#and just blobs of colour on the left

[onsunnyside]

🍓° 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Mafia!Ari Levinson x lovesick!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, sweet soft!reader, she’s a little oblivious. size difference: 6’8!Ari, he’s a total beefy hunk. neighbours au, a little tumble, stripper!reader, brief mentions of mafia business, undeniable daddy energy.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It was a little ridiculous how in love you were… With a single glance, he could make you melt until you’re a pile strawberry ice cream, tied with a pretty ribbon, and sitting on his doorstep.

𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝗪/𝗖 | 2.45K

𝗔/𝗡 | just a little something I wrote inspired by Melting by Kali Uchis (also where the title is from). this is my first mafia fic but there isn’t much detail since this is a real itty bitty au. as always, all mistakes are my own. [all posts/asks]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Time seems to slow when he jogs by, clad in shorts and a loose tank top with sweat seeping through the grey. His tan skin is covered in a light sheen, making the dozens of tattoos appear darker. From your seat on the porch, they still look like black blobs and lines stretching from his broad shoulders to his hands. 

You’ve never seen them up close, but you have a few ideas of what they might be—a whole page in your diary to be exact. 

Your eyes fall to his muscled legs, firm and thick thighs strain his shorts and just the beginnings of dark ink poke from underneath the fabric. You barely notice the ice cream melting down the cone to your hands, too deep in a daze when tingles blossom from your chest to your toes. A dreamy sigh flows from your lips as the wind flutters through his long brown hair, brushing along his bearded cheeks. 

He turns to you and flashes a bright smile before turning the corner and disappearing down the street. That single glance makes your heart pound ten times faster, and all of your thoughts tangle into one ball of ribbons, varying in colours, prints and lace, but so evidently you. 

If you could, you’d gift him that mess just so he could know how much he affected you without even trying. 

"Oh no!" You quickly wipe your hands from the melting strawberry ice cream but it's useless, the pink stains your white dress and drips down to the ribbon around your ankle. 

It’s almost too symbolic—the pretty pink bleeds all over your ivory clothes, ruining your life just like the fluttering trapped in your rib cage. 

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to hate him, but he was so damn big that you didn’t have any space left in your heart to hate him. 

To say you're in love would be an understatement. In every fantasy and daydream, he's the main focus, your co-star, your lover, your saviour draped in silk button-ups and silver rings. Oh, he's everything you've ever wanted! As if you manifested him when you were a young child and wrote about the perfect boy to sweep you off your feet and make your life a living fairytale—everything you scribbled in glittery pen has come true before your very eyes.

You don’t even mind that he and his biker friends rev their engines at three in the morning, but your roommate doesn’t agree, she’s never agreed. 

The front door slams shut and you stiffen, hurriedly flipping through a random page in a magazine and desperately trying to act like you were not staring at his house next door. 

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, voice already on edge. Vibrant red hair comes into your peripherals, as well as a pair of angry green eyes. 

Natasha groans, setting down her bag on the kitchen counter. "You chickened out again? I need my sleep before I lose my mind. I can’t get any if he and his dumbass friends treat this street like a fucking race track!”

“They aren’t even that loud—and I bought you earplugs.” 

“I am not touching those things until those assholes learn how to be decent human beings!” She rolls up her sleeves and grabs your arm, yanking you from the barstool. 

"Wait! What are you doing!" 

Her heels stomp on the hardwood floor, nearly shaking the picture frames on the walls, “I messed up five drinks today, do you know how bad that looks when they’re my recipes?” She huffs, "he's out there right now mowing his lawn and you're gonna talk to him."

You grab onto the nearest thing which happened to be the couch and clutched it for dear life. “No—you do it!”

"He doesn’t listen to me!" She digs her fingers into your sides making you yelp and feebly swat her away, but you just screwed up big time. “Just try, baby, please! For me!”

That’s the last thing you hear as you stumble out the front door, tripping over the damn welcome mat and tumbling down the stairs. It’s only a few steps, but it stings when your back thumps onto the stone walkway, your poor elbows cushioning your fall.  

You barely catch the engine cutting and rushed footsteps before he appears. 

He stands over you with sweat brimming at his hairline, a deeply concerned expression etched onto his face, "awh shit, are you okay?" 

As always, the air goes thin and you’re under that dumb lovesick spell again. The sun glows around his head like a halo, melting you to the bone, and leaving a mess on the stone in the same shades as your love—strawberry ice-cream pink. 

It’s terrible that you don’t know how deluded your tender heart is.

"You're bleeding," he crouches low, gently examining your elbow, "did your roommate push you down the stairs?” 

"No! No, I-I fell.” Obviously! “But I'm okay." You utter, avoiding the peeping redhead through the curtains. Your gaze lands on his long fingers wrapped around your arm. He’s warm, warmer than you thought. Heat radiates off his body and envelops you like an old friend, familiar and calm. 

"Are you?" He inquires unconvinced, "here, let me clean you up." He leaves no room for protests as he helps you up and leads you to his porch. 

After you sit on the couch, he disappears inside the house before emerging with a large white case. He sits next to you and opens the kit on the table.

"That's a lot of stuff." You note, staring at the packed first aid kit. There are various rolls of gauze, different ointments, and bandages, far more things than your tiny plastic box under the sink. 

Judging by his shiny sports car, and his collection of perfectly tailored suits and watches, Ari lived a very different life than you and you’d do anything to know about it. Your naive heart aches for him so badly it almost hurts. 

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Can I touch you, sweetheart?” 

You watch him tend to your injury with slow and careful movements, his dark brows knitted in concentration. You’ve never been this close to him, the sudden rush of blood almost makes you lightheaded, but his scent brings you back down. The woody cologne floods your nose, followed by a dash of vanilla with underlinings of musky spice.

“What happened to your other dress?” He glances up, eyes shaded under his thick lashes. 

“Oh… It got dirty.” 

He hums, “what a shame.” He delicately presses down the edges of the bandage. “That’s one of my favourites. It always makes my day to see you wearing it.” 

You swallow down a whimper and clench your thighs, seconds away from dropping to your weak knees. Embarrassment fills your chest, tinged with guilt, “I’m sorry, sir.” The words slip out before you could think.

He cracks a small smile, shaking his head, “it’s okay, just be more careful next time, yeah? Can’t have you ruining the little purple one too, that’s my second favourite.”

Dull thumps hammer inside your head, muffling his raspy voice. You nod silently, digging your sock-clad feet into the concrete. 

