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loosingmoreletters · 1 year

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Title: cut my tongue on the rust of a silver spoon

Summary: Lan Wangji is his father’s son, he marries Wei Wuxian to protect him. He is his mother’s too, he dies as a consequence of his punishment. Thirteen years later, summoned into a foreign body, he returns to Gusu hoping to find Wei Ying and, perhaps, forgiveness.

AN: this is really more of a snippet.

When Mo Xuanyu’s family is laid to rest, Lan Wangji surveys the mansion. He takes what he deems worthwhile and dresses in robes more comfortable than Mo Xuanyu’s. He’s slightly shorter than Lan Wangji used to be and his body is in an ill state. Brushing out his hair leaves him with several strands in his hand. He manages to wrangle it into something respectable. When he leaves the mansion, he finds the Gusu Lan disciples staring at him in open awe.

“You’re really not a lunatic, are you?” Lan Jingyi asks.

“No.”

Lan Sizhui stays silent as he’s been throughout this entire assignment before he lifts his hands in curious motions, Lan Jingyi immediately picking up on them. Lan Jingyi eyes Lan Wangji warily, but then begins to speak. “Sizhui is asking why your family was so insistent you were mad then?”

Was the other boy incapable of speech? Lan Wangji thinks about asking, but deems it rude and unnecessary. The boy has performed admirably on the nighthunt and hadn’t been a liability. If he lacks speech, it speaks well of the education he has received.

“They didn’t like my mother or me. Ensuring everyone knew of unstable Mo Xuanyu meant no one would consider me for inheritance.”

That is Lan Wangji’s assumption at least. Mo Xuanyu’s ritual seemed like something out of Wei Ying’s notes and given that is a problem in and of itself. He’s been dead for over a decade and in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Ying should have been safe and his notes inaccessible to anyone.

Another reason Lan Wangji had to hurry back to the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui signs again and Lan Jingyi speaks, “We are sorry to hear that. There will be no such discrimination at the Cloud Recesses, I promise.”

There will not? Lan Wangji wonders what happened to his sects in the aftermath of his death, if they are less torn in their decisions nowadays.

“Thank you.”

Traveling with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi is pleasant. Lan Wangji has no sword, but Lan Sizhui carries him on his own for large chunks of the travel. While in flight, they sign to each other more or less non-stop, having a conversation Lan Wangji cannot follow but finds practical. Every sect has a few hand signs for flight to communicate in an emergency as screaming at each other over the wind is just impossible, but nothing quite this advanced.

It does, however, take a run-in with a yao, Lan Sizhui’s fingers sustaining breaks, before the two Juniors exchange looks and pull a talisman from their pockets.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” says Lan Jingyi. “You saved us, so I trust you’re a good guy.”

Lan Wangji nods, promising nothing. If they’re up to mischief, someone should know. Instead, Lan Sizhui activates the talisman with a light touch and keeps one hand on it.

Thank you, appears in light blue lettering.

“It’s more convenient for me to communicate with others like this if they’re capable of reading instead of relying on Jingyi,” says Lan Sizhui’s writing.

The technique is not a sect secret as far as Lan Wangji knows. At least it wasn’t when he was still alive.

“Are outsiders not meant to know?” he asks.

“Nobody is,” Lan Sizhui answers. “My father developed the talisman for me. Only Jingyi knows.”

“I think Sect Leader Lan suspects,” Lan Jingyi adds. “But as long as he doesn’t say anything about it, we’re not saying anything either. It’s not lying and we didn’t break any rules.”

Lan Sizhui grimaces. “We do break them a little. A-Die isn’t meant to write any talismans.”

“He isn’t supposed to write anything at all,” Lan Jingyi shoots back, sounding like he’s had this argument a thousand times before. “I don’t get it, it’s been ages. All he does is wait for you to visit, cook, garden, and have tea with Sect Leader Lan. He doesn’t even have a core to cultivate, why does everyone—”

Lan Sizhui shoves his elbow into Lan Jingyi’s side, giving him a very pointed look.

“… I’m sorry, Senior Mo,” Lan Jingyi says. “I didn’t mean to speak so out of tune. We should reach home in two days.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head.

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan jingyi #lan sizhui #wangxian #fanfic #mdzs fanfic

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freetobeeyouandme · 2 months

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Chapter 6: We Take a Portal to School

Chapter 6 of my Byler Isekai AU is now up on Ao3! The party gets to relax a little after almost dying in the last one while also making plans on how to proceed. Plus there is some Mike and the boys bonding and worldbuilding happening, which is why this whole thing comes in at almost 10k. You're welcome.

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

They are found, eventually. From where Mike is sitting he can see three doors leading into the building, all made of the same heavy wood. The one that opens grates on the stone floors, the noise so loud in the reverent quiet of the courtyard that Mike jumps.

The others turn towards the noise with equal looks of dread and resignation.

The door admits two men wrapped in white robes and big, colorful fabrics wrapped around them like greek togas. The smaller of the two is elven, a little shorter than Mike himself, with a pudgy, almost dad-like shape, short, thin white hair and pale skin. The other man is an owlin with brown and creme feathers, sort of like a barn owl. He towers over the other man but hangs back as they make their way to the edge of the walkway, curiously watching their bedraggled group, whispering to each other, before they finally step into the courtyard proper.

Mike puts his hand on his sword, not sure he’s ready to fight if it comes to it but also knowing that he’ll have no other choice. The men hold themselves friendly enough and as far as he can see they’re not carrying weapons, but in a world with magic that doesn’t mean much.

One’s weapon had also only been his mind.

The others react calmly to the approach, though. Lucas straightens up a little, clearly torn between holding onto Max and assuming his princely duties as their leader. Hop, Mrs. Byers and Jonathan look from the men to the group around Mike, and Will rises to his feet and approaches them. He meets the smaller man’s eyes and bows.

The man in charge smiles a smile that isn’t really comforting when he sees their Cleric. “Young Master Byers. I didn’t expect to see you here ever again.”

Will keeps his head bowed. “High Mage Owens.”

“Did that goddess of yours forsake you after all?”

Mike is sure the intention is just friendly ribbing, but the man’s tone is just slightly off, and Will gives him no more than a tight smile when he lifts his head.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” he replies. “But we seek shelter all the same. We will leave if you need us to, but-” he trails off, looking around the courtyard at his tired and grieving friends.

Owens follows the gaze with the same look of cold kindness that he’s been wearing since he stepped through the door. His eyes snag on the corpse sprawled out beside their bags. “So it is true that the Circle has fallen. I told Martin not to trust in gods.”

El tenses at the name, looking down at her feet. Mike understands the feeling. He doesn’t like that fact that this man used to be on a first name basis with the Father of Gods.

The man behind Owens leans forward, whispering something in his superior’s ear. Owens purses his lips, then shakes his head.

“Have you brought his body here with you to resurrect him, or-”

“No,” Lucas says, much too loud in his hurry to speak up. Again he looks at Mike in a way that makes him uncomfortable – a feeling not at all helped by the way Lucas still clings to Max. “He should receive a proper burial...we brought him so he wouldn’t fall into One’s clutches, but no...we just- the body just-”

He trails off.

Owens watches him with calculated interest, the barest hint of a shadow passing over his face. Then he turns back to Will with a tight smile. “We will take care of it.” He nods at Max. “Your friend-”

Hop rises to his feet and joins his son. “She’ll be alright, she simply needs rest.”

Owens nods. “You all need rest. And you shall have it. Let it not be said that the Laboratories turned away heroes in their hour of need.” He motions for the man behind him. “Shepard, see that rooms are prepared for our guests. And have the kitchens bring some food up for them.”

The man whispers something else in Owens ear, and Owens nods. Then the owlin hurries away.

“Come,” Owens gestures for them to follow him. “We have far more comfortable places to discuss your predicament than our portal room.”

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my posts about this fic, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @willthelies @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @longtallglasses @generalstorecashier @usnaavi @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @xobyers @goldentrunks @itachisnipplesharingan

#kingslayer fic #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #stranger things #byler fanfic

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the-terrible-theys · 1 year

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tried charting the heights of all the wild kratts characters for funsies :)

aviva: 167 cm/5’ 5.7”

koki: 160 cm/5’ 2.9”

chris: 173 cm/5’ 8.1”

martin: 180 cm/5’ 10.8”

jimmy: 175 cm/5’ 8.8”

donita: 177 cm/5’ 9.6”

dabio: 203 cm/6’ 7.9” (woah)

zach: 174 cm/5’ 8.5”

gourmand: 154 cm/5’ 0.6”

rex: 176 cm/5’ 9.2”

paisley: 120 cm/3’ 11.2”

this isn’t perfectly accurate because 1) i couldn’t find screencaps to use to compare every character, 2) sometimes there was a lot of variation in height differences between characters and chris/martin (i tried to use those two as references as much as possible because they have canon heights), and 3) mostly because i was just eyeballing everything

reference images i used + a few notes are under the cut if you’re curious!! (by “a few notes” i mean i basically accidentally wrote an entire essay btw)

i went ahead and put the bros in first since, again, they have canon/googleable heights, and could be used as references for all the other characters. i ended up tweaking these heights very slightly (putting martin as closer to 5’ 11”, basically) just to feel a little more accurate to the show’s height difference between them and other characters

next i did the rest of the crew!

the height difference between chris and jimmy was kinda hard to deduce. in some screenshots jimmy is a bit shorter than chris and in others he’s noticeably taller ?? i decided to take the average and put them at almost the same height with jimmy being very slightly taller

i think jimmy was being mean to me on purpose a little bit because i had similar issues between him and martin. sometimes he’d be quite a bit shorter and sometimes they’d be practically the same height. c’mon jimmy

figuring out koki and aviva’s height differences relative to the others wasn’t quite as hard, though aviva did have a bit of height variation (in the first image, she’s about the same height as chris, in the second she’s much shorter, and in the third she’s taller than chris would be in comparison to martin). thankfully i have precisely a billion and a half screenshots saved so finding ones to average out was an easy task. i decided it’d be best to keep aviva noticeably shorter than chris by a couple of inches, but to also not have their height difference be quite as significant as in some of these images

koki’s relative height seemed to stay the most constant out of everyone, with only very slight variations (her being closer to aviva’s height sometimes, but usually she’s shorter) (in case anyone is confused! i’m measuring her from the top of her head, not hair, so about where her headband is)

once i felt like the crew was all accurate, i moved to the villains. i started with zach because i have more pictures of him, both with the crew and other villains, so he’s the best reference)

it was a little hard to judge his height in comparison to chris. they’re definitely close but i for some reason couldn’t find good reference images to get a more exact estimate. in both of these at least one of them is slightly leaning

i tried to avoid using any references with the creature powersuits activated, since those can mess with height (or at least my perception of their height) a bit. i did break my own rule here, though, just to see how tall zach was in comparison to martin. i figured he was tall enough for me to viably place him as very slightly taller than chris, but still at nearly the same height

(i’m pretty sure i looked at a second, even better pic i had of zach and martin as well but i lost it)

from there it was decently easy to estimate donita and gourmand’s heights with zach as a reference. i had the same height variation issue with donita as i’d had before, but when i found that fifth image while looking for dabio height references, i was able to find her height much more easily, plus verify my placements of zach and gourmand, plus get a good estimate on dabio.

(i also looked at more dabio references, some with donita and some with each of the bros, but i can’t find those either. oops) (trust me when i say him being 6’ 7” probably isn’t inaccurate, though) (the dude he’s based on, fabio, is 6’ 3”, so i was originally going to guesstimate him at around that height, but he looks WAY too tall for even 6’ 3”)

i have VERY few images of paisley and rex, much less any that make usable height references, but i did manage to pick out a couple that were helpful. paisley seems to be shoulder height-ish on gourmand who i placed at 5’ 0”. i can also see that donita’s elbow is also around shoulder height of gourmand, giving me two points of reference

paisley is also at approximately elbow height of rex, meaning that rex and donita are similar in height

managed to find this image as a somewhat more helpful point of reference. yeah it’d be more helpful if rex and paisley were touching the ground, and if martin wasn’t in a cps (because, again, trying to avoid that for the sake of accuracy). beggars can’t be choosers, though, and the pixelization of this image is screaming beggar.

anyway! if i squint a bit and hold my fingers up to my screen, i can tell that paisley is at maybe just under belly button/elbow height of martin. rex looks to be a little shorter than martin, meaning my estimate of him being a similar height to donita is of some accuracy. i made him one centimeter shorter because he looks to be a little shorter in comparison to martin than donita would be? idk

i would’ve liked to search for better reference pics for paisley and rex just to make sure i’ve got their heights down, but i’m tired and have also hit the image limit for this post, so i’m just gonna stop there

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esperanzagalaxy · 2 years

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Hello!!!

First off, I absolutely ADORE your art! It is some of the finest work ive ever seen and is just a joy to see! Secondly, i am equally upset about the abrupt rqg feed ending and would like to ask, if you are still taking requests, for any Grizzop and/or Vesseek doodles? Or just anything involving our favourite goblins! Hope you have an amazing day💜💜

RQG request #21! oh, friend, thanks so much for your words, you’re always so ready to support everyone 😭💙 and yes, same, it’s been months but i’m still salty. doing this one was funny because i did the sketch before you commissioned me, and the rendering after, so it was cool to draw them twice with different vibes!

i did very much cheat and made this one self-indulgent because, at the time when i was going to sketch this one, i was working on the chapter of my fic where they’re introduced, so... here they are! the mean girl supreme of the art world and his endlessly patient star assistant!

the rendering didn’t come out quite as i’d hoped, but the lineart is on point. like, that was Exactly how grizzop was supposed to look. well done, me. this is a cool one. thanks so much for your request!!! <33

mechanical pencil on yellow paper and digital color.

