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acapelladitty · 9 months

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Riddler/Reader: Applied Physics

Summary - Restrained against the wall and unable to escape, you find yourself playing willful victim to the Riddler's latest machine.

This commission from the lovely @doctorvondooms, was deliciously fun to write and I'm thrilled to share it. Also available on A03

Pinned into place opposite his work desk, the restraints which wrapped around your thighs to keep them spread and pinned against the wall were surprisingly comfortable; the thick bands of padded metal allowing your weight to rest atop them effortlessly without digging into your skin too deeply.

Your wrists suspended overhead, his ropework is as inescapable as ever as your arms hang uselessly from a hook in the wall, bound into a tight, praying gesture. The nylon rope, a lurid green which had you biting your tongue from making a cheeky comment, wound around your arms in a pretty pattern to keep them together as you glance up at them with an appreciative hum.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Edward's smug voice catches you unaware and your eyes flick to his position as he moves to stand before you, filling the space between your prone frame and his work desk. "A perfectly crafted machine, designed to be a custom fit to reward and punish wanton little whores who insist on interrupting important work time."

Unapologetic as a nervous smile tugs at your lips, you can barely make out the metallic mechanism which sits beneath your spread legs due to the thick, dark silicone of the cock which is pointing directly at your throbbing cunt; the heft of it commanding your attention as your back arches off the wall.

"While you enjoy your little ride, I will be completing some very intricate mechanical designs which a man of my brilliant stature finds necessary to produce from time to time."

His body inches towards you, the soft crack of a lid alerting you to the bottle of lubricant which sits in his hands as he pours a little out and bends, presumably to coat his machine for an easier entry.

As he stands, you push forward from the wall - as far as the restraints would allow - to capture his lips in a filthy kiss. He tastes of coffee and, despite his clear surprise, he allows the kiss to continue for a long moment, his blunt teeth nipping at your lower lip until he pulls away.

"Whore." He accuses but there's no anger in his gaze and a very prominent bulge in his grease-stained slacks as he pushes his thinning hair back with the green goggles which are never too far from his head. "Regardless, everything appears to be in order."

Retaking his seated position at the desk, his fingers press on the small remote which sits off to the side of papers he plans to focus on.

Immediately a faint whirring comes from the machine beneath you and your breath hitches in anticipation; wetness pooling against your slit as you sit, fully exposed and revelling in the shame of the arousal which curls within your gut.

The tip of the silicone threatens your hole and you exhale deeply as your body relaxes to accept it. The material feels wonderfully cool against your heated skin as it pushes within you at a snail pace, allowing you to acclimatise to the punishing girth inch by teasing inch. Your teeth grit against the inhumane stretch as a mewl of discomfort breaks free of your lips.

Hearing the noise, Edward glances up from his papers, the small pencil in his hand pausing its frantic scribble.

"Ah, ah, ah." He tuts, disappointment colouring his tone as he wipes the graphite from his fingers to his off-white tanktop. "Surely your fragile little body isn't ready to give up already? We've barely even started."

Determined to not give an inch, you bite back the hiss which builds in your throat as the almost unbearable thickness stops its progression and begins to pull free, the friction against your walls sparking a deep pleasure which makes you clench your fingers together in their bound position.

The lube he has applied to the length did its job well as it allows the machine to set a steady pace which was in equal parts torturously slow and wickedly intense as it forces you to feel every movement. Your exposed tits jiggle slightly as your body shakes in place, a phantom ache in your nipples making you wish that Edward's fingers or teeth were in the fray, pinching them with his usual viciousness.

Edward gaze having returned to his work, you watch as his finger almost absent-mindedly trails along the desk to tap at the small button on the remote control.

The effect is instant as the silicon dildo picks up pace, now moving in a relentlessly smooth motion as it pistons in and out of your greedy hole. There's something deliciously shameful about your position, legs spread and unable to close in such as way that nothing is hidden from easy viewing, including your clit as it throbs with anticipation - awaiting a stimulation which wasn't on the cards.

Pleasure builds steadily as each stroke brushes your most sensitive spots with an almost cruel precision, the machine needing to take no pause for breath or to regain stamina. It's stunning in its ferocity, in the lack of human warmth or care which it affords you as you sit like a piece of meat, total victim to the whims of the man who is visibly pretending to keep his attention on his work while stealing glances every few moments to watch you writhe in place.

Another button press and something guttural snaps free of your lips as the machine picks up pace. It's brutal and unforgiving in a way that makes it difficult for your breath to regulate as freshly stimulated nerves alight across your punished cunt. Your fingers scramble against their restraints but it provides no relief as your first orgasm creeps up without mercy.

Riding the wave of pleasure, noises that exist in the space between moans and stuttered pleas for help fill the space around you as your head slams back against the wall, the onslaught of relentless overstimulation quickly growing unbearable.

Unseen due to your eyes being squeezed shut in desperation, Edward watches your torment with a predatory expression; his gaze sharp and his features twisted into open hunger. One hand taps away at the remote control which keeps his machine whirring away at a punishing pace while the other hand appears suspiciously absent but no less busy as it seems to have disappeared below his work desk.

The quiet of the room is long abandoned. Your broken grunts for mercy pairing sweetly with the soft huffs and growls of pleasure that slip free of Edward's lips as he watches you suffer at the hands of the machine that he so kindly deigned to provide for you. It was a casual symphony that would be ongoing for many, many minutes to come. To last until Edward was satisfied with his observations and the relentless pleasure-turned-torture had long since fried your mind into the foolish mush that he often claimed it to be.

#riddler x reader #riddler #edward nygma #Edward nygma x reader #edward nigma #riddler x you #riddler fic #edward nigma x reader #arkham riddler #arkham eddie

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sashaisready · 5 months

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Your Heart Belongs to Me - Part One

Sheriff Lee Bodecker x Female Reader (The Devil All The Time)

In late-1960s Knockemstiff, your husband Lee has been neglecting you for so long that you're starved of affection. Trapped in your domestic prison, could the young handyman working on your house be your ticket to freedom?

Warnings: smut/sexual references (light), angst, extramarital affairs, alcohol and drug use, alcoholism, some rough handling of female character by male character. Lee is quite dark in this story so please use caution.

Story Masterlist Part 2

You were rinsing the dinner plates and scrubbing the pots and pans when your husband came up behind you in the kitchen. You were humming to yourself like you often did during your chores, a little song to break up the monotony of your tedious duties.

Lee said nothing. He just quietly placed the crumpled piece of paper down next to the sink, pushing it across the counter by your elbow.

When you saw what it was your stomach sank so quickly you thought you might be sick. You felt your knees buckle as panic moved its way up your body, seemingly collapsing each of your muscles.

“Found this in the bedroom” he said quietly. You couldn’t read his tone which was always scarier, he was always more manageable when you could actually hear the anger in his voice.

You peered over at it intently as if you’d just seen it for the first time. “Huh” you uttered. “What’s that, baby?” Cutesy nicknames often helped appease him.

You knew feigning innocence would only get you so far, but you had to try.

“I was thinkin’ you could tell me” muttered Lee.

You carried on washing the dishes as if this was all no big deal, too nervous to turn around and face him.

