, and while we didn't fancy testing the last of those, it's clear this speaker is able to hold its own. While the design of the Sonos Move clearly resembles the Sonos portfolio, it offers an IP56 water and dust resistance and it is one tough little cookie - although it's not actually that little. Net a good purchase, and I expect to discover new applications and possibilities on a regular basis.The Sonos Move has the same design ethos as these newer Sonos speakers, with rounded edges, capacitive controls and an almost identical top to the Sonos One - albeit oval shaped and with repositioned controls - but it raises the stakes when it comes to durability. This worked through another Google account, although it is sometimes difficult to use the right wording before he understands what you mean. Google Assistant was easy to activate, but unfortunately could not turn music on or off via my own Google account. But the sound would also automatically tune itself via the microphone, although I haven't been able to test that properly yet. The high tones are only slightly dependent on the direction in which the speaker is placed. swipe over the touch buttons for next/previous song, and if you want to take over the sound from the other 'room', you can do that with a long touch on the play button so that the speaker is in the same room. But it's bigger than expected, very solidly built with a subtle rubber foot, and linked to your existing system via the Sonos app within a minute.Ĭontrol is simple and creative with e.g.

#SONOS MOVE BLUETOOTH#

You have to swallow the price, especially if you compare it with other bluetooth speakers. How happy I was when the Sonos Move was announced that had exactly those missing features: a battery-powered bluetooth-enabled speaker with the quality and ease of installation that we know from Sonos. Last year I doubted for a long time whether I would buy the Sonos One when it came out, but I was sorry that it could not be used as a bluetooth speaker, and also found the fixed power cable too restrictive. Google Assistant still has some problems and limitations With the built-in Google Assistant, you can ask everything via voice commands and you can even control your smart home with your voice. “Hey Google, tell me the latest news” and “Hey Google, is it going to rain today?”. I have to admit it makes me a little lazy. Within 2 hours, the Move is approximately fully charged and then it will last another 10 hours. You place the charging station near a socket. But hey, I don't have a pool.Ĭharge via charging station, then take it with you again You could also safely place it in the garden next to the pool, because the speaker is waterproof. So you don't have to worry that it won't take a beating. I listen to all my favorite songs all over the house.īelieve it or not, this speaker is even more likely to make a dent in the ground if it falls off the table. Via the same app I connect it to my Sonos Beam for an extension to my home cinema, or I connect it to my Sonos One in the bedroom for a multi-room system. The installation proceeds as I am used to from Sonos. So the sound comes from all sides and it doesn't matter where it is. The low bass and high volume spread 360 degrees throughout the room. In terms of sound, it just doesn't reach the level of the Play:5, but that says a lot. The speaker is a lot bigger than, for example, the Sonos One, or another WiFi speaker. A downside: the speaker is 3 kilos, so that will take some lugging. The bluetooth support takes care of that. He can even take it to the park in the summer. But do I wash up or take a shower? Then I grab it by the notch and take it around the house with me. If I want to use it as a WiFi speaker at home, I place it in its charging station. It is a whopper of a speaker, but the design is again a picture to look at. I am really pleasantly surprised by the Sonos Move.

#Sonos move

[korasonata]

Joe and Cleo model streams extended cut Part 2! (Streams 3 and 4)

—

STREAM 3

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Be careful with that thing” Im very careful with knives. Except for that time when I wasn’t.

—

Cleo (in response to chat asking about her friend Corpse): Corpse is not my husband. Ok? And they wouldn’t be anyway. Because they.

—

Cleo: I’m very confused Joe. I don’t know how to feel.

—

Cleo: Ok. I can do that. We can do that chat! I believe in you and myself…I- I don’t. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t.

Joe: That’s why you got me here to believe in you!

Cleo: Awww, thanks Joe!

Joe: You’re welcome Cleo!

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Black beer or clear beer?” No beer! I don’t believe in beer, it’s fictional. That’s just how it goes.

Joe: Yeah. Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.

—

Joe: One of my viewers asks “are you and Cleo real life childhood friends?” Yes, obviously as you can tell from our accents—

Both: We grew up—

Joe: On the same block—

Cleo: Yeah.

Joe: Uh, along the Thames there—

Cleo: Yes.

Joe: You know, we took different paths in life. Cleo obviously went to university and perused geology and teaching, whereas I ended up with an asbo and a bunch of weird telekinetic powers and things just kind of went wild from there.

Cleo: Yeah.

Joe: But now we’re back together again.

Cleo: Yeah! I mean— I mean after you saved the world a few times. It’s, ah…it’s necessary it— it felt right. To come back together.

Joe: Yep. It’s just— it’s just…it was time.

Cleo (reading chat): You thought Joe Hills was from Glasgow? Oh no no no no no no. No no, same— it’s a cockney accent, can’t you tell?

Joe: Yeah, that’s why I’m so good at rhyming.

Cleo: *snickering* I don’t think they believe us.

—

Joe: What is the British equivalent of a coffee shop?

Cleo: Umm…a coffee shop.

—

Joe: It looks like piece 3/4 will make sense at some point in the future.

Cleo: But today is not that day. And to be honest, tomorrow’s not looking great either.

—

Cleo (reading chat): *laughing* Joe thinks everyone is as well adjusted as he is!

Joe: Oh, I’m terribly adjusted! Do not adjust your Joes! It won’t help, we’ve tried!

—

Joe (reading chat): “You all heard Cleo say Joe would look good in shorts right?”

Cleo: *heavy sigh*

Joe: I mean, I’m gonna say, I’m not getting as much exercise as I used to, so it’s- don’t get your hopes up Cleo.

Cleo: I- I-…I mean, there’s only one person I wanna see in shorts and it’s not you, so we’re all good.

—

Joe (in British accent): Spot on.

Cleo: Better. You’re getting better at that you know. You’re not great, but you’re getting better.

Joe: Yeah. Well the thing is I need to be able to blend when I’m there. You know I don’t wanna call attention to myself in my accent.

Cleo: …Joe?

Joe: Yeah?

Cleo: Nothing you ever do is blendable.

Joe: …That explains why I’m so bad at painting. And making margaritas. Just kidding, I’m great at making margaritas. The secret is to get real Cointreau.

Cleo: I…Don’t— I’ve never really had a margarita.

Joe: WHAAAAAAAAAT??!!?!

—

STREAM 4

—

Joe: So, I’ve got to cut up the last couple pieces from my fourth page out of 17.

Cleo: Is this where I tell you I’ve got about 6 pages left on the dot?

Joe: Out of how many, though?

Cleo: Out of about…14?

Joe: Wow, so you’re like, halfway there.

Cleo: Well, literally the instructions say I’m halfway there. Although—

Joe: Oh really? They congratulate you on that?

Cleo: W—no, they—they—……thanks Joe…

—

Joe: I bet whoever makes those models, now that you and I are getting them back in vogue, it’s like “oh no! If only I hadn’t sold the last one to Cleo, I could sell 1000 of these today.”

Cleo: I mean, I don’t think anybody in the stream is going to go out and buy one when they’ve seen what it’s done to us. And our souls. Or lack thereof.

—

Joe (reading chat): “If Joe is Jar Jar and Cleo is Padme, who’s Bail Organa?” …I dunno, VintageBeef.

Cleo: *laughing* Just—Just VintageBeef.

Joe: Just VintageBeef.

Cleo: It just is! You and I both know that, so you guys need to know it.

Joe: Yeah, cause like I don’t think Bail Organa had any kids.

Cleo: Yeah he did, he had Leia.

Joe: Well, but he adopted Leia.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: And VintageBeef seems like, of all the Hermits, the one to most likely actually have the capacity to take on that sort of responsibility? I don’t know…

Cleo: No no, I can— I’m just running through the Hermits in my head, and I’m just like yeah that—that reads. That reads pretty well.

—

Joe (Dude bro voice): Has your heart even been weighed by Anubis, bro?

Cleo (dude bro voice): *laughing* Do you even lift? (Regular voice)…or no. That’s the opposite of what you want to do with a heart…

—

Cleo: I threaten to murder people all the time. One might say it’s part of my brand.

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Death threats are Cleo’s love language” *laughing* You’re not wrong.

—

Cleo: I’ve made plenty of mistakes! Learn from me! Like plenty of mistakes, which is why I’m doing this in my 40s. Joe just made his mistakes faster, that’s why he’s doing it in his 30s.

SILENCE

Joe: …Most of the jokes I wanna make about that, I—just in case my kid is tuning into the stream I’m gonna not—

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Because I am legally required not to disparage my ex-wife in front of her.

—

Cleo (in response to someone saying Joe’s hands are sufficient): No, my hands are sufficient. Joe has dexterous, wonderful hands. Get it right chat.

—

Cleo (about her Garrus mug): Next stream I shall use this for my beverage which I shall pretend is coffee. Which is what I used to do to the children at school.

Joe: Wait, you would pretend you were drinking coffee? What were you actually drinking? Rum?

—

Joe: My best is still the same, but my worst is getting less bad.

Cleo: That’s depressing and accurate. All at the same time.

Joe (tiredly): Yay! I strive for accuracy in all of my depressing statements. Cause it makes it harder to rebut them.

Cleo (softly and with care): I know.

—

Cleo (mocking people who push boundaries): If you were a PIN, what would you be?

Joe: *laughing* Like a PIN number?!

Cleo: Yeah!

Both: *laughing*

Joe: If you could be any PIN code—

Cleo: If you had an—what—what was your favourite PIN code, for example?

Joe: What’s your favourite 4-digit number?

Cleo: *laughing* What’s the 4-digit number you remember most in the world?

Joe: What’s the easiest to remember 4-digit number?

—

Cleo: I’m not going to get sushi from the Asda!

Joe (voice steadily getting higher): Oh my gosh, I am so glad that my face camera is off when we do those collab streams with Xisuma. Because like *laughing through the pain* a lot of them are just me screaming internally, but I’m not pushing to talk. And the reason I’m not pushing to talk is I’m also kind of screaming externally? And it’s just like, it’s just— *very high pitched incomprehensible gibberish*

Cleo: You—you do wonder sometimes with, with—with him. *laughing* See, thing is sometimes I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not, so—

Joe: If he says that he buys sushi at the Asda, I’m like 99% confident that he’s being serious.

Cleo: *laughing* He’s adorable and needs to be protected from this world.

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #zombiecleo #zombie cleo #joehills #joe hills

[opalesense]

my favorite subject

albedo & shy gn!reader (NSFW)

5.3k words • ~40 min. read

summary: you’ve been volunteering to be albedo’s nude model for some experimental paintings for the past few weeks. one night, even after he finishes painting, he finds that he still can’t keep his eyes off of you, nor his hands...

warnings: groping, choking

notes: i said this the other day already but thanks so much for 350+ followers!! hope you enjoy this! <3

THE COLD, UNFORGIVING WIND OF DRAGONSPINE slowly crept its way into Albedo’s temporary base tonight, making it harder to concentrate while the two of you were wrapping up today’s session. A shiver crawled up your spine despite Albedo offering you a blanket a few minutes ago and you simply couldn’t take the cold anymore. Without second thought, you set aside the materials you were holding for him and took a few steps towards a campfire in the middle of the base, struggling to move your frozen legs. Albedo caught sight of you and swiftly dropped what he was doing to help you settle into a spot close to the fire, his hands firmly gripping your waist to make sure you wouldn’t fall over.

CAUGHT YOU IN 4K MOTHERFUCKER LMAOOOOO HAPPY APRIL FOOLS!!! 😨📸

on a more serious note, i’ll be posting actual stuff very soon! i’ve been taking this past week to write requests then i’ll post them one at a time over the next few days or so! stay tuned and thanks for waiting! <3

p.s. ok but like... this prompt is real, i’ll actually write it someday... just not today ;D

#albedo #albedo x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #mine #bang

[kj-1130]

Nothing For Me

Part 5

(gifs not mine)

Main Masterlist

Part 4|Part 6

It was a strange sense of deja vu; except this time you weren’t staring at the glow in the dark stars that still lingered across the ceiling, you were staring at the back of your eyelids. Your thoughts still played loud in your head. They were like a playlist that was on repeat and you couldn’t press the pause button.

It was noisy but empty, if that made sense. A strange, but not unusual feeling to you.

The demons crawled into your head, made it their home and decorated it. And you just couldn’t find the strength to kick them out.

The back of your eyelids became something you had grown accustomed to staring at. If you weren’t awake and suffering at the will of your own mind, you were sleeping--hoping that your thoughts would turn off then.