You take the chance to memorize his tattoos, from the intricate rose by his wrist following the thorn stems up his arm where they entwined with a heavily shaded skull. Thin script is scattered along his skin, you can’t make out the exact words but they’re in swooping cursive, clinging to his flesh like wet chiffon. 

His arms tighten as he cleans up, the muscles shifting under his paper-thin t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Every unconscious flex clouds your head, tunnelling your vision until he’s all you can see.  A small whine sounds from your throat and his eyes flicker to yours, blue as can be. 

“I don’t see you leave very often.” You were either inside or sitting on the front porch with a treat and a magazine, or in the backyard tending to that small garden. “Do you work?”

“I… I did, then I got fired.” The wound was still a little fresh. “But it wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

Ari perks up in interest, although he knows plenty about you, this was strikingly new. Aside from your basic profile, he knew about your past as well, including where you grew up, where your parents lived, and how long you’ve been in this city. 

It was only right to know about the two girls living next to his late grandmother’s house. Curtis insisted since Ari wouldn’t let him stay in the old two-storey home, but instead the house down the street.

He came here to be alone and mourn, but that was hard to do with a cute neighbour always staring at him. Yet he stopped caring after you left a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers on his doorstep and an adorable ‘welcome to the neighbourhood!’ note. 

He forgot how good it felt to be sought after, rather than feared and honoured like a living legend. You gave him that sliver of normalcy with your longing loved-up looks and quick dashes inside when he pulled into the driveway. To you, sweet-spirited you, he was an ordinary guy, not someone with a history coloured in hues of red and dripping all over his shoes, smearing the black ink of his future; an eternity tied to his family’s glory that’s now his. 

“This customer was being so mean and I know I should’ve stayed professional but I was havin’ such a bad day already.” Your bottom lip trembles, flashes of that terrible day flickering through your head, “first I slept through my alarm, then I missed the bus, and my make-up broke in my bag a-and everything was all ruined.”

He reaches out, rubbing your knee soothingly. Poor girl, if it was up to him, you’d never be mistreated. “Where did you work?”

“Venom Vixens.” You sniffle, hoping he isn’t the judgemental type, you’ve known too many people who would humiliate you for your chosen career. “I, uh, I wasn’t one of the girls on stage since I was still new but I liked it there. My coworkers were nice, I got free drinks, and…”

“And?”

“I felt,” you look down at your hands, they were so much smaller than his, “I felt pretty. People go there to look and flirt, and I didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it.” 

Ari wouldn’t mind giving you all of that instead. 

He licks his lips, imagining you in a tiny lace set, the sheer fabric clinging to your figure while you swayed around the dimly lit club. A piece of art in the sea of ogling and drooling patrons, blooming beautifully under the flattery. 

“You liked the attention.” 

You giggle, “Yeah, a lot. Sure, some customers were gross and would say nasty things, but others were nice, real nice—they’d tip a lot and compliment me. Most of them were just lonely, they wanted someone to talk to or someone to spoil.” 

You don’t regret accepting their fawning or expensive gifts, hell, most of your jewelry was from your loyal clients. Sparkly things paired with sweet words were a one-way ticket to your good books. 

“How about your boss?” Ari asks, “how did he treat you?”

Venom Vixens wasn’t only a haven for the lonely or where perverts got their fill, but of course, you wouldn’t know that. You’d have a heart attack if you knew of the shady people who walked in and out of those doors, you’ve probably served a few of them, flashed that bright smile and earned yourself a big tip—unknowingly pocketing the filthy, blood-stained money. 

“Mr. Hansen was very friendly, but everything went through him. If we wanted to change a routine, we had to perform it for him first and get his approval. He said it was protocol.” Ari snorts but you don’t catch it, all too distracted with twisting the ring on his middle finger. “He was nice when you were nice to him.”

“So he must’ve always been kind to you. You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever met.”

You preen under his praise and nod happily, questioning why you were so nervous around him in the first place.

Ari was a flirt—and you loved being flirted with. 

“Mr. Hansen called me his favourite before he fired me. That was over two weeks ago, and Nat said I could take my time but,” you sigh, “I feel like a bother.” 

He wonders if your best friend would still hate him if she knew he was the reason that her cafe was still standing. Without his ruling over the South district, there would be chaos, and that little joint would’ve been ransacked long ago. 

Did he also call for extra protection because you frequented the establishment? Proudly so. 

“Are you still looking for a job?” He takes your distant hum as a yes, “Do you want to work for me?”

Your head snaps up, your sparkling eyes wide in surprise. 

“I’m opening a new club in a few days and I’ve got a spot left for a performer.” He didn’t, but he had no problem giving someone the boot to make room for you. 

Your mouth opens and closes several times, and the thought of Ari owning a club flies straight over your head. You’ve watched him more than your favourite movie but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him, except that he smokes, liked to work out and alternated between a white mustang and a sleek black motorcycle. 

Oh, and sometimes he changes in front of his bedroom window. 

“You’ll be my boss?”

Say the word, and he’ll be much more than that.

He smirks, gripping your jaw and turning you from side to side, blue eyes flickering over your features, “Sure will. I have a feeling this pretty face will be the main attraction every night.”

Your heart swells when his fingers dig into your cheeks. “I-I would, but Nat won’t like that. She kind of hates you… and your friends.” He adds pressure and your lips pucker, “you’re all s-ho loud wit ya’  bikes ‘n engines.”

Ari bites his tongue, it was either the motorcycles or the blood-curdling screams of the poor soul in the basement. He made a mental note to speed up the process of that soundproof room, he couldn’t have you losing sleep over his business. 

“She doesn’t have to know.” He replies, releasing your face in favour of loosely grasping your throat. Your pulse thumps under his fingers, hard and fast, speeding up as he leans closer, “c’mon, don’t you want to be a star? Get all that attention again and make me proud?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i just love sweet!readers, they're my faves 🥹 and pairing them with big hunky (secretly soft) men is heaven !! i can't get enough !!!!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! I love you all very much 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson au #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x female reader #mafia ​ari levinson #mafia au #mafia!​ari levinson #ari levinson x you #reader insert #melting au #ari levinson x lovesick!reader #lovesick!reader #sonny’s stories #chris evans #Chris evans fanfic #Chris evans fanfiction #Chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #ari levinson fluff #lovesick reader #tw mafia #ari levinson x Stripper!reader #sweet!reader #ari levinson one shot #red sea diving resort

[mournstera]

Jude — a responsive, single-column theme

Updated: Version 2.0.0

Static previews: Preview boxed (1) Preview boxed (2) Preview minimal

Download code: GitHub

This is a writer-friendly Tumblr theme, (it supports all post types, can easily be used with the writer features turned off), with 2 sidebars (that can switch positions), and a Google font of your choosing. Two layouts available: boxed or minimal. Included: Optional dark mode and update tab, two optional progress boxes. Supports NPF posts.

