#^these are tags are from when i posted the very first sketch of this in like september skjdghdjk

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

[byunpum]

Hi hope you're doing well 💗

Can i ask a one-shot with a shy reader who doesn't really show affection to neteyam. BUT one day she wants to make the first move so she kiss him without any warning. AND neteyam go FERAL bc it turn him one (or he can just be a blushing mess ) it can be smut or just fluff if you are okay with it ofc :)

Pairing: Neteyam x human reader

Tags: crushes, Cute, baby boii neteyam.

Warning:the characters have 20's

Note: As you know my drafts had been deleted. For example this one was going to be much longer. But still, I did what I could remembering what I had already written. I still hope you like it a lot. I didn't want to make this smut, because the next post …. get ready!!! buajajaja

AVATAR MASTERLIST

Neteyam's method of showing affection was hugs, touching and caressing. While on your part it was to turn red as a tomato every time neteyam came closer than a foot away. You had the biggest crush that could exist in all of pandora. And that's saying a lot. Loak was always making fun of your sketchbook that was full of sketches of neteyam, no matter what he was doing. You would sit far away and draw him. But you didn't get too close to him and you didn't talk to him much. While loak, kiri were very close to you, you kept your distance from neteyam. You thought that if you got too close, you would ruin everything.

On the other hand, neteyam thought you hated him. Yes… you hated him with all your soul and he knew it. Every time he tried to reach out to give you a hug. You would open your eyes wide and pull away. Or when they were playing with each other. It was truth or dare… and he chose dare. Spider dared him to give you a kiss. Neteyam got close to your face, he was excited… he saw your face turn red and you pushed him away. Getting up from your place and running out to your room. Everyone was silent, looking at each other. Neteyam was heartbroken, the boy was in love with you and you hated him.

But what bothered him the most was your closeness with loak. Why loak? i mean…the boy was not a good match for you. And yet you were more affectionate with him, it wasn't like you were on top of him all day. But if you let loak put his arm on your shoulder, or let him play with your hair a little bit. Or sit next to you. It was killing him, because he wanted to have that contact with you.

Neteyam had taken the day off, and decided to go to the small station that the humans had set up on one of the islets of the Metkayina clan, after the battles. Norm and several scientists were welcomed to the islands to help. And you were part of that group. "Hey…nete" greets norm as he sees the boy enter. "Hi norm…how are you?" neteyam greets politely. As he tried to look for you somewhere in the small lab. "Are you looking for Y/N?" says norm, teasing the boy a little. Neteyam laughs nervously. At that very moment you emerge from one of the storage rooms. You shift your gaze past neteyam.

"Y/n…h-hello!!!" says neteyam excitedly following a few steps behind you. His tail wagged back and forth, until you felt him tap you on the arm. "I'm so sorry" neteyam moved away a little bit. "Don't worry nete" you looked up to look at neteyam, you saw how excited he was. Maybe he was happy about something else. Norm walked over to you. "Y/N honey…please I need you to help me get some samples. I need you to bring me some leaves of this plant" Norm showed you a picture. "This plant grows in the forested area of this island" you take the tablet to look further into what you were going to look for. "Why doesn't Neteyam come with you?" says Norm, looking at Neteyam to give him a wink. Neteyam laughs a little but shifts his gaze so you don't spot them.

"Ahhh I don't know if…maybe" you say as you muddle over your words. "It's no problem…I'm free" neteyam almost screams with excitement. Once again his tail taps you on the arm, you nudge it a little. "Ready…well go then, I need them before nightfall" says norm, refocusing on his work. "Let's go neteyam" you say, taking the sample tube and handing it to neteyam to put in her waist bag. You stand a little quietly as you watch neteyam's hands slide down to his waist. He looks up to see how you are looking at him. "All good" the boy teases. "Yeah yeah come on" you push him a little. You could push him all day, if this was going to be the only form of contact with you, He was going to let you manhandle him all you want.

They walked a bit through the wooded area, you were in the front and neteyam was in the back enjoying the view. "hey why aren't you wearing the outfit I gave you?" asks neteyam following in your footsteps. "I've kept it…I haven't had a chance to wear it" you say. You hear neteyam chuckle a little, but you decide to ignore him. Sometime later you see the plant near a small waterfall, you walk over and sit down on one of the rocks. Neteyam sits down next to you, pulling out the sample tube. " wow…this plant is beautiful" you say, as you pluck several leaf samples.

"You say you can't use my gift…but look" neteyam touches the bracelet on your arm. "loak gave this to you last week and you are wearing it" spits neteyam waiting for you to react. " nete… this is a accessory, you gave me a complete navi outfit" you say trying to take the sample tube from his hands. Neteyam moves his hands away. "So? I made it myself for you…but it's okay. Everything I do sucks for you," Neteyam says. You remain silent, he just said that you think he disgusts you. "What the hell are you saying?" you say. Neteyam relaxes a little, you can see how frustrated he was.

"Why are you avoiding me…why don't you want me to be by your side? Even now…" neteyam takes the tube and then you watch as he takes your hand and places the object there in the palm of your hand. You didn't want to say anything, you didn't dare. You didn't have the courage to tell him that the only reason you didn't approach him was because you were a nervous wreck around him. You quickly took the samples, and started on your way to the lab. On the way back to the station, neither of you dared to speak. You arrived at the lab, entered and noticed how it was empty.

"He asks me for these samples and then disappears" you complain, as you place the tube of samples on norm's desk. You turn to see neteyam, he was sitting on a improvised couch that norm had created for the size of the avatars. "Neteyam… you don't disgust me" you say, causing the boy to look up. "Really?" the boy scoffs a little. You walk over to neteyam and sit down next to him. "Didn't you like my gift?" asks Neteyam. The boy looks at you, see how you avoid looking at him. "You see…you don't even want to look at me and " you get up from the couch, getting on your knees so you can reach neteyam's face in your hands. You pull him close and kiss him. Neteyam's eyes open wide. You pull away and sit quietly beside him.

Neteyam felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. His cheeks grew warm, as he broke out in a cold sweat. You had kissed him." I have a notebook dedicated only to you… and I don't come close because I don't know how to act around you" you say shyly. Before you begin to speak, you feel neteyam's lips collide with yours again. But this time you let your emotions fly and do what they have to do.

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2022 #avatar x reader #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x fem reader #neteyam x mate reader #neteyam imagine #human reader #human y/n #female y/n #jake sully x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x human reader smut #neteyam scenario

[lollipopliccer]

𝔄 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢 ❦

❦ warning lollipop chaos ahead! proceed with caution… ❦ light angst , happy ending , ex getō suguru , tattoo artist suguru , set in a tattoo parlour , soft dom geto , praise , cunnilingus , masochism , light sadism & impact play , ig semi public and i guessss office sex

the descriptions of this tattoo experience is not accurate, i dunno shit abt tattoos (even tho i rlly wanna get one). so don't bite my fucking dick off with the technicalities! lets just b happy that i acc posted this hehehe

word count ; 5k ish

black fem reader (still all can read)

lollipopliccer’s love letter ❦ … hiiiii lollipops 🪷 i just wanted to say thank u sm for the love on my debut fic i rlly appreciated it. i’m rlly excited for y’all to read this new one EEEEE. this one was also long as helllll (¬_¬), shit has just been ridiculous in my life rn so sorry abt the delay, i don’t even know y it took me this long just to write 5k ugh anywayyy. i’m excited, cus i always eat up geto tattoo artist head-cannons, mmmm they’re just so mm mm mm tasty. anyway this is my first time writing some angst, i usually stay clear away from any typa angst, i’ve already got enough of that in my life plss haahaa, i don’t even know what possessed me to dip my toe in it, but don’t worry it’s very light. okayy enough of the babble, pls enjoy my fic, and i’d appreciate all ur interaction, reposts, comments, feedback blah blah… mwah mwah mwah ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

'i'm so excitteedddd' you squeal, as your best friend nobara parks her car, beside the tattoo parlor. you both had been planning your tattoos together for a few weeks now settling on the most beautiful matching heart design on both your bikini lines, whilst individually having unique patterns going through the (tatted) hearts.

"you better not fucking scream when you're actually under the gun" nobara chastises laughing.

"fuck you bitch, you already know i'm bad like that, not even gonna flinch" you taunt, as you both get out of her car.

you decided on wearing a fitted, short black dress, that accentuated your curves and hips but would also be easily manoeuvrable for your tattoo placement. shoko Ieiri your tattoo artist made sure you were comfortable with your design and placement.

underneath your dress, you wore bikini bottoms with side ties, for the same reasons as the dress - paired with some white trainers with pink embellishments. you complete your outfit with jewellery. including your pandora bracelet with silver and pink charms, a necklace, and stud earrings.

you both walk into the parlour, it's decorated all over its dark blue walls with a myriad of paintings, sketches, and different artworks. nobara leads you to the front desk as she had booked the appointment. you're greeted by a raven-haired girl with a short pixie cut.

"hey, are you guys here for your appointment?" she asks, as you notice her name tag- 'maki', and her tattoos and scars peeking through her top.

"yeah, um we had an appointment for 6:30 pm" nobara states, you can see her start to blush at maki.

"cool, yeah i'll check that out for you, umm..." maki responds

nobara so obviously interested in maki, decides to flirt, while you absent-mindedly look at the artwork placed across the shop. it's truly captivating, the deep dark hues and colours, so beautifully drawn, depicting what you could only describe as demons. they were more abstract than the stereotypical depiction, but these works somehow gave more meaning and conveyed more torment.

"so how long have you been working here, maki right?" nobara asks

"yeah, i started some months ago."

"that's cool, i love your tats”

“thank you, i um did some of em myself, nobara right?” maki responds getting nobara’s name from the booked appointment slot

“yeah…” nobara smiles shyly

“…are those your sketches up there? nobara asks, pointing to one of the sketches you've been staring at, there's a familiarity to the work displayed. but you can't put your finger on it.

"no um that's actually from another tattoo artist's, geto." maki answers.

you almost freeze, just from the mention of his name "who?!"

"uhh geto suguru, he owns the place, his artwork is all over these walls" maki responds to you.

a shiver runs up your spine "oh..."

"on that note, i'm sorry for the inconvenience girls, but shoko, your tattooist she had to take our other colleague gojo to the hospital- broke his arm doing some dumb shit. so she won't be able to actually give you your tattoo’s today, however we're able to swap her in for geto suguru, he just got back into town and is just as talented"

"shit" nobara turns to you, already knowing the issue from just his name alone, "yn i had no idea omg, i should've checked better, we can leave"

"nah there'll be no need for that, right yn?" you hear his voice. his silky deep voice, it always had that raspy quality that made your knees go weak. another shiver runs down your spine. you whip around.

"why tf are you here?" you sneer.

"uhh i work here…" he answers deadpan.

you turn back around, after giving him a lethal sneer, "hey um maki is there any other artist today?"

"no, i'm sorry, everyone else is booked." she apologises

"and anyway, it'll be a hassle for you guys if you were to reschedule," geto states

you simply stare at nobara refusing to even glance at him.

"come on yn" geto insists gently, leaning closer to you. your back to him. your name on his lips has you reeling, how softly he calls to you, like no other.

nobara waits for what you want to do, and if you're comfortable being tattooed by your ex in such an intimate area?

"let's get this done", you tell nobara, you turn around to face geto who has that enticing smirk.

as you follow him to his workspace, nobara hangs back reassured that you're comfortable being with your ex. you get the chance to truly take him in since last you saw him. his tattoo’s have grown, as he's painted a whole-sleeved dragon across his left arm, slithering out of his tight-fitted black t. your eyes roam all over his body, soaking in his confident stride, his height, taller than you remember. the way he ties part of his black, luscious hair in the bun is similar but different from the way you remember, leaving the rest of his hair to hang past his shoulders. but his right-hand tattoo is as you remember. a rose’s stem covered in thorns, wrapped around his hand, you can't help but still have your heart swell from that.

as he opens the door for you, you strut past him in silence, he of course responds with an eye roll to your petulance. his workspace is decorated with more of his works, some unfinished, yet so mesmerising you can't look away from them, they seem to depict a greater depth, too intimate for the outer world. the deep hues of dark royal blues, blacks, and green meld together, casting an otherworldly aura. the demons here have this eerie elegance, their features subtly tormenting, evoking such sorrows.

"if you're not comfortable with me tattooing you, we don't have to, i will let you reschedule free of charge-" "i know." you state, without hesitation. and with that, the silence returns as geto smiles slightly, he then grabs his equipment, lining them up, his needle gun, ink, etc.

"why did you insist on me not rescheduling then?" you taunt

"i wouldn't say i instisted" geto defends.

"mmm really? cus i'd even say you implored" you smirk. seeing you smile… he wonders how he could’ve forgotten how magnetic it is.

"i just wanted to see you…”

a pause.

"you broke up with me." you interrupt coldly, both of you are reminded of your separation...

… you begged him to stay. the pain you felt completely consumed you, leaving you empty…

geto holds your gaze. your eyes filled with anger, but also longing. you try to conceal your feelings by turning around.

"yn..." he calls out to you, but you ignore him, seemingly too entranced by a random splotch on the wall, while trying to hold it all in "...yn look at me", geto approached.

you turned around slowly. almost stubbornly, you made sure to look him in his eyes, those deep dark orbs that never failed to suck you into a world of intensity and sensitivity. you both hold each other's gaze, so much said between each other, longing, and regret.

"i am sorry yn, i-" in his attempt to express his apology, you immediately stride past to sit on the tattoo bed, too overwhelmed.

"-right so like from a scale of 1-10, 10 being i'm gonna need to b fucking sedated, how painful is this tat going to be" you ramble, trying to divert the conversation.

you ignore his sigh, as he walks to his chair. he then chooses to focus on preparing his equipment, sterilising them, all that shit. "the tattoo shouldn't be that painful, especially as you requested numbing cream."

"cool" you respond curtly, you follow his actions on focusing on the task at hand, and lift up the side of your dress, to expose the side you were getting tatted on.

when geto looks back he sees your pink bikini bottoms with string ties, he looks away trying to keep his composure "just want you to give me an idea where you want your heart and thorns”.

you clear your throat a little, to try and calm your nerves, “um just around here, i trust your um artistic inclinations. have some freedom with it, i know its kinda simple but i um- the thorns i want them to wrap around, please.”

“of course, yn”

geto trying his best to make this experience as comfortable as possible begins applying the numbing cream. he looks you in your eyes, to see if there were any remaining apprehensions, finding none, the gun comes to life.

“you tell me how you’re feeling throughout this process, if anything feels off with what i am doing, you tell me, do you understand?” geto instructs, his firmness, and apprehension to cause you any unnecessary harm stirs things in you. things you’ve tried repressing, tried to move on from, evidently unsuccessfully.

you nod in response adding a “yes”. and so begins the process, as geto brings needle to skin, his art begins to mark you. the initial twitch of pain you feel is subdued by the numbing cream generously applied. although you can’t help the slight yelp that falls from your lips, which geto catches onto and immediately soothes “shhh it’s okay, the cream will kick in soon won’t feel a thing hun”. his words soothe you, as they always used to, leading you to simply whimper in slight pain. you can’t help but look at him, at how he’s completely focused on your brown skin, that he marks by his hands.

…

as the hours go on, you slowly see geto’s work, his art come together, the red hues of the heart mixing together with slight pinks but also contrasted shades of black, to provide it with such depth, teasing the later depictions of darkness the thorns will add. you are in complete awe of this man, of his work, as you watch him work completely zoned in, despite any dull pain mumbling under the numbing cream.

as your focus lays on him- memories, old feelings of pain, sadness, and confusion begin to bubble again, and you blurt…

“why did you leave?”

a pause…

followed by silence… your demand for answers hanging over you both, while he still remains focused on your tattoo, you remain waiting. you know he heard you.

“i found myself in darkness again, yn, but that time it was even more challenging.. my hallucinations, my night terrors all came back, i was in it deep…” he pauses trying to find his words, and you give him that space “… i knew you were there for me, holding me when i woke up screaming. you stood by me…” he paused

“…however i couldn’t let you do that, i couldn’t bring you there with me. not when i couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world. i needed to find myself again, my purpose. and i know the way i left you, was cold, and confusing, and i am truly sorry, but i had to do it for myself.” as you listen attentively, watching him intently, he slowly gazes at you, pausing his work. your eyes meet with such intensity, such ache, and you start welling up, finally understanding everything, no longer being left with nothing but a cold departure.

“i’m sorry- m’so- ‘m so so sorry geto” tears cascade down your face, geto is quick to wipe them away, softly holding your precious face.