You couldn’t see the light from the tv, but you could hear it. The ‘f.r.i.e.n.d.s.’ theme song was quite an interesting mix with the yells of ‘no one cares,’ ‘you’re invisible,’ or ‘just disappear.’

But you couldn’t sleep because the music was so damn loud. Apparently, the avengers retrieved the scepter and were celebrating. You were invited to attend by Natasha, but you didn’t have the willpower; to talk to perverted business men all night or to get out of bed--either one.

So you tried to ignore the sound of faint chatter and clinking glasses. Or maybe you would listen to it; it was undoubtedly better than whatever was going on inside your noggin.

Time passed. You didn’t know what time it was. Time is an illusion anyway.

The days were all just one big blob of nothingness to you at this point. Everyday, you felt the same, did the same thing, thought the same thoughts. So what’s the point of trying to tell whether the darkness you saw was from outside or from the back of your eyelids.

The back of your eyelids. What a strange sense of deja vu…

-

Stars reminded you of Michelle. The two of you always watched the stars together. It was your thing.

You’d never thought you’d have a thing with anyone. You were glad you had one with MJ.

You opened your eyes. The stars that were stuck to the ceilings seemed like they grew dimmer over the years--just like your eyes.

It was significantly quieter than it was before. You guessed everyone had homes to return to. What was a home?

Your mom was your home. But she’s gone now.

Maybe Michelle could become your home. Yeah. She keeps you warm and you do the same for her. Maybe she could be your home.

-

Pounding footsteps were heard throughout the hall. As tired as you were, your curiosity won out. You slowly sat up despite your body’s protest and made your way towards the door. Yeah, if you were in a horror movie, you definitely would’ve been dead by now.

Just as you were about to reach out for the handle, the door flung open causing you to jump back. Looking up, your eyes connected with red ones.

“You’ll do just fine, little Stark.”

-

The two former agents sped down the long halls of the tower. They reached the door and saw splinters all over the ground.

Natasha slowly walked in on high alert. She and Clint searched around the room; the bathroom, closet, anywhere where someone could hide.

The redhead faced her friend with a forlorn look on her face. Her head shook slowly.

“She’s gone.”

-

You were in your room--your old room. There was music playing downstairs; Whitney Houston. An artist your mom would listen to during her free time.

“Mom?”

You ran down the steps into the kitchen and stood at the entryway. She stood with her back to you. Her fro was pulled into a messy puff and she was wearing her robe; the same robe you would wear as a cape.

It smelled like french toast. You always ate french toast together on the second Saturday of the month. It was tradition.

“Mom?”

Her head lifted and she turned to face you. Instead of her glowing and blemish free skin and that beautiful, gentle smile, all you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You gasped and backed into the well causing one of the paintings to fall.

Your mom chuckled and when you looked back, her face was normal.

“You’re always so clumsy.”

Your breathing was still labored. You watched as the woman you knew as a mother picked up the piece of art. It was the one she got from her mother--your grandmother.

“You okay? You’re looking a little flustered.”

She strode towards you and rested a hand on your cheek and then your forehead.

You resisted the urge to flinch as her cold skin made contact with yours.

“C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Your body was on autopilot as you followed her to the counter. She passed you a plate and took a seat next to you.

“Useless,” was whispered and disappeared into the wind.

You looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“You okay?”

You glanced at your mom before nodding.

“Yeah. Thought I heard something.”

“I’m glad I died.”

You whipped your head towards her and found the mummified version looking at you once again.

You stood and set your fork down before running up the stairs. You entered the bathroom and locked the door before sliding down the far wall.

The door was thrown open before her figure flew over to you.

-

Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a gasp.

Everything hurt. It all hurt.

Frantically, you pushed yourself to the corner of whatever room you were in regardless of what the throb of your head was telling you.

The rocks began crunching as if someone was walking on them. Your head whipped around in every direction trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“Your father took everything from us.”

“Yeah. Well he’s a taker not a giver.”

Your mom always told you your mouth would get you in trouble. You just hoped she wasn’t right at this moment.

Looking up, you were met with two pairs of eyes; one a woman the other a man.

They both seemed significantly older than you. The woman walked closer and bent down in front of you and her eyes started glowing red. You began hyperventilating, praying she wouldn’t harm you.

She lifted her hand to your temple and rested her fingers there.

“It’s time we get our revenge.”

All you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

-

Your head was pounding and your neck was killing you. Groaning, you craned your neck and searched your surroundings.

Hands touched your shoulders gently. But it didn’t matter how gentle it was because you didn’t want anyone touching you with their hands that could kill you with the right movements.

You swatted them away from you--with your own hands that didn’t stand a chance against a lot of people.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Kid, calm down.”

Rubbing your eyes, you looked around as your vision cleared. In front of you stood Clint. His face was decayed; just like your mom’s.

You scrambled back and curled up in the corner of the corner closest to you.

“Hey. You’re safe. You’re okay,” he said gently.

Your gaze transferred from one area of the jet to another frantically. You wanted something to stand out at you; make it’s obnoxiousness force the visual of it in your brain. Anything would be better than seeing her face like that.

You didn’t even notice the archer moving closer to you until he rested his hand on your shoulder. You flinched hard and gently pushed it off of you.

Clint nodded in understanding and continued to kneel in front of you.

“We’re about 15 minutes from a safe house, alright? You can eat something and then rest there. That okay?”

Nodding your head, you leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

The most powerful thing you knew of was Cap’s shield. Seems like that witch was taking that spot.

-

True to Clint’s word, the jet landed less than 15 minutes later. You were the last out although Steve did end up waiting for you. His hand landed on your shoulder and when you turned to look at it, all you saw was bones and tissue. You stumbled back and hit your back on the quinjet.

The supersoldier looked at you with worried eyes before slowly walking away.

You watched the backs of the superheroes get smaller as they walked towards the porch of the safe house.

Is that what they were? Heroes? Everyone always described them as these indestructible beings that would always be there to help civilians and save the day. But who was going to save them?

They didn’t look so indestructible. They just looked like a group of people with the weight of the world--no universe on their shoulders.

Watching everyone enter the house, you decided to follow a moment later. Cap, ever the gentleman he was, held the door open for you and let it shut once you slipped inside.

“I know all your names,” the woman who stood next to the archer said. She scanned the group before her eyes landed on you, her head tilting slightly.

You tuned out the rest of the conversation as you looked around the house--no home. It looked like a home. Not some model house that some cookie cutter family lives in. A home where parents were raising their children to be themselves and nurturing them with love and care.

The room wasn’t spotless. There were legos and toys on the floor. It didn’t smell like cleaning supplies. It smelt like a homemade meal; one that would make any stress from the day just melt away.

A hand tugged on the sleeve of your shirt causing you to glance down. It looked just like the other ones; just a decaying, withering hand.

You flinched in response and quietly stepped away, not wanting to cause a scene. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down and saw a little girl that didn’t even seem the slightest bit fazed by your little episode.

“Can you play dollies with me?”

“Actually,” Clint cut in. “She needs to rest. (Y/n) can play after a nap, alright?”

The little girl nodded and went to minding her business.

The archer placed a gentle hand on your back and you tensed under his touch. You heard him whisper to his wife before the two led you up stairs.

“You good to clean yourself up?”

You grabbed the towel and extra clothes out of his hands and sat them down on the bathroom counter.

“I’m fine, Clint,” you muttered while pushing him out of the room.

-

You sat in the bed of the spare room that Clint’s wife, who you learned was Laura, said that you could stay in.

A knock reverberated through the room, the sound of the door opening following suit.

You felt a dip in the bed, but you refused to look up from the spot on the covers.

You didn’t want to see a decaying face.

You didn’t want to see someone dead.

You didn’t want that image stuck in your brain like a starred picture on google photos. You didn’t want to give your mind a chance to somehow twist it all around--inside, over and out--and convince you that it was all your fault.

You just wanted to have a few seconds of peace instead of the roaring tides that were washing through your head, even if it was false.

“What did she make you see?”

You swiped your tongue over your dry lips and shook your head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a moment of silence and continued to mess with the unraveling thread in the blanket.

“Look at me then.”

You hesitated, but eventually lifted your head.

“I said look at me, not at the wall. Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath your lip began to tremble.

“Please.”

“Don’t make me do it,” you whispered.

A hand was turning you towards her before you could even stop it, but you managed to close your eyes.

“Whatever she showed you is not real. I’m here and I always will be.”

You only saw her ivory skin and forest green eyes. There were no visible bones or muscles. Just her red hair and sad smile.

Your eyes fitted around her face, making sure that it wasn’t a cruel trick your mind was trying to play on you.

Natasha lovingly patted your cheek and pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get some rest, alright?”

-

You couldn’t rest, long story short.

It was so noisy up there and you just couldn’t get it to calm down.

Every time you closed your eyes, somebody’s dead body was infiltrating your mind. Whether it was Clint or his kids, Natasha or MJ.

MJ. Oh shit.

You threw the covers off your body and slowly lifted yourself from the bed. Making your way downstairs, you heard some chatter coming from near the kitchen.

“I thought you were dead.”

A hand immediately flew up to your mouth as if that would stop the words that already came out of your mouth. Muttering a ‘my bad’ you walked up towards the group of adults while simultaneously scanning your surroundings.

“I am,” replied Fury.

Clearing your throat you took in a deep breath. But before you could speak, somebody beat you to it.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You rolled your eyes and prepared to talk.

“Does anyone have a phone I can borrow?”

Practically everyone raised their eyebrows at you in confusion. You let out a sigh and started wringing your hands

“I-I need to call MJ. Please.”

When it was clear that desperation was shining through your eyes, Laura was quick to get up.

“Sure, honey.”

Everyone else was left confused.

“Who the hell is MJ?”

Laura gave you a phone and told you, you could call from the couch.

You were swift to dial her phone number and bring the device to your ear. You bit your lip, waiting for your friend to pick up which she did after the fourth ring.

“Who is this?”

While you were grateful the phone was picked up, it wasn’t who you wanted to answer.

“I-it’s (y/n). I-i-i’m just calling from a d-different number. I-Is M-MJ home?”

You knew all the adults were staring at you and as much as it made your skin itch and crawl, you didn’t care about it as much as you cared about talking to MJ.

There was shuffling on the other side so you could only assume that her mother was traveling around their apartment.

“Thank goodness. I thought you died or something,” she chuckled.

A smile rose to your face before you could even think about it.

“I mean, close but no.”

“I-You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”

“It’ll probably be on the news by the end of this week anyway.”

You had finally relaxed into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You could still feel them staring holes in your skull and it was making you feel like you were exposed and vulnerable.

It was silent for a moment before you heard let out a sigh MJ let out a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Do you wanna come over and talk about it?”

You let out a hum before answering, “I can’t”

“Why? A-are you hurt? If so, I can come over there and-”

“No. I literally cannot-”

“It’s not a big deal. I can-”

“I’m in another state.” There was a pause on the other side of the call. “Or country. I-I don’t know where I am.”

You heard the girl clear her throat before taking a deep breath, obviously processing what you just told her.

“So that’s what you meant when you said-”

“Yeah…”

You clicked your tongue a couple of times, wondering what was going through Michelle’s head at the moment as the silence lingered.

“I guess you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

You let out a small chuckle, something you only seemed to do in MJ’s presence.

“No longer in Kansas.”

The conversation could no longer continue as you heard your friend’s mom yell for her.

“Well, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

The two of you never said ‘goodbye’ to each other not wanting it to feel like it was the ending of something.

You handed the phone back to Clint’s wife and made your trek back to the stairs before you stopped.

“Where am I exactly?”

The archer blinked owlishly at you while you stared at him with a raised eyebrow. You shrugged before continuing your way to the room you were staying in.

“Eh. I’ll figure it out.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see.”

-

They left. Again. Not surprising.

You should be used to it by now. They had people to save anyway.

It was late at night and you couldn’t sleep--what’s new?

You didn’t want to bother anyone but you just couldn’t stand the commotion. You couldn’t stand that being the only thing you’re focused on.

You decided to go to the kitchen to see if Laura needed help with anything considering she did just have a whole team of unexpected guests.

The scene downstairs, kind of seemed… upsetting to you. The lights were dimmed, it was quiet, and the woman you were searching for was hunched over a cup of tea.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

The brunette’s head snapped up and she met your gaze. Her eyes held a melancholy undertone in them and you just couldn’t imagine what was swirling in her mind.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

You took a seat next to her on the couch and fiddled with your hands.

“I just… worry sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah. Clint can be an idiot sometimes.”