Read features and notes below the cut

Features:

Boxed or minimal layout

left-to-right or right-to left layout

Customize colours

Customize line height

Font-size (11-18px)

Post-width (350-540px)

Photoset gutter (1-8px)

Customizable post margin

Custom name box

Custom title box

Custom description box

Toggle between displaying or hiding tumblr controls behind an icon

Toggle box shadow on/off

Toggle between sharp or round corners on content

Toggle between sharp or round corners on photo posts

Choose between displayed tags or upon click

Choose to display post info as text or icons (reblog, like, etc.)

Optional sidebar icon image

Optional search bar

Optional update tab - there’s a toggle option to move the tab below navigation

2 Optional project progress boxes - delete the text in project title box to hide a section.

Optional dark/light mode

Navigation - links - pages:

Home, ask, archive, navigation toggle, nav title + their icons are customizable.

Integrated Tumblr pages only show up under the navigation toggle, if you have none active, the navigation toggle will be hidden.

The 5 custom links appear below the navigation box.

Go to Lucide.dev to change the icons by simply copying the name into the corresponding box in the customization panel:

Update box: You can change the icons for each activity, Just like the navigation icons above. To hide a section, simply delete the text in the field. If you delete the text in the first activity field, the entire update tab will be hidden.

Search bar: The search bar will be automatically hidden if you have the option to hide your blog from search results enabled. Go to your blog’s settings to do so.

Sidebar Icon info: a minimum of size 40x40px icon image with shapes square, rounded, circle or blob. Separate icons for light and dark mode! But If you want the same icon, simply upload it twice.

Dark Mode: detects if visitor’s operating system is on dark mode, and displays that choice at the first visit - of course with the option to toggle the other mode on/off.

Via/source link are on permalink pages

to hide the archive link, simply delete the text in the field.

Submit-link only shows if toggled on in your blog settings.

Credits

#themehunter #theme hunter #tumblr themes #resourcemarket #supportcontentcreators #themes #codes by me

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Introduction/Part One

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, (future) Bjorn

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Word Count: 2445

Warnings: time travel being possible, bullying, getting chased by some very confused vikings, imprisonment

Masterlist Here

"Cmon Jason. Give it a rest," you heard one of his friends tell him, but you were already crossing the bridge to get away from them.

You'd came to the park after school to relax after yet another hellish day of studying. You were a history student, obsessed with the Vikings, and sadly for some reason Jason's enemy number one. Apparently, the frat boy still held a grudge for the time you rejected him last year and decided to make your life a misery.

As you were halfway across the bridge you heard laughing then footsteps and just as you went to turn you felt him grab your bag off your shoulder. Well, he tried. You grabbed it back, yelling "help!" As his other friend tried to help him pull it away. 

You glanced behind you to see if anyone was near but no. You were alone of the bridge 6 feet at least above the deep lake. "Dude!" You heard the friend again as your head whipped back around.

"fine!" Jason yelled as he let go of the bag just as you had attempted to tug it from him. "Wait no!" You heard his voice before you felt the wood dig into your back and then heard a sickening snap.

You screamed as you felt the wind rush past your face, hair whipping around as your body hurtled headfirst towards the water. You felt your head sink in and the water ring in your ears like church bells as your eyes screwed up tight.

You waited for your head to crash against the rocks but instead felt your legs hit the soft ground, your butt and shoulders soon following. Your head hit the ground gently as a groan left your lips. As your eyes opened you realised not only did you feel no water or soggy clothing but that a scattered sunlight was washing over your face. 

"What the-" you muttered as you sat up. Your guitar bag was still clutched in one hand, your backpack hooked around your elbow, and now your earphones had been tossed behind you during the fall. That however did not concern you as much as the overwhelming greenery.

The Forrest around you had winding trees up to the sky with whispers of squirrels and rabbits in the background. You pulled yourself to your feet as your eyes scanned the woods. "Where am I?" You muttered as you grabbed your headphones and shoved them in your bag. 

You checked your phone however there was not only no signal but now the time had become dashes alongside the battery percentage. The Wi-Fi and Bluetooth signals were now just colourful blobs and even when you tried opening the emergency number call it refused to let you punch in the digits. You sighed and turned it off, hoping that by the time you found your way out the Forrest it would have rebooted so you could call your parents or maybe even a hospital since you'd obviously hit your head very hard.

You put the phone in your bag and zipped it up, even using the number lock your mother insisted you put on it to keep your bag safe. You weren't sure which way to go. After all no matter where you walked you could either be going closer or further to whatever destination would be the safest.

Fuck it. You thought. There's only one way to find out. You walked through the forest, not even trying to not step on twigs or ruffle leaves since you were probably just far deeper into the campus woods than you'd ever been before. However, then you heard voices.

Well laughter really. At least three men. Your footsteps slowed encase Jason and his friends had somehow made you lose your mind and we're torturing you but no. Instead, you held back a gasp as you peaked through the leaves to see four men with their backs to you.

One was sat on a log playing with what looked like a dagger while another two practised throwing axes. Fuck. All three were dressed as if they were Vikings. Perhaps you'd been studying them too much and had officially lost your marbles.

Or perhaps the other Viking nerds in your school had formed a club. As you debated taking a step forward one of the men missed his throw causing another to yell out a jab. As the man span round to answer his eyes stopped when he saw you. His hand shot out to nudge the man next to him who turned around.

He was a brunette man with a long braid down how back "I'm Ubbe," the boy called as he stepped forward, "Who are you? Why are you here?" He called however your eyes wandered down then widened as you saw him gripping his axe.

"Tell us!" The boy who had missed called, stepping closer. Your eyes wandered to the third who was reaching for something in his belt when you finally made up your mind.

Run. You turned, sprinting as fast as your legs could carry you. Your feet hammered against the dirt as their shouts echoed through the forest. You didn't dare glance back or stop for the branches whipping against your face. There was finally a break in the trees. Freedom. Safety you thought.

As you ran you arrived at the top of a hill. You turned to look down, expecting to see your campus when dread filled your blood. No this wasn't real. A village of Vikings now looked up at where you stood on the hill.

You stood for a moment panting as you overlooked it all. That was until you heard them again. "Stop right there!" Ubbe all but screamed. 