“Sorry honeybun, nothing I’ve seen before” you said casually. “Maybe it fell out of one of my library books? People use all sorts of things for bookmarks”. You hoped he hadn’t noticed your breathing quicken, but of course he had.

“Maybe check it again” Lee said stonily. He held it in front of your face and you gingerly took it from him.

The paper was scrawled with chicken scratch handwriting. It looked like it had been written with blunt charcoal. It was actually an eyeliner pencil. You knew that, of course. You read it for the thousandth or so time since you’d received it. It was silly of you to keep it. You knew that then and you knew that now. But you thought you’d hidden it well enough. It was the only thing you owned which gave you joy. You treasured it, like a magpie guarding a precious piece of silver in its nest.

Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H

“Sounds like someone has a sweetheart” you muttered, placing it back on the counter. “Shame it never found its way to the intended recipient I guess”.

Sweat dripped down your forehead as Lee hummed thoughtfully. You intently scrubbed at a stubborn patch of grease baked onto the pan.

“You know what’s funny?” Lee said as he placed a firm hand on your waist. “Your Heart Belongs To Me…ain’t that your favourite Supremes song?”

You gulped, going rigid in his grasp. “I-it is” you mumbled.

Lee chuckled. “A good husband knows his wife’s favourite song. I remember how much you used to play that one” he mused.

“Yes. When I had my record player, at least” you whispered tightly.

You froze as he continued his interrogation routine on you. He didn’t get to be Sheriff on luck alone.

“And ‘H’” he said thoughtfully, taking the time to enunciate the letter carefully. “I’ve been rackin’ my brains wondering who ‘H’ could be. Any ideas, sugar?” he asked, his grip on your waist tightening as his free hand joined the other side of you.

It was Harry, of course.

You knew that. Lee knew that.

Harry.

Harry had worked for you and Lee for a few weeks at the height of summer, building a shed in the yard and taking on a few odd jobs around the house as a handyman. Lee was too busy at the station of course, working long hours as he protected the town and did his duty. Many of those long hours were also spent in the company of prostitutes, or staring down a bottle of whisky in some seedy bar. He rarely tried to cover his tracks nowadays so you knew all about it. You saw the lipstick marks on his shirts in the laundry. Found that unfamiliar pair of discarded panties underneath the passenger seat of his cruiser (which you purposefully left on the dash so he knew you’d seen them). Smelt the liquor on his breath as he stumbled into bed with you countless hours after his shift had ended. Regardless, he had no such time to build sheds or put up shelves, so Harry was hired.

Harry, twenty one years old, fresh faced and beautiful. He seemed impossibly young to you, a living reminder of your lost youth – even though there wasn’t really that much difference in your ages, in the big scheme of things. His body was perfectly chiselled from years spent working with his hands outside, wide arms and broad shoulders, sturdy thighs and calloused fingers. Sometimes when you snuck glances at him as he worked - you’d catch him wiping his brow with his t-shirt, his exposed stomach like a washboard. He even had that prominent ‘V’ muscle creeping down to his crotch. You’d only ever seen pictures of that in the magazines. Nobody else in Knockemstiff looked like Harry. As he ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his long chestnut hair, you’d often feel your breath hitch and a tingle between your legs, suddenly thinking the type of thoughts that betrayed your marriage vows.

It started innocently enough. Mrs Bodecker, the Sheriff’s wife, is known for nothing if not being a good host. You’d bring him lemonade and home baked muffins, make him lunch, bring him wet towels to cool down with when the baking summer sun was too stifling. He was always so grateful, so appreciative. He’d tell you how good everything tasted and be openly in awe of your housekeeping skills. The most you got from Lee these days was a grunt, or he’d moan that he wanted porkchops when you made him lamb.

It was nice to have someone to talk to during the day. You were alone in the house by yourself most of the time, and your chores only kept you so busy. Harry would chat with you, ask you questions about yourself as he ate lunch and you cleaned the stove. He always seemed genuinely interested in your answers, remembering the details and referring to them again in later conversations. His attention was intoxicating, it made you feel special and important – as if maybe there was more to you than just being a homemaker and the Sheriff’s dutiful wife.

Your routine was that you’d put on your records as you cleaned, cooked, sewed and organised. Everything from The Supremes to The Stones, music brought you intense joy and brightened your days. Lee often called most of it a racket but you didn’t care. When he was out you’d shimmy up the stairs to the Four Seasons, scrub the bathroom tiles to The Monkees and dress your salads to Aretha. You’d dance by yourself, bouncing from room to room as you swayed to the music and tapped your feet. It was the only time you felt truly free, unencumbered by the dreariness of your day to day.

You’d tone it down when Harry was around of course, not wanting him to catch your embarrassing displays of frivolity. You’d sway to the songs, hum along gently, but reserved the real dancing for when you were alone.

Then one day you forgot yourself, getting caught up listening to Shout by the Isley Brothers. You just got carried away, twirling in the living room with your eyes closed and shaking your hips, leaping onto the couch and throwing your arms up with wild abandon. Completely unselfconscious and liberated.

You gasped when you saw Harry leaning against the doorframe, his gorgeous grin lighting up his face. You had blushed crimson as you stopped the record, ashamed to be caught in your private moment. But Harry had told you how much he liked it, he asked if he could join in. You awkwardly put the song back on and he began to dance too. You felt self-conscious at first but he took your hand and spun you around. His playful energy was so infectious you couldn’t help but relax and begin to enjoy it. Lee hated dancing and never indulged you apart from an occasional half-hearted slow dance sway at weddings. Dancing with a man who wanted to dance with you, who actually enjoyed dancing, was dizzying, particularly such a handsome man who had his pick of the girls in town.

After that, you and Harry danced every day. You’d take turns picking a record and would bop around the living room together laughing and twirling, he’d dip you and spin you around. You knew it was wrong, but you didn’t feel guilt – it was just dancing after all, nothing more. Besides, Lee was up to much worse, so what did a little dancing hurt?

Lee was becoming harder to live with. He’d stopped having sex with you, just occasionally demanding a hand or blow job when he’d stumbled in from the bar, swaying with drunkenness – sometimes running to the bathroom to vomit afterwards. He never serviced your own needs, never even kissed you. Once night you tried to seduce him with his favourite dinner and a slinky teddy nightdress, nibbling on his earlobe on the couch – but he merely waved you away and told you he was watching TV. You don’t think he’d even have noticed if you’d been nude.

You’d resorted to touching yourself alone in bed on the nights he was out, thinking about dancing in Harry’s strong arms and picturing his deep blue eyes as you bucked wildly against your hand, your face pressed to the pillow to muffle your cries. You’d been married for nearly seven years now, and this wasn’t how you pictured your life.

One particularly stifling afternoon you’d put on Your Heart Belongs To Me for Harry and had slow danced with him in the kitchen, his hands gently clasping your hips as you swayed in time together. You’d looked up into his beautiful, welcoming sea blue eyes and he smiled back at you so warmly that your heart skipped a beat. You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes as his hands caressed your back and you thought about another life, another you, with Harry. He would love you and you him. And all would be fine.

“The Sheriff is so lucky to have you” he had whispered, and your eyes filled with tears because Lee would never think such a thing.