You both shared a chuckle but the deafening silence still returned. The air flowing through the home could be heard. You could probably hear the kids’ breathing if you tried hard enough.

“Why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up? Isn’t that like, bad for the baby or something?”

Through the corner of your sight, you could see Laura shaking her head at you as a small smile danced across her lips.

“I asked first.”

You let out a sigh and shrugged your shoulders.

“Just...couldn’t sleep I guess.”

The woman nods in response and takes a sip of her tea. It was obvious to her that something else was on your mind but she didn’t pry and you were thankful for that.

Instead, she just grabbed the remote and turned the television on, an episode from the sitcom Living Single playing quietly.

A weight was felt on Laura’s shoulder and she looked down to see the young teenager resting with small breaths escaping her parted lips. The woman was careful to free an arm and wrap it around your shoulders, you subconsciously snuggling in further.

-

Walking down the halls of the compound, you searched all the doors. As you reached one, you raised your fist to knock only for the door to fly open before you could.

You clear your throat before looking towards the ground.

“May I, may I come in?”

The person nods and you hesitantly step inside the room and take a seat at the desk.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Me too,” Wanda nods.

There was this awkward, tense silence that just floated through the room that seemed almost impossible to get rid of. It was suffocating.

“I’m sorry about the uhhh, whole mind thing.”

You too nodded in response and gave your reassurance, your mind focused on her accent. It was comforting to say the least.

It had been at least two weeks after the whole ultron thing. Tony was obviously oblivious to what happened to you.

When he ignored or neglected you, it was like a paper cut--never acknowledged or thought about until something provokes it.

You had passed the witch a few times in passing, but never truly held a conversation with her.

You knew of the passing of her brother and you knew how hard it was--is to lose a loved one. Especially if that loved one was the only one that made you feel like you weren’t completely and utterly alone.

“I know it’s not my place to say but,” you paused to take a deep breath. “Don’t let this hold you back. I-I was never given the chance to grieve my m-mom properly and, and I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you, I guess.”

At this point, you felt like you were just spitballing. You figured she already knew what was going on in your head so why not just be open about it.

“And I’m pretty sure the others will come around. Clint seemed to like you.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth lifted a little and she gave a breathy laugh.

“And I guess, I like you too.”

“Thanks.”

You took a moment to gather yourself before heading towards the door.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

-

“So to recap, you were kidnapped by a robot with murderous tendencies, got your mind manipulated by an enhanced individual, and now you’re living and somewhat acquaintances with said ‘enhanced individual’.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Michelle chuckled in response and shook her head in disbelief.

“That’s crazy.”

You shrugged with a frown and scooted closer to her. Your shoulders were touching but neither of you moved.

“Eh, I’m kind of getting used to the crazy.”

You were watching the stars on the roof of her building again. MJ brought some snacks and a blanket which the two of you were currently snuggled up in.

The food was eaten quite quickly and silence was quick to wash over the two of you. But the silence wasn’t like it was with Wanda or even Laura. With MJ it was a peaceful and serene moment; like the two of you were in this indestructible bubble that only you two were allowed in. With her you felt safe.

You turned your head towards Michelle only to find her already looking at you. Both of your faces heated up but neither of you could look away. Instead, grins rose to both of your faces before the girl pulled you closer to her.

Yeah. Michelle was home.

----------------

Taglist

@leahnicole1219 @thebadasssass @littlegasps @lengendarymcnuggies @stillmanicc​

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #black!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #clint barton #clint barton x teen!reader #laura barton #nothing for me miniseries #michelle jones x fem!reader #part 5 #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader

[the-iron-orchid]

A Grand Tour of the Julian 3D Model, Part 1: Hot Potato

Meet the Genesis 8.1 Basic Male:

He is fully rigged, with hundreds of precision morphs available to change the way he looks, and hundreds more to make sure he looks reasonably good when you pose him.

He also looks like a potato-mannequin in lip gloss, and unless you place his (rather unprepossessing) geografted junk on him, he has the undefined groin bulge of a Ken doll.

It’s a very long way from that to this:

But they are the same exact base mesh!

Come with me on a magical tour of what went into making this potato-man into the Julian model we love today...

He has 124 individual morphs dialed in at various percentages, each by eyeballing it, rendering it, making a tiny alteration, rinse and repeat. Some control large areas of his body, other control tiny areas like the distance between the peaks of his upper lip.

I could just directly sculpt his mesh in Zbrush to exactly what I want, but that can cause unexpected results when posing, especially in his face. I prefer to use as many fully-featured vendor morphs as I can for shaping, because they contain built-in ‘helper morph’ fixes that automatically load when posing. I then use custom Zbrush morphs for fine-tuning and fixing mesh problems later on, after he has been posed and dressed. (More on that later!)

As an example, here is what happens when a morph doesn’t have the helpers to fix them automatically:

That little bit of his lower eyelid does not close properly, and I have to compensate for it when doing closed-eye renders.

Next, I had to give him a custom detailed skin, so he doesn’t look airbrushed...

Over time, through multiple iterations of the model, I have made over 200 customized 4K texture resources for him. 😵 At any given time, he is using about 20+ of them, along with 20+ additional maps that I have shamelessly stolen from other models I own, mostly for things like skin pore details and specularity (shine) control.

I create the custom maps by layering and remixing multiple 4K texture resources, hand-painting details like veins, makeup and the shadows around his eyes, until I get the look I want. His face texture file alone has 14 layers that I can turn on and off to make him flush to various degrees, look more/less tired, or wear makeup.

I spent all my money on Zbrush and Marvelous Designer, I can’t afford Photoshop. ;P

Compare the relative lack of detail in the very first iteration of the model:

With the most recent version:

Some of this is an improved physically-based skin shader, but a lot of it is the more detailed base textures I created from additional resources, plus some additional full-body HD morphs I got my grubby little hands on. I also made significant improvements to the base hair shape and shaders.

There are things I really liked about the first rev of Julian, but in the end he just looked too cartoony next to Jinana. (S/he was created from a very detailed HD base figure that came with skin textures scanned from an actual person of Indian ethnicity, but that’s a whole different story...) I had to make a lot of Choices to make Julian look like an actual human being, but overall I’m pretty happy with him. (I still make tiny incremental changes over time, so he’s always evolving!)

In the next installment, we’ll take a look at his extra features, from body hair to third-party genitals! ;P

(On to Part 2)

#my art #3d modeling #julian devorak #the arcana fanart #daz3d #a tour of the julian 3D model

[wangxianficrecs]

Sweeties, it’s time for

I’m In The Mood For A Fic Where…

_______

1.  Ahhh mojo your blog makes my world go round and back and around again.  [You’re so sweet!] I was wondering if you could help me out with your next "I'm in the mood for a fic where".. I'm looking for two types of fics

A) fics in which WWX regains his core somehow (either by working on it, divine intervention, core sharing, anything!!) I so desperately want my boy to have his precious and favourite sword back (◡ ω ◡)

B) fics where WWX (or LWJ) *almost* marries someone else.

Thank you for your help!!! (~￣³￣)~❤️ ~ @akyra-talanoa​

1a.

nothing gold can stay by rikke (M, 10k, wangxian, my post)

❤️Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller (not rated [G], 15k, wangxian, my post)

the path to heaven / immortal wangxian by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 51k, wangxian)

Chimera by nirejseki (T, 18k, wangxian)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Different Paths to the Same Route by JustAWanderingBabbit (T, 184k, 3zun)

24 Hours by tailor31415 (E, 6k, wangxian)

Core-Thieving Hand by x_los (T, 5k, wangxian)

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian by antebunny (G, 43k, wangxian)

1b.

to swim through the fires by littledust (M, 37k, wangxian)

❤️Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 46k, wangxian, my post)

Rebound Betrothal by mondengel (not rated (G), 2k, wangxian, my post)

History Will Call Us Wives by silvermarie (E, 17k, wangxian)

today was a smoking sky by typefortydeductions (E, 38k, wangxian)

~*~

2.  hello! any recs wangxian modern au/mpreg? please and thank you!

Here’s my mpreg post (mostly current) and also

Brilliant Mistake by brooklinegirl (E, 54k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Winter Moon, White Rabbit by nachttour (E, 62k, wangxian, WIP)

Stale Spice, Sandalwood, and Nests by Tyongslips (M, 18k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

3.  Hello!! This might not be specific enough to find anything, but I was looking for modern wangxian fics that have a very distinct italicized 'oh' moments together? Like both of them or either of the pair doing something that makes them suddenly realize

every time we kiss i swear i could fly by sarahyyy (T, 3k, wangxian, my post)

【那夏天的我們】a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 60k, wangxian)

not in so many words by jaws_3 (T, 18k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

4.  In the mood for fics where WWX is genuinely afraid of LWJ, believing that he will kill him/hurt him/cast him out/haul him back to Gusu for punishment; with emphasis on LWJ's reaction when he realizes and it hits him like a sack of bricks, and ideally on his efforts to regain WWX's trust. Not looking for something where LWJ really does wish WWX significant harm, but it's ok if he has well-intended ideas that he doesn't realize would hurt him. Any time period, canon version, or AU is good. Example: decay by antebunny.

~*~

5.  Hi there! First of all thank you for making such a helpful blog. I have been reading tons of great stories due to you.  [I’m so glad!] Secondly I would love to read a fic (a) where lwj is a single dad and then meets wwx (b) Best modern au fics with lots of angst. Thanks!!! ~ @pastashouldbeeatenwithafork​

5a. 

❤️A Flower That Blooms In Adversity by thunderwear (M, 62k, wangxian, WIP, my post)

like wildflowers (we grow) by moonsteps (T, 80k, wangxian)

say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn (E, 69k, wangxian)

plant a little happiness (let the roots run deep) by fleurdeliser (E, 48k, wangxian)

tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 41k, wangxian)

paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 54k, wangxian)

love thy neighbor by wincechesters (M, 7k, wangxian)

No Need to Change a Tune by yeolinski (T, 10k, wangxian)

5b.

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108, wangxian, my post)

A Sequence of Coming Outs by kippalittlefox (M, 24k, wangxian)

new york, i love you by Anonymous (T, 7k, wangxian)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32, wangxian)

An Ocean Between Us by feenwitch (E, 11k, wangxian)

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, wangxian, *mind the tags!*)

me and you, always and forever by fyredancer (E, 150k, wangxian)

Momentum Deferred by DisasterBiAlert (T, 13k, wangxian, my post)

After the Final Rose by azurewaxwing (E, 55k, wangxian)

there's no promised goodbye here by Anonymous (T, 54k, wangxian)

defective requiems by Misila (M, 9k, wangxian)

❤️Common love isn't for us by feyburner (M, 8k, wangxian, my post)

twice by Misila (T, 8k, wangxian)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 27k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

6.  Hey! Can you rec some fics with wangxian being in cloud recesses or modern au of college?? Thanks!

I have tags for #students at cloud recesses and #college/university au

~*~

7.  Would you happen to know any fics where lqr and wwx actually get along and have a good relationship? Lqr the scholar he is and wwx the inventor/genious ???? There are a lot of possibilities there.  Thank you so much have a great day and stay hydrated!!!

❤️To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 79k, wangxian, my post)

❤️to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, my post)

Just Say Yes by edenwolfie (M, 312k, wangxian)

Post-war baby! by like_a_bird_that_flew (E, 23k, wangxian, WIP)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, my bookmark)

~*~

8.  Hello! I love your fic recs and the hard work you do! I've discovered so many new favourites thanks to you! [Yay!] I was wondering if you know of any fics where they're shapeshifters or some such? Animals or wing-fics or something similar? ❤

I have an official tag for #animal transformation, and on my AO3 wangxian collection (which returns more search results than tumblr) here is the search for shapeshifter, and wingfic

over forests and mountains by beechtree (T, 9k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

9.  hii do you know any fics that focus on lwj and lxc and their relation?? thanks <33

❤️Begotten by ecorie (G, 37k, wangxian, my post)

Brotherly Concern by Ibijau (G, 11k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

10.  hellooo! do you know any fics where jiang cheng finds a-yuan instead of lwj? thank you for all your recs btw, they're super helpful!!! [Thank you!]

grieve the living by Misila (M, 161k, wangxian)

Overflow the autumn pools by Mhalachai (T, 74k, jiang cheng & lan wangji)

~*~

11.  I love your blog! Thank you so much for all the wonderful recs! [Thank you!]  I don't suppose you know of any fics where WWX is a non-human entity of some sort, but presents or is disguised as a human? (Or maybe he even thinks he is human?)

Cruise the tags mentioned above in #8, too.