“sshh, ssh baby, don’t be silly mmm, you did nothing wrong, and i’ve been doing better. so much better. finding new channels to express how i feel, what i see.” referring to the intricate art that decorated his walls.

you sniffle, you feel so guilty and ashamed, for the resentment you harboured against him when he was out there trying to fight his way out of such a dark mental space. “they’re beautiful.” you sniffle

“not a day goes by that i don’t think about you, that i don’t regret the way i left. i would’ve come back but i thought you would move on...”

“i didn’t.” you respond

“neither did i.”

with your admissions to one another, a comforting silence fell, filling the room with sweet serenity, and you both found yourselves tethered together once again, holding each other’s gaze, filled with yearning.

you were the first to break, averting your gaze, feeling like it was the first time meeting, how your butterflies bloomed and fluttered, riddled with carnal hunger for him. the paradox of your feelings for him always consumed you, almost driving you mad, only geto could set you so ablaze.

the needle resumed its course, mechanically piercing your skin. both your attentions returned to their original positions.

the only difference being the shift in the atmosphere, the reignition of your feelings for one another, but this time at a tenfold from the time spent apart, wanting no other.

“ahh it’s getting a little sore geto” you whine in slight pain

“sorry yn, we’re moving onto the thorns now, we’ll soon be done, why don’t you take a look at it for me, tell if you don’t like anything?”

as he wipes over the completed heart, filled with colours and dimensions, so deep and beautiful, truly depicting more than you could imagine, it’s medium-sized maintaining a slight cuteness to the art, but still depicts chaos within, which geto clearly understood about you, and so was best to depict it.

“i love it.” you squeal, looking into his eyes, as he looks for reassurance from you. his vibrant smile brightens his face, you hadn’t seen it in so long, and it warmed you.

“good, we’re going to move to the thorns, wrapped down your thigh, why don’t you tell me about your choice of thrones?” geto asked so he could understand your thought process behind the tattoo.

you were apprehensive to reveal your thorns, largely from a place of embarrassment. you didn’t want to show how much he had affected you, and still did, but you did not want to lie to him especially after, he revealed himself so intimately to you.

the thorns, um, i got them from you…” geto halts at this, looking at you in slight confusion “they stemmed from me just wanting to have a piece of you still with me, something that i remembered, that reminded me of you… the thorns, the ones you have on your rose.” in explaining, you feel bold enough to touch the inked rose on his right hand, grazing your fingers over the thorns

suguru can hardly conceal his feelings. “i missed you.” geto states. his dark, sleek eyes told you how he burned for you.

“i missed you too suguru.” you whisper. your feelings flood your body, making you tingly- his intensity holds you in place. you’re both focussed on one another, suguru begins to smile feeling the warmth of your fingers touching him so delicately.

"lets continue your tattoo, i don't wanna fuck it up" suguru states, slowly bringing his hand away from your touch, even though he wanted nothing more than to let you touch him all over. to feel how those pretty acrylics, decorated in bows and charms along his skin, but he didn't want to mess this up, he wanted to tattoo you perfectly.

"okay" you respond, almost dissapointedly. wanting to feel him under your fingertips. you'd settle for now to feel his hands on your thighs, holding them to get his angles right, you were beginning to realise that you wanted more than just to stroke his hand. you want him to mark you all over, with more than just his needle gun.

"you've gotta try and stay still for me yn, i know it hurts, but it'll be over soon" suguru soothed, as his eyes narrowed around the curves of your thighs, the way they flexed and trembled slightly as you whimpered due to the numbed pain.

"okay... can i hold onto you?" you ask. he responds with a nod. you grip his arm, wanting to feel tethered- you don't remember him being so well-built, his biceps feel thick and powerful, almost hard to the touch as he flexes per his movements.

...

you're now a few hours into the tattoo, suguru’s taking his time, to add such beautiful details. the tension between the two of you is palpable, but the air is no longer filled with animosity, but rather intimacy. knowing you though, and how impatient you are suguru already sees it coming when you-

"sug i'm fucking borreeddd" the numbing cream obviously doing its job to reduce the pain to something dismissible, suguru chuckles finding your impatience so familial and adorable.

"it's barely been two hours" suguru forever sassy, remarks, rolling his eyes at ur moodiness. "now stay still, you're messin up my work." suguru states, you huff and bite your tongue, as you don’t want to fuck up his flow, you already know he works best when he’s zoned-in on a task.

you decide to catch up with him, your curiosity building, you've both missed so much from each other's lives. "i like your parlour. i would've bet money you'd turn your art into tattoos, you were too talented to let your art hide in your sketches"

suguru smiles again, "yeah? it was either this or burning down the town", he jokes and makes you both laugh, due to the absurdity. however, you both knew, there was some truth to it, which honestly added to your laughs

"right, of course committing arson, and potential mass murder is an obvious alternative." you sarcastically quip

"what you don't agree, i know you're not much better at keeping your chaos in check," he teases, his eyes locking onto yours.

you feel yourself flush, feeling seen- so you try staying on track to your original plan to catch up with him, "when did you open this place?"

"well actually gojo was the one who invested in my passion"

"that's so sweet"

"yeah, he's a fucking asshole, always all up in my business," he remarks, with a small smile, feigning annoyance. you can feel the fondness behind his words.

you notice how suguru smiles, how he teases, just like he used to, & still has that assertive and confident allure to him, that natural dominance and assuredness in himself, that he almost lost. your conversation with one another continued, bantering off one another. you make each other laugh and snicker and your heart can’t help but swell.

...

your feelings for him set aflame once again. this time with a ferocity you could barely contain. only heightened by the dull pain that he controlled with his needle, marking you so prettily. the assured control suguru had over your body was so seductive, it made places other than your tatted thigh, start to ache, start to ache so badly.

finally, geto lays the finishing touches on your tattoo, clearing up the intricate lines, adding shadings and highlights, and then wiping over the tattoo.

"okay, it's done. you can go check it in the mirror, let me know if you hate it." geto keeping his gaze low somewhat anxious to see your reaction.

as you approach the full-body mirror attached to the opposite wall, you couldn't possibly understand his apprehension because when you lay eyes on your tattoo, you are completely awestruck. you fall completely in love with his markings, the way the thorns pierce through the heart and sliver down your left hip, and thigh, wrapping them gorgeously.

you are lost for words, your lips part with a gasp, and when you bring your eyes up onto suguru through the mirror, you see how he watches you. following from your thighs decorated in his work, marking your body so seductively. then he focuses on how your dress is bunched up on those hips, those hips he’s held, and soothed over for hours today, but his mind wanders... reminiscing about all those times he used to handle and caress all over your plump thighs. how he would mould your body any way he pleased.

he watched as you held the undone ties of your pretty bikini bottoms, it made him salivate. his eyes cast over your dress- the way it hugged your body so exquisitely, propping up your boobs so prettily. the way your butt peaks out of the bunched-up dress, and how your breathing picked up, flustered from his heated gaze.

"i love it sug." you whisper softly.

"yeah?" he smirks. growing bolder, he walks up to you, and you don’t dare avert your eyes from his, through the mirror. you love the way his top hugs his thick muscular shoulders. his broad upper back being so beautifully emphasised, and how his sculpted chest has his nipple piercings teasing through his top. you salivate at his slim waist. ugh he's such a slut. you love the way his body is perfectly decorated in his art, marking his skin; and adorning his arms, and his neck, which is wrapped with a chain, you remember gifting him.

when he reaches you, he has to crouch down, flexing his strong thighs and calves hidden under his baggy bottoms, but you still have to look up at him to maintain eye contact, which he demands with his own. suguru holds the bottom of your thigh just under where the tattoo ends.

"how does it feel?" he whispers into your ear, his sharp gaze still honed on you

you whimper faintly because of the dull sting and ache from the tat

"a little sore sug, but it feels good, i really like it." you say softly while you lean into him, wanting to be wrapped in his body, his warmth.

he smiles at your admission "that's good yn, i'm going to wrap it up now, don't want it getting infected." you love the way he says your name, the way he purrs, your name rolls off his tongue so tenderly.

as he wraps the tattoo you wince, he immediately soothes you, "i've got you baby, it's okay." your body relaxes in response. your eyes never leave each other. as the tension shifts you feel enthralled, wanting him to touch you all over.

"yn, do you want me to play with you?" suguru asks, having that condescending tone that never failed to make you falter. you almost shy away, but he holds your face, bringing his hand up under your chin, his fingers grip your cheeks slightly, making you look directly at him “i want to play with you, i want to help you forgive me baby...” he whispers into your ear. your breath becoming more uneven and flustered from his proximity, that you can practically taste his aroma, how he mixes his scents of minty, smoky notes and cinnamon, woody undertones - it intoxicates you.

“…do you want me to?”

geto waits for your response, not daring to touch you the way he wants, without knowing you’re aching for it. and you want nothing more than that, for him to take care of you how he once did, oh how you wanted to see if he still remembered how to make you cum so blissfully. you nod giving out a soft “please”.

suguru kisses the side of your head, sprinkling kisses down your face making you giggle and fawn, till he reaches your neck and you lose your breath. geto finds the sensitive parts on your neck, making you feel so tingly, it's almost ticklish. you almost forgot how much you loved when suguru kissed and licked across your neck, how he would bite and suckle, leaving you all marked up just how he liked. god he’d go fucking crazy for it too. to hear you whine and pant below him as he licked and sucked. it sent tingles all over your body, straight to your clit. you shuddered under him, leaning onto him- to give him better access to mark you. slowly he grips your hips grinding his bulge into you, he even bends you forward a little so that you can feel him, how hard he is for you- humping into you over your clothed body.

geto held you at an angle arched while both of you stood in front of the mirror so that he could have you grind right back onto his dick that was growing so achingly hard for you. the way he moved your bodies together was so disgustingly sensual, you had to look away moaning as you felt his clothed dick thrust into you, giving you that sensation you so craved. you were whining, you felt so depraved like you hadn’t been touched like this in so long- you just wanted him to rip you the fuck open.

“mmm nah baby look at yourself in the mirror…” he demanded, to which you stubbornly ignored, forcing suguru to grab your face so that you could look at how pathetically you had come undone for him, just from his dry humping. “… i said fucking look at yourself, mmm? you lost your manners baby?” he teases knowing exactly how to fix your attitude. he ends his command by giving your thigh (without the tattoo) a firm slap, making you cry out, you quickly try stifling it, remembering you’re still in his fucking workspace.

“you’re so mean” you whine and pout up at him, which makes him chuckle at you, his smirk unfurling so lewdly.

“i’m going to make it up to you mmm? you’ll let me make you feel good baby? gotta apologise for making my baby upset.” the way he talks to you feigning that concern, his fucking tone, makes you feel weak, and pliant for him. as you move your legs a little wider, and let go of your tied bikini bottoms so they hang down barely concealing a thing. geto watches how strings of your arousal are built up, clinging onto your pretty bottoms. showing him just how wet you are for him and you push your butt into him even more, nodding your head in invitation for him to remedy all the mess he’s made.

as suguru brings his rose-covered hand down to your aching pussy ready to soothe it. once he touches her, feeling your glistening folds, he hisses as his eyes glaze over, and lower so seductively. you see the way his hand flexes and his veins protrude. his long, adept fingers dip further, caressing and rubbing against your hard little clit. he can feel it pulse for him, making you whine as suguru increases the pressure of his fingers on your clit. circling around your throbbing bundle of nerves. his fingers collect the slick past your lips, down to your spasming, weeping hole, and brings them back to your needy nub.

his tight circles, pet your pretty clit so well, turning you into a mewling mess, you can’t help but move against and around his fingers, acting so bratty- but suguru couldn't give a shit, he'll mould you right where he needs you again holding you by your neck and continuing his strokes on that clit regardless of how you whine.

"sug- aaa-" such a petulant whine leaves your supple lips, begging for him to go further into your leaking hole, you needed him to be inside you, having your pussy drool on his pretty, tatted fingers.

"i know baby, you need it don't you? you need me to fuck you open mmm?" suguru whispers in your ear, kissing the outside of your earlobe so delicately, while saying such filthy things. you look at him through the mirror nodding your head so pathetically, and why would he deny you, his baby? nah never...

suguru brings his finger back down to your desperate hole. he eases around your pussy going around the edges of her, only dipping the tip of his finger. you can't take his teasing-

"sugu! stop teasin-" suguru immediately interrupts, plunging his fingers into you, making you gasp. he slipped into your soppy pussy giving off that mind-numbing squelching sound, having your pussy suck his fingers in so snuggly, has you moaning wantonly. the way suguru’s digits fill you, he’s able to add a finger, scissoring two fingers into your weeping cunt, the way he pushes in and curls his fingers to rub against your plush walls it has you mewling. as you feel him find and rub against that spot, that perfect spongey spot so easily, your eyes roll back. suguru was losing his mind, he rasped a soft moan right into your ear, he loved watching you buck on his fingers, the way you moaned and struggled to take him, it made him itch and drool to have you.

his fingers in your pussy stroking and pumping into your soft, wet pussy. his hand around your neck holding your face up to keep your eyes on everything he was doing. his deep, velvety voice right by your ear, whispering, and moaning sweet nothings. you were losing your fucking mind, you almost couldn't handle it.

"aaa- nngg, sug- sug!," you moaned shamelessly "f-ohfuck i can't-"

"sshh baby, tf you think you're doing mmm, whining like that in my office?" suguru whispers chastising you. your eyes look up at him, and the way you looked so doe-eyed, so pathetic- barely able to hold in your moans, gripped him.

"you struggling to take it for me baby, want me stop?" geto taunts, but you instantly shake your head needing him all over you.

“no please don’t stop sug”

"you can take what i give you princess?"

"i need you uhahh" you wanted him to have you however he pleased.

the way he moves has you humping and panting, you wine on him trying to get some friction against your slutty little cunt.

your moans grow louder and the pitch of your whines grow higher- you suck on your pretty fingers to try and get yourself quiet, your eyes glazing over as you watch suguru fuck you so good with his fingers and his hard bulge pushing up into you. the way he licks and bites all over your neck leaving a trail of his marks. suguru still never averts his dark eyes from yours. the purple glints in his eyes kind of sparkle in your head. all of it is bringing you right to the edge. your eyes roll back, your thighs shake, your knees buckle from the pleasure. so pliant and easy for him to manoeuvre you so he can hold you up and fuck you in just the right angles he needs, that he demands.

“fuckfuckfuc- aahh ohhhh sugie. daddy oh mmynghh” you whine and cry, your head lolling onto his shoulder.

right on the precipice of your orgasm, suguru watches how you get so close to cumming, he’s fucking salivating seeing how you become so undone, how you’ve gone fucking dumb on just his fingers, he can’t help but moan and groan right with you.

“mmm mmfuck, mine. mine.” he purrs, licking all up on you

but all too soon, it comes to a halt, and your orgasm gets snatched away from you. suguru wickedly decides to take his fingers out of you. you almost cry

“wha- no suguru fuck no don’t stop, mmmmnoo” you whine so pathetically gripping his arm, it’s fucking laughable trying to keep his fingers right where you needed them, gripping his sculpted arms so hard. your hands… the size difference makes him smile. no not smile, he’s fucking smirking. that little shit.

“fuck you, SUG HMPH!” you practically stomp your feet, pushing him away as you’re about to walk away, but of course suguru grips you against him, pulling you back so close, you are still as stubborn as ever refusing to look at him, while you’re face to face, which makes him snicker. he isn’t having any of that bullshit tho, he grabs your chin and cheeks squeezing as a warning. he pulls your face up to him again and kisses you on your forehead, the side of your head, and your cheek, and then he ghosts his plump, nude lips over your lips.

“if i decide you don’t get to cum on my fingers, you won’t. i don’t fucking care how close you are.” suguru states, locking his eyes with yours so intensely, while his lips and breath feel so close to your own, you almost feel faint. you want nothing more than for him to just kiss you, you want to feel his lips again, oh how you miss how soft they were, how you loved the taste of his mouth, the taste of the mint with his own unique feel.

suguru’s eyes flutter down to look at your lips so lushly plump and glossed he can’t help but lick his lips. he wants nothing more than to mess up your brown and pink lip combo. to bite, suck and lick all over you.

“tell me you understand.”