“When I get married, if my wife is anythin’ like you I’ll be a happy man” he said softly. “Beautiful..kind…fun…the best cook in the state” he laughed.

You looked back at him, unsure of what to say, just basking in his kind words. Inhaling them like much needed oxygen, your heart stinging as you realised you hadn’t heard anything like that from a man in so many years.

“This is my favourite song” you whispered.

Harry smiled again. “I think it’s mine too now”.

He gently lifted a finger under your chin and raised your lips to his, your skin buzzed with electricity as he kissed you so tenderly you thought your legs might give out. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight in that moment, as if someone had flicked a long neglected switch somewhere in your brain and you suddenly came back to life.

But you couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry” you said gently as you broke away. You gestured to your wedding ring and Harry just smiled apologetically, kissing you chastely on the cheek as he went back to work out in the yard. It all happened so quickly you briefly wondered if it had just been your imagination.

As much as you wanted it so desperately, you had taken marriage vows. Yes, your husband wasn’t exactly keeping up his end of the bargain but that didn’t mean you had to stoop to his level. Besides, you had been happy together once. When you were young and carefree, and Lee had been a fresh faced deputy ready to fight crime and make the town a better place. You’d had no money but that was alright, going at it in the backseat of his car and spending hours at the creek just holding hands and talking about your hopes and dreams. Pooling your pennies to buy a cheeseburger for a late breakfast and splitting it down the middle, both vowing you’d go out for fancy steak dinners and champagne once you were married and he was making more money.

But climbing the ladder in the force hardened Lee, exposing him to so much violence and corruption it just became his day to day. He drank more and more to deal with the stress and his temper that had always been on the edges of your relationship moved closer and closer to the centre. You knew he resented you even though you didn’t fully understand why, perhaps because your days consisted of cleaning products and chopping vegetables safe at home, and you couldn’t begin to grasp how his world worked anymore.

That evening you made him a nice dinner and decided to make another effort to really try and bond with him. You knew it was probably out of guilt after Harry’s stolen kiss, but if it brought you two closer together then that was only a good thing.

But he didn’t come home of course, and you called the station but he’d already left and they couldn’t tell you where he was (a lie, you knew they always covered for each other with the wives). So his dinner went in the trash and you padded off to bed alone like you so often did. A crash woke you at 2am and you went downstairs to find Lee on the floor of the living room barely able to stand. You pulled him to his feet, seething, as he then collapsed into the wall knocking your beloved record player flying – you could only watch in horror as you heard it crack when it hit the hard marble of the fireplace.

It was ruined of course, beyond fixing. You sat on the floor clutching it in tears as Lee stumbled onto the couch, cursing at the wreckage and promptly passing out.

The next morning you stonily made him breakfast as he nursed a killer hangover and you were giving him the silent treatment over the incident. He knew you were upset as he was sweet as pie, which he only ever was when he felt guilty. The overenthusiastic niceness about the bacon and excessive compliments on your hair did nothing but rile you up further until you told him simply that you just wanted him to replace the record player rather than play out this ridiculous charade. He shifted in his seat and mumbled something about saving money and you finally lost it with him.

“That record player is the only thing in this house that I truly love and you DESTROYED it” you screamed. “You NEED to replace it”.

“I don’t NEED to do anythin’ with the money I bring home” he spat. “I feed ya, clothe ya, set you up pretty comfortably don’t I?? You don’t get to dictate what I do with my pay check”.

You had been furious, vibrating with rage, gripping the sink as your contempt for him flowed through your body.

“Maybe you’d have a bit more to spare if you didn’t spend so much on whiskey and whores” you had growled at him.

He stared at you in silence, his face clouded with anger. His blue eyes were so piercing that you feared they’d tear holes into your flesh. But then he merely chuckled, as if you’d said the silliest thing in the world. He went back to eating as if you weren’t even there.

“Lee, please” you reasoned, softening as you realised you needed to change tact. “I love my records. They make me so happy” you crossed the kitchen towards him, standing next to his chair and taking his hand. “Please, can we just get a new one. It’s the only thing I want, nothin’ else” you pleaded.

Lee groaned. You could see he was relenting, but not enough. The whores comment had probably stuck in his craw.

“Sorry sweetness, can’t do it right now. Maybe after a few more paychecks. I really didn’t mean to break it, I am sorry”.

He got up and kissed you on the cheek as he went to leave for work.

You waited until he’d left and then sobbed quietly at the kitchen table, your world suddenly much greyer and smaller this morning.

Harry had arrived as usual but kept himself to himself, clearly giving you space after the kiss. It was his final day working for the Bodeckers as he’d finally worked through the long list of jobs Lee set out for him. You busied yourself with your chores but it was all a lot harder without your music. You suddenly realised you couldn’t carry on like this. You’d finally had enough. Taking away your dancing was the last straw.

You brought Harry’s lunch out to him and a pitcher of sweet tea. He was as attentive and kind as ever, and your heart swelled merely be being in his presence. You knew it was now or never.

“I have your last pay from Lee and I’ll give it you when you finish up this afternoon”.

He smiled. “Thanks Mrs. B. I’ve enjoyed working here a lot. Thanks again for all your kind hospitality”.

You both looked at each other intensely, glimpses of sadness between you and it was clear neither wanted it to end.

“Harry” you said quietly, checking that no neighbours were nearby. “Would you take me somewhere tonight?”

Harry swallowed, studying you carefully as his eyes narrowed. “Uh yeah of course – but er what about-”

“He’ll be out all night” you cut him off. “Fridays are poker nights with the boys. I’ll be lucky to see him before midnight”.

Harry nodded “Alright. I’ll pick you up at eight, then”. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at you, and everything seemed a little bit more bearable.

“Okay. But I’ll meet you out at the dirt road so nobody sees us” you whispered.

He smiled back at you. “It’s a date”.

You grinned fiendishly, nodding and running back to the kitchen. The rest of the day went by in a blur, you were giddy with excitement, feeling those same butterflies you did in your teens when you first started going with Lee.

At the end of the afternoon you gave Harry his final pay as he bid you farewell and you thanked him for all his hard work. You both smiled knowingly as he walked out to his truck for the final time, co-conspirators in your private secret. You then ran the clock down until eight and finally jogged out to the dirt road. Nobody saw you, and even if they did, your neighbours knew you sometimes liked an evening stroll.

You heart pounded in your chest as you stepped into Harry’s truck and he greeted you with a sloppy kiss. You kissed him back firmly, his tongue finding yours and suddenly your fingers were through his thick hair. You didn’t even think of Lee. You just leaned into the kiss and climbed onto Harry’s lap, holding him so tightly that you might never let him go. He moaned softly against you and it was the most wonderful sound you’d heard in years. He pulled away and beamed at you, gently moving you back to your seat and he drove. He drove and drove. Far out of town and from prying eyes. You rolled the window down and felt the summer breeze whip through your hair as the truck sped through the night. You were free for a moment. Free from Lee. Free from the house. Just existing under the night sky.