❤️Spellbound by Latios (T, 37k, wangxian, my post)

When fish soar by mondengel (G, 2k, wangxian, my post)

Breathing Firestorm by ladyshadowdrake (M, 111k, wangxian)

flame and rust by cl410 (M, 29k, wangxian, WIP)

❤️The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 55k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Magical Marriage Ribbons by starandrea (M, 376k, wangxian)

Ever Distant Shores by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (T, 69k wangxian, WIP)

~*~

12.  Hiii do you know any fics where wwx or lwj OR wangxian leave the cultivation world/retire/grow old together away from cultivation drama? Something like And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea , All that is solid melts into air by huxiyi , and that fic where post resurrection wwx just decides to not bother with dafan mountain and opens a flower shop:  focal, filler, and line by bosbie.

Dan Tian / Heaven by ArchiveWriter (T, 20k, wangxian, WIP)

The Slow Regard of Silent Things by Moonpuddles (T, 3k, wangxian)

Pair of Swallows, you and I~ by Moonpuddles (T, 13k, wangxian, series in progress)

~*~

13.  Hello! Do you know any fics where wangxian has some incompatibility issues/dysfunctional relationship that isnt because of canon typical one braincell wwx, but because of more structural things like their mental age gaps, how wwx will prolly hate cloud recesses after the honeymoon bliss is over etc. Generally fics that show wangxian having to work to build the relationship

~*~

14.  Hi! Any wangxian onlyfans au fics? I read For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm and the ongoing sequel KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) and those were so good!!! I'd like to find more similar fics!

Temptation's Mask by threerings (E, 58k, wangxian, camboy wwx)

A ghost by the light of the phone by shibrogane (E, 10k, wangxian)

~*~

15.  Hey, do you have any fics where lxc doesn't like (or outright despises) wwx?

❤️to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, my post)

I don't like your boyfriend by lazulisong (G, 3k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

16.  Do you know of any fics where the Lan Elders (unsuccessfully) try to make Lan Zhan marry someone other than Wei Ying?

Lie Open To One Another by levament (M, 41k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

17.  Hii! Do you know any fics that similar to Ardent Desires by crestre / Baby Of Mine by pupeez4eva ? I've been searching for it and want to read fics that similar to those so bad. I hope you and your followers can help me! Thankyouuu

The Trouble with Talismans: a Treatise on Time-Travel by Young Master Lan Xiaohui (Age 6) by stiltonbasket (G, 17k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

18.  Do you know any wangxian fics where either one or both of them are models/actors/musicians/famous in some way?

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 18k, wangxian, my post)

Patient came so hard from prostate exam he kicked me in the dick by Hades_the_Blingking (e, 17k, wangxian, my post)

An ocean in a drop (not a drop in the ocean) by dea_liberty (E, 10k, RPF, yizhan, my post)

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by Anonymous (T, 55k, wangxian, my post)

Make It Count by wearing_tearing (E, 47k, wangxian, my bookmark)

❤️Love wakes me by dea_liberty (e, 46k, wangxian, my post)

life, drama and action by Akai__hana (G, 13k, wangxian)

call me, beep me by myung (T, 39k, wangxian)

Rest by sassybluee (T, 115k, wangxian)

~*~

19.  hello, i'm searching for a fic where wwx like... transmigrates into mdzs/cql? like i think there were a couple of them and but i can't find them for some reason?

Untitled. by c11to (M, 61k, wangxian, WIP)

#wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #wangxian fic finder #in the mood for a fic #i haven't read these unless noted #crowd-sourcing #fic finding #fic finder

[monster-bait]

Holt the Witch’s Familiar; M Cat Familiar x F Human, NSFW Monster Match

Monster Match for @moonlightreetops​: What I usually look for in a partner is someone that is the equivalent to bedrock personality wise. I need stability and understanding in some sort of way to make me feel secure in a relationship...I collect macabre trinkets and spend most of my time doing little creative projects. I watch scifi flix, anime and play DND so big geek vibes here

I was *determined* to give him the name of an actual, historical familiar, and I didn’t name him Vinegar Tom, so YOU’RE WELCOME. Also, I left a TON of Holt on the cutting room floor, so there will likely be a sequel to this down the road!

The doll had a particularly creepy face.

“Miss Claudette is from the mid-eighteen hundreds,” the female auctioneer read, “once belonging to a privileged little girl of the era, she is a magnificent model of the expectations of a typical Victorian lady.”

You bit your lip in anticipation as hands reached into the frame, turning the doll on her pedestal to show off the detailing on the dress; the creepy, painted bisque face forgotten. 

You had no idea who he was—he never spoke, never stepped into the frame, never did anything other than manipulate the items at the behest of the sultry voiced woman in charge, but you’d be lying if you pretended he wasn’t the reason you kept tuning in week after week to their oddity auction, his lovely hands and the banter afterwards. 

Long and white and sculpted, veins and tendons standing out in relief, his hands were their own work of art, like a living sculpture. The endlessly long fingers were tipped in equally lengthy nails, painted matte black and ending in lethal-looking points, you supposed calling them claws would likely be more accurate.

You wondered, not for the first time, if he were a werewolf, or some similar creature. 

He wouldn’t have the nails all the time, you reminded yourself, thinking of what Kenzie had said. The chipper werewolf had been in your gaming group for several months, a welcome addition, for geeky clubs tended to be overrun with guys, and you’d become friendly with her almost immediately, bonding over a shared love of anime and crafting. You’d casually wondered aloud if werecreatures retained elements of their bestial side, like sharp claws, perhaps, but the freckle-faced young woman had quashed your supposition.

“Nope,” she’d announced cheerfully, seating herself at the gaming table. “Unless it’s like, the day of the change, maybe.”

You had no idea who or what he was, but conversing with him after the auction each week had become a bright spot in your weekend calendar. 

It had started when you discovered the wonderful, weird world of oddities auctions run weekly on Instagram. You’d always had a penchant for the macabre and had amassed a nice little collection over the years, but now small businesses were hurting and you could enjoy oddity shopping from the comfort of your phone. You’d heard of the Cat & Crow but had never made the drive to the neighboring city to visit the shop in person, and were excited to see what they had to offer.

“Welcome everyone to the Cat & Crow, thanks for joining us today.” 

The woman before the camera wore the uniform of every other social media witch you followed—trendy, artfully tattered black clothes, her raven-colored hair done up in a crown of braids and dreadlocks; her eyeliner expertly winged, tattoos that appeared to be tree branches reaching across her clavicle, with half a dozen rings on each hand.

“Winners, Holt will be contacting you directly at the auction’s end, please be ready with your method of payment. We’ve got a lot of unique items to get through today, so let's get started!”

It wasn’t until the third week you’d tuned in that you’d chatted with the mysterious Holt. You’d been outbid on several of the items you liked, but managed to snag two others, including a victorian poison ring, and he’d recognized your screen name.

Hello again! What were you the big winner of this week? Lot 23 and 47...the onyx and gold poison ring and the pocket-sized surgical tool set. Hmm! Big weekend plans?

You’d laughed aloud at your laptop, cheeks coloring despite the fact you were alone. Nothing nefarious as all that, I swear! Although my table game group had better stay on their toes tonight…

Oh fun! I used to belong to one of those before I moved. So what are you guys playing right now?

After that week, he asked after your game group at the end of every auction. You told him of the hours-long game of Catan, the entire month of Call of Cthulhu, the bickering session that had broken out over a game of Azule.

That sounds great actually. I need to start doing fun things again, since we’ve started the auctions I feel like I’m working 24/7.

You bit your lip now, thinking of his words from the previous week. 

After the creepy doll had been some Templar altar piece, a hand of glory with only one candle remaining, and a terrifying victorian wind-up toy, and the only thing to which you’d paid attention was his hands and his sharp claws, shifting things around as the witchy-looking woman spoke. 

You’d realized your shopping habit had become more expensive than you’d initially counted on, and that for the last several weeks you were truly only bidding on items as a way to talk to him after the auction’s close. Just ask him. You don’t need to buy anything today, you don’t even like the stuff! Just take a deep breath and do it. Deciding the voice in your head was right, you did as it advised, sucking in a breath and leaning over your keyboard before you changed your mind.

Hi! Not a winner this week, nothing really caught my eye. You swallowed hard, pushing on. I wanted to invite you to join our group sometime! We meet every Saturday at the Melted Meeple, so tonight, lol! You grimaced at yourself, but persevered. We’re just playing CAH right now, but there’s talk of a D&D campaign starting up. The more the merrier!

You waited a minute, then two, before pushing yourself up from the desk. If he didn’t respond, it wasn’t a big deal, you told yourself. He was working, after all, and you really did need to get ready to go meet your friends that evening. Hair fluffed, clothes changed, the handful of dishes you’d left in the sink washed and put away...you went back to your laptop just before you needed to get going, holding your breath as you looked at the screen.

That sounds great! I have to finish things up here, but hopefully I won’t be too late. This will be fun, I feel like we’re old friends at this point!

You told yourself the bounce in your step as you left was simply because it was a nice evening, that you were happy to spend time with your friends and nothing more. That’s it. Just another normal night.

.

.

“So what are you going to do?” you asked him for the dozenth time that evening, before biting into a crust of melty cheese, your eyes rolling back in bliss. The Melted Meeple specialized in gaming and grilled cheese, and they excelled at both.

Holt shrugged, spearing a sweet potato fry. He was a finicky eater, carefully cutting things with a knife and fork, scrutinizing the menu every week as though it were the first time he’d seen it, before ordering the exact same thing. He took his time with things and could not be rushed—spearing his fries one at a time, swirling the straw in his drink until the ice had all but melted into the alcohol—and as a result, the two of you spent more time tucked away at your own little table than you did playing the group’s game, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were smitten.

You’d been a nervous wreck that first night, raising your head anxiously every time the Meeple’s great doors were pulled open, but you did your best to hide it from your friends. You were used to being the steady one, after all, the one who gave advice and provided a ready shoulder for the whole group...you didn’t begrudge your friends their drama and woes, but it made it hard when you had your own anxieties and nowhere to turn.

Kenzie had dropped into the seat next to you, had been going on about the latest disaster with her boyfriend when her head had snapped up, nose wrinkled.

“Ugh, cat. It’s too close to the moon to deal with smelling that.”

You hadn’t noticed the door pulling open, and weren’t entirely sure how he’d managed to do it silently, but a man who’d not been standing before the entrance a moment earlier had stood there then, his citron-green cat eyes scanning the room hesitantly. You’d known it was him instantly.

Thick raven-colored hair and bone-white skin, slim black jeans and a black leather jacket atop a blood red shirt, he was a fitting counterpart to the witch who ran the oddity auction. One of his thick, arched black brows had cocked hopefully when they landed on you staring at him, and you raised a hesitant hand in greeting, smiling when his lips split, revealing a row of blinding white teeth. You took note of the long, hooked incisors in his smile.

“Is he a werecat?” you’d hissed to Kenzie as he made his way across the huge room.

She’d sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose again. “No. Just...just a cat. I don’t get it. I’m going to grab a drink before the next game starts, you want anything?”

He was a familiar, you’d learned. A witch’s familiar, a sleek black cat when he wasn’t the handsome, slightly goth-looking man sitting across from you. His witch, the auctioneer, Arabeth the mistress of Crows—“Bethany,” he’d corrected flatly, rolling his eyes—was his business partner and co-owner of the Cat & Crow, a naturally gifted witch with no direction or commitment to the craft, according to him.

“Let me tell you, working in retail was not a career ambition for me,” he’d laughed that first night, as the two of you sat at your own small table away from the group, sharing a basket of fries before joining the game. “But the shop is successful and it keeps me busy, since she’s all but abandoned her path.” 

By the end of the night, your stomach had been a riot of butterflies. He was stable and confident, a sharp departure from the majority of your friend group, you’d realized. Stable and confident, and ridiculously good looking. You’d thought he was of a middling height when you’d been seated, but he towered over you, engulfing you in a hug at the evening’s end.

“This was a lot of fun, thanks for inviting me!”

“Every Saturday,” you replied breathlessly, trying to restrain yourself from burying your face against his solid chest. You didn’t know what Kenzie was talking about, he didn’t smell like a cat at all—he smelled like black musk and pine, making you think of a dark forest on an autumn night, masculine and sexual…“I hope you’ll join us again!”

“If you’ll be here, I definitely will,” he’d said, giving you another one of those sharp-edged smiles, his eyes glowing on the dark street.

That had been over a month ago, and you were head-over heels in your crush. 