“i understand daddy, m’sorry i threw a tantrum, i just wanted to cum on your fingers so bad-”

suguru smiles feeling fucking delighted from your admission

“-can you please kiss me, i promise i’ll behave sugie” you whisper almost whining at the end, you rub your thighs together feeling how you made such a mess for him, as your slick trickles down your thighs.

suguru feeling so pleased with you, groans into your mouth, once your lips touch. he almost forgot how much he missed this. how much he missed you, your lips, those soft lips that melted against his. he loved the way you gasped and whined from your slow kiss, so sensual and intimate. but he knew you were such an impatient brat, his impatient princess.

demanding more, you lace your hands into his hair. you adored his long, luscious hair so much, (that you remember countless times joking about shaving it off at night and turning it into a wig. those playful moments would always have you both bickering and laughing together. it makes your heart swell remembering this).

you begged for more by stroking and tugging at the nape of his hair, making his body tingle, as suguru moaned into your kiss. he licked on your lips to get you to open up for him. he loves the way you whine and moan from frustration and neediness while running your fingers through his hair, it made him lose his fucking mind, so, of course, he had to express that by nipping at your bottom lip. his bite made you whimper and grind up against him but it wasn’t enough. you needed more. you wanted more. but suguru leads the kiss to hold that slow, deep and sensual pace, having your tongues dance together, lick against each other unhurried. which was mind-blowing but also so frustrating you wanted to just devour him, you couldn't get enough.

you moaned into his mouth as suguru sucked on your bottom lip, and then went back to your tongue, licking against each other. he spat in your mouth briefly separating your mouths from one another, and immediately resuming the kiss. at this, you snapped. whining wantonly, you gripped onto him and stubbornly clambered onto him so your legs wrapped around his waist. suguru was easily able to carry you. you were determined to make him fuck you.

“daddy” you whisper, opening your eyes to pout up at him.

“yes baby?” suguru answers, giving little kisses along your chin down to your neck. sucking onto your sensitive neck areas, he knew just the right spots to make you lose your fucking mind.

“i want you to fuck me…” you say grinding down onto the bulge you could feel through his sweats. you were sure you could feel a wet spot on them, but you weren’t quite sure of the culprit, as your wet pussy dragged and humped on his dick print leaking with pre-cum. you could feel his throbbing dick just aching to be inside you, pumping you full of his cum. suguru hissed from the feeling of your mess teasing his aching cock.

“… please baby, please fuck me again, i said i’d be good” you whined, moving closer to his ears so only he could hear how desperate you were for him. suguru moans, his voice breaks and rasps a little from you grinding on him and circling over his dick.

suguru fucking snaps, he closes his eyes while his mouth slightly hangs open, just taking in how your hips wined on him while he carried you.

he then cupped your face to him, “you’re such a fucking brat.” he moans, holding your face and caressing your throat, he watches how your breathing picks up, as you get so flustered. he brings you close, kissing you on your forearm, bringing his hand around your neck. then he carries you to his tattoo bed.

“i am not going to fuck you yn-.”

“-but su!” you begin to whine interrupting him

“be quiet.” suguru reprimands, gripping your neck just a little tighter after placing you to sit on the edge of the seat “i’m not gonna fuck you on my dick. when i have you like that, it’s gonna be on my bed, where i can have you screaming on it without any fucking interruptions. do whatever the fuck i wanna do without you getting all shy on me tryna muffle those pretty moans from me mmm, you understand baby?”

“yeah daddy” you answer feeling so giddy and light with him

“there’s my princess,” he smirks, “you’re really that fucking needy, want my dick here, right where my colleagues are downstairs mmm?” he says before kissing you again. “good girl” he praises while lifting off your dress and quickly bringing his lips back onto yours. slowly he brings you to lay back. he gets in between your thighs lifting one up over his shoulder while letting your tatted thigh rest over the edge of the bed. from this angle he could see your pretty glistening pussy, clenching around nothing.

“lay back baby.” he instructs, he sees how you wait in anticipation for him laying back on the bed.

he crouches down, kneeling in front of your exposed pussy, your slick brown lips he’s completely hypnotised by, they glisten from your wetness. you grow a little shy, you weren’t prepared to be eaten out today (૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა). you bring down your hands to try and cover her up, feeling a little embarrassed.

suguru immediately dismissing your nonsense, and swats your hand away bringing them to instead hold your plush thighs “don’t piss me off today yn, it’s fucking mine.” you almost squeal in response to suguru, he gets so intense sometimes.

suguru is completely enchanted by your scent, the way your hole quivers and weeps for him he has to have a taste. keeping his eyes on you suguru takes the time to separate your folds with his fingers, he licks your swollen nub revelling in the way you gasp and twitch from the sensation, you feel so sensitive from the way his fingers had you shacking.

he then delves in, lapping and sucking on your bud making you writhe and moan from pleasure. the movement of his tongue has such an effect on your pussy, it's marvelling. he takes his time, really getting you sensitive, flattening his tongue on your clit and then straightening it to add pressure, circling perfectly around your bundle of nerves, it makes you gasp and arch your back so prettily

“fuck! sug-daddy aaaahhh” you release a raspy cry, gripping his hair and pulling him into you to, so you can grind on his face, which makes him moan into you, muffling a-

“fuck baby” into your wet pussy, he has to hold your hips down as you begin moving around too much for him to control, so he holds your thigh and places his other arm on your hip, pushing you down, so you stay fucking still for him to play with you properly. suguru brings his tongue down to your leaking hole, thrusting his pointed tongue into your pussy making you mewl and cover your mouth to stop yourself from squealing.

the way you’re panting and moaning, suguru can tell you're going dumb for him, aching to cum all over him. he takes his mouth off of you as your moans get higher. you whine from the absence of his tongue on your needy pussy but he makes up for it by spitting on her, letting his spit slide onto your sensitive cunt. the way his spit glistens and slides down your pussy, he pushes it back into your hole, thrusting his fingers and spit back into you. you react by clutching your thighs together from the sensitivity which makes suguru look at you sharply.

“open.”

you whine, separating your thighs, so he can dip his head back down onto your clit which makes you shudder, bucking your hips into his face. he continues thrusting his fingers into you while his tongue plays and toys with your sore little clit. you can feel everything, it's all so much, your eyes roll back as your mouth hangs open letting out a broken moan while you tug at suguru’s hair.

the way his fingers scissor your folds open, cunt drooling and sucking him in greedily, while he laps and lightly nips on your clit letting his spit drool on you, just for him to suck on your juices. he eats so sloppily it has your eyes watering.

“s’good sug—so fuckin’ good,” hips grinding into the movement of his lengthy fingers, chasing that ecstasy knotting in the pits of your stomach, you’re so close you start seeing white, suguru knows you’re about to cum from the way your fingers tangle and tug at his hair, struggling to either push him closer or away from you. his dark piercing gaze never leaves your face.

“daddy m’gonna cum! shit hah aa sug please lemme cum oh please” you sob, which makes suguru groan into your pussy. feeling the way your hole clenches around his fingers, leaking out so much wetness. the way your hard clit throbs for him, your juices covering, adorning his beautiful face, he looks so pussy drunk. the only thing on his mind is making you cum all over him.

“mmm baby, you gonna cum for me.. that’s my good fucking girl” he says pumping his fingers into you while moving his other hand to circle your clit in tight circles, so he can talk you through your orgasm.

“oh fuck daddy! oh my godnngh” your hands immediately grip suguru’s hands as you squeal and moan wantonly. your body arches and bucks as you dig your nails into him leaving little crescents on his skin. your vision dots, as your body tenses, lips parting into a silent scream as your release flies through you, wetting the tattoo bed. suguru watches your cream flow beneath you, all over his mouth. he pushes your juices back into your leaking hole, drooling at the way your hole squelches.

“there’s my good girl, oh you did so good baby mmmm” he praises lapping at your excess juices spilling down, you’re so fucking sensitive it hurts

“sug-ahh it hurts, fuckk” you whine, purring up at him as you watch suguru’s desire envelop you, you can tell he’s not done with you, but you doubt you could even take anymore.

suguru slithers up to you, kissing and licking up your boobs, making you squirm. when he reaches you he holds your face so gently, mere inches away from you.

“you forgive me baby?” suguru whispers gently stroking his nose against yours, almost purring against you like a cat “mmmm?” he purrs stroking the side of your face and caressing your limp exhausted body. you feel so warm against him, so lewd and yet so protected.

“i forgive you, you’re such an asshole” you giggle feeling a little shy again, only suguru was able to make you shy, and flush so easily. suguru whispers back a thank you and captures your lips into a searing kiss, melting you both together so passionately. you clutch onto the nape of his neck and run your fingers through his hair, earning you a moan, as suguru’s tongue dances with yours sensually. he grips your hips, pulling you against him. you can feel his bulge pulsing for you-

“suguru, aye we’re back! and u’ve got another appointment waiting!” you both hear from downstairs at the reception, shoko calling out to suguru followed by gojo following suit making a ruckus, throwing a tantrum about his arm

“dudeee, where tf r u? i coulda died!” gojo shouts out. you can hear him coming up the stairs to suguru’s office

“mmm fuck suguru, they’re coming up” you gasp up to suguru who still refuses to take notice of them. he smirks, choosing to still feel all up on you

“mmmm don’t care c’mere” suguru states, you roll your eyes

“suguruuu c’mon” you smirk, pushing against him

“ugghh for fucksake” suguru huffs moving off of you, taking your hand and pulling you up to him making you yelp with excitement. you both come to your senses though when you hear gojo’s footsteps up the stairs getting close, both of you scrambling to put your dress back on and get you both presentable.

suguru then holds your chin, so you both look at each other

“what?” you nervously laugh at his intense look

“let me take you out yn? i’ve missed you so much baby” suguru pleads while stroking the side of your cheek with his thumb

“mmmm i dunno sug, dependdss on where you’re gonna take me” you smirk up at him

“let me worry about that baby, i wanna treat you, try and make it up to you” suguru implores and then kisses your forehead just as gojo barges in-

“sUgUruUuu!!”

♡ ༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. ° ｡༻

#geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru smut #jujitsu kaisen #black reader #jjk smut #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fic #jjk #jjk geto #geto smut #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #masochist sub #soft sadist #tattoo artist suguru #daddy geto #jjk angst #angst with a happy ending #light angst #geto #daddy k!nk

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

#mine #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #soap fluff #cod fluff #soap squad™️ #soap squad

[heartthrobin]

blue light (2)

miguel o’ hara x villain!reader

wc: 4.9k

warnings: fem!reader, reader can manipulate electricity, can teleport via lightning, age-gap (reader is early 20's), miguel is (slightly less) emotionally constipated, angst, swearing, jealous miguel, stalkerish behaviour, reader is a bit of a meanie (she's a villain after all), drinking, classic college kid shenanigans, implied one night stand, reader is highkey stubborn (she’s been hurt let’s not judge), happy ending this time i promise

an: next part to yellow light! i hate leaving stories with an unhappy ending so i had to work this out :) also the taglist was formed from this post before anyone asks again. remember to repost to support your fav writers !!

summary: someone's following you. you can feel it. like tiny spiders crawling over your shoulder when you sit too still.

part one

jumping between dimensions is exhausting work.

fuck what any spider-person had to say, they have fancy little watches that let them drift between earths as they pleased. they should try falling through a super collider every once in a while, not to even mention the glitching. like every molecule in your body is being ripped apart and reattached with wet wood glue.

and all that pain for a man. the notion makes you sick.

fuck Miguel too. fuck him especially.

you'd blasted him through the concrete face of a building in spite. the thought made you chuckle. he deserved it, that bastard.

when you returned from earth-8901, you slept over most of the next few days.

only closer to the end of the week had you dragged yourself from the depths of your bed to class. assignments glared at you from under the hood of your shut laptop and the professor's voice drifted over your head where it was hunched down over the scribbled outline of a scheme to cut power across the city.

you sketch a tiny little you in the corner, if you were a better illustrator someone may have been able to make out the tiny figure laughing maniacally at the panic she's induced.

scheming is fun. it lets you forget for the red and blue shadow that haunts your mind, if only for a few minutes at a time.

there's a coffee shop on the route back to your apartment and inter-dimensional travel has you jet-lagged enough to push it's doors open. a chime fills the space.

you stop most days just for a coffee, if you've made a recent hit at a bank on the other side of town you'll spoil yourself to a sandwich or a smoothie. but as it turns out, the money on earth-8901 is all purple bills. useless memorabilia hogging space on your study desk.

behind the counter is a fresh face. a handsome face.

he smiles at you and it's dazzling enough to prompt you into returning it. there's a name-tag against his black work shirt, Tobey, and he has dreads pulled up into a bunch at the top of his head.

you lean over the counter more than you would normally and his eyes follow your figure where it's divided by the countertop.

"hm. first week?" you prompt.

"indeed."

"how's it going?"

his eyes wash down your body again before returning to your gaze. "well. very well."

when you leave the shop there's a number written on the side of your cup with smudged black marker and a "give me a call -Tobey :)"

the ink stains the pads of your fingers. you consider the number the whole walk home.

by the time you reach your door, you've decided that you'll be calling him. that it's a good idea to start engaging with men in your dimension, as opposed to six foot nine assholes with sturdy shoulders ... and swirling brown eyes ... and a soft temperament despite how desperately he tries to hide it--

you slam your door, leaving that thread of thought on your welcome mat.

-

New York has already dimmed to a fuzzy black, perforated by city lights of every colour when you perch yourself on the edge of your bed. the city hums and the tune drifts in through your open window.

your cup from earlier is empty where you hold it up and dial the number written against it.

it rings twice before a static voice carries over the line. "hello?"

"Tobey?"

"speaking."

you tuck your knee up against the bed. in the low light, your glow emanates into the space. "i just called to say that i think you accidentally wrote your number on the side of my cup."

he chuckles. it's hard to make out, but then again most calls are tough when you're holding the phone with the same touch that could cut power to the pentagon.

"not a mistake, sweet-cheeks."

your nose crinkles. you hope the nickname isn't gonna stick.

but you press on, "that so? well, pray tell. why am i phoning you?"

"you're phoning so we can talk about when i'm taking you out."

"usually that discussion is preceded by actually asking me if i want to go out with you."

"i'm sure that--"

there's a crunch beyond the window.

the unmistakable crumble of concrete, accompanying dust cascading to settle on your sill in a tiny pile.

you squint, your apartment is on the eleventh floor. there's no way anyone could--

the phone falls, clattering to land across the dial.

spider-man.

your palms warm, you feel the surge of power rising where it's settled most days just beneath your skin. fingertips prickling with electricity, desperate to come reaching out - the bedside lamp dims as you brighten. your light casts shadows across the room.

"uhm, hello?" the abandoned phone still hums.

you creep towards the ledge before leaping at it, knees connecting with the sill. your eyes chase around the view beyond the window.

the night is still. there's no sign of movement beyond the people down in the street.

just above your window, the source of the noise, there's a gash in the brick. four gashes, to be exact. like an animal had ripped into the stone, like ... like claws.

your heart sinks into your stomach. the night is still unmoving.

-

it's thursday afternoon and the sidewalk is busy. you think that if one more person knocks into your side you're gonna zap them across the street.

Tobey hasn't showed up yet.

"how's thursday? some lunch, twelve o' clock?"

it's already half-past. you think hard about zapping him too, the face he'll make when he's swallowing scalding hot mouthfuls of electricity.

as if drawn from your thoughts, Tobey's figure is bumping people down the walkway. he's jogging, panting between an apology as he nears.

"i-i'm so sorry," he's hunched over, hands on knees. "my car was totalled ... i had to call the cops and sort out a bunch of stuff--"

"you got into an accident?" your voice is more curious than concerned.

he shakes his head. "no, an animal. last night an animal or something attacked my car, it's completely wrecked."

you squint at him. "an animal? we live in Manhattan."

Tobey straightened out. "yeah, go figure. giant claw marks and everything, the car was on it's head when i found--"

"claw marks?" your interest peaked.

the sound at your window.

"yeah. the thing must have been huge, it flipped my car." he nods. "and the security cameras were malfunctioning over the time that it happened so i can't know for sure ..."

there's only one creature you know personally, the kind that lurks on New York rooftops, that can inflict that kind of damage.

you don't allow yourself to think any more on it. Miguel hasn't come to your dimension before, he's not starting now.

and here to do what? wreck Tobey from the coffee shop's car?

the thought settles the bubbling in your core.

"well. are we still getting lunch?"

-

nearly a week passes and the thought of Miguel haunts you no more than it usually does - which is generally in the space between each thought - but you've squashed the notion that he may be around.

"it's not good to jump too often between dimensions."

he'd said that once.

you bury yourself under the safe cover of assignments and tests. early classes and afternoons at library desks.

of course, there's always time for hobbies. cultivating a healthy school-social balance is reliant on a well-rounded lifestyle.

there's two security passed out in the corner. you would duct-tape them but you struck them with enough power to light a carnival for a week. they'd be out for a while.

you'd think the university student finance office would be unoccupied at almost nine at night. but seven or eight people huddle in the corner of the room, stragglers that had remained to do work after hours.

they press against each other in fear. you delight in it.

"it's not your guys' fault," you speak to the room. the lights flicker overhead. "i get it, it's the big corporations! but, that still affects the lives of students who can barely afford to pay for registration anymore--"

the computer system fizzles and sparks beneath your hand. monitors go black across the office, the remains of student financial documents dissolved into digital dust.

you'd deny the notion that you were doing all this for the "greater good". your own student fees were climbing, and just while you were here, there were a couple friends who could do without it too.

blue and red lights bounce off the side of your profile. sirens echo down the street.