ID under the cut!

[ID: an illustration of grizzop and vesseek. it's drawn traditionally with a mechanical pencil, and rendered digitally with dark sepia tones. it's a low shot that shows them both looking down at the camera, with high windows to their back, leaving them mostly in shadow. grizzop is to the left, leaning against the side of a wooden table. vesseek is in front of him, to the right, sitting on a wooden crate. grizzop has his arms crossed and is looking down with a dismissive eyebrow raised. he's wearing a plain button up with rolled up sleeves, trousers, and an apron. there's a rag hanging from his belt. he's lean and wiry, with long, pointed ears from which three arrow piercings hand. he's bald and freckly, with narrowed eyes and a rounded nose. vesseek is dressed the same way as him, and they smile relaxedly at the viewer. their left leg is dangling from the crate, and their right knee is up, with the corresponding hand resting atop of it. the left hand is on the front edge of the crate, towards the camera. they're smaller and fatter than grizzop, but a little closer to the camera. they have shorter ears and short, messy hair. they're slightly fuzzy. the windows are bright behind them both. end ID]

#rqg #rusty quill gaming #grizzop drik acht amsterdam #vesseek #rqg vesseek #mixed media #fanart #finished works #yeah sure #2022 #the great swarm of rqg requests 2k22

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unknownjpegs · 1 month

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little value

“Halt!”

Stepper doesn’t listen to the command, since it’s not from him, so the lumbering beast continues on stepping. Happy watches lazily, arms tucked into his sleeves, folded over his chest. His tortoise takes another lazy step and the Kings Guards on the road start to seem panicky, waving their hands, shouting the command another time.

“Stepper,” Happy calls, whistling. The Great Tortoise pauses then, one massive leg half lifted. He sets it down and swings his massive head toward him, blinking big doe eyes. “S’nough now, yeah? We’ll rest a bit.” He gets another few blinks before the tortoise opens its mouth in a giant yawn and then the beasts stomach hits the ground hard enough to make the two guards stumble a bit.

“You have papers for this beast? For your wares?” One of the guards snaps, coming forward. He’s taller than the other, lanky with floppy brown hair that pokes out underneath his little royal helm. Guard Two stands at a more respectable distance, has shrewd and beady red eyes. Neither of them pay Stepper any mind now that he’s flat to the ground.

“Are you askin’ if I’m a legitimate merchant, or a man with a giant tortoise carrying goods, roaming around for fun?” Happy takes one arm from his sleeve and uses his little finger to scratch inside his ear. Stepper gives another big mouthed yawn for effect, resting its head on the ground lazily.

“Being short with me, merchant?” The first guard snarls, hand on his hilt.

“Least m’bein’ recognized as a merchant,” Happy mutters, waving a hand in mute compliance to have his wares looked at. But neither guard actually move to do so. Instead they come closer, angling looks at each other. Suspicious and furtive, and both rest their hands on their hilts then. Happy looks between them, bored and tired.

“Looking for this man,” the short guard says, yanking out a piece of parchment. He holds it up for Happy to lazily inspect, head lolled to the side and angled down, because he’s much taller.

It’s Tino, of course. An artists rendering, with charcoal perhaps. It has his smooth cheeks, dark hair, the handsome cut of his jaw. Only whoever had done the drawing had also given him a terrible sneer. A cruel curl to his lip that wrinkled his nose. His eyes were glinting with malice, brows drawn in. He looked cartoonish and villainous and nothing like the laughing, good natured man Happy knew. If someone knew Tino, perhaps they’d recognize this as him. But a stranger, who merely glanced between this paper and the smiling, baby faced man they were looking for, might possibly think there was just an unfortunate resemblance.

“Never seen ‘im,” Happy replies.

The guards stare at him, their eyes narrowed. Beads of sweat roll down their faces, because they’re in light armor. He stares back, nonplussed and unimpressed.

“Suppose you’ll be paying the Kings tax ‘fore we let you by,” the shorter guard says then. He sniffs hard and spits snot onto the ground at Happy’s feet. The wind rustles through the trees a bit. He feels rain incoming and truthfully, he’d hoped to be at Tino’s by now. Because the trail is just shortly to their left, leads right into a clearing where the runaway’s built his little home for him and his stolen babe. And if it weren’t for that trail being so close, so happenstance nearby, Happy might have been content to just let them rob him.

Instead, he gives a shake of his head and sighs.

“Already paid my taxes this year.”

The guards unsheathe their swords with a clanging metallic sound. One points the tip to him while the other starts toward his tortoise. Stepper blinks up at the man as he levels the sword with his long leathery neck.

“Not above killing a man’s beast to set him straight,” the tall, sweaty guard says in a snide and malicious voice.

“Know what he is?” Happy asks in reply, gesturing toward his companion. The tortoise blinks at him this time. His great bulk shifts slightly, excited for the attention. Happy can remember the exact day when he got Stepper. Bought from a traveling merchant just like himself. Small enough to fit into his palm.

“A fucking turtle, what else he be?” The short guard prods his sword closer, point neck level with Happy now. He stares down the long glossy metal. It looks mostly unused. Happy understands. Pricks like the Royal Guards that wander the Kings Road, to keep peace, don’t usually have care to swing a sword. They can bully what they want out of people—and Happy is usually too lazy to argue, cuts his own coin purse and tosses it to them most of the time, without a backward look.

But the trail is so close.

“Stepper is a Great Tortoise. Not to be confused with the little tortoise. The ones you might be used to, yeah? The difference between Stepper and the small ones is not that he’s much bigger.” Happy sighs out, as if this is all some great inconvenience and not that he has a sword tip up to him and his animal companion. He lifts up a hand to wave at the tortoise, who raises his giant head in reply. The tall guard startles and takes a stumbling step back. “It’s that he can kill you.”

Steppers head shoots out fast, a blurring quickness. His great maw opens and then snaps shut around the tall guards head. There’s a distinctly wet crunching sound and then the body falls back to the ground with a loud thumping sound. His head does not follow.

Guard Two makes a brave attempt with his sword, screaming as it arcs through the air to catch Stepper on the neck. The thin metal snaps in two as it strikes the tortoise’s skin, the point of it flying and sticking into the soft dirt behind Happy, who’d stepped to the side as he saw it coming. The half broken sword makes a distinct twanging sound and then the guard is knocked to the ground by Stepper’s giant head.

“No! No!” The guard thrashes, screaming, scrambles—not enough. The Great Tortoise puts a great foot to the mans chest, and in one smooth and effortless motion, steps down. There’s the crunching sound of body breaking as well as the creak and groan of metal giving underneath the giant tortoise’s foot. Happy winces a bit as the blood soaks into the dirt road, dark and thick.

“Well,” Happy folds his arms back into his sleeves and looks to his companion. Stepper yawns once more, blood dripping from his pointed beak like mouth. “Suppose we’re in it now, Steps. No going back once you start killin’ the royalty.” Stepper slowly sinks back to the ground, belly flat, rumbling the Earth once more. Happy sighs, knowing he isn’t going to get any help moving the bodies to the forest.

—

The baby coos at Happy, his little fists waving in the air from the chair Tino’s fashioned for him. Something to keep him locked in, while he’s being fed. In the castle, Benji would have been spoiled rotten—held by a maid while another spoon fed him delicately. Now, he sits there with a plate of mixed foods that he smacks at happily, puts into his mouth messily as he smiles toothlessly up at Happy.

A bowl of soup and rice is handed to him then, by the young father. Happy takes it and immediately puts it to the side and then levels a look at Tino.

“Came here to talk to you,” he says in a mild voice. Not that the food didn’t smell amazing. The entire home did; alive with the cooking. The spices and the fire, and the closed in little space. The baby making excited sounds as Tino steps closer to wipe at the corners of his mouth.

“Not just to visit? Diondre, you know you can sit down. Enjoy a meal.”

“I know a witch,” he says instead, leaning against the table by the window. His eyes cut out to look at Stepper, who looks morose to not be involved. “With a babe just his age. Maybe a year younger or older, can’t really remember. She’s not exactly a nice witch, if you understand me.” He feels a chill sort of run up and down his spine, hairs lifting along his arms, like she can hear him. Wouldn’t doubt it if she could. He’d say it to her face, though, so the chill disappears as quickly as it had come on.

Tino stills, his shoulders tightening. Happy’s head tilts to the side, assessing as the younger man moves around the baby. Benji seems to sense the tension, his giant brown eyes going wide and watery. He looks fit to suddenly scream until Tino brushes a soothing hand over his curly hair. The baby has an absolute mop of it, black waves that stick up until Tino is brushing them down.

“Guards were on the road again.”

“Guards are always on the Kingsroad. It’s the Kingsroad.”

“And this,” Happy says, with a gesturing hand toward the placated baby. His little fist is wrapped tightly around one of Tino’s fingers, teething at the tip of it happily. He blinks at Happy, his eye lashes already thick and long. He looks nothing like his father. Not yet anyway. “Is the King’s son.”

The two men make eye contact then. Tino’s capable of a vastly darker look than one might assume him capable of. Nothing like the snide villains sneer on the parchment Happy had been shown. It’s not cruel, but it’s a cobra’s strike of warning. Benji makes happy, bubbling sounds. Happy sighs, takes the bowl from where he’d put it, assumes the soup is finally cooled down enough to eat. He won’t make this argument a third time; Tino will keep the baby, and Happy will keep selling along the Kingsroad to ensure that baby isn’t found.

Stepper breaks the tension by shoving his giant head through the window. Benji shrieks, but not in terror. He waves his hands in the air as the tortoise’s head comes closer. He yells in his babies babble and Stepper’s giant mouth opens, yawning large and wide.

The maw snaps shut on a bundle of herbs just above the mantle. Stepper chews contently, big eyes blinking as Benji continues his cherubic giggling.

Tino swings toward Happy with a delighted smile.

“You’ll be paying for the herbs then?”

Happy’s head rolls back on his neck, sighing out as he fishes for his coin purse.

—

Outside, Happy walks alongside the tortoise. The baby sleeps contently in the basket that Stepper carries inside his mouth. Tino watches from the door of the house, puffing away at the pipe. The smoke carries up into the air, disappears among the pink and purple clouds as the day slowly ends.

“I knew your father,” Happy says to the sleeping baby. Benji is swaddled tightly. He’d been fussing and crying, arguing against his sleep when Happy had scooped him up and placed him into the basket. It’ll help. Babies like the rocking motion, he’d explained as Stepper had taken up the handle without question. They lumber along now. Benji sleeps soundly, little face perfect.

“Well,” Happy continues, hands in his sleeves again. “Your real father, not that one. Know him too, for a bit now.” The edge of the forest greets them, so they make a turn to continue back toward the house. Tino has not moved, watches dutifully. “Not a big fan of the King, Benji.”

Stepper stops suddenly and sinks down onto his stomach lazily. Happy leans over to inspect the baby once more. Nothing but his face pokes out from the layers of blankets that keep him safe and warm. Happy crouches to look closer. He tries to find a shred of The King inside this face, but comes up empty. Not that he looks much like Tino either. Happy suspects, he’ll grow into a face that is uniquely his own.

“They’re going to come for you one day,” he murmurs. Stepper yawns out, puts his head beside the basket. Blinks his eyes closed. Happy sighs, looks up to the slowly darkening sky. Then he fishes within his red robe, pulls out the long necklace he’d stolen before he left. “This was your mothers. She was—well. The light in the halls of the castle, I’d say.” It’s not something a queen would wear, it’s simple, and of little value. It’s gold chain is old and the ornate gem at the end might not even be real.

Happy tucks it into the basket anyway.

#writing #hj #2023 #fantasy #dml #tl

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daddycephalopod · 4 months

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Stars Fading

Cody x Oc

Summary: A war erupts between the Jedi and Separatists, but you already know that story. This is the story of love blooming in a time of chaos, pain, and disorder.  What will become of our heroes? Who will win? Who will survive?

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49394683/chapters/124650316

Due to trigger warnings related to PTSD, blood, war, and the inclusion of other mature themes as well, I will be posting all of my Clone War Auxiliary fics under the cut as I move them over. I’m moving this one over first because I really hope @starstofillmydream can read it easier this way 💚 she’s been very helpful in the characterization of our beloved Commander. Each fic has a song or lyric for the title, this one is a cover of Dream a Little Dream of Me by Kina Grannis.

Chapter 1: Sunshine

There was a reverent beauty in the setting sun and all that it touched, the skies bursting with pinks and oranges. The peachy color illuminated the part of the hanger where Kyra usually worked on broken or damaged fighter ships. She usually had her black hair pulled back, splotches of ink or oil on her face and the GAR issued mechanic suit.

Always disheveled, always covered in a dark liquid to some varying degree, and yet a certain Commander always found his heart beating a little more loudly as he watched her work. She had no idea he was there, talking to another one of the techs. She was looking up, focused on a wing that took damage. Her googles were on, hair in a messy bun today.

He recognized the other tech to actually be the weapons expert, Isla. She smiled slightly at him, now trying to discreetly get Kyra’s attention but failing.

“I’m just glad it was Kenobi instead of Skywalker. Anakin treats my ships like they’re bantha fodder, made for explosion only. I’ve asked Rory to have a chat with him, I don’t think she does or he doesn’t care when she does.” She said, scanning the wing with the data pad to fully assess damages.