Harry finally pulled over at the edge of an abandoned quarry and you just sat listening to his car radio, hands gently clasped across the seats. He brought out a liquor bottle and you shared it between you, grinning as the alcohol warmed your bellies and ran languidly through your veins. He lit up a joint and you both took puffs, you coughing weakly as you hadn’t smoked pot in years. You felt a quick thrill, the Sheriff’s wife doing drugs in the car of a young man who wasn’t her husband. You giggled as your felt your mind cloud and the substances take hold.

“I’m so glad you’re here” said Harry, as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Me too” you replied as your hands caressed his broad chest. “I wish I could stay in this moment forever”.

He nodded silently and your bodies melted into one another.

Before you knew it, Harry was lifting up your dress in the flatbed of the truck, his prickly stubble rubbing against the softness of your thighs as his lips found your core. You had gasped as his tongue worked their way into your folds, exploring every inch of you as you writhed and gyrated against him – putty in his hands. He curled a finger inside, then another, as your walls pulsed around him and you cried out into the night, your hands tight fists and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your climax was overwhelming, a thousand explosions all happening at once as you shattered into a million pieces. Your mind was fuzzy from the drink, and the weed, and the adrenaline of this moment. Your eyes filled with tears, it was just all too much – your body had being crying out for touch, crying out for release, starved of affection and desperate for warmth for so long.

Harry wiped your eyes with his thumb and kissed you softly as he finally took you under the night sky, thrusting into you with ferocity but never roughly or crassly. You felt him entirely as you hitched your legs around his waist and allowed him to sweep you away with butterfly kisses from your breasts and up to your forehead. The stars shone brightly above as the glow of the moonlight bounced off of your skin.

Itchycoo Park by Small Faces was quietly playing on the car radio, the song echoing around the truck bed, the music filling in the gaps between your collective whimpers and moans -

“It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful”

And it was.

You both climaxed together, Harry’s hips shuddering against yours as he filled you to the brim with his spend. You weren’t on birth control but you didn’t care, all that mattered was this moment – being with him – feeling the warmth between your legs. You both lay in each other’s arms panting as you came down from the high of your orgasm, just watching the stars and enjoying the weight of one another’s bodies.

The hours slipped away and you headed home. Your heart was heavy that it was over, but you were overjoyed it had even happened. You would remember this night forever, it would be your lighthouse in the choppy sea. You could go back to it in your mind anytime you wanted. Your soul had been nourished. Your heart fed.

As you finally pulled up a few streets away from your house you checked your make-up in the mirror, it was silly really as you were only going to bed – but it was a habit, and it gave you a bit longer with Harry. He watched you attentively as you applied a bit more lipstick and carefully smoothed your hair.

“I’m movin’ to the city tomorrow” he whispered.

His words cut through you like a knife, the thought of never seeing him again chilled you. But it was probably for the best.

“Oh that’s great” you told him softly as you cupped his cheek, running a finger along his lips. “What an adventure”.

“Mm. Gonna get a good job. Start a new life”. He looked at you sadly.

“That sounds wonderful. You’ll do great things” you whispered, trying to restrain the tears from falling.

“Come with me” he said sombrely, pressing his forehead against yours.

You laughed softly, your hand clasping the back of his neck. “Oh sweetheart, I’d love to. But you know I can’t”.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone earnest and his eyes wide. “We can get an apartment together. Dance in the living room every day. I can…make you happy”.

The tears began to fall then, and you let them. For a moment you considered it – you could pack a case now and sneak out early in the morning before Lee even woke up. There was some cash stashed in the cookie jar in the kitchen cupboard, you could take that. Get a job out there, maybe wait tables or learn to type. Live with Harry and start a new life. Every fibre of your being told you to go.

But you couldn’t.

“You’ve got your whole life to live, sweetie” you told him kindly. “Go out there and live it, please. For me. You can’t have anyone holding you back”.

He smiled, his eyes watery with tears. He knew you were right.

He pulled a dog eared receipt from the floor of his truck and helped himself to the eyeliner pencil from your purse. He scribbled on the back of the receipt, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the words. He handed it to you silently.

Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H

You gasped as you read it, holding it tightly to your chest.

“Thank-you, Harry. I will never forget you”.

He kissed you one last time, a delicate lingering kiss as his fingers stroked your cheek.

“I’ll think of you every time I hear that song”.

“Goodbye, Harry”.

You shared one final look, smiling warmly at one another – so much unspoken between you both, yet everything crystal clear.

And with that you stepped out into the night. It was too hard to look back, so you marched back to your house with your eyes forward, the tears falling. You clutched the note tightly in your hand as you unlocked the front door.

Lee was still out, of course. Oblivious to all that had taken place. You hid the note deep in your dresser, under piles of tangled necklaces and odd earrings which had long lost their partner but you didn’t want to throw out – ever optimistic the other would return. You got into bed and cried yourself to sleep.

That was months ago now. You’d sleepwalked through your life since, your domestic tasks much more gruelling with the absence of your records, your days quieter without Harry for company, your spirit duller now you could no longer dance. If Lee had noticed any change in you then he hadn’t shared it. The whiskey fuelled late nights continued, an endless cycle stumbling into bed in the early hours. Tedious small talk was all that you shared.

You thought about Harry each night, the feeling of his strong arms around you – the softness of his pillowy lips against your collarbone, the groans he made when he felt you wrapped around him. You’d read the note often, clutching it to your body as if you’d somehow be able to feel him through his words.

“It’s all too beautiful

It’s all too beautiful”.

All until now, when Lee had discovered your little secret.

#lee bodecker x you #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #My heart belongs to you fic #dark!lee bodecker

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red-pencil · 3 months

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Hiya there! im just curious on what programs you use for casual digital animation! im an aspriring artist and animator, and i like to get my foot in the door when it comes to even just rough animation

Well, I ponied up for TVPaint a while back, so I use that. But if I didn't own it already, I would probably use Blender's grease pencil or play with procreate dreams or something. I also have an eye on "animation paper". I used it back when it was called "Plastic Animation Paper" or PAP, and despite its glitches, I loved it, and I hope the team sees success in creating a nice 2d animation piece of software for us.

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staceymcgillicuddy · 9 months