"right." you dust your hands and look around. you're chuffed when you curtsy at them, ends of your short dress pinched between your fingertips. "that should be me done then. you all have a good night."

the buildings doors slide open where you push them. you're almost blinded by the cop car headlights.

they’d formed a lineup behind open car doors, guns aimed up at you.

“Statica!” a gruff voice called from the depths of the lights. “get on the ground and put your hands behind your head! you’re surrounded!”

you roll your shoulders, pretending to consider their offer. eventually you shook your head, “i don’t think so, sheriff. i’ve got class tomorrow, can’t be out too late.”

a crack of lightning rains from the sky and a nearby police car explodes, lifting a few feet off the ground and bursting into flames.

“well, i’ll be off.”

your hand raises to call down another bolt, one that would send you back to the sidewalk outside your apartment, when the officer calls again.

“drop your weapon!”

“my weapon?” you chuckle lowly, “you mean my hand—“

you’re cut short by a bang and a flash at the end of a standard police pistol.

several things happen at once:

a force hits you with enough power to force all your breath clean out your lungs. your body is thrown back against the sidewalk and your midriff grows warm. your hand finds your stomach, it's sticky there.

on the wall behind where you once stood, there's a gaping hole where the bullet that was supposed to be yours has dug a wide welt into the grey plaster.

"you missed!" a voice call somewhere beyond the flashing lights.

another shoot rings out, but you're gone in a shower of sparks before the bullet has chance to even graze your cheek.

you're back on the street outside your apartment building. the streetlamp buzzes above you.

your lungs are burning, grappling desperately for oxygen. your eyes find your stomach again:

where there should be blood and a bullet sized hole, instead is a tangled mess of white web. it's solidifying slowly over your yellow get-up.

"it ... there's no ways." you whisper, the only person out in the late night street.

your spider-man isn't going around pushing you out the way of police fire. he's probably off kissing babies and saving cats from trees.

no. this was someone else, and there's only one person-- but why would he be here?

your eyes find the line of rooftops as if Miguel's figure would crescent over your street. it doesn't. somewhere beyond them, a cop car whoops.

webbing is drying over your hand.

"fucking asshole."

-

you're being watched, all through the next day. all the way to friday, you can feel it. like tiny spiders crawling over your shoulder when you sit too still.

the heat of red eyes, they're never there when you look for them.

in the walks between classes, the breaks between sprawled over campus benches in the summer sun flittering out conversation riddled with classic complaints. i can't believe that fucking test, that twenty mark question at the end? is she crazy?

you've considered calling out. maybe he'd appear from the shadows, but you'd squashed the notion quickly. he didn't deserve your acknowledgement.

he's probably right chuffed with himself, saving you when you didn't need his interference. no. if he wants to lurk like a creep, let him!

but the thought weighed on you. your heart whined in the quiet dark of your room late at night. the empty space beside you, the prodding of a dream you'd long since killed: rising a grey soil-ridden hand out from the depths of it's grave.

it was never gonna work anyway. it was the thought that sent you into sleep.

friday night arrived like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day.

you thrust your hips into your tiniest skirt and your chest through your prettiest top. your friends met you out on the sidewalk, already three drinks deep when you all spill into the muggy heat of the bar.

two vodka cranberries and three tequila shots under, the thought of Miguel dissipates. it's further incinerated by the warmth of the hand on your hip.

the man is tall - sure, not as tall as Miguel - and his blonde hair hung over his forehead. it didn't look soft, like how Miguel's did--

your grip tightened around the half-empty cup, thumb-sized welts melting through the plastic with the electric heat of your hand. shut up.

he brings you another drink. you chug it without another thought. he laughs and wipes at a red drop running down your chin with a cool hand. the bar swims around you in technicolour strobe lights and before you know it, the enthusiasm of the good times are whittling down to a thin thread.

"can i walk you home?"

you nod. he slips your hand in his and it's still too cool against your hot palm.

in the barely lit street, you wonder if he notices your glow. it wasn't so bright when you wanted it to be, but he was still too distracted by the tune of his own voice to notice.

"and we went down to the dock that day, there was a whole keg stand and we even--"

you think that maybe if you were as drunk as you were an hour ago that you'd have more energy to entertain him better. you nodded dumbly instead.

a quick in and out, you thought. you could tolerate him just for a few more hours if it meant he left your bed before the sun rises. he wasn't who you wanted, but he was here. and Miguel wasn't.

now that the alcohol in you was dwindling, not dead but dying, the melancholy of your situation was curling a cold hand up and making it hard to breath where it wrapped around your throat.

your building watched contemptuously down at you when you drew to a stop in front of it.

the man's, Cooper's, blue eyes draws circles over your face and his hand finds your waist again. he inches you closer.

"am i saying goodnight, or are you inviting me inside?"

you smile at him. it's faint and half-assed.

the rest of the night looms in your mind. could you really stand his Old Spice reeked conversation for another few hours? and would he really be able to get your mind off--

oh, oh. he's leaning in.

his thumb is pressing into the cavern of your cheeks, eyes pressing closed as rum-stifled breath nears your lips--

thwip. thwip.

there's a gust of air and a thump and Cooper is plastered to the side of your building in white webbing. his hands are pinned at his side, face white in shock.

your eyes widen. you teeter on shaky drunk legs, turning to face the rooftops where the darkness is blanketing over them and hiding where you know Miguel is lurking within.

alcohol infused rage claws up within you.

"O' Hara!" you scream out into the street. your hands heat, the streetlamp above flickering wildly under your influence. "you fucking asshole!"

your foot stamps against the concrete, hands racing up to your head and through your hair. "aaaghhh--!"

the bulb in the streetlight bursts. glass showers over your tantrum. it follows down the row of lights down the street, exploding in quick succession and sinking the sidewalk under an inky black cover.

you're now shining like a light on the mast of a fishing ship, casting a glow over the sea of tar. the spider is yet to emerge into your line.

"you are so full of shit! and if i see you again i will blast you through the whole city block, and this time you won't wake up--!"

"what the fuck--"

you turn with glowing eyes on the blonde bound to the wall, "shut up!"

thwip. his head bangs back against the brick where another web has sealed his mouth shut.

whipping back, your eyes find a shuffling figure over the next building. it's just a flicker of movement and then it's gone.

"ugh! you are so childish!"

you draw your hands over your face, running them down your cheeks and sigh. a couple deep breaths later and you can feel the heat of your power subsiding, it's dragging the anger down along with it.

"i'm going to bed." you mutter, patting down your skirt and fixing the edge of your shirt.

"mmpf--" Cooper moans against his restraints.

you'd just about forgotten about the man glued to your building. you cock your head at him.

"yeah ... well. good luck with that."

the buzzer echoes behind you when you shut the gate on his struggling.

-

it's hot when you wake up.

the covers are sticking to your legs and there's an itch in your throat for a tall glass of water. somewhere beyond the thrum of a headache against your forehead, you remember the bottle of water you set aside to cool in the fridge for this exact moment.

you groan when your feet hit the floor, the rush of blood to your head doing nothing to aid where your brain is pounding.

the apartment is warm with the soft glow of nearly morning. your alarm clock is flashing red - 05:02

orange light peeks over the counter when you pull your fridge open, the glare of starchy blue light pressing against your sensitive eyes. from the bottom drawer, you fish out the bottle and unscrew the cap.

you chug it down noisily, wet slurps echoing across the room. when you set it down you sigh, "god."

the image of your bed swims in your mind. the lure of the sheets calls to you again.

"princesa."

your back slams into the edge of the counter, "j-jesus--"

lurking in the corner by the door, wide shoulders out of place in the cramped apartment, stands Miguel O' Hara in his shiny red and blue suit.

your heart leaps into your throat, lodging there like a stone. you swallow around it. fuck, he looks so good.

"you," you stabilise the water bottle where it's spilt over the floor from your leap in fright. "what the hell are you doing here?"

he takes a step towards you. you press further back against the counter.

"i came to talk to you."

you guffaw, mouth slackening in amused disbelief. "talk? now you wanna talk?"

rising irritation flushes blood down to your legs, anger urges your steps forward all the way until your standing beneath him.

"you have been a pain in my ass for two weeks now--" you shove a finger into his hard chest, rising enough electricity to zap him but not enough to hurt. well, not hurt too much. he flinches.

"i've been a pain-- you electrocuted me through the side of a building?"

his face twisted, brow-bone hardening where he was glaring down at you.

"you deserved it. and i hope it hurt."

"it didn't."

"you're a liar."

silence rung into the space. you held your glare, but could feel it slowly softening. Miguel's hair was creeping over the edge of his forehead and his eyes had turned back to their chestnut brown that glittered in the sunlight peeking through the window.

he looked so ... so tame in this light. cramped into your apartment like he could belong there, like he could maybe be yours if you asked.

you broke first, turning away. "get out, Miguel." it was a whisper but you know he heard it.

"i need to talk to you."

you shook your head, refusing to meet his gaze again. "you had two weeks to talk, but instead you've been interfering in my life--"

"interfering? i saved you."

you huffed, forcing yourself to face him again. "saved me? saved me from what, a lunch date? a one night stand?"

at that, he turned away. face reddening. "i wouldn't have had to do that if you weren't going out with such fucking losers--"

"oh, pardon me for trying to find a date in my own dimension, someone who actually gives a shit about me.”

“i give a shit about you.”

you stilled. your lip wobbled against your will. “that’s not fair, Miguel.”

he shrunk the space by taking another step. “i came to apologise—“

you shook your head again. eyes finding the floor. against your sides, your palms were warming again: your next steps playing out in your mind.

another scalding hand to the chest, his body seizing underneath your palm and dragging his unconscious body out onto the street. probably come back and cry yourself back to sleep.

your hand rises.

“oh no,” thwip. thwip. “not this time, mi amor.”

just as he’d done to Cooper, your hands were plastered back against your apartment wall: splayed out against the cream paint job.

“this webbing thing is getting real fucking boring O’Hara—“

he was against you in an instant. warm, solid chest pressed against your pajama shirt. his hands came to cup your cheeks.

“i came to apologise.” you pressed your head back against the cold wall, eyes trained on the corner of the floor in your kitchen. it needed a vacuum. “i know i should have come when you asked. i know that.”

if you look at him, for even a second, you’d crumble and you knew it. your eyes were clouding, waterline wet.

a calloused finger ran slow and gentle down your jaw. “please look at me, princesa.”

you shook your head. a stray tear chased down, catching under the press of his finger.

“why don’t you go bother one of your other inter-dimensional girlfriends, Miguel.”

he growled at that, low and deep, and you’d be a liar if you said your knees didn’t buckle under the sound.

Miguel pressed forward: cheek to yours, hand digging welts into your hip.

“there’s no-one else. there’s only you, it’s only ever been you.”

you huffed at that, it curled at the edge with a humourless chuckle. “what, with this jawline and these muscles? i hope you don’t think i’m a fucking idiot.”

he caught the lobe of your ear between his teeth, pressing his body harder to yours, but you didn’t relent. your eyes fluttered against his heat, but stayed trained away from his shadowy figure.

“why are you so fucking difficult.” his breath was warm there. “you said prove it, Miggy, and i’m here proving it.”

“you’ve always known i was difficult.” you whisper, it’s more of an after-thought really.

he sighs, shoulders loosening just enough that you can make it out in the corner of your eye.

the flat column of his nose presses into your cheek. he nudges it there softly and it warms a pit deep inside you.

“sí, mi amor. lo sé.” hot lips press into your cheek and a whine escapes you before you can catch it. his thumb has reached up and is pressing into the space behind your ear.

his lips are traveling, just barely grazing your skin with pecks down your jaw. then to the column of your throat, to the bend between your shoulder and your neck.

“i know that … and you know that. and yet you still have no concept of how much trouble you make for me.” his voice swooping into the crevice of your collarbone. his teeth graze over that same spot. “how i can’t even work without thinking about you, watching every monitor hoping you’ll be in another dimension causing chaos so i can come find you and you can bat those pretty fucking eyelashes at me. can’t sleep. think about you lying beside me. about all the pretty noises i can draw from your pretty throat.”

his knee sinks to the ground, hitting the floor with a soft thump. the other follows shortly after.

that draws your gaze off the floor, eyes wide in surprise. they find the supple curls on the top of his head.

even on both knees, the crown of his head brushes under your nose.

the sight was widening the lump in your throat. it burnt to swallow.

“and yet you still never came.”

he shakes his head at that. gentle hands reach for the end of your pajama shirt, tugging it up slowly. Miguel leans forward and presses another kiss against the soft fat over your exposed hip.

you twitch against him, gasping at the heat of his lips over your cool skin. at your hands, your fingertips crackle with summoned energy. you can feel where the webbing is slowly melting under it’s press.

“‘s not true.” he says against you. “i’m here all the time.”

your shirt is being lifted higher as his head chases up your naked stomach, nipping at the skin where it freckles with goosebumps.

“i come to watch you—“

“that’s not creepy at all—“ you mutter, only teasing, and you’re punished with a particularly hard bite at your ribs.

“come because i miss your face and your laugh and …” he sighs, nudging his cheek against you. “god you make me fucking sick.”

there’s a squelch where the webbing has melted just enough for you to pry your hands from the wall, immediately grasping for the depths of Miguel’s hair.

“ever the romantic.” you huff. but you tug on his roots so he’s facing up to you, neck stretched deliciously with veins and hard muscle.

he’s blinking, lips parted as he waits for you.

“are you being serious, Miguel?” you ask quietly.

his eyes twinkle. “i am.”

you purse your lips, a smile creeping up into the corners of your mouth. your nails scrape over the crown of his head, trailing down to rest at the base of his neck. his eyes flutter shut against your hand.

“this might be the best apology i’ve ever received.”

he hums. “that’s good.”

“is it over, or should i let you finish? cause i’m kind of itching to kiss you right now.”

a smile of his own creeps over his face. it’s a sight you’ve maybe caught a glimpse of once in your life.

“i’m done.”

he leans up, persuaded by your touch reaching to cup his jaw. he’s almost at your mouth when he whispers again.

“you’re not gonna electrocute me for trying to kiss you again, are you?”

you laugh at that, his grip on your waist tightens at the sound. “you ever gonna let that go, old man?”

“old man?”

he surges forward, lips finding yours in a bruising kiss.

you giggle against him and your hands are everywhere: through his hair and down his shoulders and over his jaw. his tongue slips in against yours and it's saccharine like you'd always dreamed it to be. Miguel's hands race up your calves, behind your knees and hook beneath your thighs. he lifts you with him when he stands.

your legs wrap around him and he's persistent, pushing you against the wall in the heat of his kiss.

you detach your lips from his, chasing them down his cheek and into the crevice between his jaw and his neck. he groans, fingertips driving deeper into the plush of where he was holding you up by your thighs.

"i should get you jealous more often."

he guffaws, face above yours. "me? jealous of those idiots? as if."

leaning back to meet his face again, you cock an eyebrow. "you wrecked that guy's car. and taped the other one against a building."

his eyes rolled, an all-too-pretty blush darkening his face. he dropped it against your shoulder, "you know about the car?"

you laugh. "what else is big enough to flip a car in Manhattan. and the claw marks? you're so transparent it's almost hot."

Miguel chuckles and it's ticklish against your skin. he drops another kiss there. "i don't like sharing."

"sharing?"

he's back to nipping spots up your neck. "don't wanna share my girl."

the smile on your face was impossible to squash. "oh, i'm your girl now?"

he nods. "will you be?"

your fingers creep back into his hair, bringing him back into the light of your eyes. "you're not trying to make a hero out of me, are you? convert me to your little spider-squad?"

his lips purse, pretending to consider it, before eventually shaking his head. "no."

“wouldn’t a villain and a spider-man together collapse the multiverse or something?”

“then let it collapse.”

your thumb tugs on his fat bottom lip before letting it snap back in place. "god you're a sweet talker, Miggy."

you press forward to kiss him again. he sighs.