Isla opened her mouth but shut it when Kyra kept going. Cody looked a little amused now.

“I’m tired of these Jedi thinking our resources are expendable, easy to come by. The senate pays the bill for it, sure, but what of it when they don’t or won’t anymore?”

“Do you have something against the Jedi? I might be able to launch a more formal complaint.” Cody said

Kyra almost hit her head, pulling away from the wing now.

“Hello commander.”

Kyra was just a hair shorter than him, able to basically look him in the eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. She rested the googles around her neck now, beautiful brown eyes on him.

“I apologize if it sounds that way, about the Jedi. I’m fond of the generals, just frustrated. My people have a very intricate and annoying relationship with them too, it doesn’t help their case.” Kyra admitted with a sigh

“Where are you from?” Cody asked, genuinely curious.

“Mandalore.”

The answer was short and didn’t offer too much personal information but he had several follow up questions. Maybe this would be a good time to ask her to dinner, which is something he’s been wanting to do for a while. Before he could, Isla witnessed the darkening of his expression. It was like a storm passed through the man at seeing Kenobi approach and Kyra’s expression brighten.

“You’re officially my favorite general, you barely scratch up my work.” She said with a smile.

“I don’t particularly try to be mindful of that in the heat of battle but happy it works out that way. Is Cody bothering you?” He asked

“No, he could never. The man is like sunshine is plastoid.” Kyra said, not able to look at Cody as she said it.

Isla winked at Cody, “I’m gonna head back to work on some stuff and see Jesse. Are you going to 79s later?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you there.” Kyra said before beginning to work on the wing again.

“I’m inclined to agree, Cody is a wonderful asset to our team. As are you, you work very hard to keep us in the air.”

“Did Skywalker crash another one?” She asked, pulling some wires out of the wing as she spoke.

Those probably weren’t supposed to come out so easily.

“Yes. But I mean it, you’re a great asset to this team.”

Kyra blushed and waved him off, “thank you but really. Please. Yell at Skywalker.”

Kenobi smiled at that, “I’ll do my best.”

He left at that, it was just Cody and Kyra now. Did she have feelings for his general? Why did that sit funny with him?

“Will I find you among the other commanders and captains tonight, Cody?” She asked

“Maybe.” He answered, genuinely unsure.

He had so much to do in terms of paperwork and preparing for tomorrows meeting, but those beautiful brown eyes seemed to shine in the sunlight when they looked at him. They were an amber brown.

“I’ll look for you.” She said

That made his heart flutter but he chose to ignore it. She probably did like Kenobi, who wouldn’t? He had developed a slight crush on the man but it seemed to go away with time. Cody was pulled from his thoughts by Waxer, who was showing him a data pad to sign off on shinies.

Kyra had gone home after her work was done to wash up and change, going to 79s after. Isla was the only one there and she was preoccupied by Jesse so Kyra sat at the bar by herself. She was two whiskeys in when Cody approached her, sitting next to her at the bar now.

“Not going to go fight off potential bed warmers at the high command table?” She asked, probably a little too bold from the liquor.

Maybe Cody had misread what she meant when she said she would be looking for him but he wasn’t going to back down now, especially as Wolffe and Gregor gave him a thumbs up from their table. Kyra smiled a bit at that, maybe she should go easy on him.

“I’m only kidding, I know most of you have partners and aren’t like that. Although, sex is actually a great stress reliever.”

Too forward, too much. Someone kill her now. Kyra downed the rest of her whiskey and ordered two more.

“I think you’d like this stuff. If you don’t, hey. It’s a free drink.”

Cody took a sip of it, taking in the bitter somewhat smokey flavor of the liquor.

“It’s nice, thank you.” He said

“I’m not good with people. You put me in front of a broken ship or even building one, I’m spectacular but I can’t uh…I’m not the talker. I don’t talk to people well.” She admitted

“You don’t say.” Cody said, sarcasm laced heavily in his words.

Kyra blushed a bit at that, she wasn’t doing well with this at all. She opted for silence after and Cody hoped he didn’t offend her.

“I’m not much of a talker either.” He admitted.

“No?” She asked

He shook his head, “too much going on in my head. Sometimes I switch between Mando’a and basic without meaning to and one time, I accidentally insulted master Yoda. He was a Jedi about it but I still felt bad.” Cody sighed

“I insulted the Chancellor at a dinner once.” Kyra said, “to his face. It was an accident too. Kenobi really saved me from being arrested. Not that Thorn would have, not without me actually doing something illegal.”

“Have you ever been arrested?” He asked her.

Kyra faced him a little more now and he did the same to her, their knees bumping together going ignored by the two of them.

“I was held by the Corries for 1 night once. I accidentally stole a necklace but what happened was I was still kind of magnetic from an incident with one of the ships. Senators are dramatic and a necklace flew off of one of them onto me. Really, holding me was just a formality. I didn’t even go into a cell, I sat in Thorn’s office and played with Grizzer.”

“How did Fox let that slide?” He asked, taking another sip of whiskey.

“I’m friends with Kavra, she helped him take mercy on me. They should just shut up and date already. The world would be a happier place if people let go and let their feelings win sometimes.” She shrugged.

She was about to order another one, but Cody stopped her.

“Let’s get you some water and food first, okay? I know that hangovers during briefings are no fun.”

“Ah fuck, I have to sit in on that tomorrow?” She frowned

“Sorry.” He chuckled.

He ordered her water and something small to eat, Kyra watching him as he did so. He was in a black T-shirt and pants, no doubt the blacks from under their armor. He had various scars down his arms, but she noticed how toned his arms were and how long his fingers were. She shifted in her seat, clamping her thighs together.

“What?” He asked, noticing her watching.

She had to keep herself in check because it wasn’t polite to tell your sort of new friend you wanted them to choke you while railing you into next month. Kyra opted for a random fact that popped up in her mind, knowing it would divert the confused looking man from her semi-strange behavior.

“Some call you Commander Sunshine.” She said, smiling at him with teeth.

She had a small gap between her two front teeth and it lit up her whole face to smile. He felt his heart flip flop at that and couldn’t help his own smile.

“Why is that? I’ve been told I can be harsh on my men at times.”

Kyra vaguely gestured at him, as if that was answer enough and he laughed.

“Thank you for not clearing that up.” He said

“You’re welcome.” She smiled again.

After they both ate, continuing to talk, Kyra decided it was time to close her tab instead of keep drinking. The food seemed to sober her up a little bit and she knew a walk back in the cool air would help too. Cody insisted on walking her back to her apartment, it wasn’t far from here but he wasn’t going to take no for an answer on this. She was tipsy, he wasn’t going to leave her alone.

They walked in silence, enjoying the sounds around them as the cool air seemed to do the trick. It was a comfortable silence between the two of them and Kyra made a decision as they stopped outside of her apartment building.

“Did you want to come up for a cup of caf?”

Cody was a little startled by the question but said, “sure.” He followed her up, silently looking around the apartment while she went into the small kitchen. It was a little cluttered, lived in. Boots by the door, a jacket and scarf on a hook by the door. There was a couch with blankets draped in various spots and a data pad charging at a desk pressed against the wall in the corner. There was a small kitchen with barstools at an island instead of a table.

The counter top island had various jars and half drank cups of old caf on them. She had an easel set up too, tarp under it. A half painted bowl of fruit was on it, making him smile a bit. There was a small table in the middle of the room and another next to the couch, an end table. There was a helmet, beskar, but it seemed old. Worn, but not worn. The color of it a grey-blue mixture. Cody noticed there was a picture of a man with her by one of the lamps.

“I had a husband.” She said as she handed him the warm mug.

She was so quiet, he almost jumped out of his skin when she spoke. To sneak up on him was a feat many didn’t possess but he knew Kyra wasn’t going to harm him. Maybe.

“Had?” He asked

“He died. We had only been married for two years but it’s okay. It was an arrangement to bring our clans together, we were friends. Nothing more.”

“I’m still sorry.” He said

She nodded, “most people are.”

They both sipped their caf in silence. She sat on the couch and patted the spot next to her. Their legs touched again, silently enjoying the closeness but not admitting it.

“We should do this more.” She said suddenly.

“What?” He asked

“Hang out. Talk. Whatever this is.” She said, still not entirely sober but not entirely drunk either.

Cody brushed a strand of hair out of her face, the touch seeming to startle her. There was something slightly odd about the woman, anybody who spent more than 20 minutes with her could see it or sort of sense it. She seemed warm and kind, though, generally. The silences with her were comfortable, never tense or awkward. Eventually, Cody had fallen asleep on one side of the couch, Kyra falling asleep on the other. When she woke up, Cody was gone and it made her frown. She rather enjoyed his presence, she found, and it was sort of cold without him. She couldn’t explain it beyond that. There was a note taped to the fridge, the caf pot still warm to indicate he hadn’t left that long ago.

“Sorry if the caf is cold when you wake up, I didn’t want to bother you. See you at the meeting.”

Kriff. The meeting. She checked what time it was and saw she had an hour left to get ready and head over there. The caf would end up in a to-go mug after being microwaved due to waiting until after her shower. Her hair was down, air drying and she had on leggings and a tank top for now. She brought her data pad, just in case. She slid in next to Isla, maybe only 5 minutes late, and immediately felt a gaze on her.

Commander Cody, through his visor, staring right at her. She heard he hated tardiness and informalities, he was a proper commander after all. She smiled sheepishly at him before pulling up notes on her data pad. She paid very close attention, not noticing after a while that Cody seemed more interested in her than the meeting. You couldn’t really tell beyond the visor because it hid his face but Kenobi certainly noticed.

It was concern enough for the Jedi to pull Cody aside after the meeting, telling him he wished to speak to him in private. After everybody had filed out and it was only the two of them, Kenobi’s expression turned from friendly to very serious.

“I don’t know what your true relationship is with Kyra and it is not my business to pry in such matters, but you need to consider the relationship very carefully.” Kenobi said

Who was she that Obi-wan was warning him?

“We’re just friends, general. Nothing more.” Cody replied

“Even being her friend could lead to precarious situations. Her life is not as simple as it looks.”

How did Kenobi know all of that? Who or what was Kyra? The question seemed to entice him towards her more, sliding down to where she was working later in the day. She was with Aurora.

“So when is the wedding?” Kyra joked lightly.

“Shut up.” Aurora blushed

“Apologies, on interrupting.” Cody said as he approached.

“None needed, what brings you all the way down here?” Kyra asked

Ask her to dinner, for a drink. Kriff, she looked so beautiful in those leggings and tank top, her hair pulled up in a bun again out of her face. She had freckles across her nose and a few scars here and there down her arms and back.

“Cody?” She asked, tilting her head to the side slightly now.

He cleared his throat, “I need to speak with the General. I came looking for her.”

Why couldn’t he just ask this woman on a proper date? Cody was smooth, he could usually sweet talk his way into anybody’s bed but with Kyra he always found himself falling short.

“Well, I am done with her for now so I suppose you can borrow her. Only for a little while, commander.” She said, giving him that bright smile again.

“You should come to 79’s tonight.” He blurted out.

Yup. Smooth.

“Why is that?” She asked, looking amused still.

“You made a comment about the commanders and captains turning away bed warmers and I wanted to turn that jab into a bet.” He said

Something unreadable flashed through Kyra’s expression, there and gone in a second.

“Deal. I’ll be joining your table tonight then, warn the others.” She said

“Don’t you mean inform the others?” Aurora asked

“I didn’t stutter.” Kyra said before going back to working on repairs.

Maker, what had Cody gotten him and his vod into?

#star wars fanfiction #tcw fanfic #the clone auxiliary #mycomantic fics #ao3 writer #ao3 to tumblr

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day0walkersdrafts · 10 months

Text

“Halt!”

“Being short with me, merchant?” The first guard snarls, hand on his hilt.

“Looking for this man,” the short guard says, yanking out a piece of parchment. He holds it up for Happy to lazily inspect, head lolled to the side and angled down, because he’s much taller.

“Never seen ‘im,” Happy replies.

The guards stare at him, their eyes narrowed. Beads of sweat roll down their faces, because they’re in light armor. He stares back, nonplussed and unimpressed.

Instead, he gives a shake of his head and sighs.

“Already paid my taxes this year.”

“Not above killing a man’s beast to set him straight,” the tall, sweaty guard says in a snide and malicious voice.

But the trail is so close.

—

A bowl of soup and rice is handed to him then, by the young father. Happy takes it and immediately puts it to the side and then levels a look at Tino.

“Not just to visit? Diondre, you know you can sit down. Enjoy a meal.”

“Guards were on the road again.”

“Guards are always on the Kingsroad. It’s the Kingsroad.”

The maw snaps shut on a bundle of herbs just above the mantle. Stepper chews contently, big eyes blinking as Benji continues his cherubic giggling.

Tino swings toward Happy with a delighted smile.

“You’ll be paying for the herbs then?”

Happy’s head rolls back on his neck, sighing out as he fishes for his coin purse.

—

Happy tucks it into the basket anyway.

#happy #tino #benji #fantasy au

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disasterghaster · 1 year

Text

Oscar Meyer has a first name.

I don’t bother to use the bench press anymore. The ghaster matter can move whatever weight it pleases–any weight I please. It’s not made of muscle fiber, tendons, and bone. It’s made of will and whatever it manages–what ever I manage–to put together.

I try not to think about it.

Instead, I focus on other parts of me. The parts still made of meat. Curls and squats and lunges and whatever else I can pressure myself into doing before the whole matter seems overwhelming when I feel constantly empty.

I manage a full set of excercises today. Something of an achievement. Usually I miss one or two sets. Or all of them.