He’d joined you every Saturday, and it had become your custom to eat together, away from the group before joining in whatever game was starting. When both Kenzie and another friend had flaked on going furniture shopping with you, he’d taken their place, doing the heavy lifting, putting together a bookcase, and paying for dinner afterwards, despite your insistence to the contrary. It was a revelation, having someone there to hear your problems, and you were happy to do the same, whenever he came in grumbling about his deteriorating relationship with his witch.

When your gaming group began planning its Dungeons and Dragons campaign at last, you discovered Holt had never played and wasn’t familiar with any of the rules.

“First we have to decide your character,” you explained, pushing a character sheet across the table. “Race, attributions, what you’d like your strengths to be…”

“Tell me again why I can’t be a bard who’s also a sorcerer.”

“You can cast spells as a bard! We’ve been through this!”

“I want to be sneaky and magical and have everyone love me.”

You’d come to the Cat & Crow once, popping in unannounced, and had seen him in his cat form. Sleek and sinuous, jet black with bright green eyes, the black cat had rubbed up against your ankles as you’d stood there, after being greeted by the friendly-seeming witch, mewling determinedly before darting off into the back room. Holt had come breezing out a moment later, announcing to Bethany that you were going out for sushi and would be back in an hour.

“So basically you just want to play yourself,” you laughed, receiving a not-at-all angelic smile in return.

It was the first grownup relationship you’d ever had, you’d realized with a start that evening. You loved your friends and wouldn’t change a thing about them, but it was nice not playing therapist, having a solid give-and-take of support. Your first real adult relationship, and it’s completely one sided. Brava.

Still, you thought, when he slinked through the Melted Meeple’s doors that night, dropping into a chair gracefully and announcing he was officially a free agent familiar, you were glad for the opportunity to listen, knowing he’d be just as present and solid for you.

He shrugged at your repeated question. “Go to the agency on Monday, file for a new witch, I guess.”

“Does...does that mean you’ll have to move? What if they pair you with a witch on the other side of the world? What about the shop?”

His laugh was a dark curl, full of mirth. “Nothing archaic like that. This is where I live, the shop is my day job. We’re still business partners, but she’s quitting the craft entirely and I don’t have that luxury. The magic world is ninety percent bureaucracy and paperwork, it’ll probably be at least a year before they even get to my file.”

“Oh, that’s-that’s good,” you sighed in relief, not wanting to contemplate what would happen if he had to move away. “Good! You’ll have more free time now!”

Holt’s smile was wide, the light overhead winking off his fangs as leaned across the table. “And I know just who I’m going to spend it with,” he purred, before catching your lips with his own.

.

.

You hadn’t really known what to expect from the home of a familiar—a part of you was expecting some gothic lair with dripping candles and some ancient book of dark spellwork on a pedestal—but a completely average garden-level apartment on a tight lane of historic brownstones had not been it. The neighborhood was trendy: full of crowded little bistros with packed, street-side patios and bars boasting craft cocktails on swirling chalk signs outside their doors. You didn’t mind an occasional foray into adventure, but you couldn’t imagine living somewhere so noisy and bustling.

“Here we are,” Holt announced, tugging your hand and carefully leading you down the short stairwell in front of the dark-bricked building. “The neighborhood is great, but I love my little dungeon.”

You understood his meaning the moment the door closed behind you. The apartment was small but tidy, with plush-looking furniture and towering bookshelves, each crammed with curios, macabre trinkets and gimcrack. The street-level windows did little to illuminate the space, giving it a dim, cloistered feeling, amplified by the red-shaded lamps on either side of the sofa. 

Long-fingered hands encircled your waist, claws dragging lightly over your stomach, sending a shiver up your spine and reminding you remembered why you were here. You were terribly aware of your own heartbeat when warm lips pressed to the back of your neck, hot breath and the glance of fangs moving over your delicate skin, and your head tilted on its own accord, giving him better access. 

“It looks like a bordello in this place,” you mused, laughing when you felt his outraged gasp against your shoulder.

“Slander!” he exclaimed, the press of his hot tongue making your back arch, “calumny and lies. I demand restitution.” 

It had been two weeks since he’d kissed you over your grilled cheese sandwich, two weeks of making out like teenagers and groping each other on the street corner every Saturday, two weeks of thinking about him every night, waking heated and flushed in your bed with an ache between your thighs and slick coating your fingers, and tonight you’d decided enough was enough. 

He was steady and confident and reliable, but you’d noticed that he deferred to you in almost every matter. If you asked his opinion, he gave it; if you told him he was in charge of the evening’s plans, he already had one, but he let you control the direction of things rather than steamrolling you, and you wondered if it was something he was compelled to do as a familiar. You’ve got to be the one who makes the first move, you realized. Then he’ll take over and you can stop panicking.

“I think,” you murmured into his ear that night, as you sat on the edge of the gaming table, waiting to join in on the next round, “you should show me your apartment tonight, and we can work on your rolls.” The D&D campaign had started, and two sessions in the entire campaign had been entirely waylaid by a troublesome tiefling character who refused to follow the group’s initiative, and Holt had been smug that he’d not been the new player to cause problems.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, green eyes flashing, “we can do other things while we’re there.”

The apartment was dark, but somehow you were led to the bedroom without tripping over anything, the bedding beneath you cool and thick as Holt pressed you to your back. His eyes were glowing green orbs, rapidly growing closer until your lips were captured by his own, the kiss breaking off abruptly when he leaned over your body to turn on the bedside lamp.

“What do I need to roll for seduction?” 

The bed rocked as he reached back from where he straddled your body, pulling off your sandals and sending them sailing across the room. “I’m serious!” he insisted when you laughed again. “This is a serious game, remember? I don’t want to be the one who gets the whole party kicked out of a tavern.”

“Well, if you’re serious,” you began, breath hitching as your top was pushed up your body, claws dragging over the newly-exposed skin, “then you should know you can’t actually roll seduction, it’s not a skill.” 

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

You couldn't find fault in his words as your bra was deftly unhooked and pulled away, the heat of his mouth closing over the tip of your breast before you had a chance to be chilled. The tips of his clawed hand continued to move in soft patterns over your side as his tongue worked, teasing your nipple before sucking, biting ever-so-gently before releasing it with a wet pop. 

“Are you sure I can’t roll seduction? I am a magical bard, after all.”

“Nope,” you corrected on a gasp. His mouth had moved to your other breast, giving it the same treatment until both nipples were pebbled and aching. “Seduction isn’t a skill. You can roll for deception, if you have ulterior motives.”

“Absolutely not. There you go again with the slander. What about...persuasion? Can I roll persuasion as a means of seduction?”

You unbuttoned the dark shirt he wore as he spoke, pushing apart the fabric to reveal the long, lithe shape of him above you. Broad shouldered but slender, Holt possessed none of the bulk the werewolf you’d gone out with a few times last year had. Tightly muscled and well-defined, your own clawless fingers moved down his chest, following the trail of dark hair down the hard plane of his stomach until you reached the thick bulge at the front of his jeans. The noise that emitted from his throat as you stroked the hard shape of him was very nearly a purr, and you smiled hugely, deciding to let him do his best.

“Sure, why not,” you smiled, pulling open his belt. “But I might want a perception check. Gotta check out your staff of persuasion first, make sure its on the up and up.”

You let out an undignified squeak when your skirt and knickers were pulled down as he rose, shucking his jeans before climbing over your body slowly, and you were clearly able to picture him as the giant, stalking cat you knew he occasionally was. 

The soft drag of his claws over your thighs made you gasp, legs falling open, and the knuckle that pressed into your folds found you slick and eager. 

“I’m glad you invited me to join the group,” he purred against your lips, sharp teeth catching them gently in a kiss. “Even if I don’t know any of the rules.” 

The hard press of his erection was a molten heat against your hip and you shuddered out a breath, wanting to take him in hand but enjoying the press of his body against yours too much to force him to move. “I-I am too.”

Between your legs, his hand was buried against your sex. His sharp claws were tucked back, a finger on either side of your clit, knuckles kneading into the sensitive flesh until your hips were bucking upward to meet his hand, kneading and rolling, over and over until you were seeing stars. Pressure built behind your navel with every roll over the exposed bud of flesh, and you keened.

“I’m still having fun,” Holt went on, mouth stretching into a wide Cheshire cat-like smile, “and isn’t that the point of a game?”

The band of pressure snapped and you arched against him as throb after throb of pleasure pulsed through you. Your thighs tightened around his wrist, trapping his hand in place, and he hummed in amusement, fingers still moving as you gasped and shook, his lips pressing to yours lightly when you trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“I’d like to seduce you, please,” he purred, waggling his dark eyebrows. “I’m being as persuasive as possible.”

His cock was still hot when you wrapped a hand around it, giving his shaft a firm pump, dragging upwards until your fingers reached his swollen head. “You really are a big cat,” you observed when the repeated motion drew a vibrating rumble from his chest, before edging closer to the foot of the bed. His smart-assed reply was lost to another rumble when you licked a broad stripe over his exposed head, laving your tongue over the bead of moisture there. 

There were several rings of nodules at the base of his head, you realized, mimicking the sharp barbs he might possess in his cat form, and you wondered how they would feel inside of you. The sharp points of his nails dragged through your hair as you sucked him into your mouth, swirling your tongue before lowering your head down his shaft, bobbing your head several times before his clawed hands were tugging you upwards.

You were reminded of his speed on the day the black cat in the shop had gone darting off to the back room in a blink of an eye when he flipped you, you cheek pressed to the mattress as he kissed up your spine, raising your hips. You felt the leaking tip of his cockhead press to your slick folds, sliding up and down before finally pushing into you, hilting himself in one thrust.

You hadn’t intended on finding a relationship, only some fun new additions to your curio shelf, you thought as has pumped into you, those textured nodules dragging deliciously over your inner walls. Claws dragged over your skin as you clenched around him, unable to stop the moan which broke from your mouth. You hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but one had found you anyway.

When his hand found its way back between your thighs, you were lost. Already gasping with every thrust of his textured cock, as soon as the rough pads of his fingers began circling your clit, you felt your tentative control slip, your core clenching and spasming around him before you were filled with heat, his rumbling purr vibrating against you as he came.

The comforter was thick and soft when he pulled it over you, once he’d withdrawn and quickly cleaned you up. Thick and soft and incredibly warm, snuggled against his chest. 

“I have a confession to make.” You craned your neck up to find Holt peering down, one of his thick, dark brows cocked curiously. “You can’t actually play persuasion or deception against another player’s character. Everyone has their own freewill and agency, it doesn’t matter how silver-tongued the party’s bard is.”

“Do you mean to tell me I wasted a perfectly good persuasion play?”

“It was unnecessary but not without merit!” you yelped as he flipped you to your back, giving you his best glower as he straddled your hips. “You’ve convinced me!”

“Oh, just you wait. I am going to cast so many spells on you once once we finally get out of the bloody tavern.”

The bed, you realized, had begun to levitate, and now hung suspended in the air as you squealed. He really was a magical, sneaky bard.

“You can’t do that either,” you laughed after the bed dropped, shaking the walls. “No spells on teammates.”

“There are too many rules to this game,” he griped, pressing his cheek to your breast. You wrapped your arms around him, pushing your fingers through his thick hair. Give and take. Solid for each other.

“You have plenty of time to learn.”

His purr vibrated against you before he wriggled free from your arms to fix the blanket, pulling you against him as he resettled. “It’s a good thing I have an excellent teacher.”

#monsterbait writes #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x reader #m monster x female reader #monster x human #monster match #monster matchmaker #witch's familiar #black cat

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: none

Notes: aye this is my first fic because there is a serious lack of benny watts fics and i had to change that for myself. this will probably be multiple chapters that can be read separately.

It was your first art gallery, and you were both anxious and overjoyed to see people surveying your work. You had put so many hours into each piece and all kinds of people had poured in to look. It was a well known gallery, but the variety still surprised you. You looked around and saw some interesting characters, but your interest was piqued when your eyes fell upon a particular cowboy.

He was inspecting one of your favorite paintings which had chess pieces as the subject. The pieces merely served as part of a metaphor in your art, as the game and all its complexities had never really been your thing. As you looked closer at the man you realized that, not only had his outfit sparked your interest, but he seemed familiar too. Out of curiosity, you walked over and stood next to him.

“What are your thoughts?” You asked, motioning towards the painting.

His initial expression showed surprise that you were talking to him, but he recovered quickly, saying, “It’s good. I think the artist has talent.” You felt a bit of pride hearing that. You opened your mouth to say thanks, but you decided not to reveal yourself. You wanted him to give his honest opinion without fear of offending you.