-

comment and repost if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @lovely-vamp-princess @yeetmetothesky @mdsbabygirl @wyldeflovver @literally-a-god @the-great-ladyg @yerimsho @kerbulkdystchan @sandwich-picklebelly18 @ghostingtheinternet @readinghoes @stqrlightrs @vampiremiguel950 @snowdrop987 @vikingqueen28 @dakumoon-00000 @ilovewoc @sparklytoaster @animequeen4 @neytirisgfreal @shinononstan @queerponcho @edgaluten @mxn14 @jollycandybanana @jxnnav @mik-bxrnes @hotbisexualmess @judeeduartte @omg-kitzia-blr @over-the-moon-for-you @daedaep69 @snailss @mysteriouserrorrr @dazeydelrey @brownskin-bunny @littlelfreak @simeon-lovergirl @sticksheaad @miguelslefteyebrow @crazy-ravioli @sweethxneytea @starsluver @obi-mom-kenobi @that-freaky-mysterious-one @cheermoon @lipstickmarks @vaporwave8chan @chiyoyooo @agentr13 @stargazingcarol @keeninternetchaos

#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o hara #fic rec #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv fanfiction

[vocalchords]

i think those posts that talk about how The Fandom Turnaround (tm) has gotten much much shorter in the past years & how the sharing of fan-made content is on a steady decline have a point, but they've also rung hollow for me for quite a while and i've just realized why:

oc artists have been living like that this whole time. and i myself am an oc artist— an amateur, for sure!!! i am not nearly as talented as nearly all of my friends when it comes to the visual arts, but i am improving and my work still deserves to be acknowledged.

i get trapped in these little echochambers where i wonder if my art is the scum of the earth, or if people just aren't reblogging it because it isn't directed at a specific fandom.

take my voidfish cosplans. that was a once-in-a-blue-moon fandom post. and it was a sketch. it took me all of an hour to make, and it blew up to a hundred notes because it's fandom content.

my oc art takes me much longer, and it's a miracle to even get half as many notes as that. my oc art usually gets anywhere from 15 to 30 notes:

[ID: three screenshots of the notes on some of my art posts. the first has 24 notes, the second has 18, and the third has 30. end ID.]

and this includes all of my self-reblogs and, of course, likes, which i'm sure we all know by now don't do shit. one of my most recent pieces i spent nearly 40 hours making, and as of writing this post, it sits at 24 notes. taking into account self reblogs and likes... yikes!!

most people whose oc work gets popular does so because they were either popular fanartists beforehand or the work displays insanely good technical talent (or, rarely, they just get very lucky). and good for those people!!! but i also put a lot of work into my oc content, and so do a lot of my friends. our work also deserves recognition. supporting fanartists is not the end all be all. independent artists who aren't heavily tied to fandom often get discouraged because no one is interested in the work they create. it's really sad to see.

so support oc artists!!! scroll through "my ocs" "my characters" tags on tumblr!! yes the sorry excuse for an algorithm here sucks but you never know!!! you might strike gold!!! support your mutuals that you already have!!!! support small artists and beginners!!! enthusiasm for more independent artists' work can and will only foster an attitude that will help both fandom and non-fandom creative settings, but don't leave non-fandom work behind.

feel free to drop the urls of oc artists you know in the notes :]

#I WILL BE SELF REBLOGGING THIS BECAUSE I AM ACTUALLY VERY PASSIONATE ABOUT THIS!!!! #OC ARTISTS BE ANNOYING IN THE TAGS ADVERTISE YOUR ART BLOGS AND YOUR COMMISSIONS #YOU DESERVE IT. LORD #the void sings #art

[starlostseungmin]

— SKZ ON YOUR BIRTHDAY

pairing: boyfriend!skz x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: kissing, mentions of stress from work, food and fireworks, lmk if i missed something, not proofread.

word count: 1.2k

notes: it's not yet my birthday but, i just wanted to post something because it has been a whole month lmao. i hope everyone loves it! please don’t send in requests because i’m not taking any right now and if you wish to see more of this posts please reblog, leave your feedbacks and put tags alright? thank you very much love ♡

𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡 

he definitely took a day off even if your birthday was supposed to be a work day for him. and you’d say he didn’t have to but he insisted so you could celebrate it with him. 

would make you wear a blindfold and take you to the place where he prepared all the set-up and other preparations for your special day. 

it wasn’t a surprise when you knew it was the beach because he loves it so much, but the set-up was cute. a picnic mat and a basket filled with your favorite food. 

basically it was a date, but it was extra special because it is your birthday. he even brought a small cake with a greeting and name on it as he lit the candle. would sing a song for you. 

“i hope you like my idea of celebrating your birthday,” 

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪

will pretend to forget your birthday and tease you that it wasn’t your day. 

would make you upset probably but when you were about to cry, saying it wasn’t a big deal, he will give in and pepper your face with kisses to apologize. but just had to forgive him because you can’t get mad. he will ask what food would you like to eat to make you feel better. 

will watch a tutorial on how to bake the perfect cake for you after he bought all the ingredients the other day. 

but of course, he would never forget the birthday present he hid beneath your bed and give to you once everything is settled. 

will sing a birthday song along with your kids (his cats) while carrying the cake with a party hat on his head. 

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗕𝗜𝗡

you told him you didn’t want something big on your birthday and stay home with him, all relaxed and watch a movie to have peace. but you ended up in his parents’ house anyway after his mom forced him to bring you home. 

his family loves you so much that they ended up preparing for your special day and you didn’t want to refuse their hospitality. 

it was fun having dinner with his family as well as them, singing the happy birthday song. 

changbin had to steal you away after that and cuddled with you on the couch while watching a movie. he would apologize for the set-up but you reassured him it was all good and you loved everything that happened tonight. 

will kiss the top of your head, whispering a happy birthday with all the i love yous he could say. 

𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡𝗝𝗜𝗡

you thought it was just a usual date for your birthday. but your boyfriend didn’t let it be simple and all. he wanted to be different and unique. 

he handed you a small box after finishing your meal in that one fancy restaurant you love so much. 

you told him that he didn’t have to buy you a gift but simple things turned into a big surprise. a key was inside and he was all giddy and excited when he brought you to the door where the key is supposed to unlock it. 

it was a big surprise indeed, a small studio he rented with a display of all of his paintings and sketches of you. a gift he’d always wanted to give. 

you got emotional and at the same time thankful for the time and effort. it is him, your favorite artist, the love of your life, taking you as his muse. “happy birthday my love,”

𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚 

you were having a bad day at work and arrived home, drained from exhaustion. you were upset and frustrated, disappointed and sad, all the emotions came in. 

but seeing jisung cook for the first time and made a mess in your kitchen, made you cry harder. it wasn’t because he is making a mess, but his presence and making an effort to make your day good felt like comfort. 

you saw the set-up and he noticed you were there, crying at the entrance of the kitchen. he suddenly felt bad. 

“i-i was trying to cook for you but i made a mess,” he said as he looked down in embarrassment. “i’m sorry,” but you ended up hugging him instead. he asked if you were alright and you told him you were having a bad day. 

you didn’t get mad at all, you were happy because he was there, comforting you and greeting you a happy birthday. 

𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗫 

he woke up early in the morning to surprise you and went to make the birthday cake first. 

unfortunately you woke up a few minutes after he did and caught him making a mess in the kitchen with all the flour scattered on the counter, even on his face. 

you laughed and kissed him good morning, asking him to let you help but he refused because it is your special day. tried to argue with him but he gave up and let you help him. 

yet you still made a bigger mess and had fun with the icing cream while decorating the top of the cake. 

even placed an excess cream on the tip of his nose so you could kiss it. 

𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗠𝗜𝗡

he knew he had to plan everything and decided to take you to a day6 concert as a gift. surprised when all the members started singing happy birthday, directed toward you. 

it turns out to be your boyfriend who had requested it and is friends with his wonpil hyung. will take candid pictures of you as you enjoy the moment and film your priceless reactions.

and while you were distracted, he showed up with your birthday cake, everyone was hyped and the band members were cheering for you to make a wish and blow out the candle. 

you thanked seungmin for giving you one of the best birthday presents ever. he even kissed you in front of the crowd and hugged each other making everyone go wild.

but he made sure there was something else in private after the concert. “i prepared flowers, plushies, your favorite foods, and the movies you want to watch,” he smiled. “happy birthday, baby,” 

𝗝𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡

will definitely have a picnic date with you at the park and made sure no one was there, except the two of you. 

it was nighttime, and you were just talking about random stuff while enjoying the view of the han river, the city lights that reflected on the water, and the stars that illuminates the dark sky. 

he would excuse himself to go to the bathroom but in reality, he just went to give the signal for his surprise and get back to you with a cake, singing happy birthday with fireworks lighting up the sky. 

you cried for how beautiful it was and hugged him out of the blue because of how happy you felt. but clumsy jeongin dropped the cake making the both of you panic. 

yet you thought it was hilarious and had to laugh it out (he have another cake waiting in the car, just in case). 

taglist : @wolfchanchan @inseonqt @soobin-chois @1-800-lixie @luvhyun3 @hanjiesgf @koovvie @lix-ables @starzzns @zoe8stay @gwynsapphire @cherryhanji @hwangsify @lixesque @seungly @sleepyleeji @comet-falls @kim-seung-mo @ppiri-bahng @myjisung @snow-pegasus @milkybonya @l3visbby @wilczachannn @yejis-biggest-simp @tangylemonade @hwan-g @awkwardnesshabitat @chrispychans @therealhyunjingf [ pls lmk if you want to be added or removed ]

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids blurbs #stray kids reactions #stray kids headcanons #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz reactions #skz scenarios #skz x you #skz x reader #skz blurbs #skz headcanons #stray kids drabbles #skz drabbles #bang chan imagines #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #han jisung imagines #felix imagines #seungmin imagines #i.n imagines #skz au #stray kids au

[sotwk]

Thranduilion: Sons of the Woodland King

SotWK commission by super-talented artist hffhifjou

(Please click image to enlarge and appreciate the beautiful details! XD)

I am pleased to present the first artwork I've commissioned for my OCs, the Princes of Mirkwood, Legolas's older brothers and elder sons of Thranduil Oropherion and his wife, Elvenqueen Maereth (also my OC).

I know many fans aren't on board with Legolas having brothers, but I invite you to enjoy the concept with me for a bit: an entire lineup of brother ellons, all as gorgeous and amazing as Thranduil and Legolas are?? Surely it's a fun imagine to indulge in, even as an AU.

I will gradually start posting more HCs about each Prince of Mirkwood, but here are some headcanons to accompany and explain this artwork:

Legolas is not only the youngest son, but he is actually the smallest of the group--if you could even call 6 feet, 8 inches "small"! But in comparison, Thranduil is 7 feet, 3 inches, while the tallest son, Turhir is a whopping 7 feet, 6 inches.

Turhir is the tank of the family--the tallest one and the best fighter (not counting Thranduil). He is virtually tireless and very difficult to take down or injure.

The eldest brother, Crown Prince Mirion, is physically the strongest, with raw muscle power even greater than Thranduil's. You can see that he is simply built broader and more muscular than the usual elven "slender" physique.

The five princes have varying degrees of fighting ability and different skill sets, but all of them are adept warriors. In this sketch, they are each carrying the weapons they specialize in.

The princes have trained alongside the Greenwood soldiers since they were very young, and they eventually earned places in leadership positions--except for Arvellas, who is more scholar than soldier.

The princes don't wear circlets most of the time; only during formal functions. Wildman Gelir in particular hates having to do this, and dislikes formal "stuffy" clothing in general. The Crown Prince is the only one who wears his crown as regularly as the Elvenking does, to signify his status as heir to the throne.

During warm summers in the Woodland Realm, soldiers do occasionally train shirtless, especially when they do drills around or in bodies of water. In some winters, they also undergo exercises with very little clothing on, to hone their bodies' tolerance for the harshest cold-weather conditions.

One of my HCs about Mirkwood/Silvan elves is that they are much more comfortable with showing skin than their Noldor and Sindar brethren in the west (or even the other races), which can occasionally scandalize and draw criticisms from outside visitors.

I specifically asked for the artist to draw these elves shirtless because a) you know we all enjoy that; b) we rarely get to see it; and c) I did want to highlight the differences in physique between the brothers, and promote my belief that Elves do not have all the same body type.

For anyone interested, I made a separate post about my fancast/face claim choices for these OCs HERE.

I am 100% willing to answer any Asks about any of my OC Thranduilions, including headcanons of Legolas. My OC-loving heart will thank you for your interest!

Tagging some friends who have been so kind in encouraging me to create more content for my OCs. Thank you so much, and I hope you don't mind this superfluous tag. (It won't be a regular thing, I promise!) @laneynoir @legoriel-fan @quickslvxr @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @tamurilofrivendell @delicatebreadtyphoon @laurfilijames @i-am-pinkie @lathalea @fizzyxcustard @sleepyamygdala @jezzibee @firelightinferno @coopsgirl @heilith

#legolas #thranduil #thranduil headcanon #legolas headcanon #the hobbit #thranduil oropherion #the elvenking #sotwk headcanon #sotwk fanfiction

[buckybarnesevents]

ALTERNATE JUNE-IVERSE 2024

You read that correct, little astronauts!

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞-𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 is back for 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝟐 in 2024!

Things are operating very similar to the first round, but please click the Read More below to refresh yourself on the way this event runs.

RULES

Be sure to check out the blanket event rules found HERE.

Due to the nature of all media and works within this event, it is only for those that are 18 and older – upon signing up you acknowledge that you are not a minor.

Any kind of hate (kink bashing/shaming, harassment, toxic behaviour, etc.) will not be tolerated at any point. There will be no warnings given and if proven to have exhibited any disagreeable behaviours, you will be removed from the event.

Tag your works accordingly. We expect explicit works, and that will contain squicks, triggers, etc.  We believe in Kinktomato here. YKINMKATOK (Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That’s OK) but you are responsible for advising our readers what to expect. 

This event, as always, is open to any and all pairings that involve our favourite murder muffin! If you’re finding that inspiration isn’t coming to you with just Bucky, we will also allow up to two squares per card to feature a different Sebastian Stan persona (Sebastian himself, Steve Kemp, Max Burnett, etc.)

The AU’s are entirely up to your interpretation, so long as they are featured prominently in your creation.

Read our FAQs thoroughly for event conduct, swapping prompts, schedule and more!

FAQs

What is a Connect Four event? 

Simple! It’s very similar to a Bingo Event, where you will receive a card with four categories.  

What happens if we finish our card? 

You can request additional cards! Please only request a new card once you have finished your current card. If you are not happy with the prompts on your card, please request a swap for that square/those squares. You can request one swap per card, up to four squares (yes, you can ask for a whole new card).

If there's a square you don't vibe with, please use our Square Swap Form to begin the process of either requesting up to 2 new squares, or an entirely new card. The email must include your username, card number and the square + prompt you are purging from your card. 

Can we use a fill for another event as well (ie. another bingo, etc)?

Absolutely! So long as the other event allows it, we have no rules against cross-posting.

How do I post to the AO3 collection? 

Under collections (when posting), type in Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse or Connect4AU

You can also add your work directly from the collection by going to https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Connect4AURound2 and selecting “post to collection” on the top right. 

What fills are accepted?

Any creative media is accepted:

Fics Moodboards Digital / traditional art (sketches, too)! Playlists Etc. 

If there is a medium not listed that you want to create and you’re not sure about, shoot us an ask and we will add it to the list!

All work must be newly uploaded to count towards the fill (no entering a fic you published a few months ago, for example). They may count towards already existing AU’s that you write for (a new chapter for an ongoing fic), or they can be something brand new – it is entirely up to you.

ALL ENTRIES MUST BE YOUR OWN WORK. 

What pairings are allowed?

Any. Whether that be /Reader, /Steve, /Reader/Steve, /Natasha, /Clint – so long as Bucky is still the main character.

Is there a limit to submissions?

Absolutely not. You are free to create as many works / pieces of media that you feel inspired for – whether that be 5 fics for a Mafia AU square, or 10. It does not matter.

Schedule:

19th of January – Signups open

WHENEVER you receive your card, you can begin posting

1st of June – Submissions close

You can sign up to this event from the 19th of January right through until the end – keep in mind that we are aiming for cards to be in your inbox within 3 days of you signing the form – though we are only human, there may be delays.

If you have concerns or if it takes longer than 5 days, please email us or tag rookthorne / buckyismybicycle on the discord server, and we will check the progress.

#bucky barnes event #BBE #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes fanart #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel event #event page

[uzlolzu]

Every characters of yours feels so believable and real in the way the look

How do you go about creating them do you collect references first or do it entirely from imagination?

First off: Thank you!

I have far too much to say about character design, but I’ll try to keep it brief-ish and not answer ten other things in addition to your question.

It’s nearly always from imagination these days. Sometimes I look for photos if I’ve decided to draw a type of person I’m unfamiliar with and feel specifics are important, but I constantly try to expand my mental library so that I won’t have to find references. I pretty much live for character design and I have spent the last twenty-five years or so developing the skills I find useful for it. Perhaps my efforts weren’t very focused when I was nine, but the ambition to “make a better heroine” was there. So, I’ve read a large number of anatomy books and keep on reading new ones, I do studies, and I continuously question my tastes, experiences and go-tos to be able to grow past them – little by little. Still, I absolutely use references sometimes, just generally not for design purposes or to a particularly large extent when I work on illustrations. I mainly use them when I struggle with an angle (in which case I usually find a mirror or take a photo of myself) or when studying. I often consult my anatomy books, however, and the two anatomical models on my desk, Mr. Skeleton and Mr. Half skin-half exposed superficial muscles. (I won't show a picture, since I know many people find them nasty and I don't want to tag this post as nasty. But they're beautiful friends.)