I make it this time, though. Closing out on the specially designed treadmill. I don’t go as fast as I can. I’m not qualifying for the supernatural track and sprint or anything. I’m merely confident that I’m good at a full sustained run of 110 for twenty minutes before I start to sweat too much. Breathing too hard, too. An improper dismount jars my knees when I hop off to the side and come to such a sudden stop.

I end up sititng on the ground as the muscles in my legs burn. Maybe I really pushed it just then. Or I haven’t been drinking enough water. I rub my thumbs and palms along hamstring and calfs until they’re intermittently barking about the strain I put them through and my lungs no longer burn.

I take my time standing up and getting a towerl off the rail of the mil and due a little swipe of my face and back of my neck. Since I’m in the privacy of my gym in the expanded basement, I give the girls a quick dry off under my A-shirt.

Towel goes into a hamper when I pass it on my way back up the stairs to the main level of the house. By then, the juice the work-out soaks my brain with during fades out. The world goes back to feeling slightly sideways. Like everything is one of those crooked photo frames that never seems quite straight or level with the rest of the wall. Every day feels like that anymore.

I ignore the bit of jello feeling in my legs as I travel up the next flight to the second floor. Getting to my bedroom and ajoining bath before long. Something in my neck and shoulders droops as I pass into the sanctity of that space. It’s quiet there. Black out curtains are a bit ajar so the room is brighter than usual, but that’s alright. Cool fresh air breezes in through the open window and makes it feel less like a self-imposed tomb.

I leave the bathroom door open and flick the light on in there. It’s harsh in comparison to the rest of the lightning I keep in the house. I don’t always use it, usually just go by a nightlight plug into the socket next to the mirror and sink. But I need the light today. I want to cut my hair.

I got caught up looking at my reflection instead. I’m reminded of days where metal chafes at my throat and my wrists. I was thin then, too. With piano wire muscles strung tight along bones. I didn’t have so many lines on my face back then. Or much hair. Inky fingers, off black and almost gray, scratch through the couple inches growth on much of my damp scalp until they wander higher into much longer and darker hair at the top. Pulling tie out and tossing it into nearby basket that held the others I used.

That hair is long and reaches an inch or two past my shoulders. Tying it all the time makes it crimped in some places. I know it’s wavey even if it weren’t. I notice there’s more streaks of white there than there used to be, too. I already knew about the thick banded streaks above my ears in the shorter hair. I think the color seeps into other places due to stress more than age. Could be age. I don’t know how long someone like me is supposed to live if they make it to a ripe age.

About then, I remember to pull off the eye-patch. It doesn’t hide a dulled eye. They're the same anymore. Same matter my hands are with dots of ambiently glowing purple. It’s a comfort to wear the patch. Like a reminder of who I am. It helps me mentally control how much I see or don’t see. The world is so many layers of information if I don’t. Much of the time, it’s too much. I don’t need to see every little creature peaking through the mirror or what type of rock the nickle backing was refined out of. Takes a few seconds to tune it back out without the patch helping my psyche retain a muscle memory for it.

I pick comb out of a seperate basket and take to working knots out to one side of my head. Then the other. Then back so I can tie it up neatly again. A thick bristled boar brush and a bit of water, and touch of comb, helps me seperate the long and the short with great accuracy.

Then it’s time for clippers. I debate a few comb length attachments before, as usual, I decide to do it with a naked blade. It would grow back. Would also leave a fine centimeter of fuzz until it did. After fetching a black plastic trash bag I use for just such an ocassion from under the sink and lay it over the sink, I set to work. The buzz of the clippers is medatitave after a few moments of hair falling onto the plastic under my head. The buzz is comforting in my hand and against scalp. I have to switch hands at times and can feel the vibration in my fingers still.

I work it around the sides and back quickly with a few reruns to make sure it ends up all the same length. Feeling with fingers to ensure what I couldn’t see.

The fine work of lining the sides and back of the longer patch take the most time. Don’t want to fuck it up. I have some practice, though. It doesn’t take too long.

When it’s done, I keep over the plastic filmed sink and take boar brush to it just to work out as much of the smaller clippings as I can. Off my scalp and shoulders and back of my neck. Satisfied, clean the blade and oil it, then return it under the sink. Clippings are wrapped up and put in the nearby bin. It’s a bit wasteful, but it makes it so I don’t have to clean the sink. I can sweep the floor later.

Off peels my shirt and the sweatpants. Those go flying out into my room for now.

On comes the hot water in my shower. I wisely sit out the first cold minutes on the closed, chilled, lip of the toilet. Head in hand.

All of these things are a practice of not thinking too hard as I watch the water patter on the shower wall in silence. A practice in functioning when it’s the last thing I want to do with myself. There is nothing else I can do. Semi-retirment allows me much more idle time than I allowed myself before.

Into the shower I go. Closing curtain and taking a spin under water to rinse off loose hairs before having a seat on shower stool with back to the water. The heat soothes out my back nicely. It’s a while before I pull over toothbrush and paste.

Taking a shower is a whole ordeal when I’m not in a rush. Starts with teeth.

Takes a tough and big brush to handle my teeth the further back you go. Doesn’t hurt to be resilient against the roughtness of my tongue, either. I realize, with some dismay, that I’m out of orange toothpaste. Might have to suffer mint if I can’t find another supply. Bleck.

I don’t know if it helps to do this, but I leave the suds in my mouth while I wash my face with vigour and some good cleansing face wash. I do this with everything that suds. Just leave it for a bit while I do the rest. Hair, next with shampoo and one of those scalp massagers. Same with the soap, I use a loofah to suds up from neck to toe. Just feels like it does more if it’s not on for two seconds and gone the next.

Rinsing is the same pattern as sudsing.

And, yes, before anyone asks, I get the bits. I like to do that last and seperate. Those parts require getting up and spreading things out, alright. It’s work. I save it for last.

At some point, I remember my tail. After everything else. Almost bleatedly. It’s attached to me. I don’t know why I forget sometimes. Bit of shampoo for that does the trick.

Then the water comes off and I let water dip off me for a bit. While I squeeze the fur on the tail out several times. The fur there is dense and likes to hold onto water. Drying it takes time. I imagine my head would too if I had more than that little bit of hair. Of which I still take a moment to squeeze and ring, too.

By then I can step out without dripping everywhere onto a bath mat. And grap towel to dry off with. Special attention, again, to hair and tail. Then privates. No one likes to smell funky there. Towel is hung up and I leave the bathroom with a small bottle of oil for my hair and a comb.

Deaftly working light bit of pleasent lavander smelling oil into my hair with fingers and comb before it has a chance to dry. Both are discarded onto dresser afterward.

Then I flip face first into my bed. Naked and slightly damp. Energy gone. I’ve done abosolutely all the self-care I can. I don’t care that my stomach is growling or my throat is dry despite all that time, and maybe even more so, due to the shower.

Thoughts threaten to filter in. I refuse their entry as I pull a pillow to myself and tuck it under my head, shifting onto my side where I can curl with it. It doesn’t stop a few tears burning across my nose onto the pillow. I can’t stop them as skillfully as I used to. They often come too fast and hard for me to stop. Out of the blue or over some sappy ending to a movie I wasn’t even closely paying attention to or just emotional comercials. It’s very stupid and very annoying.

I’m so tired. Always.

Even when I wake up after the sun’s no longer falling through the bedroom window. Mn. Time lost.

I sit up and rub crust off my eyelashes for a while. Coughing a few times as I make it up to my feet and over to the window. Closing the curtains. Not worried about getting peeped my neighbors so much as just wanting to be alone.

I left a half-finished bottle of water by the absurdly large beanbag under the same window that I now pick up and finish in a couple of chugs. A brief crush and tightning of cap compacts it one empty. Making it easy to pitch into trash can near the door.

I don’t feel any better. The water tasted stale.

Somehow, I still drag on some clothing. Cotton sleep pants and loose fitted gray t-shirt that said ‘show me your kitties’ with a gray tabby peering over a flat horizontal line on it. I feel a pang of guilt as I think of Tiggs. They were with someone else, I knew I couldn’t take care of Tiggs like they needed right now. Still, I missed them.

Finally, I leave my room and go downstairs to the kitchen. None of the floorboards creak. I don’t need physical strength to remember how to walk like a ghost. Or open a cabinent silently. I stare at the box of cheerio’s for a while. I know I am hungry. I feel a bit sick and my lower stomach hurts. But it doens’t look appealing. The memory of it on my tongue recalls like grit and sawdust.

My shoulders slump with a huffed sigh. Leaning forhead into the cabinent door’s edge that I still hold open.

Maybe I should hire a chef. Trick my brain into just eating things put in front of me. I weakly ponder this for a moment until it’s dashed away. I can’t trust anyone to feed me that isn’t explicitly trustworthy to me. Hire a chef? Sure. Let an assassin right in. Great idea. If they don’t filet your throat, they’ll slip some sort of poison into a chicken dinner.

The corners of my eyes prick with fustration. I just want to eat.

I close the door with more of a thud than I normally would and go to the firdge. My eyes immediately end their scan by lingeirng on the bottle of whiskey down low on the door. I take it out and set it on the counter, then look back into the firdge.

God, fuck. Everything has to be cooked in some way. Same for shit in the fridge. Even hotpockets got to go in a mircowave. Back to looking in the fridge. There’s a package of balogne and a bottle of ketchup.

I take both out and get a paper plate and a red solo cup. All get tucked into hands and arms including the whiskey bottle before I make the walk out the back door.

It’s dark out, but I can see fine in the enclosed and screened off back patio. I tick the light on anyway and sit at the table there. Nudge a couple of electronics out of the way to the otherside of the small table. A pile of sleeping things, that is. Tablet, phone, bluetooth keyboard, and a e-reader. Space is replaced with plate and accouterments in short order.

Oscar Meyer bologna gets peeled out of packet and red wax ring. Sorted out in a four-by-two formation on plate and then their centers get a squirt of ketchup. I leave that a moment to pour half a cup of whiskey. There’s a plan here. A bad one, but it’s a plan.

I roll up a slice of ketchup filled bologna and take a bite. It’s fucking disgusting in that way in which desperate and depressive food is–but ultimately tastey enough to get addicted to. It’s salty and a bit sweet. And, anyway, there’s whiskey to mask the taste with when I swish down a mouthful.

This pattern quickly leads me to being able to eat the following slices in peace. Being drunk takes away most of my taste and leaves just the salty and the sweet. Two things alcoholic brains love. It’s less of a slog then. I eat slower due to groginess is all.

I don’t stop until the package of quesitonably labeled deli meat is empty. It’s better than nothing.

By then I’ve had three half cups of alcohol and my face feels close to numb. I’m sweaty and too warm. Thankful for the chilly breeze that comes through the screens from the outside.

I’m struck with the dreaded curse of actual thoughts. Thankfully, the ones that make it are sloshy and breakup on rocks before they fully form.

Still, every so often, they linger. None of them are good. My next breath is deep, but it shudders due to my lungs having shifted down into very shallow breaths to then. I toss plate ontop of the pile of devices and lay my head down on the cool glass of the table top.

The thoughts keep looping back on a common thread and theme which forms one repeating coheasive concept; I’m not good enough.

It’s not always that sentance. Today it is.

I admit that it’s a frequent one. One that rides off the back of my lack of self-worth. One that points out that I can’t think right or talk right or love right or cry right or–well, there’s so many things. All the things that matter when every bit of your worth is tied into keeping people ‘safe’ and ‘happy’.

All I know is gaurding something that I imagine is black and ashy in my chest and lashing out in feeble attempts to protect other people.

Often, I admit while gulping down the fourth half a glass, missing the mark and lashing out at the same people that I love so deeply it hurts just to look at them

There’s other things. But it comes down to that. All roads lead to Rome.

Heh, so why can’t I get off them? I want to go somewhere else.

I don’t notice that eventually my vision blacks out along with my thoughts and my memories. I wouldn’t come to until late in the morning from the depth of my beanbag with an urgency to get to the bathroom for a good wake-up vomit.

No wonder I’m alone.

#ic #mobile )) (( work #drabble #(( beware typoes #not much for spellcheck here at work ))#(( been a long time since ive been able to crank something out like this so please lemme know if it's any good aaaaaaa ))

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creatorofuniverses · 2 years

Text

Gt July Day 19 – Same Size

Got my drabble done shockingly early today! This prompt just gave me such a clear cut idea, I knew exactly what I wanted to write. The context around this will probably happen later in the In Deep Waters story - a plot arc I haven’t written just yet - but this drabble should be readable enough on its own. ^^ Hope you like it!

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I was standing in a park.

I knew this park. It was a small one in my hometown, closer to where I’d gone to college than where I’d grown up. There was a modest retention pond, surrounded by scraggly grass, some benches, and an actually tasteful layout of reddish-sand colored rocks. There were even a handful of trees littered about for shade. It was a fair amount of green for the typical arid climate of New Mexico.

New Mexico. Wait, what was I doing in New Mexico?

I looked around, my movements a bit sluggish, as if my mind was lagging behind a bit. The park seemed normal enough, but I wasn’t sure there was much beyond it. The sky was a murky, uniform shade of glowing grey.

Of course. I was dreaming. A fairly vivid, lucid dream, but I’d been having those lately. Well, we’d been having those.

“Emy?”

I looked behind me and froze. Ewe stood there. She was dressed in her nightgown, barefooted, her fluffy black hair tousled and her dark eyes looking at me in bewilderment.

And she was shorter than I was.