You ran again. To your left was a high cliff facing a grey blue ocean and to your right was 3 very angry looking Vikings. You decided to take your chances with the clueless as you barrelled down the hill into what looked to be like a market.

Despite being the least terrifying person here they all jumped out your way, gasping and screaming as you ran all while Ubbe and the others chased you. 

You were running towards a bridge by a stream and decided for one last second to glance behind you. They were just running around the corner when you felt a hand grab your foot as the other got swept up in the air.

It was as if your body took flight as you fell to the ground with a large thump. You groaned as you tried to pick yourself up just for a large hand to grab your shoulder and flip you on your back. 

As you stared at his electric blue eyes your own eyes widened. "Ivar?" You whispered and his eyes widened so much you wondered if it hurt however just as he went to speak Ubbe pulled him off him.

Ubbe. Your brain clicked. There's no possible way. It couldn't be. Surely not. Ubbes hand pulling you to your feet. "I asked you a question," he growled as you gasped for air. As much as you wanted to be tough and brave and all the other things these Vikings were being faced to face to Ubbe was too much as the spots began to cloud your vision and you felt your body fall limp as the world faded to black.

-

As you began to stir you half expected to open your eyes and see your dorm room, but the hard stick pressed against your spine made you doubtful. Your eyes opened to find yourself in a wooden cage in the corner of what looked like a bedroom. It was dark and suddenly felt very small as your hands grabbed the bars as you began to shake them.

“Fuck,” you grunted as you hit your hand against the frame but instead of it budging now your hand just hurt. Before you could try for any longer you froze when you saw the door slowly push open.

“I see what you mean,” a woman’s voice muttered as she approached your cage. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her or the men behind her, “What is she wearing?” she whispered.

“We don’t know,”

“We found her like this,”

“Do you think she’s a witch?” you felt your blood run cold at the man’s word.

The woman stood up and turned to what you soon realised were her sons. In fact, now you realised who they all were. It was Sigurd who’d claimed you may be a witch but how could he possibly be real? He was a tv character after all.

“Perhaps but we cannot know for sure yet,” Aslaug whispered to her son, “Can you speak child?” she called out to you as if she was shouting on a dog. Your head raised so you could get a better look, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“What are we going to do?” Ubbe asked. As the four spoke amongst themselves you realised one was missing. Ivar was nowhere to be seen.

“Your father should be home any day now. We will wait for him,” Aslaug finally determined, “I have never seen someone like this. I do not wish to find out what harm she can cause alone,” with that the four turned to leave, shutting the door and leaving you in the stale dark once more.

You sighed as you leaned back against the cage however as your eyes scanned the room you noticed your bags sitting in the corner making your head instantly perk up. You knew you didn’t have anything sharp in it but as your stomach rumbled you realised what you did need. Food.

As you began to wonder how you would get to your things you heard the door crack open. You looked up as Ivar dragged himself into the room, constantly checking over his shoulder before he shut the door and brought himself over to your cage. His eyes scanned your frame as you brought your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly.

“Who are you?” he murmured, his eyes landing on your face, “and how do you know my name?” the silence that followed was only broken by the loud rumble of your stomach once more as you winced. “You’re hungry?” he asked.

Finally, you nodded, and a smile quirked onto his lips, “So you do understand?” you nodded again, “If you tell me who you are I’ll bring you something to eat,”

You paused as you decided if it was worth breaking the façade, you’d created but as your stomach churned you realised starving to death before Ragnar returned was not worth it. you whispered your name, but your voice was hoarse from lack of use.

Ivars’s head tilted slightly as his eyebrows knitted, “What a usual name,” he mused.

You bit back a laugh. “Coming from Ivar the boneless,” you muttered.

His eyes widened, a look of what you couldn’t tell if shock or rage or both washed over his face. “What did you call me?” he half yelled, grabbing onto the bars of the cage you were suddenly thankful for.

“It’s what everyone calls you!” you rushed out, pushing yourself as far away as possible, “In the textbooks that’s what legend says you were called I’m sorry,”

He paused, his hands slipping from the bar as the confused look returned, “What is a textbook?”

“Like a history book,” you said but that did little to explain it to him, “It’s like- “you paused trying to think what the closest thing to a Viking textbook was, “It’s like how you pass down stories in songs! We write them down in textbooks, so nobody forgets,”

Ivar paused for a moment as he finally relaxed again, “Where did you come from?” he asked, “And how do they know who I am? What have you told them?”

“I haven’t told them anything, my teachers they taught it to me,” you said, finally allowing yourself to sit at ease again, “I’m from the future,” the words felt foreign in your mouth as Ivar’s blue eyes widened.

“Prove it,”

“You’re Ivar the boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok,” you spoke but your voice was shaky as you tried to remember all you could, “Brother of Bjorn Ironside who explored the Mediterranean sea. Son of Aslaug. You go on to command the great heathen army,” you said and as you spoke Ivar looked like a child being read a bedtime story about pirates and mermaids, “You Ivar are a legend where I am from,” perhaps bending the truth a little but what would he know.

“And who- “

You cut him off this time when you felt your stomach lurch, “You said you would feed me. I won’t tell you anything else till you live up to your word,” you tried to sound firm, but it clearly wasn’t your style.

Still though Ivar nodded as he slowly began to drag himself away, “I shall return,” he said as he opened the door, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Don’t go anywhere,” he teased before shutting the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes as you sunk back into the wood behind you. “Oh god he really is nuts,” you whispered. Then again perhaps it was you that was nuts. After all you had just been talking to a Viking who’d died thousands of years ago.

General Taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate

Vikings Taglist: @bellroclucky03 @ringpopdust @hypocritic-trash-baby @tessakate

#vikings #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings x you #ubbe x reader #ubbe #ubbe imagine #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe ragnorsson x reader #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd ragnorsson x reader #sigurd x reader #sigurd #sigurd snake eye x reader #hviserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #ivar x reader #ivar #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnorsson #ivar ragnarsson x reader

[cheriladycl01]

I have just got into F1 and it’s fast become my autistic hyperfixation and I’m glad I’ve found writers like you! I was wondering if maybe you could write something for Nico? He’s my favourite! Maybe reader has a bad crash or something similar to your heat fic where reader faints into his arms/ has a febrile seizure from dehydration and heat stroke after a race? Just lots of hurt/comfort. No worries if it doesn’t inspire. Thank you for doing what you do 💕💕

The Toughest Race so Far - Nico Hulkenburg x Driver! Reader

Plot: After one of the toughest races of your life, you and Nico need to have serious conversation about your health.