Anyway. How do I actually go about it… When drawing? Well, I usually have a pretty good idea of a character’s personality before I pick up a pen. That’s important to me. If I don't have one already, I mostly start with a written description rather than anything visual. Just a few words, to get an idea. Those texts aren’t based on anything and usually not very detailed, but they have the essentials. Being able to describe someone for myself and work from there, instead of from a vague thought, helps me to start. After I have a clear picture in my head, I usually make either a painterly portrait or a number of small head sketches.

For example, this is my first picture of Tege:

And these are my first pictures of Liam:

...When that’s done and I’m happy with the restult, I’ll have a perfect reference for later pictures. Eventually I’ll have a bunch of pictures of a character that I can start second-guessing and slowly change to perfection. Maybe I’ll get there one day.

#uzloreplies #I spent five hours trying to answer this #Character design is so important #Tege #Liam

[swiftllama]

September Compliments ☀️🔍

[Compliments Masterlist]

Hey guys! Back for another month! A month of a lot of small compliments sprinkled throughout this time around, but we still got quite a few full-on great complimentary moments. One in particular was very special 🥰

So let's get into it...

September 2023

Thinking OUTSIDE The Box (Herd Mentality)

Right off the bat, first day of the month, we got a Games video, and this video actually started off a theme throughout this month. The boys were in quite a few videos where they were playing games this month and were either competing against or working as a team so we got a lot of them complimenting each other on a job well down, plus the bestie-ism was shining through :-

Q: 'Name a brand beginning with an A’

Anthony: "I went to clothing for some reason."

lan: "Oh then I know what you did then."

Anthony: "Do you?'

lan: "You went to clothing.”

~

Anthony: "I put American Eagle. I'm thinking mall culture."

lan: [nodding] “I was thinking- I actually thought you'd either put American Eagle or All Saints."

-

Q: 'Name an animal beginning with a P’

lan: "I'm giggling [at his answer]."

Anthony: "I think I know why you're giggling.”

~

lan: "I put p**sy!"

Anthony: "I knnnew."

-

Anthony: "Did you [lan] just win?"

lan: "Oh!'

Anthony: "That's a win!" [cheering and clapping] "Yoooo! Because the nose [lan's answer for that round] knows!'

-

Q: 'Out of all the animals in the world, which is the cutest?'

lan: "I said cat."

Anthony: "I said kitten."

[everyone debating whether it counts as the same animal]

Anthony: "Also Ian," [shows him his card] "I wrote cat and crossed it out. I almost wrote it."

-

Q: 'Who is the toughest Disney princess?'

lan: "I did, I think her name is Merida?"

Anthony: "I put the one from Brave."

lan: "Oh!"

Anthony: "Yeah!"

I actually made a post of this moment because it was so cute! How excited they were they had the same answer and also Anthony's little tap dance when he realises 😊

l also loved Angela pointing it out :-

Angela: "Wait, that was so cool that you both said that really random one."

Chanse: "That is fun. Yeah."

Anthony: "Yeah."

lan: "She's tough."

Anthony: "But isn't she- she's like an archer."

Angela: "Sure, but like nobody talks about that movie."

Jackie: "I thought of it too, but I was like 'That's too much of a deep cut.'"

What did I say about the bestie-ism shining through? 🥰

-

lan: "Hey everybody. Here's a good one, Anthony I feel like you and I are gonna be aligned on this one."

Q: 'Name a rapper'

~

lan: "I said Drake."

Anthony: "I wrote Snoop Dogg."

So obviously not the same answer but very cute how lan thought they would be on the same wavelength and he gives the reason as to why he thought that :-

lan: "So Anthony and I played a, we played a fun little game yesterday, where we went on Spotify and we were trying to guess who were the top artists, because it ranks them-"

Literally awing out loud! the fact they were just playing that game together, it wasn't for a video or anything, just something they were doing together in their free time 🥹

Bonus - HELP! I became an NPC!

So this next moment doesn't really fall under the 'compliment' umbrella, but it is something that has become a sub-genre of these posts - is the 'daddy’ thing. Yep, you guessed it folks, Anthony was at it once again. Although, like in the 'You Posted That' episode, he's switching it up and now he's referring to himself as 'daddy’ :-

Anthony: [face appearing as if through a phone screen like in the main sketch]

lan: [pretends to put his fingers up Anthony's nose and then into his mouth]

Anthony: "Ooooh, daddy like."

Why are they like this 🤦‍♀️

Also I think @lilac-hecox & @only-frann summed up a perfect description of this Compliments Series :-

Hope you guys don't mind me tagging you, but this is literally what this series is 😄

Anyways, that was just a jokey little one, but as I said, it's now a 'thing' of these posts so I couldn't not include it.

Moving on...

We Already Regret This Embarrassing Photoshoot ft. Smosh

The boys went back on Good Mythical Morning for the first time in almost 8 years, and although this time around we didn't get any frosting foot massages or Titanic re-enactments there was a few compliment-adjacent moments :-

Link: [talking about the photo they had to re-create] "And lan, I gotta give it to you, man. You remembered a lot."

Anthony: "He did! The glasses. The shirt."

-

Anthony: "I'm feeling good about that one [their photo]."

lan: "I'm feeling good."

And then we got one of their high-five/hand-grip moments that they do a lot.

-

[lan and Anthony announced as the winners]

Anthony: "Yeeeah!'

Another high-five, of course

Anthony: "Yeah! Let's go!'

They just absolutely live for congratulating each other on anything and everything now and it's very sweet. And there's more to come!

Food Battle 2011 - Flashback w/ Smosh

As they're rewatching Food Battle 2011, lan points out in one of the shots how his cross-country team photo can be seen in the background :-

Anthony: "That's you lined up with all the cross-country... pals.

Oop was that jealous!anthony shining through a little there 🫢

lan: [laughs] "Pals."

Anthony: "Backlit. Looking epic."

So again, just another small little compliment, but lan's cross-country/running is brought up again and praised/complimented by Anthony in...

HELP! I became an NPC! Watch Party

[discussing how American sports are confusing]

Anthony: "I feel like Smosh and sports just don't mix in my brain."

lan: [laughs] “What sport do you think that aligns the most with Smosh?"

They go through multiple silly suggestions between the two of them and ones they read from the chat, before lan suggests :-

lan: “I feel like, and it's probably just because I did it, but cross-country. Smosh is cross-country."

Anthony: "Just cause you're part of Smosh and you did it?"

lan: "And you just keep going, and you just keep going. Just keep running."

Anthony: "Is that how you felt doing Smosh even when I left?"

lan: “Yeah. Like just gotta keep going. Just one more mile. One more mile."

Oh lan 🥺 I just had to pause to react to that before I get to the complimentary part of this conversation, but that's so sad. But also a perfect description of what I imagine it was like for him during those times when Anthony was gone. Having to remind himself to just keep going and pushing forward regardless.

Anthony: "What was your longest run?"

lan: "I did a marathon."

Anthony: “Yeah, I remember you ran past my street and I woke up bright and early, and I was like [pretends to be half asleep and waves].”

lan: [smiling] “Yeah, yeah I did."

Anthony: "How long was that run?"

lan: "26.2 miles."

Anthony: "Daaaamm, I didn't know [the] marathon was 26.2 miles, shiiiit.”

lan: “Yeah, and I averaged a little under an 8 minute mile.”

Anthony: “That is not bad. For 20 times 26?! That's good!"

So couple things to cover here!

1. Anthony waking up early to catch lan run by his street so he could wave to him CAN YOU HEAR ME CRYING 😭 that's the cutest thing ever!

2. Anthony saying how good of a time lan got in the marathon is so sweet. I live for Anthony bigging him up 🥹

Anthony's Birthday

This next lot I'd call complimentary-by-extension. Anthony's birthday rolled around and in typical lan fashion this was the birthday tweet we got from him :-

Oh lan, wouldn't expect anything else from you 😅

Thought that was going to be it but then Mr. Padilla came through for us! And this was the particularly special moment I mentioned in the beginning of this post. He made the post linked in the main header of this section, thanking everyone for the birthday wishes and said how it had been Mykie and his anniversary the week previous and how she took him to the Grand Canyon. The post was all photos of the two of them, but in amongst it all, he included this gem :-

lan 💛

Isn't this just the softest thing.

I mean...

1. We finally get to see lan interacting with Anthony's dogs 🙌 Also the fact you can tell how comfortable they must be around him given the fact she's laying on his chest quite content which means lan is around them often enough to have that bond with them 🥹

2. The fact they spent Anthony's birthday together after so many years of birthdays unshared & it also makes Ian's tweet funnier, like him being next to Anthony, realising people are probably expecting him to publicly wish him 'happy birthday’, him writing the most basic tweet with a low-quality gif, posting it, and then going right back to hanging out with Anthony 😆

Aaaaand…...

3. Probably the softest thing about this, and where I'm going to get a bit emotional writing/thinking about it because I have a lot of feelings about it, is the fact Anthony included that photo of lan within his birthday/anniversary post. It's just so unbelievably soft. I cannot get over it. There was was no mention of lan in the caption or anywhere else, it was all photos of Anthony and Mykie, but within it, this one little candid shot of lan. It's so special. And says a lot without explicitly saying anything at all. It's just like, 'here's a post of things that matter to me.’ I like to imagine Anthony choosing the photos for that post, and even with it being a birthday/anniversary post, he still made the conscious decision to include that photo of lan. Something he didn't need to do, the photo wasn't relevant to the post, and yet, he included it anyways. He wants people to know that's how he spent his birthday, with the people he loves most - he couldn't not include that photo of lan. And I think it comes back around to the fact he's just so happy to have lan in his life again and he'll take every opportunity to say/show it. I can picture him sitting there looking at lan laying on his floor across from him, his dog on lan's chest, and his heart just feeling so full and happy at the fact he has his best friend with him again when a year ago he didn't think this would ever be a reality for him again. It's just so, so special ❤️

Finishing off Anthony's birthday was something that came a few days after :-

Anthony's response to lan's birthday tweet ☺️

What I also love about this, is the fact that lan never tagged Anthony in his tweet and given it was a few days later that Anthony responded and by that point the tweet would have been buried in his timeline, and also that Anthony barely uses Twitter. Knowing all these things it's very likely that Anthony searched for lan's account for him to see that tweet 🥰

POKEMON ROOMMATE BATTLE Watch Party

In the BTS for the POKEMON ROOMMATE BATTLE sketch lan keeps getting distracted playing Pokémon for the whole shoot, eventually getting the gameboy taken off of him by Erin 😅 In this livestream they're watching the sketch and Anthony says :-

[scene where 'lazy lan' is sitting in the beanbag playing Pokémon not wanting to move]

Anthony: “This is actually what you were like on set that day cause you were just playing Pokémon the whole day."

lan: "Oh yeah, so we rented that prop from like a prop house."

Anthony: “The gameboy."

lan: "The gameboy. And it was working - it was full battery, Pokémon Red was in it, and I booted it up and was like ‘There's no way. No. No’. and I was just straight up playing Pokémon on and it was-"

Anthony: "Was it everything you remembered?"

lan: "It was sick, dude. It was fun. I was having fun. I was getting really distracted and it was not good for the shoot. But I think I got my Charmander to like level 11 or 12."

Anthony: "Yeah, you nailed it."

Just a cute little compliment I felt should be included 🙂 But sticking with the Pokémon theme, it leads me on to the next compliment...

‘I Choose You' Smosh Hat

Anthony posted this Instagram promoting the Smosh Pokémon-style hat they released as merch, but what stood out to a lot of us is his choice of the first photo + the caption :-

THE IMPLICATIONS! Him crowning lan with the hat and him saying ‘I choose you' 🥹 It reminds me of something I covered in my first Compliments post - the section covering the Smoshcast with Anthony and Shayne saying how they came back together and "choose to be best friends again" 💛🖤

Our Actual Worst Puns (Puns of Anarchy)

Another round of games and compliment-adjacent moments :-

Ian: [handing the cards out]

Anthony: "Oh, look at you. You're providing for your family.”

Just found this moment cute, Anthony referring to them as a family 🥹

[Jackie chooses Anthony's card and he reveals it's his]

Jackie: "I take it back."

Anthony: “I'm also 'Hand Solo' though, so [the other card Jackie was going to pick]?

Arasha: "I'm so pissed [because Anthony is winning]."

Ian: "Wow. Anthony's cleaning up” [claps]

-

[Round Category: Baby Boomers]

Ian's card -' A Whole New World' changed to 'A new video of an old, white person freaking out’

Anthony: [picks Jackie's card] “That was good. Although, I will say, I know this was yours, lan [from his handwriting]. That was an adventure, man. I appreciate that."

This isn't the only time the handwriting thing is brought up in the video :-

Keith: "Dude, where's my car?' turns into, 'Dude, where's my car? Oh wait, I can't drive?’ By far the best one, lan. And I know this came from you."

Anthony: "I know it came from lan too, cause I can see the handwriting."

Why is Anthony being able recognise Ian's handwriting so cute. He just knows him so well ☺️

One other moment I loved from this video was something I already made a post about here. Of Jackie referring to them as 'best friends' and Anthony laughing the hardest at his answer firing shots at lan, again, bestie-ism shining through 😄

Joycon HIDE AND SEEK (Everybody 1, 2, Switch)

Last one of the month! This video was full of so many great moments - two lanthony piggybacks, so many bestie moments, and them just being overly cute the whole time 🥰

And also many moments of them complimenting each other on doing well in the games. So many that I decided to compile a little video. Enjoy! :-

And that was it for September!

Hope you all enjoyed and I shall see you next time ❤️

#smosh #ian hecox #anthony padilla #ianthony #☀️🔍 #ian and anthony #smoshian #smoshanthony #ianthony compliments #my posts

[burnin0akleaves]

This has been on the horizon for a while, but I think a part of me just didn't want to admit it until recently. I'll cut straight to the chase, you probably won't see much RA content from me anymore.

The topic of the fandom, the tags or quality of the posts have been discussed a few times already -mostly by me I think which should have been a warning sign haha- so I'm not going to go into too much detail. I'll just share my perspective.

The fandom simply just doesn't have much to offer me at the moment.

Everyone knows that a huge part of my interest in RA was and always has been TRR Will. If he didn't exist, I would have lost interest in the series a LONG time ago. But I can cook my own meals for only so long before I get tired and want to eat out for a change, and unfortunately for me no one is serving the food I want at the moment. I still love love love this man, but there just isn't enough content for him in the fandom (except the ones made by me) for me to want to actively keep engaging with it.

Not only that, art just doesn't get the same reception as it used to here. If I can draw another interest of mine and get triple the engagement, then it's just easier for me to be motivated to share my art of that other thing. Sure I draw because I want to first, but suprisingly for everyone I do want to draw things other than RA. And if those other things are more appreciated, then it just means I'm more motivated to keep posting them for everyone else to see. Most people probably remember I used to be very active in discussions and character analyses on here as well, but I just don't see the space for that sort of content here anymore. (Sorry to that one anon who said they liked my writing, you know who you are)

I still love RA and TRR Will, but I'll probably keep my thoughts or the occasional sketch I draw for myself from now on. I just don't feel motivated to share it.

Also just in case anyone asks my opinion after the recent discussion at the ask blog; yes, I don't like the current state of most of the posts here either. I don't want to go out bad-mouthing others though, the current style of content in the fandom just isn't my taste. Which is alright, maybe I've simply grown out of the series! The book getting newer fans is a good thing and I hope they have as much fun as I did when I first joined. This fandom has been my home for years now but I think it's around time I go out and explore more.

I'll still keep up with the series. Again, my fixation on Will is very much alive and well. It sucks that I don't have the energy to share my passion with others anymore, but I'm sure people will do just fine without me mauling every other guy that completely misunderstands his character to death. Don't get me started on the beard shit, genuinely frustrating how a fandom revolving around a book series has 0 literacy at times.

TLDR: I'm not going to be active in the RA fandom anymore because of multiple reasons. I still love TRR Will but I'm not motivated to share my work here in the current state of things. I loved my time here and I hope everyone else does too.

-

Also if my feelings change in the future, then that will be that and I might come back. I'm not sending myself off to exile here. I'm not writing any of this because I believe I have to explain myself either, I'm doing it because I simply want to avoid causing people confusion. Feel free to send me RA related asks still, just don't expect to see me around the RA spaces as much. I'll stay in all the servers obviously, and my presence will be around indirectly since most of my friends are still here. Also, if you draw TRR Will do feel free to send him to me in the dms. Love that guy and his apprentice so much, wish more people did.