She was downright adorable, actually, a little girl of nine, her face round and young. Her appearance was familiar in every way except for size. Normally she was big enough to pick me up in one hand. Now I could put her up on my shoulders if she wanted.

I couldn’t do anything but stare in shock as she hesitantly stepped towards me. She looked me over, all the way up to my face, before looking around at the park we were in. “Are we dreaming again?” she asked. I just nodded. “Where are we?”

“My home,” I answered, my voice sounding strange in the dream, or perhaps from the shock of us being the same size. Words came easier in dreams, however; I always dreamed in English, but I knew Ewe must dream in her own language. It didn’t seem to matter here. “Where I lived before the valley.”

Ewe’s eyes lit up. “With the other anatin!” she exclaimed in recognition. I smiled slightly. Ze’zien had pluralized my name as a way to refer to humans like me – the direct translation was “Little Ones” – and Ewe had caught onto it all too quickly. Ewe ran over, bare feet brushing through the grass, and put her hand against the trunk of a scrubby oak tree. She looked back at me with some confusion on her face. “I thought the anatin were little, like you.”

My smile turned somewhat dry. “Right now I think you’re little like me,” I answered.

She frowned slightly and looked up at the leaves on the oak. “But the trees are still… trees. Wouldn’t they seem really, really big to you?”

“Our trees are smaller,” I explained, as gently as I could. I was no scientist- I had no idea why the valley had giant people and giant trees and giant monsters that the rest of the world didn’t. I just knew that I’d never seen anything like Ewe’s valley outside of it. “Everything is smaller in the part of the world I came from.”

Ewe nodded, taking this in with all the seriousness a child her age could muster. “And the animals are different too, right?” she recalled.

“Yeah.” I looked towards the pond. “I used to come here and feed the ducks.”

As if summoned by my words, or perhaps my memories, there was a sudden quack. Ducks were in the pond, and in typical dream fashion they were suddenly there while feeling like they had always been there. Ewe’s mouth made a small ‘o’ shape before she broke out into a wide grin and all but flew down to the edge of the pond. I walked over at a slower pace, watching with no shortage of endearment as the ducks flocked to her, quacking happily amongst her delighted giggles. “They’re so round!” she announced in delight, crouching down at the edge of the pond. “They have feathers!”

“They do, yeah,” I agreed, unable to help but grin too. Her innocent enthusiasm was infectious. “I usually bring some lettuce to feed them.” I put a hand towards my back, out of habit more than expectation, and was surprised to find I had my backpack on me, just like any normal day of college. I looked down at myself, realizing for the first time that I was dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. I hadn’t seen myself in this kind of clothing for ages. Shrugging away the strange feeling that elicited, I swung my backpack around and unzipped it. Ewe watched all of this happen with open curiosity- which only grew as I pulled out a Ziploc bag full of lettuce and opened it. “Here,” I said, handing a couple of pieces to Ewe. It was still so surreal to be able to do that- she was like any other kid at this size. “They like being fed, and they’re not dangerous.”

“They’re cute!” she agreed. She took the lettuce and tentatively held out a piece, laughing in delight as a couple of the ducks snatched it in their beaks and gobbled it up. She was much less hesitant to feed some of the others with her next piece of lettuce. “I like these, um, d’ucks.” The word was obviously new on her tongue, but I was just impressed she remembered it. “They’re like the to’finel ch’kor at home.”

The world shifted around her last word.

We weren’t standing in the park anymore. We were at the shore of the lake, in the valley Ewe had been born and raised in, the sky still a uniform, glowing grey, the dark water stretching out beside us indefinitely. The ducks were now a cluster of to’finel ch’kor, which took the kelp Ewe was holding out of her hands with waving tentacles. She was dressed in furs now, and so was I; but we were still the same size.

I was the same size as the giants. It was disconcerting- even out here in the open, things looked somehow more normal and altogether stranger at the same time. The beach, which I knew was covered in rocks and boulders, seemed like a small pebble beach. The trees were tall but not enormous, just as tall as the trees in any old growth forest near the Pacific. I could probably wrap my arms all the way around some of their trunks, rather than being outsized by some of their leaves. The houses closest to the shore looked like normal houses rather than achingly huge buildings. A boat bobbed on the water nearby, big enough for two people maybe, though I had seen it before. It could fit a hundred human beings in it.

Ewe had noticed my size as well, though with seemingly much less disorientation. The benefit of being a kid, I supposed; she was always quicker to bounce back from things than I was. “Now you get to be my size!” she realized with some delight. “You’re as tall as a grown up!”

“I am a grown up,” I reminded her.

She just nodded, springing to her feet and coming to join me where I stood. “This dream is weird,” she decided. Understatement of the century right there. “But fun too. We should go see the village while you’re tall!”

Honestly, I’d heard of worse ideas. Shrugging lightly, I said, “Sure. Lead the way.” She beamed at me and ran over towards the wooden stairs leading up to the village. I followed, mostly amazed that I could keep up just by walking at a normal pace. Usually a single step of hers would have left me in the dust, but now… now I could see her for exactly what she was. Ewe was a young child, the baby of the village really (until I’d inadvertently stolen that title), and now that I was her size her enthusiasm felt normal and healthy rather than overwhelming. She was just a kid. It wasn’t like I’d ever forgotten that fact, but it was different when I was seeing her home from her own perspective.

When I first arrived in the valley, the village had reminded me of the small Alaskan towns I’d seen just prior to my catastrophic plummet into weirdness. Now, with everything at a way more functional size compared to me (or vice versa), that resemblance was even more striking. The fog, the trees, the red and black painted patterns on the houses, the staircases winding their ways up into the foothills of misty, forested mountains- all of it looked so much more normal when I could walk through it at the size it was meant for. I recognized familiar buildings as we passed and couldn’t help but stare, my memories of them clashing with the way they looked to me now.

Ewe led me up one of the staircases to probably the most familiar building in town. She hauled open the front door and I reached out a hand to help her, marveling that I could. I knew the door was heavy, way too heavy, an outright slab of solid timber; but I propped it open with a hand while she slipped inside, and followed her without so much as a sore shoulder from the action.

Then we were home.

Her home, and mine too, now that I was stuck in the valley for an indeterminate length of time. The fire was going in the hearth, warming the well-worn rug and comfortable cushioned bench in front of it. I could see into the kitchen, where a table with three chairs stood to one side. It looked all too small to me now, an efficient use of what little space they had in this windowless cabin, rather than the stretch of wood and space it had always seemed before. There was a doorway to our right, leading to her parents’ room, and a doorway to our left, leading to our room.

The room we were asleep in right now, actually, which was an extremely weird thought to have. I wandered over to the open doorway and stared at the empty bed, imagining the two of us in it- Ewe curled up on her side, a small kid in a bundle of blankets. Me, even tinier, probably held against her like a teddy bear. The knowledge of that truth clashed with the visual I had right now, standing in the doorway at the same height as any other villager.

A small, warm hand slipped into mine. I looked down to see Ewe holding my hand, her dark eyes staring into her bedroom with uncharacteristic focus. She looked thoughtful, as if the same ideas were plaguing her too. “Emy,” she said, her voice quiet, small. “I was happy when I thought you were my younger sibling.” She looked up at me, the action still so unusual for both of us, and added, “But I’m happy that you’re my older sibling, too.”

Emotion swelled inside me, and my throat suddenly felt a little tight. “Thanks, Ewe,” I said. I gripped her hand a little tighter, committing the feeling to memory. “I’m happy to be your older sibling.”

The dream faded soon after that, but I remembered it long after I woke up. We both did.

#my writing #in deep waters #gtjuly #gtjuly2022

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delcakoo · 2 years

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hey my little koobear

hyd m’love

I had a sucky day today

I went to the hair salon! To get my hair cut yknow fab lush locks or wtvr

And while I was showing the photo, my mom said for me to do layers. I said no at first but knew she would never give it a rest and tell me painful things that stab right through me, but she never stops or listens. So I just said yes.

I didn’t think much of it. The hair dresser would do what I wanted, right?

But he completely fucked it up. My hair was and still is so poofy and tangly. It’s so fucking short. He cut way more than I fucking asked. Didn’t give me the face framing curtain bangs I wanted. Cut them to my Cupid bows length. Not the slightly below jawline like I wanted. Cut the rest of my hair to my shoulders, not half an inch trim of my already stylish and good layers. But stupid anxious socially awkward me couldn’t spit out the words I wanted, I couldn’t say “stop, don’t cut that much!” Or “don’t cut it so short.” I had to choke back my tears and bite my tongue every time that stupid guy cut it off. My mom kept asking me if I was ok. I had to say yes! This isn’t a fucking therapy session where I spew out everything I push down. He says it’s like the picture, but it’s so fucking not. It’s so stupidly drastic and it’s so short compared to hers. It looks like Jihyo’s short hair from their last world tour, it looks great on her but I fucking hate it on me. I wish I could reverse time and tell my mom no and tell my hairdresser no but I just can’t and I hate it so fucking much

I hate my hair so fucking much, koo.

I wanna rip out my hair so bad. I’ve had 3 meltdowns bc I can’t bear to look at my stupid hair in that stupid mirror one more stupid second and god my self esteem kicked down so low.

He cut it so short. I hate short hair on me, ema. It makes me look so childish.

Anyways, how was your day m’dear?

hey kuma poo <3, i thought you were in india and wouldn’t be able to text for a month? :0 was vv surprised to see a message from you!

oh my gosh, that’s just awful wtf..? i totally get what you mean, speaking up can be really difficult and i’m so sorry to hear this.. that stupid hairdresser should be fired bruh :/ i’ve had one like that too they’re literally delulu.. they fr go “it’s just like the picture” then it literally looks like a whole different length and style.. jfc

love, i know it’s really frustrating but remember hair will grow back quickly okay? i know how you feel, i’ve had one or two.. interesting haircuts to say the least as well but now i look back on it and don’t care at all. perhaps you could find some cute shorter hairstyles if possible? maybe find ways to style it a bit better or get some new hats or accessories? and also, i think you can purchase shampoos that will make your hair grow faster!! either way though, i just know you look stunning okay? stay strong :( ilysm and im sorry to hear this again <3

#delcakoo #kuma <3 #gosh im gonna kill that stupid ass hairdresser for you #:(((

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floweroflaurelin · 2 years

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I am asking very nicely for you to PLEASE talk about all the tiny details of your art i LIVE for that shit.

Yes yes yes!!! Okay this is gonna be LONG. We’re just talking about my portraits for this one but I’m gonna talk a lot, so most of this will be under the cut. In this essay I will be going over what goes through my head when coming up with facial features for different personalities and why I did what I did for each!

Let’s start with fWhip and Gem. Both of these characters are smart as hell, but I think of them as being high INT but low WIS. They’re maybe not the most personable—fWhip makes enemies pretty easily, and Gem doesn’t need to be nice when she knows she’s right. The challenge with these two is: how do I make that clear while I show their different, distinct personalities while also making them look like twins, even to people who don’t know them?

They’re fraternal twins so I wanted them to have different eyes, different nose shapes, different mouths, different chins and jawlines, but while still looking the same.

Fun fact, Gem was the only one who didn’t have an initial pencil sketch. Here’s why:

^ I wanted them to have the same base, so here’s how hers started! I painted directly on top of Count fWhip and changed the features to reflect Gem’s traits instead of his.

So, what traits do their portraits show? The weight on fWhip’s face draws his features downward, but the tightness in Gem’s face draws her features upward. His brow is furrowed lower while Gem’s is slightly raised, and the, like, meatiest part (?) of his cheeks hang lower while Gem’s cheeks sit up higher. fWhip has a hint of a downturned smirk while her lips are quirked up, looking more smug. This is because fWhip is surrounded by ores from the deepest part of the earth while Gem lives high up in a tower! As well, fWhip’s eyes are sunken deeper into his skull with slight marks around the eye sockets as a result of wearing his goggles tight against his skin; Gem has wrinkles around her eyes as a result from squinting while she pores over books in her studies.

You can’t see it here but I interpret Gem’s braid to really go down to her knees like on her mc skin, and when loose it falls into really long, loose ringlets. fWhip has the same hair texture but it’s way curlier since he keeps it shorter. I took a lot of inspiration from @pontsalin’s fWhip design for the hair!

Going back to my notes about them being high INT but low WIS, I played around with the proportions of their faces relative to the overall silhouettes of their heads. Gem and fWhip both have their facial features take up the least amount of space compared to the rest of their skulls—fWhip’s silhouette is mostly hair, and Gem is mostly hat. Their faces are overall less important than everything else because they’re not focused on making friends so much as they are being clever and using their brains (implied to be large because their head silhouettes are very big). As well, neither of them have very bright highlights in their eyes, and their gazes are more calculating than warm or friendly.

—

Up next, Scott versus Shrub. These are the only two characters looking at the camera fully head-on, but for very different reasons. Both of them also have their facial features take up a LOT of room on their skulls, because in their cases I’m thinking about the face they put on to show the others.

So first of all, Scott is looking down at us while Shrub is looking up. Sure, Scott is tall while Shrub is short—but Lizzie is the tallest and we look at her normally. No, this is about power. Specifically the fact that, whether he wants to or not, Scott has a lot of it—and Shrub has very little.

Scott is the mortal Champion of a god and was tasked with defeating his own brother, a demon bent on destroying him and everything he loves, and grappling with supernatural powers he can barely control. Dude’s been through a lot!! He didn’t ask for any of what he ended up with, all he can do is deal and try to lead as best he can given the circumstances. He’s drawn up to his full height, looking down at us with a cold expression of neutral, careful control. His eyes have no highlights in them at all—his eyelids catch the light, but his irises are in complete shadow. His head sans accessories takes up the most space on the canvas of anyone. His hair is perfect, his clothes are crisp. It’s a carefully curated facade.