“So do you like chess?” He nodded to the painting. Hearing this you made the connection as to why you remembered seeing him before. Your father owned a little bookshop back home and you were looking into chess for the same painting you were discussing right now. You had seen this cowboy on the back of one of those books, but you hadn’t given it another thought, never actually expecting to meet him. You decided not to reveal this information either and continued with the conversation.

“I can play a modest game. You?”

“I can play a modest game.” He had a small smile as he shrugged.

“Your first lie.” You said smirking back.

He looked confused but curious, so you explained about your research, your fathers bookshop, the whole story. He puffed up a bit after hearing that, looking impressed that you knew who he was.

“What’s your name?” He asked, still curious.

“Y/n” you replied.

“Nice name. I’m Benny, but you already seem to know who I am. On the other hand I don’t know anything about you.” He reached out his hand to shake yours.

“You walk in here with a black trench coat but you make me out to be the mysterious one,” you smirked as you took his hand. He chuckled a bit, and after your introduction, you asked why he was here.

“My friend knows the artist actually. She told us we had to see her work before going out.” You hummed as you thought about what to say, but he interjected.

“I don’t usually do this, and I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, but maybe you’d consider coffee with me. I won’t tell anymore lies” he joked.

You laughed a little, mildly shocked. “you’re not sure why? That’s flattering” you teased.

“Not what I meant-“ but before you could come to a conclusion on his sudden offer, you heard an excited french accent.

“Y/n! Im so proud! You finally got to show off all that talent!” Your friend Cleo ran up to you and wrapped her arms around you. You hadn’t seen her since you lived in France for a few months and you had missed her. You left for France after you realized you weren’t really needed at home, so you dedicated yourself to trying to soak up some culture. She looked gorgeous like you remembered, fitting for a model. You continued your reunion embrace for a moment before she waved her arms to the men and woman behind her. She introduced the friends she had brought to your show as Arthur, Hilton, and Annette, who all smiled at you. Cleo paused to turn to the cowboy saying, “I see you’ve already met Benny.”

“Yeah we met,” he said, “but I didn’t know this was your work. I would’ve told you how impressed I am.” Your cheeks turned a light pink at the praise.

“Look at Benny, impressed with someone besides himself for once.”Cleo poked fun and the group let out a laugh.

“Hey I’m not a narcissist or anything, don’t listen to Cleo,” Benny made excuses to you, only mildly offended.

“Sure you aren’t. I have nothing against narcissists,” you jokingly assured him. This answer didn’t comfort the man who had essentially just asked you on a date.

You and Cleo continued to catch up and you talked more with her friends as well. Benny just stood next to you, and you caught him glancing at you once or twice, but you just ignored it. Eventually you agreed to go out for drinks with the group, walking with them to a bar a couple blocks down called Hal’s.

You all squeezed into a booth while Arthur went off to get drinks. You sat on the outside, watching the people out on the floor next to you giggling and dancing. Having a couple of drinks beforehand must’ve contributed to the large amount of people out there, you thought. Arthur eventually announced his return by laying a tray of drinks in the middle of the table.

You were all conversing and sipping on your drinks when Annette decided she wanted to dance. Cleo agreed enthusiastically, but the rest of us refused. She suggested we all take shots to make it easier, but once again we tried to turn her down. she pleaded, “come on guys, it’s a Saturday night, and you can’t possible lose something from it. Have a little bit of fun with me!”

We relented, having a feeling that she wasn’t going to give up any time soon. She gave a little clap and handed out the shots. You knocked yours back with everyone else and grimaced at the bitter taste. Shaking it off, you slid out of the booth so the others could get out. You moved back into your spot after they all made their way to the throng of people. You decided you would join them later, but you liked to observe first. You looked over and the only two left were you and Benny. You slid over to him, not wanting to sit awkwardly on the other end like he wasn’t there.

“I bet you five bucks that lady is bored out of her mind.” He pointed to a blonde on a date across the bar, “Either she’s an alcoholic or she’s trying to tune out baldie.” You looked at the woman and saw she was surrounded by empty glasses while the man in front of her seemed like he was boasting endlessly. You both started making observations about the various people in the bar. Most of them were snarky comments that you whispered into each other’s ears, giggling, but you also created imaginary lives for them, guessing who they were and how they got here. After sharing a couple laughs, you sighed and reached a comfortable lull before Benny brought up what you knew was coming.

“So have you thought about my earlier question?” He eyed you seriously all of a sudden, but you didn’t feel any pressure. He seemed the type of confident where he thought you would say yes, but he could recover if you said no.

You weighed in your impression of him. He was cute, with fluffy hair and nice eyes that were a kind of chocolate color. He was funny and you he seemed intelligent (I mean he had to be, he played competitive chess). Albeit his trench coat and hat were a bit eccentric, but that wasn’t a bad thing, in fact you found it attractive.

“So have you?” He asked again, leaning his head in.

“Oh uh” you hadn’t realized while you were thinking that you had zoned out looking at him. Clearing your throat you said, “I’m free for coffee.” You stopped, “But you have to wear the hat.”

“Wouldn’t leave home without it” he winked.

Suddenly you were shoved against him as your tipsy friends barreled back into the booth.

“We should probably join them” you said as you moved off him, pushing one of the leftover drinks towards him. He nodded and you both drank some more just to get on the same level as your friends.

“You two haven’t even danced! I saw you whispering. Too busy flirting?” Annette smiled as she slurred a few of her words. You just looked down, cheeks pink, leaving Benny to respond.

“How were you watching us when you were dancing with that guy, the one who looks like he’s only ever kissed his mother.”

“No, I’m sure he’s kissed other people! I mean he did seem young but...” Annette looked over to the guy she dragged to dance with her earlier. He stood sheepishly in the corner, looking like he hadn’t outgrown his baby fat yet, and was definitely not a city type. “He’s just shy!” She defended, but me and Benny just looked at each other, falling into giggles. You figured out that night that Annette was one of those drunks who got a little childish, but she was sweet.

You would’ve been content to keep hanging out with Benny, if it hadn’t been for Cleo who grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the dance floor. You looked back at Benny, but gave in and allowed her to twirl you into the crowd. You were having a good time with Cleo, Hilton and Arthur dancing on either side of her. You were soon out of breath, but didn’t mind, enjoying it all.

You had moved to the city a couple months ago, but hadn’t had time to make friends, focusing on your work and setting up your apartment. You missed having company, people who were fun and interesting.

You continued to move to the beat of the song until you bumped into someone. You looked back to see Benny smiling next to you. You smiled back and let him in to the little circle you and your friends had created. You felt a little warm, not from the dancing, but from being close to him.

After fifteen minutes you were all tired and made your way to the booth to gather all your things up and pay the bill. You walked out of the bar and into the chilly night air, grateful for the residual body heat that came from all the dancing. You hugged Cleo and your new friends goodbye as took turns getting into taxis and headed towards their homes. Hilton offered to wave you down a taxi too, but you declined, explaining that your home wasn’t a far walk. He shrugged and gave you another hug before climbing into the yellow car. Once again it was just you and Benny.

“Just the two of us again huh?” He spoke, and he definitely didn’t sound turned off by the idea.

“Fate I guess.”

“Sure” he said casually.

“Do you not believe in fate?” You asked. You weren’t a firm believer in the idea but something in his tone made you curious.

“I’ve had this debate before I think. I’m not sure, but I’d like to figure it out. How about you?” He said. You imagined him having a lot of debates. You had just met him, but he seemed to fall into the intellectual category. They always kept things interesting, and frequently offered new perspectives.

“I mean everything’s gotta mean something, there has to be a purpose. I just don’t know if we make our own purpose or if we’re given a purpose; fate.” You mused, not meaning to get existential. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You seem like the type to want to figure things out too.” He said ‘too’. So you and him both liked to do that. You added that to the growing list of things you liked about him.

“I guess I am.” He had a pleased look on his face and you just shrugged as you started to say goodbye.

“Wait” he grabbed your arm, “I heard you say you didn’t live far, I could walk you.” Before you could protest he told you, “it wouldn’t be a big deal, I heard you tell Hilton where you lived, we’re in the same direction.”

You agreed, finding yourself wanting to talk to him more. He offered you his arm casually and you laughed to yourself a little at the gesture, taking it anyway. You walked down the sidewalk, talking and laughing. You felt comfortable as you felt like you leveled with him. It seemed like too short of a walk as you suddenly found yourself at the door of your apartment building.

“Guess this is goodnight.” Benny said as you both stood on the sidewalk.

“What about coffee?” You asked.

“Glad you remembered. I’ll pick you up at twelve tomorrow, we can make it lunch. I’ll pick you up.” He said it decidedly, like it was just a fact. Something you noticed he did often.

“Ok then. Lunch. Tomorrow. Am I forgetting anything?” You said as you stepped halfway into the doorway.

“If you are we can figure that out later. I’ll see you.” He waved with a slight smile.

You waved back and smiled in return, watching him walk away before closing the door. You sped up to your apartment, letting yourself finally feel the excitement and anticipation of going out. You stripped off your clothing as soon as you got in and flopped on your bed, feeling sort of giddy. You felt like you and Benny were connected, though you had barely met him. As you laid down you smiled to yourself, looking forward to tomorrow.

#benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen’s gambit #beth harmon #benny watts fanfiction #fan fiction

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of August. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Move Out | Explicit | 1525 words

Harry and Louis are moving in together, so they might as well make the most of Harry's apartment.

2) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it.

Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

3) So Good, It's Making Me Drool | Explicit | 3364 words

He kept his back turned to Harry, whispering the few words he knew that would make Harry go absolutely wild. “If I’m only yours, maybe you should take me to bed and teach me who I belong to.”

4) What I Like | Explicit | 4245 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry gets tired of the "older women" jokes and the incessant teasing from Louis.

5) ll Belong To Your Creation | General Audiences | 4349words

Louis had always thought it was impossible to do so. Thankfully, upon doing research he learned that he still can as long as there are no complications throughout the whole pregnancy. He also stumble upon a birth vlog where a mum was able to give birth naturally even after going through c-section with her first and second pregnancy.

6) An Axolotl and the Fake Date | Explicit | 5976 words

Harry runs a stall at a farmers market every weekend and Louis comes by one day with an odd request.

7) Feels So Right | Explicit | 8804 words

The one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

8) Giallo! | Mature | 9776 words

Louis was a mess. A stuttery mess of weak knees and grass stains on his fresh linen clothes, his cheeks blooming a natural pink that matched his sunburnt nose. Upon his return from University, his family abandon the bustling city of London to bask in the comfort of their summer villa. With such a property came maintenance, Louis' father hired a strapping young fellow with tanned skin littered with ink and a charming smile aided by dimples in both his cheeks. Between reading, baking and painting, Louis stares at Harry, he couldn't help it. They grow close under the sun of Greece in 1989.

9) Interlude: One Night in March | Explicit | 10671 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Harry let his hands roam over Louis’s bare back, his muscles rippling with that same frenetic energy he always had, swirling just beneath the skin, just beneath Harry’s fingers. “May come a time I’ll have to carry you again.”

Cupping the back of his head and burying his fingers in Louis’s hair, he pulled Louis back into another deep kiss, moaned a bit when Louis squeezed his chest again, harder this time, like he wanted the shirt off. But instead he drew his hand down Harry’s side and tugged at the hem, as though to say best keep this on, before he licked into Harry’s mouth, drew Harry’s tongue out to play only to pull back enough to speak.

“May come a time I’ll actually fucking let you.”

10) Hate To Smoke (Without Me) | Mature | 12164 words

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

11) Call You Mine | Explicit | 12755 words

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

12) A Vivid And Wistful Melody | Explicit | 13128 words

"Slowly, he takes his violin out of its case, listens for a few more minutes to Louis’ flute, before joining him as best as he could. The flute stops for a few seconds, and Harry imagines Louis blinking cutely, taken aback, before huffing with a smile, and starting to play again, on a suddenly far happier tune. Harry closes his eyes as he twirls around the living room, violin in hand and music filling the air. He pictures Louis doing the same in his own flat while being careful as to not step on his cat.

Somehow, even with heavy eyes and tired limbs, this is the happiest Harry has ever felt in years."

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

13) Until This Blood Runs Cold | Explicit | 13685 words

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

14) A Road To Hope | Explicit | 18280 words

Note: There is no explicit smut but its implied BL.

“We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.”

It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch.

15) Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too | Explicit | 21785 words

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

16) Thinking About Peaches | Explicit | 23724 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #18 on this list.