A/N! 1) I'm hoping i got the right Nico and you didn't want Nico Rosberg! If you did, let me know and I'll right one for Nico Rosberg! 2) As someone with ADHD, i 100% get the hyperfixation and how much it grips you!

Credit to rookie-ofthe-year for the GIF

You were getting out the car, well trying to and your legs and arms refused to work. It was like they were actually glued to the seat. You just sat there, head ringing not really sure what to do and how to gp forward.

Some of the Stake Team come up to you, checking to see if you were actually alive in the cockpit or if you'd passed out. Your own team hadn't come and found you yet.

They start to try talk to you but nothings going in, and staying in so your communication is ineffective.

You feel void of anything and all the sounds around you are blurring into one. There's a numbness in your hands and legs that is burning but also non-existent, like numbness should be. It was confusing for your mind that had just gone through that uphill battle of a race.

It was like your body was failing on you and you could only sit back and watch it.

Eventually your team, of RedBull come over to you. Not that you could tell the difference between the Stake Suits and the Red Bull ones at this point, faces were just blobs right now and your mind couldn't comprehend colours.

They reach in to help lift you out so your stood up outside the car leant against the body. One of the mechanics has a hand resting on your arm keeping you steady while another reaches to take your helmet off and another goes for you balaclava that's covered in saliva.

However, the minute your legs are left to work for themself with out the support they starts to wobble. Your head starts to spin, and your vision blurs, the last thing you could remember being your body convulsing before you smacked the door where you continued shaking.

"Oh my god! Someone help her!" someone exclaimed as they saw you on the floor and seconds later a medical team that were already on their way heading towards you after being radioed by the team you weren't looking too great.

There were people flooding around you, one of them opened up your race suit that was drenched through.

"Babe?" a voice called as Nico jumped out his car spotting you thrashing on the floor. He himself wasn't feeling great from the heat either but you'd just managed to fight your way from P20 all the way up to P6 to get in the points.

It was probably the drive of your career having set the fastest lap, fastest pit stop and received driver of the day. Despite all the podiums, wins and poles you'd had, this was the drive.

He looked over you as they took you onto the stretcher as you were unresponsive.

"What's wrong with her is she okay?" he asks walking over closer to the medics that were surrounding you.

"We aren't sure but we need to get her to the medical tent right away, please go back to your team!" one of them says while they fit an oxygen mask around your mouth.

Nico spent his entire debrief not really concentrating on what anyone was saying, he wanted to be out of that room as soon as possible and to see how you were doing.

The minute that they concluded what happened in the race and how they can prepare better for hotter races as a team until the FIA but things into place, Nico was out the door as rushing past the Red Bull motorhome that was pretty quiet. They could all tell he was looking for you, and he just knew you were still with the medics from the look on everyone's face.

He rushed into the tent seeing you calmly sleeping but hooked up to a few different machines. The main one an drip, he knew you must be insanely dehydrated, and with your body temperature already struggling to regulate normally he couldn't imagine how much like hell that car felt to you.

"Is she okay?" he asks the nurse that was currently re-doing the braid in your hair that had gotten a little knotty under your helmet.

"Yes, she scared us all but she'll be fine. She's making a speedy recovery thanks to the doctors quickness and efficiency. She lost 6kg in that race which is very dangerous and she didn't drink anything at all during that race, so we've got her on some water and stuff that will pep her up. She had a minor injury to her shoulder where she fell but other than that she's okay. How long have you guys know she struggles to regulate her body temperature?" she explains and asks all in one.

"Since she karted, but she loves the sport to much" he chuckles. You'd talked about this with Nico a lot, you had to train your body harder and be stricter when it came to things like exercise and diets because of the condition.

Nico had said many times that it would be safter for you to stop racing all together but that had caused far to many arguments that he'd ended up on the sofa one to many times over.

He knew you loved racing, because he did as well and he hated when he had to leave the sport when no seat was available. So he knew it was something that wouldn't even be on the table for you to consider but he just wished you would.

For your guys' future, he just wanted you safe and at full health.

"She terrifies me when she gets into that car" he smiles looking down at your peaceful body.

"I can imagine, but ... I'm sure you scare her too. She struggles but I think honesty that makes her a better driver, she knows her limits and breaking points better than anyone. Today was a bade race that I cant see them doing at the same time of year ever again, and there may even be regulation changes that'll help. But ... take it from a career passionate woman. She wont give this up" she smiles to him and he glances down at you with his own smile.

"Oh I know she wont" he grins, taking your hand in his.

"Hey baby" he smiles as he sees your eyes flutter.

"Hey" you say back a little confused, looking around the room your in.

"You fainted and had a seizure" he explains grabbing your hand and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

"Oh, it was really hot in the car I don't think I ate before the race either because I felt sick!" you offer trying to explain why you were so badly effected.

"You weren't the only one that struggled, Alex, Esteban, Logan and a few others have been down here too. You pushed yourself a lot in that drive, but there's talks of the FIA making some changes for next year!" he explains.

"Mmm, I'm glad their taking action to make it safer for us!" you admit.

"I'm not even going to bother trying to convince you to retire!" he laughs shaking his head.

"We've talked about that before, you know I'm not ready yet. I've been given such a shot in Red Bull!" you smile, knowing he finally understood your view on your career.

"I know, I just worry about you!"

"I worry about you too" you say and pull him down into a kiss.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #nico hulkenberg #nico hulkenberg x reader #nico hulkenberg x you #nico hulkenberg imagine #nico hulkenberg fluff

[findafight]

Robin doesn't think about the short sleeve button up she wears on the first day of Senior year other than that it's cute until Jamie is pulling her arm close to her face, and she realizes that if she didn't want to be the centre of attention for having a rather prominent Mark that Filled over summer, she should have worn long sleeves. Damn.

The iridescent colour it's written in shifts in the light, from purple to green to gold and has the shimmer of wet ink, glitter shifting within it impossibly. Marks are always striking, their colours more vivid and beautiful than anything manmade. Neoclassical and baroque artists came close to recreating them, but even masters' attempts always look off. Movies try, but it's still…wrong. Not quite as alive as a Mark should be.

So it's not unusual that Robin's mark carries some ethereal quality, but the placement up her right forearm and the uncanny shifting of the colours do make it…well. Noticeable.

Jamie nearly squeals at her. "Oh my god! You got a new one and Filled it over the summer? Lucky!"