Shrub is similar in that her life was turned upside down by Xornoth, but in a different way. Her story is all about loss and grief. She has no family, no home, no people, no kingdom. She’s looking straight on at the camera but from below, a position of vulnerability and loneliness. Her eyes have the most highlights in them of any character—almost as though she’s holding back tears. Her face doesn’t have uncanny elven symmetry; while Scott’s hair is perfectly kept to show his need for control, Shrub’s is messy with hair escaping her braid and curling around her head. Her head, minus the mushroom hat, is the smallest of anyone’s, and the lowest down on the page. Her mushroom hat contrasts nicely with Scott’s perfect geometric circlet: it’s asymmetrical, it fits a bit wonky, it’s an organic shape, and it looks like it belongs in the Undergrove.

Overall, these two both get to face forward because of their particular relationship to Xornoth. Scott had to step up and become a leader in an unexpected way, forced into it by circumstance and received a portrait displaying a cold, distant expression and tidy appearance; Shrub lost everything and was driven to madness, so her portrait has an expression of pain and vulnerability.

—

The Seablings!

Don’t worry, it’s more lighthearted from here on out 😜

Since the Seablings aren’t twins I made them look much more different from each other—the main similarity is that that they both have scales (duh) and really dramatic bone structure. Note the shape that the rim light makes as it catches the sides of their faces, sinking in so deeply in the eyesocket and clinging so tightly to the skull, only protruding again for the muscles of the mouth and chin.

When it came to Lizzie my focus was on the textures as opposed to the expression. Her features are well-proportioned and her expression is kind, but more important to me were the scales—I know axolotls don’t have them, but I wanted a really distinct mermaid princess vibe for her. Since scales are shiner than white human skin, hers reflect the colours around her while being the purpley-blue of the Blue Axolotl. That’s why in the highlights they take on the pink of her hair and the brighter blue of the background. I’m also really happy with the way her ear fin came out, with that semi-transparent stretched texture.

Lizzie’s tiara is made of pearl, just like the accents on the banner I designed for the Ocean Empire.

When it comes to Jimmy, his skin tone is unique among the rulers for being the coldest in hue—he has green accents in his cheeks and nose! I imagine that his scales are sort of a weird slimy film over his human skin. As well, his ear fins are far more opaque than Lizzie’s, much more like the webbing between human fingers (but green instead of reddish!). I also made his lips protrude a bit in a fishy sort of way.

Notably, Jimmy is the only person who’s genuinely smiling in their portrait. I had in mind that everyone would be taking it really seriously, trying to project the vibe they want their Empire to have, while Jim is just happy to be there. He also has some of the most high-contrast highlights in his eyes because he’s one of the friendliest emperors there are!

Jimmy is also the ruler that looks the most like the real life CC. I swear I didn’t reference his irl face when making this—I think it’s a combination of Jimmy having a face cam in his videos so I’m really familiar with his face in my mind, and also those are just his vibes.

—

The Copper King! He’s the other CC whose face I’m pretty familiar with, but I deliberately didn’t make his face anything like irl Pixlriffs’ because I had specific ideas in mind for him. I’ve mentioned most of this previously but I’ll include it here with the new stuff :)

As mentioned in a previous ask, in order to get him to read instantly as “wise and spiritual desert man” I borrowed a few traits from Prince of Egypt’s Moses: the hair length and the way the beard is shaped around the jaw. He also has the deepest tan of anyone besides Joey, since they both live in really hot climates.

Pix also has kohl around his eyes because a) he lives in a desert and b) I love eyeliner on men. The kohl in this case is painted on in such a way to draw your attention on the corners of his eyes, appearing to weight them downward. As keeper of the Vigil, Pix has seen a lot of death, and so I wanted to show the weight of that in his eyes—Pixlriffs gets significant highlights both in the eye and on the lower lid, drawing you in. As well, there is no pupil visible. The deep blue of his eyes just keeps going and going, mysterious and endless…

But!! And this is important! The Copper King isn’t weighed down by sorrow and grief. In fact, he’s a really chill guy most of the time! He loves practical jokes and playing pranks—he’s wise and playful. Like an airbender. It would be so easy to have his whole face weighted downwards like his eyes and eyebrows but instead we catch it at the mouth. There’s a youthful upturn there like he’s about to smile.

The Copper King’s crown is something I designed ages ago, and it does have floating parts! The shape of the front of it is inspired by the distinct patterns in Pixandrian architecture, with the floating hemisphere representing the conduit powering the Vigil.

He also has earrings now, something I hadn’t put in my initial Copper King design, and a more… plunging neckline. These are both there because, uh, for reasons. *ahem* Have I mentioned I’m bi?

—

Speaking of, Pearl’s up next! Good segue right there.

I honestly think Pearl’s Empires skin is the most beautiful of them all. As mentioned, her expression is one of kindness and tiredness after a day of working out in the sun. She’s covered in freckles and her hair is sun-bleached, and she’s got a shiny red sunburn across her face and shoulders from all her time spent outdoors. She also has broad, muscular shoulders from hard work and her martial training. Her lips have a natural upturn so she looks like she’s smiling even when her expression is neutral, and her eyes are bright. The moon necklace is self explanatory ☺️🌙

—

The next three are the ones whose videos I’ve watched the least of, so their portraits are mostly based on vibes.

First up, Joey and Katherine!

Joey gets to be sharp, sharp everything. Sharp cheekbones, sharp eyebrows, sharp jawline, sharp eyeliner. His skin is flawless because he has a 14-step routine he does twice a day and he never really stopped being evil-adjacent so his chin is up and he’s looking down on us. He really knows his angles to look as fabulously intimidating as possible.

Katherine, on the other hand, is more round! She gets a heart-shaped face because she is full of love. She just wants everyone to be friends and for there to be peace! And she collects severed heads! Wholesome and little bit crazy, she gets to have big, bright, friendly, round eyes that are perfect for inviting you over for a sleepover. She’s got a dainty little nose and thin fairy ears and perfect glossy hair that is always scented like floral shampoo.

Then comes Sausage! Now, Sausage is A Lot. He talks fast and he says a LOT and he’s got a big personality and there’s always a lot going on!!! But my portrait is much more subdued—his head is tilted down, he looks tired.

Well, when it comes to showing How Much Sausage Is I wanted to show this through his features rather than his expression. He’s got a broad forehead, a large jaw, huge eyebrows, big ears, a wide mouth, and (though you can’t see it here) huge hands. I wanted to focus his expression on how much he’s gone through, in a rugged and world-weary kind of way. He practices blood magic, he’s been possessed, he’s been imprisoned, he had part of his soul locked away, he’s covered in scars…

Sausage’s complexion is ruddy and his skin is pulled taut over his features. I left the most brushstrokes in his face to show the roughness there. He has dramatic bags under his eyes, which are downturned, and he’s barely got any highlights in his eyes. You can’t really see his pupils, either—his mouth is smiling but his eyes are heavy and closed off. Like Shrub I wanted to show how he’s suffered through his eyes, and in this case it’s the exact opposite approach to the highlights.

—

And finally, Joel Smallishbeans! I watch Joel a lot but his portrait is the easiest to explain so I saved his for last.

Joel is smirking because he’s a smug bastard (affectionate) and he has a wide face, cleft chin and small ears because his pfp used to be Shrek ❤️

Literally, that’s it.

—

So yeah!! I spent about two hours on each portrait but only about 5-10 minutes on the initial sketch for each, which is when I would’ve thought about all this stuff. I’m thinking that later this week I’m going to try and put out a post showing the process of how I go about creating a portrait from the sketch to final with all this stuff in mind!

I know this was a ton to read through but if you’ve got any questions about this sort of thing I’d love to hear em :3 Thanks so much for handing me an opportunity to talk about all this stuff!!

#empires smp #empiresblr #empires meta #tutorial #empires smp fanart #this is LENGTHY but I had fun writing it!#i love love love talking about this stuff #gardenergulfie #ask

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metalbuckaroo · 3 years

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Hey, lovely! For your sleepover. How about...

“I desperately want to take you out for dinner and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me.”

Please feel free to ignore if you received this. 💖

Checking In

Summary// A hotel getaway with Bucky's favorite receptionist

Warnings// Lil angsty, some fluff, some smut, cursing, tiny mention of drinking, 18 plus only, minors dni

Note// I kinda love this request. I didn't use the quote, but its based off of the quote, this also got LONG and took sooo long.

My new masterlist and taglist will hopefully be done tomorrow night.

Im really hoping it doesn't flop bc I'm lowkey proud of it and also spent a lot of time on it

MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @commonintrest

This was the slowest Bucky had went with someone in a very long time. Three dates in and he hadn't even had the chance to see you naked. It was driving him crazy to say the least.

Anyone else wouldn't have gotten a call back, but for you; it made him want it even more. So, he came up with an idea to take that extra step.

Walking into the hotel you worked at, he gave a nod to the security guard and flashed you a charming smile; his hair much shorter than when you saw him last. "Like the haircut." You said, turning in the chair to look at him. "Feels more... professional."

"Checking in again?" You asked, leaning your chin on the base of your palm, reaching your other hand to card your fingers through the short hair.

Bucky shook his head and leaned his forearms on the desktop. "No. We are checking in somewhere else. Tonight, when you're off."

His eyes trailed down to the top of your blouse, looking at the few buttons that where open. "Buck, I'm not staying in a hotel with you." You smiled, shaking your head. "Come on, I'll sleep on the couch if you're too uncomfortable." He smirked.

You thought it over for a moment before sighing and nodding your head. "Yeah, ok." You agreed, letting him pull you in for a brief kiss by the back of your neck. "Fantastic. I'll be here at five to get you."

"I'll have to go get cl-" Bucky shook his head at you. "Won't need 'em." He said, turning to walk out. "Bucky, don't you dare."

"See ya tonight, pretty girl."

As promised, five o'clock hit and Bucky was pulling in front of the doors in his sleek black car; quickly getting out.

His usual suit was traded in for a more casual button up tee and dark jeans, the prosthetic that matched the shape of his right arm perfectly on display.

He rounded the desk and picked up your bag. "You can't be back here." You teased, making him roll his eyes. "Come along, babydoll. We have plans." He said, hand between your shoulder blades to guide you with him.

Bucky's plan would surely get that extra step at least jumpstarted. The heated make out sessions in his car when he dropped you off were starting to get to him.

He refused to call anyone else to handle the tightening of his jeans, the wait made him yearn for you even more.

So, he patiently waited as you changed into the lavender sundress he'd sent for, listened and talked over dinner on the patio of the motel, and just basked in your enjoyable presence.

"Dance with me." You said, hand laying on his bicep. He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "I don't dance, sugar."

You raised your eyebrows and cocked your head to the side, fingers tracing down the vein that ran the length of his arm and to his hand. "Well, you're going to, or you'll be sleeping in that room alone." You laced your fingers in his and he looked at you with an amused expression. "Oh, really now?"

"Mhm, c'mon. It's a slow one, so you won't embarass yourself." You teased, feeling his hands on your hips as soon as you turned your back to him. "I never said I couldn't dance. Just that I don't, babydoll." His gruff voice said in your ear, moving to stand in front of you once in the midst of the other couples enjoying their night.

"Couldn't say no to you if I tried anyways." He said softly as your hands rested on the back of his neck, his on the dip of your waist.

The Bucky who took you on dates was different than the Bucky who strolled in your lobby at least once every two weeks. He wasn't glowering when he looked at you; instead he had a smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle and your heart flutter.

He hadn't smiled so hard and so much in years. He was addicted. To your voice, fiery attitude, and gleaming smile; and he couldn't even imagine how much more he'd crave once he finally got a taste of you.

"Gonna let me sleep in the bed, pretty girl?" He cooed, hands roaming over the swell of your ass. "Of course, Mr Barnes." You grinned, pecking a kiss to his dimpled chin. "Could dance with you all night if you wanted me to." He said, squeezing gently. "I wouldn't complain."

His lips slotted over yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness of them.

He suddenly lifted his head, bottom lip brushing the tip of your nose as you opened your eyes again.

Bucky's cold demeanor he usually had while walking through the lobby of the hotel returned, smile fading into a deep scowl as he looked at something behind you.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, worry lacing your voice as you cupped his stubbled jaw in your hands, feeling the muscle of it flex. "Just stay close." He murmured, pulling you closer to his front.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, lips parting to say something, but the stern look in his eyes stopping you as they stayed glued on whatever was behind you.

"Barnes, didn't expect to see you here- like this." A voice that was slightly higher in pitch than Bucky's sounded from behind you.

Bucky tucked you into his side, hand on the small of your back as he stared at the shorter man. "Just enjoying my night. That a problem?"

You swallowed thickly and gripped onto the back of Bucky's shirt, crumbling the perfectly ironed fabric in your fist as your heart pounded. "Needa talk." The man said.

Bucky's eyes flicked to a group of men sitting at the corner of the patio before looking back to the man in from of him. "Go sit down. Order us some more drinks." Bucky said sternly. "Bucky-"

He finally looked down at you with an icy stare, making you shrink back slightly. "Now isn't the time to argue with me. Go sit down." The tone of his voice was one you hadn't heard before.

You nodded and turned to walk back to the table, picking at your nails as you took your seat again.