Eight smutty drabbles following the events of bruise you like a peach.

17) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds | Mature | 38065 words

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

18) Bruise You Like A Peach | Explicit | 40694 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #16 on this list. 

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

Or could Grimshaw be looking for a new face?

20) Secretly Dating | Mature | 43615 words

Lottie groaned, looming over Louis with a glare. “If we’re late, Mum and Dad will never let Harry see me – ie. see you.”

It was the first time they openly addressed the fact that Harry saw more of Louis than Lottie on their supposed ‘dates.’ He supposed he knew as much, but it still startled him. “You’ve been setting us up!”

Lottie snorted, cocking out her hip and brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Harry. You’re so dense. To be fair, it was at Louis’ request.”

Louis’ mouth gaped like a fish as he jumped to standing position, wobbling only slightly. “Don’t sell me out!”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on lovebirds.”

21) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) | Mature | 95417 words

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

22) The Healing Song | Mature | 111851 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

4: Turns out, they can get sick of each other

AO3 Link

@asilcorner YEET

Time passes and it’s maddening.  Yakko keeps a calendar, but there’s no point in trying to know how long they’ve been trapped in here when they can’t even tell if they’re sleeping at night or day.  They don’t know how long an hour is, a minute, month, a week, a day.  Not by heart.  So, for a while, they have to guess.

Yakko eventually makes a clock, sets a time, makes their day as normal as he can, starting the hour at a random time and suddenly dinnertime is 5:30pm instead of just sometime before bed, even though they can’t tell if it’s even close to 5:30pm outside.  It doesn’t matter if it turns out they aren’t following the sun, the sun has never followed them, so fair’s fair.  Besides, why stick with the world’s set of rules when those rules act like this is fine, that them being trapped is fine?

And hey, what’s a little madness?  Who cares, right?

The tower becomes a lived-in space.  The first two floors become living room areas, bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom.  They never can be certain on the decor, and it changes daily, weekly, hourly, but that’s fine, because the idea of everything repeating, like the days have no difference between them makes Yakko want to curl into a ball and never straighten out.

The third floor is left mostly barren, because that’s where they practice their toon powers.  Wakko has a penchant for bombs and offensive weapons, Yakko finds he can pull a pen out of anywhere and anything, and Dot has an affinity for her mallet, as well as fashion.

She likes to tailor, on occasion, and bribes Wakko to be her model for it by letting him perform songs via burping after dinner—she doesn’t mind the sound, it’s really the smell that makes her hate the whole thing—and Yakko starts being able to pull out random books from his hammerspace.  They’re typically books he likes, thank god, but sometimes they’re just confusing.  He likes Dr. Dolittle, though it is a bit silly, and the idea of talking animals being strange doesn’t make sense to him, being animal-like himself, but at the least it’s an interesting series with many books to go through.  He likes Winnie the Pooh, too, and the Velveteen Rabbit is surprisingly sad, but at least it’s a change of pace in comparison to the happier children’s books he reads.

He ventures to more adult focused books, like The Great Gatsby, which is depressing but also an interesting commentary of the time, and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.  He actually reads through that one a couple times, to go back and find the clues Miss Christie left for the reader, and he finds it utterly fascinating.  Who knew that someone could write like that?  Leaving little pieces that only come together to make something when the last piece is found.  It’s like a blank puzzle that turns on when you finish it.

Dot likes to read with him, pulling out a magazine about the daily fashion news or parties.  He doesn’t know what Playboy is, but the moment it appears in her hands he rips it away and throws it in the fire.  She evidently sees enough just from the cover, because she doesn’t argue.

He occasionally reads to Wakko and Dot.  Typically before bed—he regrets ever reading the Velveteen Rabbit to them, because Wakko didn’t sleep for a few days after.   He tries to get Wakko to read with him, but Wakko seems to find learning anything in a standardized way quite difficult, and all it took was one semi pointed comment from Dot about it to keep the boy from even trying, shame painting his cheeks the red of their nose.  Yakko considers talking to Dot about it, but he doesn’t want to further embarrass Wakko by bringing it up, and it’s hard to be secretive in a small space.

So he lets it go, because they have plenty of time—too much, too much to ever fill, and sometimes all they can do is sit and hope for it to move faster because boredom makes them dull and he hears Dot cry into her pillow some nights because she’s not as quiet as she thinks she is and he sleeps so lightly he can barely call it rest—and continues to play and have fun and learn new things.  He gets an atlas, one day, and memorizes the names of all the countries, hums out a melody, learns rhyme schemes.

And when he starts up a tune, they all fall in line.  That’s the thing—while he and Dot learn the normal way, Wakko seems to be able to do just about anything when he stays out of his own head.  Which is odd, because Wakko doesn’t talk too much, so he must be in his head plenty.  Perhaps, then, the line between thinking and doing is so wide that when he tries to both everything gets jumbled.  Because when they burst into song, Wakko dances and prances and creates lyrics like a pro, whether they’re singing about nothing at all to complex philosophical concepts, with a plethora of large words that if Wakko tried to read he would trip and stumble as they were slanted stairs.  Occasionally, Yakko will ask if Wakko even knows what they’re singing about, only ever curious, and Wakko can talk his ear off about it all.  Yet, when Yakko brings him into a classroom setting, Wakko’s face goes blank, and no comprehension of anything Yakko says ever shows.

Clearly he has a grasp on the English language, clearly he’s smart—Yakko could never think his brother stupid, because no stupid person could build a second floor without any plans, could follow jokes and make his own quips on occasion that send him and Dot into laughing fits, could pick the perfect moment for a physical joke in the middle of a conversation; no way that Wakko is anything close to stupid—but the moment it’s a classroom type setting all of that goes out the window.  Is it the motivation?  Is it the material?  Is it him?

Yakko has to figure this out, but at least he doesn’t have to figure it out soon.  He has time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They aren’t perfect, despite the look of them, despite how they’re drawn to be.  They can’t be expected, forced together 24/7, to not get into petty squabbles.  And they are petty.  Dot hates sharing the bathroom with ‘gross boys,’ hates it when they play during dinner, Yakko hates it when they’re making too much noise during his reading times, when they complain too much, Wakko grumps about when they eat something he was supposedly saving, or throw something away he thinks he could eat (a.e. a banana peel, a watermelon rind, moldy bread, etc), or when they talk too softly or too fast, as if they don’t want him to be able to listen.  It’s never anything too bad, and they get over it within the next few hours, but sometimes it builds.

For instance, Wakko is going stir crazy.

Dot and Yakko can tell.  They don’t mind sitting still on occasion, given the right persuasion, but Wakko is a mile a minute of movement, everything twitching and tapping, tail swishing back and forth and wagging when he’s excited.

There’s only so many times one can run around a small space before they get bored.  Only so many months one can spend exploring and doing the same things with little variation 

“Ugh, there’s nothing to dooooooo,” Wakko whines, flopping onto the armrest of Dot’s chair.  She and Yakko are reading the same book, they’re going to discuss it when they’re done.  It’s a fun blend of their skills and likes-talking about reading.

“There’s plenty of things to do!  Why don’t you read a book with us?” Dot suggests, and maybe it’s a little mean, but it’s more out of ignorance than cruelty.  It’s been what feels like a few months since she saw Wakko struggle, how could she have known that he’d written off reading entirely.

“You could read to me,” Wakko actually perks up at his own suggestion, like a lightswitch flipping on.  Yakko doesn’t mind it at all, and is about to volunteer when Dot raises a brow.

“Can’t you read yourself?” She shoots back, and Wakko deflates, before he crosses his arms, on the defensive.

“I don’t need to,” He says, and Doll rolls her eyes.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t want someone to read to you,” Like usual, her words are sharper than his, but she makes one mistake.  “You can’t just refuse to learn forever.  What are you going to do when you get into the real world?”

Dot is trying to hope.  She trusts that, someday, they’ll escape.  Doesn’t matter how long it takes, they’ll still escape, because she trusts their family, and she trusts their growing abilities.

But Wakko...well, he isn’t quite so positive, at the moment.

“We’re never going to the real world!” He shouts.  “I know what forever means, I’m not that dumb, and that’s how long they’re keeping us here,” Dot is taken aback, but Wakko is a roll, frustrated and ashamed and angry, and Yakko is cut off by his next spitting sentence.  “And the worst part of it is that I’m stuck here with a stuck-up jerk like you!”

“Wakko Warner!” Yakko stands, and he doesn’t typically raise his voice like this, not angry, but that was uncalled for, and Wakko—

Wakko flinches.

Yakko falters, Dot’s eyes are already teary, and Wakko dashes off, vanishes up to the second floor before anyone can stop him.

Yakko attends to the sibling that is close by, because Dot is upset and angry and hurt, so he soothes her tears.

“Why would he say that?” She asks, confused.  “Did he mean it?”

“Of course not—he’s just not handling this as well as you are.  You picked reading up way faster than he did.  He’s been struggling with it, and with all...this,” he gestures to the tower.  Dot sniffles.  “You do have a habit of saying things that make you sound high and mighty, your majesty,” He adds, with a grin, and Dot giggles a little, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry,” She says, and he shrugs.

“Not me who needs an apology, sis, but I appreciate it anyway.  Let’s give Wakko some time to calm down, kay?” He picks her up and smiles.  “I don’t know what chapter you got to, but I have some thoughts on the 5th one.”

She grins back at him.

One down, one to go.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They find Wakko curled up in a ball on the couch upstairs, face hidden from the world and back facing the outside.  Dot comes over quietly, soft steps toward the tense coiled spring that is her brother.

“Didn’t mean it,” He sounds very...defeated.  “I’m sorry, Dot,” He sniffles, and she still can’t see his face.

“It’s okay,” she responds, because staying mad never helped anyone anyway.  “I shouldn’t have been so mean about it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know it was so hard.”

“It is,” Wakko finally turns to face her, and his face is stained with tears.  “I can’t get it to make sense in my head—and you got it easy.  Maybe I am stupid,” He turns to face her, sitting up and curling his knees to his chest, and the last phrase is muffled by his knees.

“You’re not!  You’re better at building things than I could ever be!  Words can be hard, though.  It took me a bit to get it.” 

He looks over at her, shyly, as if searching her face for any sign of a joke.  She remains resolute, and sincere. “Really?” 

“Yeah!  Hey, maybe I could try and teach you.  Yakko’s a real lazy teacher,” She jokes, and Yakko takes that as his cue to walk over.

“I take offense to that,” He responds without heat, before looking over to Wakko, who shrinks under his gaze.  The action makes Yakko want to disappear—how could he make his own brother scared of him?

“Sorry for scaring you, Wakko,” He tells him, hoping Wakko accepts the apology.  

“It wasn’t you-it was just,” Wakko is quick to reassure Yakko that he wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t, and knows that Yakko would never act in a way that should make Wakko afraid of him, he just was scared because “You’re tall,” He finally finds the words, and Yakko blinks.  “The execs who didn’t like us, they were tall, and they shouted a lot, and I was thinking about when we were out and I was already upset and it just happened, but you’re not scary,” He gives Yakko a shaky grin.  “How could someone even be scared of you?”

“Hey,” Yakko takes mock offense, but a weight lifts off of his shoulders.

He shuffles over, and takes the hat off of Wakko’s head to ruffle his hair.  Wakko reaches for it with sweater paws, standing on the couch to grab his hat back, and the tense air starts to dissipate.

Wakko yawns.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.  Yakko settles down on the couch, between him and Dot, and lifts Wakko into his lap.

“Guess it’s naptime, then,” He leans back, hands behind his head.  “Dot?”

She’s already curling up against him.

Eventually, Yakko manages to get horizontal, Wakko and Dot curled up together on top of him. Slowly, he lets out a sigh of relief and sleeps.

The next day, he finds Dot and Wakko at a new dining room table, both hunched over a piece of paper.  Wakko looks very confused, and a little frustrated, but Dot goes over the same letter sounds over and over as if it were the first time, and that type of relentless explanation manages to get through the mental blocks Wakko sometimes has.

“So, the ‘c’ makes a cuh sound, ‘a’ makes an aay sound, so what’s that word?” She points.

“Ca-Catch?” Wakko tries, and Dot cheers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You did it!” She says, and Wakko brightens like the sun.

“Faboo!” He responds, and the exclamation is so startling that Dot starts laughing.  Wakko joins in, and Yakko is chuckling to himself all the way to the kitchen.

Within two months, Wakko joins their book club.  They make matching t-shirts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko loves his sibs, he really does.  They’re basically the only reason he stuck around for so long. They need him.