"Ah. Thanks." She's not particularly fond of touch, but resists yanking her arm back. Newly Filled Marks are always cause for gossip, and her being cagey would just lead to rumours.

"So?? Who is it? How'd it happen?" Jamie leans in, wide eyed. Other kids that were milling around the band room have begun clustering.

"It's, ah. It's Steve?" Why did she make that a question? It is Steve's Mark.

"Steve? What Steve? How'd you meet? C'mon, Robin! Give us the story!"

Robin shifts, and pulls her arm away, finally. "We were coworkers at the mall, and I got it when I decided that working with him wasn't so bad, even if he is a dingus. It Filled when–during the fire."

"Oh shit." Someone says.

Jamie blinks. "It's song lyrics though." And yeah, it is. Bright and bold, in Steve's Best Cursive, is and you see me now tonight going from her wrist up towards her elbow in large cursive letters.

Robin giggles. "Yeah, uh. He was…cheering me up. Because, y'know, the fire. He got mine right after."

The band room is quiet, processing. It's not common for Marks to Fill at the same time, even when it's reciprocated. Then someone from the back of the cluster says "wait. Didn't you work with Steve Harrington this summer?"

Finally, Robin grins. "Oh yeah. We're at Family Video now, though." There's tittering. They probably don't believe her. "My Mark is on his left arm, and it says," she pauses. Sharing someone else's Mark isn't exactly polite but sharing a Mark that's yours on someone else isn't at all taboo. It's part of you, on another. So she shares "you sound like a Muppet. In the same colour ink."

The room explodes into questions and astoundment and speculation. By the time second period rolls around tomorrow, the whole school will know. Hell, there'll probably be some nosy customers at Family Video for Steve tonight. Ah, well. It wasn't a secret.

"So, you're dating him now?" Comes floating above the frantic gossiping.

Robin shakes her head. "No. No way. We're friends. It's a platonic bond." Not that Dustin–ignoring that he and Erica also have Filled Marks in the same iridescence on Steve and themselves– would let up about them being scientifically proven to be perfect for each other. Which they were. As…not dating. As friends. As best friends. As a singular blob person that is unfortunately split into two people currently. But Hawkins High Concert Band doesn't need to know that.

"Fucking stunning for a platonic Bond."

She shrugs. "Guess we're just special like that."

#platonic stobin #stobin #platonic soulmates #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #stranger things au #listen. too many soulmate aus have failed to give me weirdo stobin platonic soulmates. so im treating myself #part of a larger soulmate au im concocting #finda writes stuff #finda's rambles #idk what to call this because i Actually have another stobin soulmate au lmao #stobin soulmate words au #i guess

[kmt123whatsthetea]

I Get a Kick Out Of You

Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

A sequel to Something Stupid

Requested by @saintlike05

A/N: I am so sorry that this took so long. But I'm finally here to write and continue with the Frank Sinatra title theme.

T/W: Make up sex, Unprotected sex, Double Penetration, Anal, Spitting, Food play?, Teensy bit of hair pulling

If you told this story to others, you'd get a different response.

Mrs Weasley said it was fate that you walked into the shop and back into her son's lives. Hermione jokingly played it off as your brain needing the comforting colour of orange that you lost when you broke up with the twins. But the twins themselves, they called it a miracle.

It was even more miraculous that you agreed to give it another go.

The twins had discussed it after you left. They realised how careless they had been and that you only left because of their actions. Your leaving was their consequence.

They had agreed to be better for your sake. The only people they would prank from now on would be their customers, their family members, and you from time to time.

It was George's idea to have a make up date, only to mask Fred’s idea of make up sex. They planned it all. A candlelit dinner with flowers, your favourite food, and a muggle CD of some guy called Frank Sinatra that Hermione had recommended (they had gone to her for advice on how to make the perfect date after Ginny had turned them away, claiming that it was gross to think of her brother's having sex).

After that, it was all set. The clock was counting down until your scheduled arrival. Even Fred was nervous, more so than he had been on the first date.

Your first date with the twins was one to remember. You had gotten many weird looks from the other Hogsmead patrons when you gave both boys a rather loving peck on the lips. Sometimes the twins worried that the love triangle would be the thing to end your relationship. What if you did want both of them? What if you wanted someone else? Or even worse…

…What if you wanted just one of the twins?

The twins were alike in every way possible. They each had that very thought but didn't realise that the other shared it. Of course they knew that you loved them both equally, but it was still a fear that remained.

When you knocked on the door, it took both men a good minute before they rushed to let you in. Their dopey smiles remained throughout the time you took your coat off to the time you sat at the small table in the twins kitchen. They treated you like a princess throughout the little ‘make-up date’. They waited on you and even cooked you your favourite dinner (which you’re certain tasted like Molly’s cooking, but you appreciated the thought)

When dinner was finished and George took your plates, Fred smirked your way.

“Maybe we could make dessert a little more…enjoyable?”

At first, you thought Fred was being his regular old self. That was until George came back carrying a bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream.

Fred took a hold of the whipped cream and brushed your hair aside beside squirting a small blob of the canned goodness onto your neck. His tongue followed suit, licking it all up until there was more saliva than cream on your neck. Both men knew which spots would make you keen and practically melt, which is why Fred paid extra special attention to those sweet spots.

The bowl of strawberries sat forgotten while your sensitive neck became the perfect pairing for the whipped cream. George took the can from his brother and repeated similar licks on the other side. Soon, your neck was coated in a thin veil of saliva and cream.

They had always said that you were sweeter than any dessert.

George picked you up in his arms, securing his hands on your thighs while Fred moved his hands to your hips, keeping you boxed between their chests. Your skirt was riding up, making their job even easier. Fred pulled your underwear to the side before bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting on his fingertips. He used his spit as lube, rubbing it from your clit and over your folds before massaging your tight hole. Fred leaned his face close to your ear.

“Can you take us both, love? I know how much of a little nympho you can be”

You had done anal before, but never both at once. During sex, you always used your mouth or your pussy. George guided your eyes back to him by a gentle finger on your chin.

“It's okay if you can't take it, baby. We just want to make you feel good”

Without hesitation, you nodded eagerly.

“I can take it”

Fred’s horny devil took over. He positioned his tip at the tight ring of muscle and slowly started pushing. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened, and he kept his firm yet gentle hold on your chin. He made sure that you focused on him while Fred bottomed out.