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For @darcylightninglewis, who requested 2 and 23 for the writing prompts meme, here is 23! It is sappy and I love it!

~~~

Eddie doesn’t think much of it when Chrissy enters the trailer with a Melvald’s bag. He waves a greeting from where he’s collapsed on the couch with his socked feet hanging off the end, exhausted after a long day spent in the body shop.

Being a mechanic’s apprentice is an honest living, but dealing drugs was a lot more lucrative.

“Leftovers?” Chrissy asks, opening the fridge and surveying the contents. “Did Wayne make meatloaf?”

“Yeah. He says we can have it.” Eddie and Wayne are ships passing in the night these days, but at least he sees his uncle for an hour in the afternoon. Chrissy’s receptionist gig has her seeing Wayne only on the weekends, and she says she misses him all the time.

Still, with all three of them working, they’ve been able to remediate the mold problem in the trailer, and that’s something.

“Cool. I’ll heat it up in a while.”

She comes around the other side of the counter, all business in her little pencil skirt and blouse. The sexy secretary role-play got old after the first couple of times, but Eddie can still appreciate how her ass looks when she bends over to take her shoes off, lining them up enxt to his boots beside the sofa.

“I’m going to change,” she says, then bends to kiss his forehead.

Eddie watches her go, then closes his eyes and holds his beer can to his forehead. Not a headache—not yet—but it’ll get there if he’s not careful.

Chrissy returns a few minutes later in a pair of terrycloth shorts and a tank top. No bra, and no panties, as far as he can tell. Perk of Wayne’s absence, and he can’t resist pinching her ass when she passes.

“Chauvinist,” she says, plucking the Melvald’s bag from the counter and settling on the floor at his side.

“Guilty. Hi.”

“Hi.” She turns her head to kiss his outstretched arm, lips lingering on his wrist before she uses all that latent athletic ability to lean over and retrieve his boots.

Intrigued, Eddie watches as she settles, then reaches into the bag and emerges with leather conditioner and a stiff brush.

“Huh,” she says as she surveys her tools. “I think I need to clean them first.”

“You… uh, sorry,” Eddie says, still catching up. “What brought this on?”

Chrissy shrugs, digging her thumbnail into a grease stain and shaking her head. “These will last longer if you condition them, is all. I’ve been meaning to do it for weeks.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, and it’s dumb, but he feels a blush rising in his cheeks because, Jesus, he should take better care of his shit.

“I know,” she replies. “I want to.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh. I like taking care of you.”

With that, she pushes herself off the ground and takes his boots into the kitchen, where the brush and some mild soap take care of the worst of the dirt. After that, she dries them with one of the old towels they reserve for mopping the water that occasionally leaks from beneath the bathroom sink, then sits back down by the couch with a ratty t-shirt and the leather polish.

Eddie watches her work. The way her slim fingers smooth and caress the leather, working the conditioner into every groove, every crack, every available surface. She is meticulous, careful, and calm, and Eddie finds it harder and harder to swallow.

“Shit,” he says after a while, voice cloudy as he blinks to clear his eyes.

Chrissy turns, mouth falling open in surprise when she sees him. “Baby?”

“Sorry. It uh… you… it’s hard to get used to, is all.”

“What is?”

“Being someone that someone cares for.”

Other prompts from this meme!

#bsc diaries #hellcheer #fanfic #flash fiction #we like a little cheese in this house #sweet little buddies #prompt meme

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reachartwork · 1 year

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look, because im getting a torrent of harassment now in my dms, hopefully this will quell you.

ive put in my fucking elbow grease. i used to be a musician. my parents have genetic problems with their hands and i got the lucky dice roll of being so autistic that i still to this day cannot tie my shoes. and you know what? i did what everyone said i should do with painting and i fucking knuckled down through it. i became a bassist. i've ripped my fingers open on coarse bass strings. even though my hands didn't want to learn how to finger properly i started using a pick and i got pretty damn good at it. i played in shows. i had a couple of bands. i could play schism by tool end to end without missing a note. i was in the process of mastering dream theater's dance of eternity before "becoming an adult" started catching up to me and i lost track of scheduling in the shuffle.

then the gentle joint pain that had been with me all my life bloomed into an arthritic condition of unknown diagnosis and now i can't hold a pick for more than a minute without dropping it against my will. i burnt eleven years of my life dripping blood sweat and tears on bass guitar and even that had been taken away from me.

ai art is one of the few ways i can express myself artistically now. i write, but that's for my eyes only. i've put in my fucking bona fides, but grinning and bearing it won't suddenly make my arthritis go away. no amount of "effort" or "discipline" will fix my body and magically make me be able to hold a pencil or a pen or a paintbrush without excruciating pain. i spend most of my day in bed now. this is what i mean when i say "i won't valorize pain". i'm not going to spend my life forcing myself to be in excruciating agony just to please people who don't think i'm a real artist because i make the pictures wrong. and i'm not going to learn how to fucking paint with my mouth, either.

if i could force myself through the pain, i'd be going back to being a musician, not doing this. but i don't put my masochism on a pedestal.

I CANNOT HOLD THINGS. can you leave me alone now?

#personal #discourse #ai art discourse #please seriously leave me alone about this #im so tired tonight

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katsigian · 29 days

Note

2, 10, 15 and 33 for Valen!!

Thank you so much for the asks! ♡ from this ask list

2. How loosely or strictly do they use the word friend?Valen is pretty strict with his usage of 'friend'.

It takes quite a bit for him to become attached to someone and he'll really only gravitate towards certain kinds of people. So until he's sure that he can trust someone and they really are who they say they are, then he'll hold off on calling someone friend. A friend to him is someone he's let into his very small inner circle and he doesn't do that very often.

10. What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

This one's a little hard to answer because Valen isn't a very big talker when he first meets someone or if he's in a really busy public situation - not because he's shy or socially anxious, he's just introverted and prefers to save the chatty side of himself for his inner circle so his battery doesn't run out. But a really good way to get him to be chatty if someone wants to know him better, is to bring up one of his interests. Valen will warm up quickly to someone if he can talk to them about motorbikes, plants/growing plants, weapons/guns, MMA/kickboxing, or classical art. He's got extremely varied interests fgdkdhsks so if he's given a chance to talk about them, he'll go on and on about how to fix a consistently jamming rifle with pencil lead, or how if you submerge a wrinkly succulent in water it'll "drink" and get full again right in front of your eyes. Or if you're talking about bikes, he'll bring up how you can get grease and oil off your hands really easily with sugar. Just mix sugar and soap and it'll all scrub right off.

15. What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

His level of emotions and how relaxed he is. When Valen's at home and around his husband or friends, he's much more relaxed and comfortable showing his feelings. Valen laughs and smiles a lot, makes jokes, etc. It's pretty easy to tell when he's comfortable and showing his real self. He gets softer around the edges.

Valen is pretty reserved and aloof when he's out in public - though not completely stone-faced and he won't be a jerk or rude - and is always observant. While he's at work, that same reservedness remains, but he's more professional and focused. He rarely gets emotional while working because he is a professional contractor and has to act like one. Valen is almost always sure of himself, charismatic, and a little bit intimidating when he's out in public or around acquaintances.

33. How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