Looking to where Bucky was sat at the table with the group, you chewed your bottom lip. You knew what you were getting into when accepting that first date, you just didn't think it'd follow you everywhere.

He tried to stay patient, he was in rival territory and knew it was a terrible idea; but this was one of the nice hotels and he wanted the weekend spent right. Keeping his cool was the only way he was going to be able to do that.

He was barely even listening to half of what the men were saying, glancing over at your nervous posture as you picked the nails he had just paid to get manicured; even though you protested against taking his money.

Until one statement had his head snapping back towards one of them. "The girl seems... sweet. Make you happy?" It wasn't meant in a way a friend would ask when checking up on another friend. Bucky felt it burn through him like a threat.

"Yeah, well, she's got a mouth on her and I'm losing my patience. So, you men have a good night, you owe my girl an apology for ruining her night." He stood, teeth gritting together.

You noticed Bucky's tense stance and straightened in your seat as he got closer. "Rude bastards." Bucky grumbled, taking your hand in his and tugging for you to stand. "What did they want?"

Bucky thought about lying, but he promised you he wouldn't. "Talk business. Can't believe they'd interrupt me over stupid bullshit." He sneered, pulling you along with him back into the hotel. "Where are we going? They're going to bill you for those drinks." You huffed, picking up your pace to walk next to him. "Don't care."

By the time the two of you reached the door to your room, Bucky had you pressed against it; fumbling to swipe the key card as his lips attacked yours.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt to keep your balance as shoes were kicked off, Bucky backing you towards the bed with his large hands holding the sides of your face.

You fell back onto the bed when the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, taking him with you; Bucky's body parting your legs.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, sharing breaths as his hands gripped at your outer thighs and pawed their way under the skirt of your dress.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless as he dipped his head to latch his lips on the underside of your jaw. "Bucky, wait-" You panted, pressing his shoulders lightly. "What?" He breathed, stopping all movements as he looked at you; eyes dark and lips kiss swollen. "I-"

"You're a virgin. We can wait, if so." He cut you off, face dropping slightly. "No, no. It's not that. I just haven't had sex in awhile." You said, gnawing at your tongue. "Want me to go slower?"

"I just don't want to take things too fast." You whispered, tracing the collar of his shirt with your fingertips.

Bucky took a deep inhale, warm hand moving to hold your chin. "Babygirl, listen. I'm not going to kick you out of my bed when we're done. You got me attached with this damn chase you gave me. Wanna take care of you. Okay?"

You nodded and pulled him back down to you, his tongue slipping between your lips as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt.

Gently pushing them away, you replaced his hands with yours to pop the buttons open as his tongue glided across every inch of your mouth he could reach.

You lifted your back off of the mattress for his hand to feel for the zipper of your dress, grazing your fingers down the tensing muscles of his chest and abdomen; stopping at the button of his jeans.

"Don't get shy now, take 'em off." Bucky mumbled against your lips, sliding the straps of your dress off of your shoulders.

The wetness between your legs grew as your tugged at his belt, whimpering into his mouth when he pressed his hips against you to show how hard he was.

Pulling away, Bucky sat up to tug your dress down your torso and legs; eyes drinking in the beautiful sight in front of him as he shoved his jeans off and palmed himself through his boxers.

"Take the shirt off." You panted, backing up the bed. A smirk grew on his face, metal thumb sliding back and forth in the waistband of his boxers as he looked at your glistening folds. "Ask nicely and I just might." He taunted. "Please."

You watched the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the shirt sliding off of his arms and to the floor; revealing the mess of scars Bucky hoped you'd ignore and a large tattoo on his ribcage.

Next were his boxer briefs, pooling at his feet as his cock twitched in the air; swollen tip red and leaking precum. "You're staring, babydoll." He said, voice low as he moved his body back over yours.

"Can't help it." You swallowed, the weight of his cock against your thigh as you felt the firmness of his back. His hand slipped between your bodies to guide himself to your heat, spreading your slick with his tip.

"So wet, barely even touched you yet." You whined at his words and gripped his shoulders. "Buck, please. Stop the teasing."

The smirk on his face grew before he brushed his lips against yours. "Hm, I don't know. Kept me waitin' so long, might just tease you a little more." He hummed. You bucked your hips against him, his tip barely pressing into you. "Fuck..." Bucky said in a low groan, a shudder passing through his body.

He made sure you felt every ridge and vein, pulling breathy sounds from you when he pushed deeper. Your walls so tight and warm around him, he already had to hold off his release.

"Look at me, sweet girl." He breathed, nipping at your bottom lip and rolling his hips into yours.

When you opened your eyes, the adoring look in Bucky's made your breath hitch. Hands wedging under your back as he sat up, holding you to him so you were sitting on his thick thighs.

"So beautiful." He groaned as his hands glided over the curve of your back to your ass, metal and flesh fingers digging into the skin.

Guiding your hips in a faster pace, he could feel you clenching around him, swallowing the blissed out sounds you made with a breath taking kiss as his grip on you tightened.

The soft ow that passed your lips made Bucky loosen his grip and move you in a slower pace. "Need me to slow down?" He panted, pulling away from you slightly.

You frantically shook your head, hands clinging to his shoulders; needing to feel his skin against yours. "No-no. Don't stop, please, keep going." You whined, bucking your hips along with him.

In a swift movement, your back was pressed back into the mattress. Your fingers laced with Bucky's as he pinned your hands at the sides of your head, his hips meeting yours in a faster, rougher pace that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your head spin; his cock sliding against every sweet spot, some that you didn't even know existed.

Salacious sounds from both of you echoed around the room, your eyes fluttering shut again and body arching into him so your front was flush to his as the coil snapped.

"There you go, baby. Feel so good, so worth the wait." Bucky moaned out, chasing his own release with shorter thrusts.

A whimper of his name falling from your sweet lips sent him over the edge, his hips flush to yours as he spilled into you with a guttural moan.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, riding the blissful feeling for all that it was as he looked over your blissed out face.

It was the moment your eyes peaked out, staring back into his lust darkened ones that Bucky knew. You were the one thing he needed to protect. To hold close and never let go.

A tender kiss was placed on your lips, a satisfied hum leaving Bucky as he slipped from between your legs to lay beside you.

You slowly moved off of the bed to grab a shirt and go to clean up, legs feeling wobbly with each step to and from the bathroom.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed when you walked back into the adjoined room, legs still a little jelly feeling as you made you way back to him.

He laughed, an actual belly laugh that made your heart swell as he pulled you between his parted thighs. "I have some... unexpected business to take care of in the morning."

You nodded lightly and sat your hands on his shoulders. "I want you to stay in this room and keep the door locked. When I come back, we'll do something." He promised, gently massaging your sides. "Something, huh?"

A squeak escaped your throat when you were pinned back underneath Bucky, his hips pressing into you. "Oh, don't you get me started. I'll keep you up all night."

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes smut #mafia!au #mafia!bucky smut #mafia!bucky #mob!bucky #mob!bucky smut

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sunfish-studies · 3 years

Text

Acceptance

✄・・・ Feathery Ink [Karasuno Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Karasuno x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: none

➜ Notes: This is a separate series from Crisp Leaves. Similar to Crisp Leaves, manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall, around 170.5 cm (along 5’7’’). This is just my appreciation towards tall girls, you guys are amazing!

Previous: ‹ Worth › | Next: ‹ Greed ›

↷ SUMMARY ↶

Acceptance; that’s what you’re searching for this whole time.

“OOOH!”

You stopped on your steps, immediately stiffened from the sudden loud voice–resulting someone bumping into you quite hard. Stumbling on your feet, the person immediately had their grip onto your arm–preventing you to kiss the ground face first.

“Sorry, you okay?” looking over your shoulder rather stiffly, eyes resting on the figure towering over your figure (still, the top of your head reached his cheek bone, but he’s tall alright). That and he had a rather… unique black, spiky hair.

“T-thank you,” you replied meekly.

“Sorry about him, he means no harm,” the taller boy apologized for his friend over there who… cried and kneeled on the ground? Is this having something to do with your existence!? Your height!? Anything!?

“There’re three girls now! Now they’ve got a pretty one, a cute one, and a model-like one!”

“Is he okay, though…?” you questioned, feeling the taller boy letting go of your hand and proceeded to pat your head lightly–which kind of reminds you of Daichi’s gesture.

“Yes, sadly.” He sighed in resignation. “Oh, by the way, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. Third year, Nekoma’s captain, and this is the first time I see you around, along with that girl over there.”

The boy, Kuroo, pointed to Yachi’s figure who’s escorted by Kiyoko–you thought she somehow forgot about you, but you instantly erased the thought from your mind when noticing her not so subtle glare directed towards Kuroo.

“Ah, I just became an official manager yesterday,” you said, finding talking to Kuroo comfortable–he did kind of intimidating for his height, still standing taller over you. Maybe he’s almost 190 cm. However, he exudes this comforting aura much like Daichi as a captain. “My name is Otohaku [Name] and the girl you mentioned before is Yachi Hitoka, she’s my classmate.”

“That explains a lot.” Kuroo hummed. “And I have to say, this is the first time I’ve seen a girl as tall as you. At least Yamamoto is right about the model-like part.”

Instantly, you found your face hot as if it was engulfed with fire–stealing a laugh from him and earning another hair ruffle for you.

“I’m happy you’re getting along with our manager and all,” Daichi soon interrupted by pushing his way in between you and Kuroo while removing the captain’s hand from your head. He smiled, but his smile was far than nice–which made you swallowed thickly even though it’s not directed towards you. “But, not too close, would you?”

“They screamed powerhouses already,” you muttered, watching teams practicing. “Especially the dark blue ones.”

“You have good eyes,” Coach Ukai suddenly said, making you turn to face him. “That’s Fukurodani Academy.”

“Fukurodani…?” your eyes slowly widened in disbelief, trying process the extremely familiar name in your brain. “The Fukurodani Academy? One of the top players in Japan is in that school.”

“Just like Ushiwaka, he’s one of the top five aces heading to nationals.” Takeda-sensei continued.

“Bokuto Kotaro.” Somehow you couldn’t control your inner monologue and just plain blurted it, earning a surprised look from the older men and your girls. Also magically, the person you just mentioned immediately snapped his head to look over his shoulder and looking straight at you. He immediately grinned and you tried to reply back with a nervous smile and a wave.

“[Name]-chan, how did you know that!?” Yachi asked.

“Well, my big brother hasn’t shut up about him, so,”

“Your brother is a player, Otohaku?” Coach Ukai asked. “That’s why your last name sounded familiar for a reason.”

“Does Otohaku Hisahito sounded familiar to you?”

“I’ve seen him in the volley magazine,” Coach Ukai nodded in understanding. “He’s a candidate for one of the top middle blockers for around three years. He’s sure has an impact in plays.”

“To think [Name]-chan has connection with a very famous person,” Shimizu chuckled.

“Hey, hey, hey!” There’re so many unexpected things happened in one day and you wondered on how your heart could keep up with it. One of them would be this–being approached by one of the top five aces in the country. “You’re from Karasuno, right? The assistant coach!”

“Bokuto-san, don’t decide their position on your own. You’re being rude.”

“But she looks like one!”

“I’m sorry for his poor introduction skills.” The black-haired boy with calm atmosphere apologized–he has a really contrast personality with Bokuto. “My name is Akaashi Keiji, and this is Bokuto Kotaro-san. The captain of Fukurodani team.”

“Uhm, nice to meet you. I’m Karasuno’s manager, first year. Otohaku [Name].” you bowed slightly to show your respect.

“What!? You’re a manager!? And a first year!?” maybe it’s instinct or his outgoing personality much like Hinata, he didn’t hesitate to close the gap and stood only a few centimeters away from you. “You’re so tall, though! It’s awesome! Man, first years this time are really something!”

“Bokuto-san, you’re being too close.” Akaashi interrupted and slightly tugged on the captain’s shirt, preventing him from taking another step forward and ended up scaring you away.

“But, Akaashi look at her!” Bokuto didn’t even hesitate to point at you enthusiastically. “She’s only a little bit shorter than me!”

Getting away from Akaashi’s grip, he threw an arm around you and plainly pressed his cheek on top of your head–where your height stopped. It all happened too fast to the point your brain short-circuited. “See!”

Akaashi’s brow twitched. “Bokuto-san, you’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Excuse me,” Sugawara interrupted with a smile, however, the smile was far from friendly–dark auras looming behind him menacingly, which made Bokuto stiffened. Why? Because it was directed to him. “Could we have our dearest manager back, please?”

“Of course, we apologize if we took her time,” Akaashi said and pulled on Bokuto’s shirt to drag him away, essentially saving him from Sugawara’s wrath.

“Wuaah, it’s finally nice to meet you!” Ubugawa’s manager, Miyanoshita Eri, didn’t think twice to tackle you into a hug–sending you two sprawling onto the laid futon. You yelped in surprise as your back hit the fluffy material. “Sorry, you’re just so pretty!”

“Yeah, you have to know that Bokuto hasn’t shut up about you for even a second!” one of Fukurodani’s manager, Shirofuku Yukie, commented.

“Our boys are also getting rather distracted!” Shinzen’s manager, Otaki Mako, nodded and smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t judge them because I’m distracted too! Who’s not when they see a pretty lady not far away?”

“I guess [Name]-chan has her own charms between the boys,” Shimizu giggled, enjoying seeing you flustered.

“Riiight?” Suzumeda Kaori grinned widely. “Everyone’s more fired up than before.”

“By the way, how do you have this kind of height?” Eri questioned, loosening her arms around your shoulders. “Do you do intense sports or workout?”