George gestured down and you knew that he was asking for help removing his cock from his trousers since both of his hands were holding you up by your thighs. You unzipped his trousers and pushed his boxers down, just enough to uncover the prize inside. You guided him to your folds as best you could, before he lowered you down. The stretch of both of their cocks inside of you made your chest feel tight, like your breath was robbed. Their cocks were literally breathtaking.

The twins took turns thrusting, making sure that you were stretched around one of them at all times. A symphony of moans and obscene squelches filled the air, followed by the lingering smell of sex. That coil in your stomach slowly got tighter and tighter. George could feel your walls squeezing his cock so he shot Fred a glance over your shoulder. Fred gently pulled your hair back to get your attention.

“Does our pretty baby wanna cum? Why don't you show us just how much you missed us?”

That's all it took for you to fall apart in their arms. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened while you came down from your high. Even in your blissed out states, you liked to guess which of the twins would cum first. But they were twins through and through.

Both of your holes were filled with their warm cum almost simultaneously. Neither twin pulled out or let you down. Even when their muscles started to get tired, they kept a hold of you.

Literally or figuratively, the twins would always keep a hold of you. Because you were the only one who had been given the keys to their hearts.

And they would do anything to get you back.

#george weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley x fem #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #fred weasley #george weasley smut #fred weasley smut #george wealsey x reader #george weasley headcanon #george weasely smut #george weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley fic #weasley twins smut #weasley twins

[klausinamarink]

Happy Accidents Allowed

Prompt: “Starry Night” (discord drabble from STWG and a happy birthday to @thefreakandthehair 🥳💜)

-

“That’s a perfect wall right there.” Eddie emphasizes his point by smacking a hand against the still-white, (thankfully) now dried paint. “Don’t ya agree, big boy?”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, letting himself survey every inch of the wall of their living room. It’s actually a small area, right next to the sliding door of the balcony, barely wide enough to fit his own frame even with his arms outstretched. It’s also the only wall in their new apartment left unpainted because Eddie had wanted it blank for a mural he wanted to do. Hence the many paint bottles and palettes around their feet.

Finally, Steve smacked his lips and said, “Better than a horse, I’ll say.” 

It came out less clever than it did in his brain, but Eddie laughed hysterically anyways. 

“Alright, I’m gonna start so do not distract me!” Eddie pointed at him with one of the paintbrushes. 

“Even if it’s for meals?” Steve asked, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

Eddie paused. “Unless it’s for meals.”

“Even if you need a shower?”

“Unless I have to shower.”

“Even if-”

Steve cackled as he leapt away from Eddie’s attempt to smack his leg. “Even if I have to sleep, yes!” 

He left Eddie alone then. Steve spent a while in their bedroom to finish unpacking the last couple boxes, before he peeked back in the living room. 

Some of the wall was painted in a thick dark blue. Eddie was still hunched over on his spot, but Steve could see that his boyfriend already had some other colours done. They were too dark and blob-y looking for Steve to figure out what they were. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“So what exactly are you painting?” Steve tiptoed over, careful not to disturb Eddie.

Eddie hummed, not looking up from where he’s still painting. “Been wanting to try my version of Starry Night.”

“Starry Night?”

“Yeah, you know. That one Van Gogh painting.” 

“Oh, I know that.”

They both fell into a comfortable silence. Steve kept watching Eddie until he finally looked up. “You wanna try?”

Steve blinked, “Huh?”

Eddie grinned, already handing him a paintbrush. “You can try painting too. It would be sort of cool if we did this together, actually. Like, I paint on this side, you paint on that side, we meet in the middle. Might be sweet.”

”Or hideous.” Steve muttered, taking the offered brush. Eddie laughed before turning back to his progress.

Steve stared at the remaining white space. He looked down at his brush. It’s one of the small ones that could do thinner strokes for the details. Probably a good choice Eddie gave him because Steve knew absolutely nothing about painting. Even in art classes as he had followed his teacher’s instructions, his projects always looked like a first grader’s attempt. Hell, he was pretty sure first grade was the last time he genuinely wanted to do painting on his own.

He took a deep breath. He can do this. He knows what Starry Night looks like, so all he has to do is paint what he remembers, right?

Steve sits down, dipping the brush in one of the blue paints. A lighter color. Because Starry Night had lots of cool brushstrokes and it makes sense to start from light to dark. Right?

Steve carefully taps the brush experimentally on the wall. As expected, the light blue paint appears as a new dot on the white wall, inches away from Eddie’s. But an inexplicable wave of dread comes over Steve. The longer he stares at the spot, the more it overwhelms him. 

Because he doesn’t know what to do next. 

Does he have to apply the same paint? Does he just have to bring the brush back and move it up and down? Did he have to add a new one? If he tried a different brush- no, it would just be the same, just more larger. Should he ask Eddie? No, it’ll just distract him anyways. Maybe if Steve left now- no, he would be a fucking asshole-

“I ruined it.” Steve said, blankly staring at the pathetic dot. 

“What?” Eddie blinked at him. His eyes darted to the horrible blue spot and he made a small laugh. “Sweetheart, you just started-”

“I ruined it.” Steve repeated. Pressure started burning right behind his eyes. He immediately pinched the bridge of his nose, careful with the paintbrush he’s still holding. Fucking pathetic. “This was a mistake.”

“Wait, wait, Steve.” Eddie’s hands were on his wrists, gently bringing them down to their laps. Steve looked away, biting hard into his bottom lip. If he had to look at his boyfriend, Steve was certain he would just start sobbing and never stop.

“Steve.” Eddie said softly. His hand carefully cupped Steve’s face. Lingering, not turning his head to face Eddie. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like I said,” Steve clenched his jaw as he spoke, trying to stop the waterworks from going out, “I ruined it.”

There was a tiny rustle of clothes as Eddie moved forwards. His arms wrapped around Steve, easily pulling their bodies together. Steve couldn’t hold it anymore. He buried his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of paint already ingrained in the fabric of his flannel. It soaked up his tears easily. 

After Steve felt like he could breathe without feeling choked up, Eddie spoke again, “It’s your first time painting, right?”

Steve nodded. He turned his head so he could press his face against Eddie’s neck. 

“I’m not expecting you to be a master painter.” Eddie paused, “Though it would be pretty cool if my boyfriend was secretly Van Gogh.” He cackled aloud when Steve good-heartedly pinched his arm in response. When he quieted down, Eddie leaned back so he was staring into Steve’s eyes. His thumb rubbed underneath them to wipe away any stray tears.

He continued, “It’s okay to fail, Steve. It’s okay to make mistakes, especially when you’re just starting something new. Believe me, I get the struggle. Sometimes, I come up with super cool ideas but I just tear my hair out when I can’t draw it exactly how I pictured it.”