He normally doesn't. If Valen is confronted with someone he hates or dislikes, he tends to forego any and all niceties or social expectations. He has no qualms about letting someone know that they're on his bad side. Depending on the situation, for example if they're in a public, busy function where he needs to play nice, Valen won't do anything loud or violent, but he will be giving them the death glare and won't be polite.

#thank you again! these were really fun to answer #and sorry for taking so long! i was busy with some irl things that always come up around springtime #ask games 💌#⠀ ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔞𝔴 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋#⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫//𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋#cp2077 #male v #cyberpunk oc

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squadrah · 1 year

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Imagine La squadra but it's just a 90's sitcom.

Been a while since I watched a 90's sitcom, but I'm cracking my knuckles, here we go!

Basic premise is that they all live in the same close neighborhood, so usually they show up together at local public places (café, bar, streets, each other's work places) for whatever reason.

Risotto: Bouncer at the local bar, so when everyone's there, he's usually on duty. Has had to remove every single person in the friend group from the bar at least once for whatever reason, some more smoothly than others. A stoic loner by nature, he has to ask his friends to help grow his collection of Beanie Babies, which he keeps in pristine glass cabinets (he is sometimes shown interacting with them because it adds that much needed moe to his personality). He and Formaggio are roommates, so the one time Risotto had to throw him out of the bar, he also had to carry Formaggio home.

Formaggio: Attendee at the nearby gas station, so every character who has a car ends up there and banter happens. Half of the cast gives him shit as comic relief, while the other half is in cahoots with him, because he tends to get Big Ideas that either work or fail spectacularly - whichever is funnier. Even when he wins big, you just know he's gonna blow all the money by next week and then he'll have to figure out something new. Despite this, he drops some nuggets of wisdom in unprecedented times. Not allowed to touch the Beanie Babies because he got grease on them once by accident.

Prosciutto: Legal expert at some nondescript company, so when anyone is pondering a scheme, he'll be the one casually chiming in on the legality of the thing and also the one finding loopholes in exchange for favors. Has incredible divorcee energy and there are a number of guys showing up whom he seems to have a history with, but none of them are ever confirmed as anything, so this is like a recurring mystery plot line the others like to pick up and discuss. Has some violent running gags because despite his resting bitch face, he's about as high strung as Ghiaccio and the others aren't helping.

Pesci: That one guy who has no idea how to stay on top of his own life so he keeps turning up at odd jobs, often plot-specific ones, but he is most often seen at the café or bar, cleaning tables and trying to stay part of the conversation. He's a sweetheart but also a hopeless romantic and a bumble bee, so everyone is always giving him advice, especially those who are not qualified to give life advice to anyone. Obviously has a thing for Prosciutto and the running gag is him sometimes playing up his own helplessness and lack of self-confidence a bit to get those much coveted face paps.

Ghiaccio: Works as a courier, so he's always up and about, running somewhere to deliver or having come from a delivery, and he also jogs in his free time, alone or with others like Risotto or Pesci. He's the angry one who always has a rant locked and loaded, and if anyone in the cast ordered something, including the aforementioned company Prosciutto (and others) work for, Ghiaccio will be the one coming in and questioning his and everyone else's life choices. He's kind of a health freak so some running gags involve him indulging a bit in something normal and then freaking out about it.

Melone: Secretary at the company Prosciutto works for, and one of his running gags is that whenever someone asks what the company does, he will say something new each time, to suggest that either the company is getting into all sorts of niches to stay afloat, or Melone is making shit up. Many scenes feature him on the phone, but it's almost never about company affairs because he just loves to chat and wasting company time. Obviously a sexy and perverted little freak but apparently he's the duct tape holding the company together, so no matter what he does they have to keep him.

Illuso: Pencil pusher at the same company as Prosciutto and Melone, and he copes with office life by stealing stationery. His kleptomania and hording tendencies tend to be his running gags, so sometimes he'll take out a pen to jot things down and Prosciutto recognizes it as his own and Illuso has to give it back or perish. Another company time waster, but unlike Melone, he gets to stay on board because he keeps dropping hints of how much he knows about the company's affairs and how much he would be willing to blab here and there. A smug jerk, but somehow he just fits in with everyone.

Sorbet and Gelato: Lumping them together despite leading separate lives because Sorbet runs the local café and Gelato runs the local bar, and they seem to have beef with each other where either one will turn up at the other's work place, stir up a big scene with tangible, nay, chewable homoerotic undertones, and then they always catch themselves having "gone too far" and arrive at some sort of truce. They are only ever fully friendly when blind drunk, in which case they have eyes for nobody else. Despite always talking of each other as a menace, it is very obvious that they're practically married.

#la squadra #risotto nero #formaggio #prosciutto #pesci #ghiaccio #melone #illuso #sorbet #gelato #sorgela #squadrah crossovers #squadrah original #thank you for sending it again!!!

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reignofsiderians · 1 year

Photo

The trotting animation of my ‘average Siderian (aka µ, Mu) v1’ 3D model. See here the still renders:

https://www.tumblr.com/reignofsiderians/714802672735289344/two-final-renders-of-the-average-siderian-version?source=share

I have animated all gaits (lateral walk, diagonal walk, trot, transverse gallop and rotary gallop), but I liked trot the best so I decided to render this one with fur. I think I have a reasonably good feeling for animation and I really enjoyed it, but it was more difficult than I thought. It took me a while to get the hang of this rig and pose it the way I want it and some of the animations are still not perfect...but it's a learning process and I will try to do it better next time. Also, I’ve rendered him with a black background since he’s still just trotting on the spot – it would have looked weird if I had turned the icy background on. But in version 2, I will make him move in space and do more than just walking/trotting/running on a treadmill.

It took 3 hours to render 40 frames O.O. My computer is not that shit (I have a gaming laptop), but still – it took ages even at this crap quality. So any ideas to animate parts of the Siderian story need some serious consideration; either I go for a more 2D like style with Blender’s grease pencil or I need to upgrade mu computer/pay for a render farm. I will see about that. Also - I haven't played around with the hair dynamics settings and even though I had turned some collision setting on, the fur still goes through the ground :/. Hair dynamics and other physics settings is on the planning for model v2.

----------- DON’T COPY/USE ANYTHING OF THIS without my written permission! It’s not allowed to use my artwork for training of AIs either. Don’t use these or any other siderians as avatar/RP character in RP games. They are who they are and they CANNOT represent someone else.

#3D model #Blender #3D render #CGI #Blender render #Siderian #Bigcat #feline #big cat #FelisGlacialis #my art #Mu v1 #Demo v1 #Average siderian #trotting #trot #animation #walking cycle

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redstringraven · 5 months

Text

some lil OC tidbits using a server template! i wanna start sharing and talking about them a bit more outside of my artwork just... both as a form of documentation and also because it makes me happy. c:

---*---

Cassia Dubois five random facts:

mains boo in most, if not all, mario games. if boo's not an option, she mains peach or yoshi.