But sometimes, he doesn’t want them.

Little siblings bicker and it gets real grating.  He just wants one day, one, where he doesn’t have to deal with a stupid argument!  Is that so much to ask

He feels like he never gets this petty over the small stuff.  Aren’t there more pressing things to be upset about?  He doesn’t expect his siblings to be friendly to each other all the time, but would it kill them to resolve their own issues?  Especially when they’re as small as whose mallet is whose(they’re identical) or where a furniture piece should go(when it’s going to be moved within a week anyway, because they’re always changing the format of the tower).  If Wakko’s hat is better than Dot’s flower.  How the kitchen silverware should be organized, even.  Yakko can’t see why it matters

He can’t even get peace now, trying to get through the book they’re in the middle of in their book club.  Wakko and Dot had sped ahead one day when Yakko was making dinner, and now he’s trying to catch up, but he can’t because they’re having another shouting match.  They’re hunched over a fashion magazine, trying to figure out what?  What dress looks cuter?  Wakko, apparently, picked the wrong one, and now Dot is upset, and now he’s upset because she’s upset at him, and it’s just so much.

Eventually he snaps.

“Alright, that’s it!” He shouts, and Wakko and Dot look up from their squabble-about what dress looks cuter, off all things. “I’m going upstairs, and you two deal with each other for a few hours, because I can’t.” He runs a hand down his face and sighs, grabbing his book and disappearing to the second floor, not even bothering to see their reaction.

And you see, you’d think he’d like the peace and quiet, but two hours in and his ears keep twitching, aching for the sound of silly conversation and laughter and pattering feet.  Sure, they’re annoying, and they squabble over silly things, but Yakko is paranoid at heart because the background sounds of them messing around is somehow relaxing, because then at least he knows that they’re there, that they’re safe.  Silence is uncertainty, silence means he’s alone, and he keeps subconsciously searching for their noise, to know that they are, and in turn he is, safe and there.  He thinks he might be a little too used to them, because without the ambient noise he can’t focus.  

Four hours later, and he comes back down, and is greeted to an armful of new books he definitely didn't make, and they don’t look published.  They look more like...picture books?

“We made them for you!” Dot says.

“I did the pictures, and Dot wrote the stories,” Wakko adds.

Yakko’s heart is so full it feels like his ribs are cracking.

“What a couple of authors you are!” he laughs, and they follow him all the way back to his chair.  He sets the books in a stack on his lap, picking up the first one and opening his mouth to read aloud as Dot and Wakko sit on the armrests of the couch, eagerly awaiting his narration and reaction.

Yakko thinks he got pretty lucky with his sibs, even with their petty arguments, smiling down at the pages and reading the books through.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot loves her brothers.  She does.

But they’re gross.

Well, not gross, but certainly not clean.  They make messes and forget to clean them up.  And it’s not that bad, Dot doesn’t mind cleaning.  Wakko builds them things, Yakko takes care of the meals, cleaning is just part of her chores in this whole situation.

It reaches a limit, and she hits it when she watches Yakko spill marinara sauce all over the ground and then do nothing about it.  Wakko slips in it and the two just laugh it off, but the sauce splatters everywhere, and she has to clean that, and—

“Ugh!” She stomps her foot in frustration, and Yakko and Wakko turn to her, confused.  “You two are disgusting!  I have to clean this all up later, and-ugh!” She turns on her heel and heads upstairs.  She slams the hatch door to the second floor shut, and Wakko and Yakko wince at the sound.

“Is the second floor specifically for upset people now, or is it just a really lazy plot device?” Yakko snarks, and Wakko blinks.

“Should we clean this up?”

“Yeah, probably.”

She comes down an hour later, because she skipped dinner and though she doesn’t have a food issue she’s used to eating with her siblings, and she walks into a sparkling clean kitchen.

“This is a once a year affair,” Yakko says, as she stands there shocked.  “Maybe thrice if you pay us.”

“I ate a bar of soap,” Wakko says, and bubbles come out of his mouth.

“You two are ridiculous,” Dot says, and she can’t help the grin on her face.

She hugs them till she hears something crack.  Probably Yakko’s back, with how tense her eldest brother is.

It’s halfway to filthy by the end of the week, but she can tell they’re trying, and that’s enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So yeah, they get sick of each other.  They have petty and not so petty squabbles, but no matter what they end up in the same place.

Curled up near each other, blankets pulled close so that the edges of the bed are barren.  Yakko always talks in sleep, Wakko drools and kicks, Dot will shift from time to time and grab at air, or anything in grasping range, but they won’t wake up, because despite those annoyances, together they feel safe.

And that’s what family is for, isn’t it?

#animaniacs 2020 #animaniacs #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 7

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker

Chapter Warnings: Mention of injury, mentions of bullying

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 7: On the Mend

It was a full week before Crosshair saw Joan again. She canceled his check-ups, so he could use the time to rest instead, and Tech served as the messenger to report on his healing progress. And he was progressing, thankfully. The pain eventually subsided and by the end of the week, he didn't have to actively think about breathing anymore. As long as he was careful with his stretching and other movements, he was almost good as new.

In addition, their ship had finally arrived, and much to everyone's relief, Hunter stopped the simulation runs in favor of working on the craft instead. They outfitted it with all the tools and weapons they could get their hands on, and each took turns piloting through the storms of Kamino. They weren't allowed to break the atmosphere, but it would only be a couple short weeks before they were officially deployed anyway.

Crosshair found himself at a mental crossroad. They were getting ever closer to the moment he'd been waiting for his whole life, the day he finally got to leave this forsaken place. To say he'd hated his time here would be an understatement. The experimenting and the bullying and even the way it smelled.... He couldn't wait to finally be free of it. To be on real missions, not simulations. To see real trees and feel real dirt. To use his marksman skills, the only thing he was good for, to do something important.

But then there was Joan. There was hardly a moment he didn't think about her. He couldn't help it. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known and he couldn't get enough. Her voice, her smile, her gentleness, her confidence. Going a week without seeing her had been hard; he wasn't sure what he'd do the day he'd have to leave, and probably never see her again....

A sudden snapping noise came by his ear, forcing him to shake away his confused thoughts and turn with a scowl. Tech was scowling back.

"You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?"

Crosshair hadn't even noticed him approach. They were in the hangar, Hunter and Wrecker arguing nearby about what to name their ship. Hunter wanted The Marauder because it sounded "slick." Wrecker wanted The Havoc because it sounded "badass." Crosshair was staying out of it. And Tech had been gone for most of the day.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

Tech readjusted the pack he had slung over his shoulder with a huff. "If you'd been listening... I was doing some research on Felucian Gelagrubs in the library."

Crosshair almost started tuning him out again, until his brother looked up with a playful smirk.

"And then I ran into Doctor Joan. She was wondering if you were well enough to take her up on that deal yet?"

"What deal?" came Wrecker's voice, muffled by some food he was chewing on. Apparently he and Hunter had finished their argument and were more interested in this new conversation.

"Cross promised to teach Joan how to shoot once he felt better. I told her you were feeling much better, and she said she'll have a few free hours tonight if you're interested."

Crosshair wished he could smack the smug grin off Tech's face. And shove that turkey leg down Wrecker's throat to stop his howling laughter. Only Hunter wasn't making fun. If anything, he looked confused.

"But she knows how to shoot," he said with a frown. "She's told me...."

Tech shrugged, starting to walk toward the ship's ramp. "Maybe she wants a refresher?"

"Or she wants to cozy up to Crosshaaaair," teased Wrecker.

Crosshair felt his face growing flushed. He was about to snap at them for being idiots, but Hunter intervened.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm sure Joan didn't mean anything by it..." Hunter paused with another frown. He didn't sound convinced; in fact, he sounded concerned. But then he shook himself and gave Crosshair a nod. "If you want to help her practice, fine by me. Just make sure you help us with the paint job before you go."

Hunter gave the ship a fond tap on its hull.

"What name are we going with?" asked Tech.

"The Havoc Marauder."

* * *

Crosshair made it to the simulation room before Joan. He programmed it to Felucia, inspired by Tech's mention of it earlier. It was another green planet, but with stranger-looking flora and a mist that hung low in the air.

"This your favorite?" came her low voice. It was a little raspier than usual; maybe she'd been talking a lot that day.

Crosshair swallowed down a wave of nerves that threatened to overcome him. It was so nice to see her again after so long apart.

"It's a good challenge," he shrugged. "Decreased visibility. Uneven terrain. Hostile flora and fauna."

Joan stood beside him, looking around. She was wearing the same outfit as last time and had her hair braided back. A standard-issue DC-15A blaster rifle was strapped across her back.

"Did you steal that from a reg?"

She didn't laugh like he'd hoped, but she did have a faint smile. She swung the rifle around and held it firmly, confidently. "It's mine. Most medics were only given pistols, but my troop let me have this one."

"So you do know how to shoot," he said.

Joan lifted the rifle to her shoulder and aimed up at one of the simulation targets on a tree. She fired and made the hit.

"A straight shot with no stress or pressure, I'm not bad..." She then grimaced. "But I was never good in an actual firefight. They only gave me a gun for self-protection. The rest of the time I just focused on tending wounds, let my brothers take care of the cover fire."

Her use of the term "brothers" did not go unnoticed to Crosshair, but he didn't comment on it. He nodded his head and brought out his own gun. It was a much superior model than hers, but he wouldn't show off. Not too much, anyway.

He led her to some higher ground and got to work, teaching her what he knew, just like she had taught him the week before. He went over posture and breathing. He threw in some facts about angles and trajectories. He had her find an "anchor" for herself, a way that she would always hold the gun and her body, so no matter the situation, she could fall into that comfortable position. And he took any opportunity he could find to place his hand or his arm around her.

This was his life, things he'd engaged with for years and years. And even though he only had mere hours with her, he wanted to share as much as he could.

Joan was a good student. She wasn't the best shooter, but by the end of the night, she had made some improvement. She was no longer hesitating with the trigger and managed to take down a simulated Acklay despite being scared of it. That was a win in Crosshair's eyes.

When she finally showed signs of fatigue, he turned off the sim and sat with her on one of the benches along the walls. They sat in silence for a brief time, and Crosshair was grateful she didn't seem uncomfortable by it. He let his head rest against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Is Tech okay?" she eventually asked.

His eyes reopened, only so he could furrow them in confusion. "Yeah, why?"

She shrugged and stifled a yawn. "There were some... uh, clones bothering him in the library earlier. Wasn't sure if it upset him."

"He didn't mention it," Crosshair said with a clenched jaw. He really hated when the regs messed with his brothers, especially Tech.

Joan shifted to better face him. "He's a hard one to read. Most of his visits, I'm answering his millions of questions about human anatomy. He only puts stats on his chart. Like that assignment I had, to write things about yourselves? He drew a diagram of his body with arrows pointing out his height, eye color, body fat percentage...."

She chuckled softly and Crosshair found himself joining in. That sounded like Tech, alright.

"I don't know. I just want to make sure he's not really hurting inside. You were the one I thought I had to worry about. Wrecker wears his emotions on his sleeve. Hunter's guided by duty, so it's easy to predict what he feels."

"And me?"

"You put up walls. Which I get. It's hard to be... you." She cocked her head with a knowing look. "But when you respect someone, you let them in. And from there you're an open book."

He frowned. "I am not."

"You kinda are though," she laughed. "I can always tell by your tone when you like certain things or not. Scowling is your default, but when you're really upset your jaw clenches. And..." she looked down in her lap with a small smile, "you blush sometimes when I talk."

Crosshair's eyes widened in horror, which only made her laugh more.

"It's okay. It's... flattering."

He gulped. Her cheeks were pinker than usual as well, but that must have been from the training they just did. Surely....

"I'll, uh... I'll keep an eye on Tech," he stuttered. "He'll be fine."

"Good." She clapped her legs and stood up. "Well anyway, I won't keep you up much later. Thank you for the lesson. It was fun."

He stood, too, and decided to say, with a shake in his breath, "I hope it won't be another week before I see you again?"

"Well, I guess I should take another look at that little wound of yours soon."

"Tomorrow?"

Her smile faltered, ever so briefly, and Crosshair panicked. Was he sounding too eager? 

"Sure. I should have some time... three o'clock?"

He nodded with an internal sigh of relief. She let her gaze linger on his for just a moment more, and he started to think maybe, just maybe, she had been blushing after all. Maybe there was a chance she liked him back.

He hoped she did. But at the same time, he knew it would only make it that much harder to leave....

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair x oc #fluff #medical things #military things