#ppsting this and immediately going to sleep gnight #🍂 textpost #rangers apprentice

[ntls-24722]

I was thinking about @/artastic-friend's tags on my Comet post, and, first off thank you it was really sweet, but I had also realized that I wasn't even on tumblr to show the REEEAAALLY early designs of Comet, so here they are!

Comet had gone through a lot of changes, the most important one being... not looking exactly like DJMM! Comet originally looked exactly like DJMM since a good 80% of her body used to actually be mechanical, and her organism part was... very minimal and degenerate. But I very quickly found that lame - what's the pizzazz in being ~secretly a manmade organism~ if most of you is still mechanical anyway? I found an old picture of her transition from this (i apologize for the low quality, but much of the old sketches are super smudged n junk.) She still had motors and but much more of her internals filled up the plastic exoskeleton's empty space.

A detail i had actually forgotten now that I read back through old messages and pictures is that she used to be compatible with eating/drinking gasoline AND actual food? She had microbes that could eat it in her stomach and then she'd eat THOSE microbes like a cow??? that was kinda sick, past me, good job.

Comet's actual face being striped originated from her bony skeleton being full of bigbig holes (shown below, left) - they were meant to just be the frame for the plastic cover, but when the mechanical parts were taken out the holes condensed into stripes (shown below, right), partially being inspired from this Clownsuu post (AUGH ITS SO COOOOOL)

The 10 eyes thing stuck because it was like... representative of her kids' souls being infused with hers after she unknowingly ingested them after brain surgery?

She didn't like, pick them up and start chowing on her own children like you would with a bunch of dry cereal - in order to make the Comets less resource-needy the Oort Cloud would give some of the remnant they produced back to them? When Comet found out where it came from and where one of her missing kids went, she refused to eat or sleep at all until she almost died of exhaustion and finally went unconcious. The Oort Cloud took advantage of the fact she was finally not resisting and did the surgery as she slept. She didn't remember anything when she woke up and... ate for the first time in awhile not knowing what was in it, or that she even had kids in the first place.

Making the surgery easier is actually why the side of her head in this picture is exposed and Boneless (in some pictures there's actually huge stitches on there, too) but i realized that any behavioral disruptions would be directed to the frontal lobe, and that's why Modern comet actually has this little plate right between her eyes - that plate of exoskeleton is actually slightly loose and you can take it off n put it right back on for the least amount of scarring. It's also why Luz and Zoey don't have it.

For some reason I chose a marching band theme for her, maybe to cover up her skeleton-y Beneathness, and that is what made her into the star-spangled DJMM we know today. I chose a space-y theme since the Plex is.... somewhat space themed? Not entirely sure why but I'm glad I did it. She was intially accented with minty blue rather than the bold one she is now. This is where she also got her name, though it was initially "Comet Music Man."

She used to, temporarily, also have a 4 pairs of antennae coming from her wrists. I took it out cuz i couldn't find a reason for them

Comet wasn't based on any particular spider BUT there was the initial concept of having her be based off of the mirror spider and have a.... disco ball butt (you can kinda see it in the skeleton face pic) But in another universe, She could've been a spiny orb weaver, or a scorpion-tailed spider.

I did sometimes COMPLETELY go south with how her Beneath would look like in favor of a soft, fleshy interior, and I made...this! I hated it and I'm forever glad I didn't decide to go with this! jesus christ!

There were also the origins of the little harpoons - I had a headcanon that DJMM has little pedipalps on the inside of his mouth that looked like little STAFFbot hands and that got integrated with Comet, too

Alsoalso: the Neck

Couldn't figure out how to do it for a long time, since it's long and dragon-y and flexible and curvy, which is why half of it was exposed skin for awhile. In this outdated organ diagram i actually made the neck a bunch of layered "bowls" like one of those rainbow slug toys (not that you can.... see much of it lol) (also old sona jumpscare HOOH)

There's probably more considering Comet is now a year old and also her entire universe and story got REALLY derailed from a oneshot self-insert fic that i never even finished (the contents of which actually are why Comet and Fritz live where they are, in some abandoned factory - it was Fritz and DJMM's hideout) (also, Fritz predates Comet by a lot) because i thought WAYYYYY tooo hard about the implications of DJ Music Man, the giant spider, being alive

("what are you? are you a species or were you created? for what? By who? why are you pretending to be a robot? Are you pretending? What do you eat, and what's feeding you? Do you need to? Why do you have to be alive, and not an animatronic like everything else?) (also technically Bighand is just the alternate and anticlimatic version where he's just like "yeah I'm alive and I just work here") (both leave bc it sucks)

bonus patch notes that I couldn't cover:

neck became attached further up the head instead of below the jaw because keeping it the way it was was... not good

ALL of her became metallic-looking

She went from being a mirror spider to a sparklemuffin spider because of the coincidence that those spiders had the same yellow stripes from their eyes as she does.

The antennae became just 1 pair because the fact she had 2 pairs was also unnecessary

She used to have 2 little flesh strands from her top jaw and bottom jaw. They served no purpose only to get in the way of things so I got rid of them.

Her dewlap used to have music notes, stars, and lines

The tongue went from being thick n long to being flat and rounded. Fits in the mouth better

#ntls-24722 #djmm #dj music man #fnaf dj music man #fnaf djmm #djmm fnaf #dj music man fnaf #comet #fnaf au #security breach au #(almost) daily music man

[trickstarbrave]

WIP WHENEVER

HIIIIIIIIII im very excited to share this wip. im so mad i wrote this out of order bc i wanna post it immediately. im looking forward tho to finally being able to edit and post it on ao3 normally

i got tagged by @caliblorn and @your-talos-is-problematic and im taggingggggg @woundjob, @thescrolls-haveforetold, @wellthebardsdead and my roommate @soundwavefucker69

here is smth for moon and star. lots of lorkhan talk. some chim. some trauma. even some dagoth ur

literally i was like "oh yeah. its all coming together" writing this also its long im sorry

also here is my god!nerevar sketch. can be interpreted also as just how lorkhan appears to neht and the ppl around him

Malacath’s hand touched his chest and pain wracked his body. Nerevar could feel the blade cutting away his skin—cutting through the bone of his sternum and splintering it. It ripped apart and opened his ribcage, before that damn hand was then inside his chest. His anxiety spiked as he could feel phantom touches on his heart, a hand gripping it, long claws digging into the muscle as it continued to beat loud and sturdy. His whole body had gone rigid, nostrils flared and his breathing coming in quick pants desperate to get more air in his lungs. 

He was terrified. More than terrified, in fact. It was like being killed in the heart chamber but all the more worse somehow. He was choking now, gagging on blood—thick, black blood that was pouring from his chest, bubbling up in his throat.

And then Nerevar was overcome with the urge to laugh. To laugh besides the terror coursing through him, to laugh even though he was gagging and choking on his own blood. He knew he would die; it had been a part of his plan all along. He hadn’t known what death would be like, but he had anticipated it, at least on his own terms. And yet here Trinimac was, killing him himself. Ripping his heart from his chest. 

He had intended the first death to be slow and simple. A fading ember rather than a bright, all encompassing flame that destroyed everything with it. He had intended to bear the burden as the cause of the first death in their reality where death did not yet exist—was merely a theory. But here Trinimac was, unknowingly mantling that sin himself. A cruel irony he would be the one to blame for this. It was not his fault, but it would be his responsibility and duty.

He’d collapsed at some point, gasping, crying, and choking on blood as Voryn held him close. Voryn shouldn’t see him like this—not his beloved, sobbing and begging. He couldn’t hear his voice over the drumming of his own heart but he tried to speak despite all the gagging he was doing. His gorgeous, sweet lover, his beautiful hawk shouldn’t have to watch him die like this. Not when Nerevar knew this was coming, deep down. Not when he had doomed them both, sacrificed Voryn’s life on the altar just as much as his own. He was regretting it now, if only because he couldn’t apologize; how could he speak when Trinimac had already ripped out his heart? How could he explain he never wanted to hurt Voryn in truth? How would his beloved hawk even react to his death? Oh the fury he could bring down, how he could drown the world in blood and tears if he was pushed to the brink…

And what of Azura, his sister? His poor, vain, vindictive sister… She hadn’t agreed to help him, but he knew she would be in a rage over his death. And even the man killing him was sobbing and crying, apologizing despite his lord—Nerevar’s own brother—ordering his execution. How could he apologize to this man? To tell him he knew he didn’t mean for it, that Nerevar was the villain all along in this story? Would that soothe his grief? Trinimac, Kyne, Azura, all of the others… How would they fair without him? Tears were now spilling from his eyes not from pain but sorrow that he wouldn’t be there to comfort and love them. Ah, if only he could kiss his hawk one last time…

“Nerevar!” Voryn’s voice finally cut through, and a disconnect happened in the vision. He was untethered now, the sensation of falling back into his own body hitting him, and his ears were ringing loudly, a dizziness washing over him. There were no more feathers on Voryn’s face or on his cloak—why would there be? Voryn wasn’t… Voryn wasn’t a hawk, why would he call him that so fondly? There weren’t even tears streaming down his face like he had seen before, but his face was in a grimace, pained watching him writhe and flail choking on imaginary blood.

His hand came up to his chest as he felt around, but there was no gaping wound like he’d expected. Why had he felt it so clearly then? His whole body was still shaking from the terror and pain, unable to calm the trembling. 

“Do you remember now, Lorkhan?” Malacath asked, still standing over him. Vivec and Sil were currently being held back by the numerous orcs, though they were swearing up a storm and desperately trying to fight their way closer to defend him. Even Voryn had a spell prepared as he cradled Nerevar close to his chest, posed with the ferocity of a wild animal protecting its young.

“I-I’m not…” Nerevar began, though it felt like a lie on his tongue. He could still taste the metallic black in his mouth, the unnatural blood he was choking on. His body felt hot now, his mouth dry making the metallic taste all the more nauseating. “Lorkhan is dead!” He shouted definitively. Lorkhan was a dead god—long dead before Nerevar had ever been born as a lowly half blooded chimer in that ebony mine. 

“And yet, here you are, alive and in the flesh.” Malacath responded, his expression unwavering. “I would know that heartbeat anywhere. I would know how you battle more than anyone else.”

“Stop it!” Nerevar shouted, covering his ears, still shaking. 

“Why you deny it is my only question for you.” 

“I’m not Lorkhan!” Nerevar growled, teeth bared. His whole body felt like it was burning, just like in the heart chamber. That supernatural chanting from his dream came back too, at the edges of his senses, as he fought back the urge to vomit. “I’m not Lorkhan, just shut up, shut up, shut up!!” 

The next thing he knew, everything went black, the last thing he heard being his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and Voryn calling his name. 

--

Nerevar’s eyes snapped open. His hands frantically touched at his chest, once again checking for the wound, only to find nothing. Still, the unmistakable ache was there, however faint. 

“Where…?” He found himself someplace… Bizarre. There was stone architecture, that much he knew, but it seemed… Foreign, though they were in a state of disarray. It looked like some kind of abandoned tower, the roof having long since caved in, vines growing over stone. In the middle, where Nerevar was laying was soft grass and a few wildflowers. He sat up, looking around even further, confused. 

“Damn Trinimac, causing problems again…” Someone behind him muttered, and Nerevar quickly turned to see--

Himself? 

He jumped, panicked. No, no he could tell it wasn’t himself. He looked a lot like Nerevar, and sounded a lot like Nerevar, but there was something off about his appearance. He was taller than Nerevar--around Voryn’s height maybe? His hair was much longer too, not to mention he was wearing long robes Nerevar would never wear given how complicated and annoying they looked. Not to mention the longer he looked at him the more his appearance seemed to change--subtle ripples you had to focus on to know. His eyes subtly changed shape, along with his other features, sort of at random in moments where if you blinked you’d miss them. 

“Apologies for that.” The man said, walking over and plopping down to sit next to Nerevar. “I never expected his followers to summon him, nor that he’d do something like that…”

“Who are you?” Nerevar asked, his heart still racing in his chest. The other simply plopped his chin in his hand, staring back at Nerevar, amused.

“You and your lover--both just asking questions instead of even trying to figure it out for yourselves…” He tsk-tsked with a soft click of his tongue and a shake of his head. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know who you are?” Nerevar snapped. “I don’t even know where I am!” 

“Easy, no need to raise your voice.” He still looked amused, despite Nerevar’s anger. 

“Why in Oblivion do you look like me?” Nerevar demanded an answer now; he was in no mood to play games at the moment. He felt his heart being ripped out by that damn orc god and now he had someone playing mind games with him. 

The other sighed.

“I am Lorkhan.” Nerevar’s blood ran cold. 

“What…?” Nerevar stared in confusion and shock. “But Lorkhan is--”

“Dead?” He asked with a smirk and a quirk of his brow. “Don’t I know it.” Lorkhan then laughed heartily. “But when did that stop the dead from interfering with the living from time to time?”

“Why are you here?” Nerevar asked, leaning away from him. 

“I thought it would be only fair to show myself to you after that stunt Trinimac pulled.” He explained. “Though I imagine the fact you were stabbed through the chest once before only made it that much harder for you.”

Nerevar was trying to figure out the situation he was in, putting the pieces together the best he could. Several daedra called him Lorkhan, and here was Lorkhan looking remarkably similar to Nerevar. Was it possible people were mixing them up based on appearance? That didn’t seem quite right; it would make sense for Malacath and potentially Dagon, but Dagon didn’t call him Lorkhan initially, and not to mention it wouldn’t explain the nords. He doubted the elf hating people of Skyrim would so readily accept an elven appearance for their chief deity. Nor did it explain the strange, supernatural beating of his heart that drove him to accomplish strange feats out of sheer willpower alone. 

“... Why do you look like me?” Nerevar repeated his question again.

“Come now, I thought you’d be smart enough to figure that out.” Lorkhan laughed again. 

“Answer me.” 

“Well,” Lorkhan’s grin looked mischievous now. “It’s only fitting I look like you because I am you, don’t you think?”

This time a numbing tingle followed the chill in his blood. “Y… You…”

“Or well, I suppose it might be easier to understand if I say you’re a part of me.” Lorkhan continued. “You wouldn’t be the first mortal to be a fragment of me, anyways.”

“I’m not you!” Nerevar snapped, gritting his teeth. He did what he was best at: lashing out when he was truly scared and confused--when problems became too difficult to ignore or solve on his own. “I’m not you! I’m not Lorkhan!!”

Silence followed, the faint sound of birds chirping having vanished, the sky turning a stormy gray. He was panting from his outburst of yelling, but the screaming hadn’t really solved anything. Lorkhan was still sitting in front of him, looking at him with a serious expression, unphased. He was still in this crumbling tower, sitting in the grass. 

How long could he run from this? Daedric princes called him Lorkhan. The nords called him Shor. The strange visions he received that only made sense if they were Lorkhan’s memories, not to mention his heart--

Nerevar curled up, hands moving up as he felt a pain in his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. 

He was scared. He was scared and he didn’t know what was going on. He was terrified because ultimately, he didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t know what this made him.

Gingerly, two arms wrapped around him, pulling him up from the fetal position he curled himself into and into a warm embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lorkhan whispered, “Just let it out.” As soon as he said that, tears were flowing out of Nerevar’s eyes as he openly sobbing into his shoulder, holding onto him. Nerevar never really had a father--as the Nerevarine he was an orphan who didn’t really know who his parents were and as Nerevar his father was hunted down before the two of them ever met. But at that moment Nerevar couldn’t deny there was something paternal in the way Lorkhan held him gently, letting him cry and sob with arms that felt so much stronger than Nerevar could imagine. As alien as it was, he felt safe in his arms, the pain in his chest fading though he was still distraught and crying. 

Eventually though, his tears died down to soft whimpers rather than open sobs, Lorkhan stroking his hair all the while. 

“It’s alright.” He repeated, trying to reassure Nerevar.

“It’s not alright.” Nerevar countered. “If I’m just you that means I don’t really exist!” It was the truth; if he was just some shard of Lorkhan then he had no real identity of his own. He was just a piece of a larger whole, delusional in that it thought itself independent and separate. “No one really knows me. No one really loves me.” The person Voryn loved wasn’t even real, just a false identity of someone who denied who they truly were. Was the person Voryn actually loved just the pieces of Lorkhan that made up Nerevar? Lorkhan said there were other mortals like him--what if Voryn left him for someone who was a larger, better part of Lorkhan? “I’m just a part of you, an extension of you. I don’t have any thoughts or feelings of my own!”

“Hey now, that’s not true.” Lorkhan interjected. “If you had no thoughts or feelings of your own, how could you deny being me?” 