a nervous laugher; will start giggling when nervous or unsure how to handle a situation. this has mixed results.

gives nicknames to basically everyone. if you're a friend in any form or fashion, you will get a few nicknames unique to you. (i.e., mikey's nicknames are 'tangerine', 'champ', and 'jell-o').

will sometimes text exclusively in emojis. leo can never decipher it, and sometimes it drives raph up a wall (she does this on purpose).

professional french fry thief.

favorite food: snickerdoodles or pretzels dipped in cool whip least favorite food: anything with the texture of cottage cheese cause of stress: having an inconsistent friend group at school; after the triceraton invasion, she worries about her dad a lot while he travels for work (he's a train conductor) a quote I associate with them: "cooler than a strawberry shake~!"

---*---

Nyxram five random facts

would not participate in the battle nexus despite that she'd most certainly win; she doesn't enjoy "combat for sport".

can fluently speak a handful of languages throughout the galaxy and can understand/read several more.

favorite third-earth instrument is the harp.

lowkey fascinated by third-earth's older technology (gramophones, steam-engine trains, etc) but unimpressed by the modern technology.

currently training traximus; she worries that, as the rebellion's leader, he'll quickly get targets on his back from other triceratons who disagree with the shift in power or from outside parties looking to further stir the current power vacuum.

favorite food: whatever the triceraton equivalent of a warm bagel with cream cheese is least favorite food: pizza (sorry, mikey); anything fried, swimming in grease, or generally unhealthy cause of stress: her past, her future, her parents a quote i associate with them: "no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle"

---*---

Gwyneth five random facts

can mimic bilelon* bugles well enough that they'll sometimes call back to her.

on third-earth she leans into she/her pronouns for simplicity's sake but is genderqueer given liáfsini's approach of the subject, as well as the galaxy's lack of a binary.

is the 'younger twin' and, therefore, considered the parasitic spirit. she was consistently shunned by other liáfsians and forbidden to participate in ceremonies or druidic practices.

arguably a better climber than the boys due to a childhood spent in the woods and exploring old liáfsian ruins. could parkour the city in her sleep.

enjoys sketching and gardening but rarely gets to indulge in either due to consistently being on guard/on the run. her art-style is more realism leaning, and the lines weave into each other as though she never lifts the pencil from paper.

favorite food: liáfsian equivalent of barmbrack least favorite food: isn't picky; food is food as long as it won't kill her cause of stress: darach; a loss of her own identity due to survival; her unshaken determination to get ash back in a body a quote i associate with them: "the woods are lovely, dark and deep. but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep."

---*---

Aislinn five random facts

will rarely reveal she's sentient before she or gwyn deem someone trustworthy; often plays 'inanimate' and is always listening and watching; it's made her a bit of a gossip.

loves watching soap operas with master splinter and discussing the episodes with him afterward.

is the 'older twin' and, therefore, considered the original spirit. despite still being viewed as an ill-omen, she was not shunned as severely as gwyn. though sometimes invited to ceremonies or allowed access to other community practices, ash refused to participate if gwyn couldn't.

on third-earth, she leans more into she/her pronouns for simplicity's sake along with gwyn but does also seem to prefer femme-leaning gender identities galaxy-wide; more of a demi-girl.

both ash and gwyn can perform a liáfsian take on kulning, which they used not only to call to the bilelon and sithóran**, but also to locate each other while exploring the woods as kids; ash's is much more in line with traditional kulning, which is to say it's higher in pitch and is more melodic. gwyn's is lower in pitch and a bit more melancholic/haunting. in the extremely rare situation gwyn and ash get separated in present time, ash will kuln as a way to signal to gwyn without fully giving away her sentience or presence in the weapon.

favorite food: liáfsian equivalent of barmbrack least favorite food: doesn't remember cause of stress: darach; being physically dead; consistently worried about gwyn's mental and physical well-being a quote i associate with them: "i was with you before we were even born."

---*---

*bilelon are a sacred fae-fauna in liáfsini; they vaguely resemble elk **sithóran are fauna in liáfsini; they vaguely resemble maned wolves

#tmnt oc #tmnt 2003 oc #;tmnt oc: cassia dubois #;tmnt oc: nyxram #;tmnt oc: gwyneth #;tmnt oc: aislinn #[ i just love my silly band of ocs okay... ]#[ auhgh ]

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cyandocs · 9 days

Text

Lil wiggly Nori from a still very early dive into grease pencil

Even a simple animation like this had me very intimidated but I feel like I see the POTENTIAL I recorded bits and pieces of playing around with it but I'm still on the fence as to whether it'd be a good video. Still. ANIMATION

#drawing #animation #gif #kind of #oc #original character #fursona #furry raccoon #blink blonk #still very new to blender and gp #be gentle #I was so proud of finishing this dinky gif #blender grease pencil

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abtheb · 1 year

Text

playing with grease pencil in blender

#my art #blender3d

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coramatus · 1 year

Text

Under the City Streets (part 8)

The Old Man of the Mountain and the not-very-sudden-but-very-inevitable betrayal.

Happy New Year! Have an update!

For why Emmet and Volo are bothering with a weird old dude who might be Arceus in disguise, read part 7.1 - 7.5, but mainly 7.5.

When Emmet and Volo reach the foot of a mountain (more like an overlarge hill) with rotting wooden steps dug into the side, Volo insists that he is going no further. Emmet doesn’t care and says Volo can do whatever.

And yet Volo still frets as he watches Emmet ascend the steps.

As Emmet crests the hill, he finds a decrepit old shack surrounded by a veritable junkyard of wood and metal objects. A covered porch lines the sides of the shack, where an old man sits in a rocking chair facing away from him, whittling away at a piece of wood into some kind of doll.

“Hello!” Emmet greets the old man, sharply adopting his signature point and call pose, “I am—!”

“Emmet!” a chipper wizened voice finishes for him. The man doesn’t turn around as he chuckles, “Don’chu worry none. I know who ya are.”

Emmet’s pose slips. He’s never been interrupted like that before.

“Um… then, you are—?”

“Yep! I’m the Ol’ Man yet lookin’ fer. Be wit'cha inna minute, kiddo,” the man quips easily, “Just gotta put on some finishin’ touches fer ya.”

The carving knife is set aside in favor of a stump of an old black grease pencil which deftly makes a few marks on the doll.

“Aaaand done!” the Old Man announces. He turns to face Emmet with a gap-toothed grin as he tosses a small wooden doll at Emmet, who barely catches it in time. The man eyes him expectantly, “Whaddya say? Pretty spot on, I reckon.”

Blinking in confusion, Emmet gets his first look at the doll and is given pause.

It’s a simple, stylized human figure, its stumpy left arm pointed forwards with its right pointed to the side. It’s painted in white with trademark brown bands along the sides and along its flared sleeve cuffs. A familiar white hat sits on its head, bearing the distinct blue and white livery of Gear Station. Its simple face bears a v-shaped smile and unmistakable pointed gray sideburns.

“O-oh! This is… me?” Emmet says with a puzzled tilt of his head. For a long moment, he stares blankly at the effigy of himself before a faint smile breaks across his face, “Neat.”

The man snaps his knee with a gleeful cackle, “Boy howdy, you’re the first fella in a while to not up and run off on me! The second I give ‘em their doll, it’s like they seen a ghost! I like ya, kiddo!”

“Thanks?” Emmet says, his smile hesitant, not entirely sure why anyone would flee from a display of an omniscient person’s power.

He looks back down at the doll, noting that it depicts him in his complete outfit, not his current shredded, torn and injured state. A state he wishes he could go back to. Pushing past the feeling of loss, he refocuses on the Old Man, smiling with faint hope,

“Then you really know everything?”