“It’s genes, actually,” you answered, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “My dad’s around 190 cm and my mom’s around 180 cm. Both of them are athletes.”

“That explains a lot,” Yukie hummed in understanding. “Just like Nekoma’s really tall first-year. He’s half Russian I guess.”

“H-half? That’s amazing,” Yachi stuttered.

“I could just imagine [Name]-chan being flaunted on in school!” Mako hugged her pillow close to her chest. “Ah, a goddess among mortals-“

“People… don’t like my height,” it’s rude for cutting her off, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it tasted extremely bitter upon your tongue. “The boys said I’m too tall and girls are supposed to be petite. The girls don’t want to get too close because I’m a giant, they’re intimidated. I… kind of wish I was smaller…”

“WHAT!? WHO SAID THAT!?” Yukie shrieked full of disgust. “How dare they judge you by appearance!?

“[Name]-chan, I need names! Names!” Kaori demanded, placing firm hands upon your shoulders and shook. “And I will strangle their neck tomorrow!”

“Please don’t murder anyone!” you raised your hands in front of your chest instinctively.

“Who do we have to kill tomorrow, girls?” Eri smiled darkly.

“Anyway, don’t listen to them, okay!?” Mako added. “You’re absolutely gorgeous!”

“Y-you have our backs, [Name]-chan!” Yachi followed. “W-we’ll fight them!”

“We and besides, if the boys somehow heard about this, there will be homicide.” Shimizu smirked.

Their support and full acceptance were alien to you.

“Thank you.”

Alien but you couldn’t help to feel warmth blooming in your chest–because this was something you’re looking for a long time.

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

daylight’s wasting (you better kiss me)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x reader

↯ genre and warnings: college au, fluff, someone please be gentle with this boy i’m begging you, jean and eren pretending they don’t give a fuck about each other whilst actually being best bros for the win

↯ word count: 2k

↯ summary: based off of that reddit post about some guy talking about his girlfriend washing his hair for the first time + hoping it fills a request for someone asking for reader playing with eren’s hair for the first time :’)

↯ notes: this is cross-posted and edited slightly from another blog in a completely separate fandom, so if you’ve seen it before, no you didn’t </2

Jean can’t say that he immediately noticed a pep in Eren’s step when the green-eyed boy met him in the library, but what he does notice is the stupid, dopey looking grin and starry-eyed gaze in his eyes that he’s sporting while he’s not doing his part for their project. And while Jean considers himself relatively attractive, he knows for sure Eren isn’t shy about making it known that he doesn’t; so the brunette doubts the literal heart eyes Eren has are for him.

“Eren? Eren, bro, are you good?” Jean calls, a dark eyebrow raised above his left eye. Eren barely registers the calls of his name, and it takes Jean waving his hands in front of the shorter’s face for him to wake from his trance, looking up at Jean with that same, longing smile (that’s, admittedly, starting to creep him the fuck out).

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, something reminiscent of a lovelorn cartoon prince, as he rests his elbow atop his notebook and his chin the palm of his hand, “I’m good.”

Jean looks at him, skeptical and confused. He shifts in his seat, but Eren’s eyes don’t follow—he just stares ahead, lost in thought and completely unaware of everything around him. He looks like a lovesick little bitch if you ask Jean. Or completely sloshed.

Slowly, Jean leads forward, eyebrows pinched, looking for streaks of red in Eren’s eyes, “Are you stoned right now?”

“What?” Eren pulls back, almost offended, “No, I’m not high—Jean, what the fuck?”

Jean simply shrugs, leaning back into his seat, “I dunno. Yesterday you were so stressed about your acrobatic salt cycle samples—”

“—Acetylsalicylic acid. It’s basically Asprin, and I wasn’t stressed, they just weren’t crystallizing the they way they’re supposed to—”

“I don’t fucking care. But now you look mellow as hell,” Jean cuts him off, “Just thought maybe you rolled a good one before coming here or something. Not that I’m judging, of course. But you’re much more of a lightweight than you think, so try not to go—”

“‘M not a fucking lightweight,” Eren groans, “You and Reiner are just heavy bodied.”

“Just admit you can’t hold your shit, Jaeger.”

“I’m not admitting shit. Mikasa makes strong drinks, that’s all.”

Jean grits his teeth at Eren’s stubborn antics, but lets it go. It’s not like the conversation was going anywhere, anyways. “If you’re not baked, then what’s got your head in the clouds?”

Eren shifts in his seat now, pulling his hand off the table, and into his lap. Jean’s suspicious eyebrow is quirked again, and that slightly creeped-out feeling is back when he spots Eren’s ears going red.

Jesus Christ, he just asked a simple question.

“Not that I care,” Jean tacks on, feigning disinterest, “But if it’s gonna keep you from doing your half of the project, just spill it already so we can get this shit over with.”

Eren rolls his eyes, but that blush is still there. He looks like he contemplates waving it off for a minute, before he sighs. “(Y/N) and I showered together yesterday,” he finally blurts.

Jean blinks. “Oh. So you got laid—”

“—No, no, it wasn’t like that!” Eren corrects him, the red on his ears spreading to his cheeks slowly, with every word that spills out of his mouth. Eren stutters, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “She just… She washed my hair.”

Eren sighs, flustered and frustrated, and annoyed that he looks like this in front of Jean’s horse-faced ass of all people; but he knows, that no matter how much shit Jean talks, he can rely on him. For better or (often times) for worse.

And Jean, for as hotheaded as he can get, and for as much as Eren annoys the shit of out him, knows how to read a room; and in this moment, he can see that Eren is actually coming to him with genuine emotions, other than masked anger and abrasiveness. So, the both of them concede; pull back from their usual pointed commentary, and listen to what the other has to say.

“Ah,” Jean comments, lamely; an embarrassed blush of his own growing on his face at his stupidity. The two sit in silence for a moment, before Jean speaks up again, “It’s, uh… It’s nice, right?”

Eren’s eyes snap to him, wide. He almost completely forgot that Jean’s in a committed relationship, too. The two don’t often go to each other for relationship advice, or… relationship venting, but Eren makes a mental note that maybe, just maybe, he should.

“Yeah,” Eren admits, “I don’t, uh, I don’t know how to explain it. It was just—”

“Relaxing?”

“Yeah. Like all the bullshit from school just melted away all of a sudden,” Eren confesses, “All she fucking did was wash my hair and hum for, like, five minutes, but I feel like… I don’t know. Good.”

Jean hums, acknowledging Eren’s words and mulling them over. “Loved,” he chimes in with an awkward cough, “Pretty sure that’s the word you’re looking for, Jaeger.”

Eren chokes on air, his eyes darting around the room. So, yeah, it’s still a little awkward, talking with Jean of all people about his relationship, and love, and all that gushy stuff; but, even Eren can admit, it’s comforting to know that someone knows what he’s feeling—even if that someone is Jean.

“You should tell her. Girls like that shit, when you tell em what you’re thinking, you know?” Jean comments, picking up his pen to resume scribbling in his notebook. He sounds nonchalant, but from the redness on his face, Eren can tell he’s just as flustered, and probably thinking about his own girlfriend. “Besides, you’ve been together for a long ass time now. Don’t know what you’re waiting for at this point.”

“Yeah,” Eren coughs, pretending to resume his own homework, “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Good,” Jean nods, “Now will you fucking paste your paragraph in the Google Doc so I can rewrite it and make it coherent.”

“Fuck you, it’s coherent as is.”

“As if. I’ve read your shit before, and it sounds like it was written by six year old on meth. You science majors can’t write to save your life.”

“Tough talk from someone who can’t do basic addition.”

“Derivatives and shit aren’t basic addition, they were created by a man who died a virgin. Tells me everything I need to know about them and you.”

Three days later, Eren finds himself alone in your off-campus apartment, laying on your bed, stomach to the mattress, while he tries to convince himself to study for his upcoming biology exam. He finds looking around your room to be much more interesting, though, and takes the time to notice things he hadn’t before.

There’s a small strip of images of the two of your in a clear mason jar on your nightstand—the newest addition to your collection—from the photo booth at the ice-skating rink you went to last week. Eren doesn’t know why you insist on going to every photo booth you come across, but who is he to deny you the pictures.

When he looks to your closet, he isn’t surprised to see two of his hoodies, one of his warm-up soccer uniforms, and last season’s hockey jersey hanging up. What does surprise him, is the way they’re all hung up next to each other, like they have their own little section amongst your clothing; like they were reserved, special almost. He bets they’re all probably washed and clean, too; because you take care of his things like that.

He thinks about how he has a few pairs of sweatpants and pajamas—hell, even a pair of slacks and a button-down from one of your fancier dates—all tucked away in his very own drawer in your dresser. The bucket hats thats you claim are oh-so ugly still have their own place in your room, hanging next to your belts. Even his psychology textbook sits on your desk, clearly set aside for him and taken care of, but still integrated amongst your other belongings.

You seem to be the only person who thinks Eren and all his baggage can have a place in your life. You seem to always have space for things to fit in, no matter how stupid, or ugly, or tattered they are; no matter how emotional, or lost, or impulsive he is. Nothing is out of place here, himself included.

Lost in his thoughts, Eren doesn’t register the sound of your front door opening, or your footsteps growing louder. In fact, he doesn’t register that you’re home at all, until you come padding into your bedroom, shaking your backpack off of your shoulders and setting it next to his on the ground.

“Hey, baby,” you greet him, almost offhandedly, as you place your coffee down on your desk. He doesn’t mind—actually the element of practiced casualness in your tone brings a kind of warmth to him, and makes his stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he smiles, a stupidly fond look in his eye as his watched you shimmy your jacket off of your shoulders.

Eren sits himself upwards, shifting so that his long legs dangle off the edge of your bed as he watching your silhouette move throughout your bedroom. When you’re finished removing all your layers and jewelry, you finally look to him, greeting him a second time as you walk towards him and your bed.

Eren cages you in when you reach him, his ankles wrapped on top of each other as he secures you standing between his legs. He wraps his arms loosely around your waist, while your fingers crawl up the nape of his neck.

“Your hair’s dry,” you hum, your fingers raking through his brown locks as if to make your point, “You didn’t shower yet?”

Eren shakes his head lightly, craning his neck forwards to tuck the cold tip of his nose into your collar. He holds you a little tighter when you smooth his hair down, one of your hands resting against the back of his neck, and lightly scraping at the hairs near his nape.

“How come?” you question innocently, “I thought your classes ended a few hours ago—did your lab go late again? You should tell your TA you have a life outside of trying to culture bacteria in a dish, you know.”

Eren chuckles lightly, but feels the concern in your voice tug heavily at his heart strings. You seem to really hate his lab TA.

“Wasn’t him this time,” Eren mumbles against your skin, “Was waiting for you.”

“Yeah? That gonna be a regular thing, now?”

“Wouldn’t mind,” Eren confesses, words barely audible as he buries his face into your neck. He tries tickle you with his eyelashes, shift the heat towards you, but you move out of reach too quickly; your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright.

He has to look up you, just slightly, and he hopes he doesn’t look like a complete blushing idiot. If he does, you don’t seem to mind, if the way you cup his face between your hands is any indication.

“Well then, come on. I bought two new loofahs yesterday.”

Eren follows you to the bathroom with a smile, borderline giggling with excitement all the way to the shower. When it comes down to it, he relishes in the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp, suds of shampoo cascading down his neck as you find amusement in coiling his hair into a bubbly mohawk.

It’s so mundane, so simple, yet overwhelmingly intimate the way you’re taking care of him—the way you always take care of him. It fills Eren to the brim with emotions he can’t even begin to convey with words.

And when you’ve had you’re fun, and made sure his hair is throughly clean and smells like apples, you take your body wash on the ball of his (his! his very own!) loofah, and scrub away at his back, down his shoulders, across his torso; and Eren can’t stop the tears from falling.

He realizes his must look bizzare, to be standing the middle of your shower, crying like a baby with soap and suds all over his body, but he can’t help himself.

“Eren? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he assures you, hiccuping between his words and sniffling away any more tears that threaten to fall. You don’t seem convinced, and once again, Eren feels his heart swell at just the sheer thought at you’d hold even an ounce of concern for him the way you do.

“You’re crying, Eren,” you point out, voice soft, but clearly concerned, as you reach your hands up to cup his face again, “Did I hurt you? What’s wr—”

Eren cuts you off by wrapping you in a hug, hoping—praying—you know that you could never hurt him. The two of you spend nearly five whole minutes like that, your arms wrapped around each other’s middles, with warm water pouring over your naked skin. Eren can feel you pressing shallow kisses into his chest, and he feels his heart physically swell every time your lips make contact with his skin.

It’s on the fifth, quiet press of your lips that Eren knows he can’t hold it in anymore; pulls away from your embrace to look you in your eyes.

“I love you,” he finally confesses, with wet hair stuck to his forehead, and teary eyes. It’s hardly a picture perfect moment, but Eren can’t bring himself to care; he needs you to know.

But, of course, you already did. “I know, Eren,” you say with a smile, kissing his chin, and then on the tips of your toes, his lips, “And I love you more.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren smut #eren fluff #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi x reader #jean x reader

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wooteena · 3 years

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technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

acording to tumblr statistics, only a small percentage of people who like the post actually reblog it. so if you liked it, give it a reblog! it takes five seconds and you can always delete the reblog later.

#mcyt #mcyt fanfic #mcyt au #technoblade #ranboo #nihachu #dream smp #mcytblr #sleepyblr #philza #homophobia tw #bullying tw #violence tw #minecraft youtubers #baby bird au

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