“But--”

“You have thoughts and feelings and emotions of your own.” Lorkhan reiterated. “You have your own identity, your own history, your own relationships.” Lorkhan gently dried the tears on his cheeks, careful of the sharp nails on his hands. “You don’t have all the same traits as me, and likewise, how you act on things is entirely up to you.” 

“But then how am I you?” Nerevar asked, apprehensive. 

“Hm… How to explain this…” Lorkhan began, humming softly, trying to gather his thoughts. “... Do you know that sometimes people take cuttings from plants to make a new one?”

Nerevar did know that, though he’d never done so himself. He was bad at growing plants, but he’d heard of it a few times. 

“When they take a cutting from a tree for instance, it was once a part of that tree.” Lorkhan continued. “One of the many, smaller branches of it. But with care and cultivation, it grows roots of its own, and then spreads itself deep into the soil as a little sapling, before finally growing into a tree itself.” Lorkhan then smiled at him. “You’re like a cutting made from me that grew into its own tree. We might be made up of the same things and bear the same fruit, but you might have different branches than me and grow in different ways.” 

“... But what if someone only loves that tree because of its fruit?” Nerevar asked. 

What if Voryn only loved him for the parts of him that were Lorkhan? What if, when Voryn found out, he became disillusioned? Why would he bother with having Nerevar as a lover if he was just a part of a larger whole? What if there was a better piece of Lorkhan out there to love, or he could simply worship the dead god in earnest to get closer to the source?

Lorkhan responded by pinching his cheek playfully, pulling Nerevar from his mental spiral.

“Then someone doesn’t really love that tree specifically, now do they?” 

“But--”

“Trees are much more than the fruit they bear.” Lorkhan continued, cutting him off. “They provide shade in the sun, and shelter in the rain. They are homes for birds, and the wind whistles through the branches to make music, or even children play in the branches and leaves.” Lorkhan was still smiling at him warmly. “Even if they love the fruit it makes too, not just any fruit tree can be their tree. And if they only love the fruit, wouldn’t you prefer someone who really loved the tree to take care of it rather than someone who only cared about what the tree produced?” 

Ah, Nerevar saw what he was getting at here. If Voryn only loved the parts of him that were Lorkhan and didn’t care about him otherwise, that meant he didn’t really love Nerevar. Nerevar’s hand reached over to caress the scar on his left shoulder gently, unable to really feel it through his shirt and armor, but comforted by the knowledge it was there nonetheless. 

Would Voryn have really asked Nerevar to carve his name into him if he didn’t love Nerevar? Perhaps the rest of Lorkhan didn’t appeal to Voryn. Perhaps the other traits other mortals shared with Lorkhan weren’t the same as how Nerevar was. Nerevar wanted to trust Voryn with his heart and make this work--he shouldn’t be assuming once again that Voryn would be quick to leave him and replace him with someone else. Voryn committed to Nerevar.

“There we go.” Lorkhan smiled, seeing his stormy expression fade. 

“... But I don’t know what any of this means.” Nerevar continued. “Why am I a part of you? What does any of this mean?” How was he supposed to move forward like this? How many other daedra would challenge him calling him Lorkhan? “How can I tell what’s my thoughts and abilities and what’s just yours? How can I tell if I’m even real?” 

That was the part Nerevar was still grappling with. If he was called Lorkhan and acted like Lorkhan and did what Lorkhan was supposed to do… Didn’t that just make him Lorkhan? When he was the Nerevarine he slowly just assumed Nerevar’s memories, thoughts, and identity after he was sent back in time--or was going back in time not real either. “The future--what about my memories of the future? Are those fake too or--”

Lorkhan smiled softly, almost knowingly. 

“Oh little star,” Lorkhan chuckled as though he was recounting something funny. “None of your memories of the future are real.”

“... Huh?” They weren’t… Real? “But Dagoth Ur--the Tribunal--” Didn’t Vivec have a vision of Nerevar being killed as king? That was in the future Nerevar saw as well.

“None of it was real.” Lorkhan was still smiling, but Nerevar was sent spiraling again. 

It was all so real. Nerevar could feel it. He felt Vivec’s spear ramming through him. He could hear the hurt and betrayal in Dagoth Ur’s voice, along with the cold anger as he revealed he would never be able to trust Nerevar even if Nerevar had agreed to join him. Almalexia had attempted to kill him a second time as the Nerevarine, and he remembered fighting her after discovering Sotha Sil’s mangled corpse. 

Panic set in then. If none of that was real then… Why did he not remember his past? Why had he dreamed up such a strange turn of events? Why--

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Lorkhan leaned in close, a devilish smirk on his face now. “I’m not real either.”

Nerevar blinked in shock, only to find Lorkhan was gone. In fact, everything was gone now, leaving Nerevar floating in an inky, black void. 

Nerevar’s panic rose at that. It could have been Lorkhan just telling him he was a figment of Nerevar’s imagination and not actually the ghost of a dead god but… Nerevar knew that wasn’t the case. He could feel it, deep in the pit of his stomach, and the revelation was not a comforting one. He was left entirely untethered in this void, and looking down at his hands, he saw himself flickering in and out. 

If Nerevar was Lorkhan, and Lorkhan didn’t exist, then that meant that he didn’t exist either. Really didn’t exist. It was so much more comfortable to imagine himself as a shard of Lorkhan, living and moving on its own, ignorant to the fact it was part of a larger whole. 

A clawed hand touched his back and a sickening chill overtook him as he found himself in the heart chamber of Red Mountain once again. He was trembling as he continued to flicker in and out of existence. The heart’s rhythm was equally unsteady, stopping and starting at random, the sounds a disjointed mess. 

If the heart of the world was not stable--was not real--then what did that make the world?

What did that make his friends? The people he loved? 

What did that make Voryn?

A familiar voice called out to him, large, clawed hands gripping him tightly and pulling him in close.

“I told you once before,” Dagoth Ur began, “We are bound to the dreamsleeve together.” Nerevar knew that wasn’t right, but he didn’t know how to counter it either. 

“I am the dreamer,” Dagoth Ur continued, “And this is all my dream, my sweet Nerevar.” Nerevar didn’t like the fondness in his tone. This was a twisted version of Voryn, corrupted and maddened, fully delusional. He preferred Voryn sane and warm, affectionate and protective. He didn’t want the delirious, maddened version of him that was Dagoth Ur.

Then, the two had changed locations. Instead of the heart chamber with the unsteady heartbeat echoing around them, they were in what seemed to be a rainbow colored river, all the different colors flowing in strange, glowing patterns. They moved up and down, left and right, forwards and backwards, swirls of color that flowed like incoherent water simultaneously both much thicker and almost syrupy than pure water, and also like it was barely there as they caressed his legs. Each movement came with a strange, fragmented thought, emotion, or memory. 

“You are simply a part of my dream.” Dagoth Ur’s hands moved to the front of him now, caressing at his chest. “My most glorious, beautiful creation…” 

Nerevar knew that wasn’t true either though. It was an instinctive knowledge, perhaps, but he could tell that was simply not the case. If there was a dreamer, it certainly wasn’t Dagoth Ur. 

And then Nerevar looked to his hands to see he was a dunmer again, grey skin and all to match the equally grey hands on his chest. One of Nerevar’s hands moved to caress the scar left from corprus he got as a Nerevarine when he was forcibly attacked to infect him with it, sending him further in his quest, ironically. The scar was an ugly, messy thing--a gross mess of scar tissue trying in vain to form over an injury that wasn’t truly there, growing more mangled and grotesque by the day. Before he couldn’t remember where the attack was from Gares, as his memories of the Third Era faded more and more with his time in Resdayn like a hazy dream, leaving him unsure if it was on his chest, his stomach, his thigh, or his arm. But now he remembered it was--

All of them. He had been hit by the attack in all of those places, in different moments in time, in different versions of the same event. And in that way, it wasn’t one moment specifically but simply an event that could have played out differently, in a way bending and contorting around the flow of fate. And just as he realized it, the scar itself faded entirely. 

“Nerevar, stop this.” Dagoth Ur warned, his voice concerned. Almost frightened if Nerevar was being honest, though he knew the other wouldn’t admit to it. 

“It… Didn’t happen.” 

“Yes, it did.” Dagoth ur stressed, but Nerevar stepped away from his hands, walking along the multicolored river. “Do you doubt your own memories? My own memories?” Dagoth Ur insisted. “Just as that was my dream, this too is my dream. A dream where we get to be together.” His voice took on a facsimile of warmth and affection. “A dream where nothing can keep us apart--”

“No,” Nerevar countered, his voice soft. “It happened and… It didn’t. Just how this… None of this is real either.” The thought wasn’t as scary as it was the first time around. In fact, the revelation seemed to almost bring some relief. He dipped his hand into the liquid that pooled around his thighs, running his fingers through it in what seemed to be an arbitrary pattern, relishing in the feelings that washed over him. Like this, he could make them seem coherent. Like this he could move them until he could faintly hear a song--

“Nerevar Mora, return to my side at once.” Dagoth Ur’s tone was threatening again. It seemed that Nerevar had gotten under his skin. 

“You are not a god. I’m not a figment of your dream…” Nerevar could insist if anything he might be the one dreaming all of this up but… He knew that wasn’t quite right either. Lorkhan didn’t exist. Nerevar didn’t exist, so he couldn’t be the one dreaming. But he knew he wasn’t a figment of Dagoth Ur’s imagination, that was for certain. “... And you’re not a figment of mine.”

Dagoth Ur was in front of him again, clawed hands gripping his arms tightly while his teeth audibly grit from behind the gold mask. “If I am not the dreamer then you’re saying I don’t exist! Do you even understand what you’re saying?!” His hands gripped Nerevar’s arms even tighter, but Nerevar himself was unphased. “I exist because I say I exist. You exist because I allow you to exist.”

“Or have you forgotten your nightmares? The memories of me?” Dagoth ur changed gears now that he saw it wasn’t persuading Nerevar. “Have you forgotten the way you shuddered at my touch? Or the way I could make such sweet, passionate love to you that you forgot everything else?” Nerevar had to admit he did in fact enjoy those moments with Voryn; Nerevar loved nothing more than losing himself completely in Voryn’s body, of being unable to think about nothing else but how wonderful Voryn could make him feel. But Nerevar knew he couldn’t forget this whole mess even happened and fall readily back into Voryn’s arms, trying to delude himself that it was real. He knew he’d go mad even trying, unable to take joy from it as he tried to deny the reality he was confronted with before. 

“Do not make me rip you asunder and remake you.” Dagoth Ur threatened, venom dripping off his tongue. But at the threat, Nerevar reached his hands out, cupping the golden mask in them, before throwing the mask off entirely. 

His face looked like Voryn’s but so much older and more tired. His eyes were dead, glazed over and foggy, with only the third eye on his forehead seemingly capable of sight. His complexion was equally dead--ashen even for a dunmer. A dead sleeper who dreamed he was still alive, just as that wise woman said so long ago. 

Nerevar leaned up, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t like this maddened version of Voryn, but he knew he still loved him. He loved Dagoth Ur and mourned for him. As horrible as it was, it was a mercy for Nerevar to slay him as the Nerevarine. It was a mercy for things to return to the past so they could have a better future, one where Nerevar wouldn’t hurt him as cruelly as he did the first time around. 

Then, just as the gentle kiss started, Nerevar pulled away, whispering softly. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he even realized it, but the truth spoken in them was more real than anything else he had seen. 

“I already unmade you.” 

Dagoth Ur stared down at him in shock, before, like ash in the wind, he faded. And Nerevar was left standing alone in the dreamsleeve. 

Yet, something was gnawing at his psyche. If Dagoth Ur was not the dreamer and didn’t allow him to exist, then what was his purpose? If this was all a dream, then who was dreaming? 

Dread washed over Nerevar again, overwhelming him as he felt like someone or something was watching him. Like he was a tiny insect crawling where he shouldn’t have, about to be crushed by the figure that finally realized he existed. 

Yet, part of Dagoth Ur’s words made sense. He wasn’t real. None of this was real. Nerevar could either stand there and accept it and fade into the liquid around him and dissolve into nothingness…

Or he could insist he did exist. That he wanted to exist. That he wanted to continue on, in spite of how nonsensical it was. 

“... I exist because I will it.” Nerevar knew he wasn’t the dreamer, but he existed in spite of it. He refused to vanish and become nothing more than a disjointed collective of memories free floating around him. 

“Well done.” Lorkhan’s voice echoed, and Nerevar found himself once more in the black, inky void, outside of the dreamsleeve. “I was a bit afraid you might not be able to handle it,” He chuckled softly, “But I can see it was silly of me to worry. You already remade the world, you’d be ready to handle the revelation of the tower.” 

“Was that… You?” Nerevar questioned, wondering if Lorkhan took on the appearance of Dagoth Ur just to help him along. 

“No. What was in fact a remnant of Dagoth Ur, based on your memories.”

“My memories?” Nerevar raised a brow, as the crumbling tower and soft grass slowly came back into focus around him, real and present once more. It was more comfortable than just free floating anyways. 

“Things can’t exist if nothing remembers them.” Lorkhan explained. “But you remembered him, so he continued hiding and lurking…”

“Would he…” Nerevar began, apprehensively. “Would Voryn have become him again…?”

“No.” Lorkhan’s voice was firm and confident, making Nerevar relieved. “Your beloved has already rejected that path.”

“Then how could he exist?”

“He existed outside of Voryn. A part of him and also not. Perhaps in a way also part of you?” It was a confusing explanation, but Nerevar supposed that was in line with everything else so far. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t exist anymore--not as he did just now.” Lorkhan hummed softly again. “Now he’s merely a memory, returned to water once more.” 

“I… Don’t understand.” Once again, Lorkhan reached over to pinch Nerevar’s cheek.

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me about that.” 

“I mean I get that he’s no longer a problem since I just saw him vanish but I don’t… Know how I did that.” 

“He was mostly tied to you. It would have been very easy for anyone in those circumstances to cut him off.” Lorkhan clicked his tongue. “Then again, I suppose not everyone can be connected to the dreamsleeve and confront not existing as well as you did.”

“So I don’t exist?” It was a question, but not asking for an answer more so a confirmation that he was understanding it correctly. 

“You don’t. And yet, you do.” Lorkhan confirmed, before elaborating. “All of us exist in that state. But I made Nirn in the first place because I realized it was impossible to move beyond that revelation and actually do something about it without real growth--growth that can only come from trial.”

“... What?” Now he was losing Nerevar. Go beyond the revelation of not existing? How would you even move past something like that? 

“Dagoth Ur had a few things correct I’ll admit.” Lorkhan continued, almost rambling now given how little it made sense to Nerevar. “The trial of flesh is needed to overcome the dream…”

“Again, I don’t really understand.” Nerevar interjected, before Lorkhan sighed.

“Ah… Right. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He then reached over, pulling Nerevar into a hug once more. “We don’t have all day, unfortunately. Linear time still exists.” He gave Nerevar’s back a firm pat. “I would explain if I could but… Well, we’d be here for some time. I think your beloved is calling you.” A ringing was in Nerevar’s ears now, the rest of the dream getting fuzzier and fuzzier. 

“Voryn…?” Nerevar asked, before his eyes cracked open. 

He wasn’t in the grass, but laying on Voryn’s cot, blinking up in a confused daze. It was night, that he could tell from how dark it was in the tent. Beside him, he heard a gasp, as Voryn looked to him frantically. 

“Oh thank gods,” Voryn looked close to tears. “Nerevar, do you have any idea how worried I was?” He cupped Nerevar’s cheek, his hand warm and familiar. It felt like Nerevar had been away for ages and also hardly any time at all. “I thought I almost lost you again…”

“I’m alright,” Nerevar sat up slowly, but his arms felt weak. “How long was I out for…?”

“More than a day.” Voryn explained, before helping support Nerevar’s upper body, settling Nerevar to lean against him. “Nothing we did could wake you up. We wanted to raze that damn orc camp to the ground,” He could hear the anger in Voryn’s voice. “But Malacath said his people would assist us and that you would wake up in time.” 

Nerevar could tell Voryn hadn’t believed the prince--not after what seemed like an attack on Nerevar. 

“I’m fine now.” Nerevar insisted, stroking Voryn’s face. “I’m--”

“Is he awake?” Vivec asked from outside the tent, and Voryn stiffened under Nerevar’s weight.

“He just woke up--” Voryn began, “Give him a few minutes to regain his senses before you shake him down for answers.”

Vivec entered the tent now, his brow furrowed. “You swore I could ask my questions when he awoke.” 

“At least give him until the morning.” Voryn pleaded. Vivec looked between the two of them, and it seemed that Nerevar looked haggard enough for Vivec to relent, though he was unhappy about doing so. 

“Fine,” Vivec scowled, leaving the tent once more. “In the morning I want answers.”

#wip #my writing #moon and star #moon and star spoilers #nerevoryn #indoril nerevar #nerevar #voryn dagoth