“Just about. ‘Round these parts anyways. And whatever else comes through!” the Old Man laughs as he rises from his chair onto stooped legs to hobble past Emmet. A shaky hand grips a knobbled, white cane, its pointed tip covered in polished brass. He shakes his head as he pushes open a sliding, wooden door and shuffles in, “Ain’t never a dull day in these here parts, kiddo. Always folks wantin’ to find answers until they get ones they don’t like. Then it gets real messy.”

Old Man invites Emmet into a mildly hoarded out cabin. He is a very gracious host, offering food and drink. But Emmet cuts to the chase.

“Something happened to my brother and I need to know what that was. People call him the Woodsman but his real name is Ingo.”

“Straight to the point. I can respect that,” the Old Man nods as he hobbles along. He prepares some tea on a banked fire, as he recounts, “Yeah, I know that fella. Kid’s got a real mean streak in him. And he used to be so nice too.”

“Yep… he was the nicest…” Emmet confirms, a fond smile playing at the corners of his lips. However, it quickly fades as reality reasserts itself, a deep sadness settling in his chest, “But now I’m not sure who he is anymore…” He looks up to the Old Man, pleading, “What happened to him? I need to know.”

The Old Man sucks on his pipe, his previous manic demeanor falling away to an alert calmness, staring at him evenly, “And why would that be?”

“Because I do not understand!” Emmet shouts, shooting to his feet. His fingers grab his hair as he paces the cabin, his thoughts and feelings boiling over as he rants in desperation, “I cannot understand! Why won’t he listen to me? Amnesia does not explain his refusal to listen!” He groans, despairing, “What am I missing? What am I doing wrong?!”

Emmet is left shaking and panting, struggling to hold back tears. He’s not sure why he lost control like that in front of someone he just met, but it hardly matters now. He doesn’t resist as the Old Man guides him to a seat. The Old Man patiently stays by Emmet’s side as he works his tangled knot of emotions under control, taking careful, controlled breaths.

“I’m sorry…” Emmet whispers, his dull voice choking with pain, “I just want him back so, so much…”

The Old Man soothingly rubs Emmet’s back, not unlike a doting grandparent would to an upset grandchild, “That fellah’s got no clue how lucky he is to have such a wonderful brother lookin’ out fer him.”

“How wonderful can I be if I can’t even get him to believe me?” Emmet answers mournfully.

He shifts but he accidentally jostles his burn, making him cry out in pain as he doubles over. He’s left cradling his injured arm to his chest, shaking and whimpering as fresh tears form in his eyes.

The Old Man offers to take a look at the wound and Emmet lets him, holding out his trembling arm. With great care, the Old Man unwraps Emmet’s tie and audibly winces at the sight. But as he examines Emmet’s burn, his expression darkens. He asks if Emmet is feeling any different, to which he just sighs and admits that he feels a lot more tired. The Old Man warns him that he needs to keep a closer eye on his moods. This wound has the potential to take his life if he's not careful.

Emmet isn’t sure what he means but guesses that it could get infected and go septic. He just nods along halfheartedly, letting the Old Man apply a salve to ease the pain before wrapping his arm back up.

From Emmet’s sullen demeanor, the Old Man surmises that he’s had it rough enough and could use a real break.

So the Old Man offers a wager. He likes Emmet and will give him information no matter what. But which sort of info that will be depends on if he can best the Old Man. If Emmet wins, the Old Man will tell him that which he wants to know. If Emmet fails, he will be told what he needs to know. Emmet figures the end result will be the same so he easily agrees.

The Old Man nods sagely.

The challenge?

“Hit me.”

Emmet stills, uncertain he heard correctly.

“…say again?”

The Old Man grins wide at him with his nearly toothless mouth, “You heard me. Hit me. Deck me. Punch me. Slap me. Kick me. Ya land a hit, ya win. If you don’t by the time I get bored, then ya lose.”

Emmet thinks about this. He pushes up his tattered sleeves. With a spark of life back in his eyes, he drops into a fighting stance, declaring,

“I am Emmet. And I like winning more than anything else!”

“I know ya do, kiddo,” the Old Man gives him another gap-toothed grin.

Unfortunately for Emmet, the Old Man is far more spry than he lets on. No matter how much Emmet swings at the Old Man, his opponent slips just out of reach or catches his blows and throws him off or simply trips him. More than once, Emmet finds himself crashing into a wall.

In the end, Emmet doesn’t hit the Old Man. But he does tackle him, which is better than not touching him at all. The Old Man laughs at his clever tilting of the rules. Emmet didn’t win but neither did he lose.

So the Old Man offers Emmet a tidbit of both what he wants and needs to know.

Emmet is told how his brother disappeared. Simply put, his brother did not leave of his own free will, slipping through an unexpected tear in space-time. It was just bad luck. Wrong place, wrong time.

A weight lifts off Emmet’s chest. He was always afraid Ingo left because he’d grown sick and tired of his weirdo twin. It’s a relief to know Ingo didn’t choose to be here.

As for why any of this happened?

The Old Man won’t say it himself, but he grimly informs Emmet that he needs to ask his little Starly friend.

Volo knows exactly why.

Volo hops back and forth before the hill steps, sort of a Starly version of pacing. He’s deep in thought, having begun to piece things together. For a moment, there’s a faint flutter of hope that perhaps his ordeal might see an end.

But when Emmet returns, Volo needs only one look at him to shatter that hope.

Emmet’s thin smile has vanished entirely. He watches silently as Volo tries fussing over him, nervously asking if he learned anything useful.

Instead of answering, Emmet quietly asks Volo what he has to do with everything that’s happened.

Volo’s heart sinks as he realizes what the Old Man must have said to Emmet. He tries to beg off but Emmet isn’t having it.

“Tell me the truth, Volo,” Emmet says, his flat voice rendered positively frigid. His silvery eyes bore burning holes into Volo, “Are you the reason why my brother was taken? Was Ingo’s disappearance your fault this whole time?”

“I-I can’t… I wasn’t targeting him specifically-! He came through by accident-!” Volo sputters, unable to stop the words even as he internally screams at himself to shut up.

Emmet’s eyes widen in shock, but it’s quickly replaced by a disgusted glare.

“You knew,” he hisses.

Volo is quick to make excuses, his wings outspread, pleading, “I-I’m sorry! It was such a long time ago, I didn’t think-!”

“This whole time, it was your fault,” Emmet whispers. He turns away from Volo, unable to face him as his voice trembles from barely restrained anger, “…I trusted you.”

“E-Emmet, it was an accident-! I didn’t think he was anyone important—!”

Emmet can’t even look at Volo, only uttering a single word:

“Leave.”

“Emmet-!”

“I SAID LEAVE!!!” Emmet screams, spinning on his heel to glare daggers at Volo. His face, usually so open and friendly to a fault, is now twisted into a snarl of such pure rage and hatred that it stops Volo dead in his tracks. For a split second, Volo thinks Emmet is about to stomp him flat. But instead, Emmet sharply turns away from Volo and storms off without another word.

All Volo can do is watch as what was once his only friend walks out of his life. Anger bubbles up in his chest, the unfairness of it all making him snap.

“Fine! Fine! You know what?” Volo spits back at Emmet, furiously flapping his wings to hover in place, “I will! I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again! How do you like that!!”

Emmet doesn’t even acknowledge him. There is not a hint of hesitation as he marches forwards in furious determination. His eyes are set ahead, resolutely ignoring everything else around him.

This just sets Volo off even more, “Yeah! That’s right! Leave! Just walk away like everyone else! Don’t bother looking at the only reason you even got this far! I don’t matter to anyone in the end!!!”

But by this time, Emmet has already walked well out of sight. Realizing he’s completely alone, Volo’s indignant fury deflates, fluttering to the ground, his wings drooping and despondent as he stares out at where he last saw Emmet.

For all his rage, even Volo knows he deserves this in the end.

“Emmet… Sinnoh, I am so sorry…”

Part 9

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 and white 2 #under the city streets au #submas #subway boss ingo #volo #starly #arceus #maybe?#coramatus's artwork

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