“Really?” Steve asked quietly, even though he already witnessed plenty of those moments Eddie had just described, which was mostly amusing. But nothing about this situation feels funny to Steve. Surely, Eddie’s internally laughing at him right now.

But Eddie was only smiling at him, all so fondly, “Really. And there’s a lesson about it. If you think you ruined something, call it a happy accident.”

“Happy accidents?” Steve repeated it under his breath. Eddie’s smile grew wider as he playfully tapped his nose.

“Yep, no calling it a mistake or saying you ruined art. It’s just happy accidents.”

When they both leaned in to kiss, Steve thought about the circumstances that had brought them both here in this apartment, despite the horrors that had caused it. Thought about how if he hadn’t ran back to the Byers house that night, Steve’s life would’ve been more blissful but none the wiser. He wouldn’t have met the kids and known Eddie more this intimately.

Yeah, it sure was a happy accident. And that, Steve wouldn’t regret those spots of paint on his own mural of his life.

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things

[luveline]

jade, happy new year! id love to request a cute little lunalovegood!reader with sirius. maybe he catches r painting something for him or making him a necklace or something crafty like that

thank you!! sorry this request took some time, I hope you like it | fem!reader ♥︎ 1k

You aren't usually so secretive about your artwork. You aren't especially forward with it either, but when Sirius asks to see what you're working on, whether it be a thumbnail in your sketchbook or the rendering of a huge canvas, you oblige him with one of your funny smiles. 

This one is a different story, evidently. You won't let him see it, citing that it doesn't look perfect yet. 

"My darling," he says, seriously and joking at once, "when has that ever mattered?" To you, between us. 

You tap your nose and duck in for a kiss. Afterward he realises he's been duped, distracted by your bright and shiny lip gloss, your sparkling irises full of promise. He doesn't see the painting for weeks, looking up in the living room to watch your back move as he always does and finding you've closed the door. 

He sits on the sofa with his guitar some nights plucking away at the strings, and other nights he sort of just lies there. He knows how important hobbies are, doesn't deny you your earthly pleasures, but he misses the days where you'd allow him your company. He'd sit on the floor of your small studio for hours if you'd let him, he misses you that much. 

He comes home one night a little earlier than usual, guitar case heavy on his spine, a bag of food shopping in hand. He's gonna make something nice, and he's gonna pry you away from your painting with a crowbar if necessary, and he's going to be honest. I love you and support you but I can't keep on missing you like this, sweet thing. I know your paintings are important to you but I am too, and I need you to make more time for me. 

He has it rehearsed. 

You're humming in the studio (which had been his office, and still houses the majority of his instruments), head bobbing every so slightly. Your hair glows in the afternoon sun, your skin shines. Your shoulders — Sirius swallows. Everytime he sees the back of you he wants to envelope you in a steel-armed hug. To dip his face into the curve of your neck, to breathe in the spritz of your dainty perfume, to fill his hands with your soft abdomen. 

You've left the door open, and when you move to the left to put down your palette on the brown desk he'd gotten for you specifically for moments like this when you need more hands and he's not around, he can see the entirety of your canvas, corner to corner, each lick of oil paint muddied and slick. 

He knows this painting is almost done. There's no first coat of sepia to be seen, no sketchy lines, only full-fleshed shapes and colours. 

It's a painting of him. He admits to thinking he's handsome, but you've made him beautiful. You've painted him in one of his better moments, a real smile playing on otherwise smirking lips, his face 3/4ths  eyelashes thick and pointed leftward, off the canvas. He would guess that he's looking at you. He's never looked at anyone else like that. 

It has emotion like a flood welling inside him, creeping slowly up and up from the core of his aching stomach to his lips. He can't stop himself. 

"Sweetheart," he says, clearing his throat as subtly as he can, "my girl. Why didn't you tell me?"

You're predictable even now, you don't jump in startled shock, or try to close the door between you. You finish squeezing out a blob of cadmium yellow paint and wipe the mouth of the bottle against your palette, paint covered fingers screwing on the cap with a slow precision. He loves the way you move, is enchanted as you lay down the tube of paint and meet his eyes. 

"It's a surprise, Siri. If I tell you, that makes it not a surprise." You smile at him, lifting your chin, and Sirius has no choice but to use the word adorable. You look adorable, eyes shiny and smile soft. "Surprise, sweetheart." 

"It's your best work," he says honestly. 

"I know." You take up your paintbrush, dip it into the small blob of yellow, and bend to start painting again. 

He remembers what he'd wanted to talk to you about and slides his guitar case carefully off of his back, hand extended as he approaches you, placing his warm palm against the small of your back. 

His lips part, the beginning of his speech on the end of his tongue, when you bounce backward and smile. 

"Done," you say. 

He squints at the bottom of the canvas, where you've signed your name over his painted heart. It's an astute place to put it. 

"How much paint do you have on you, my darling?" he asks. 

You flare your lashes and peel out of the cream, paint-dappled apron you'd been wearing. You pour a little of white spirit in your hands to his displeasure and wipe them together, drying the resulting oil on your apron. He wonders how you've survived this long, and wants to harp about spontaneous combustion, but you're weaving your arms around his waist with a heaving sigh, your pert smile, your lovely nose, rubbing into his front indulgently. 

He sighs, satisfied, and kisses your forehead. His arms settle around you familiarly, forearm straight across your shoulders. In his head, he swears he can feel the knot there from your hunched painting stature. He promises to investigate later. 

"I'm so glad you like it," you say. 

"I haven't told you I like it," Sirius says quietly, eyes closed in the bliss of being near you. 

"Oh, sorry," you mumble, not too sorry after all, "just thought, from the hug…" 

You're thinking correctly. Of course you'd read him like that. You don't need words to know how he's feeling, you never have. 

"I love it. Your talent never fails to impress me," he says. 

You peel away from his chest, take his clean face into your sullied palms, and cradle him like water in your hands, heels touching under his chin. Your fingertips dance over his stubble, and you meet his eyes and beam. 

"I love when you make that face," you say. 

He looks exactly like the painting. Stupidly in love. 

#sirius x you #sirius orion black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x fem!reader

[fatuifucker]

If you're still taking requests for the event, could you write sub trans diluc and dom afab reader?

sub trans! diluc x soft dom gn reader

WARNINGS = smut, bunnysuit, toys (vibrator + dildo), oral sex (reader giving), edging

W/C = 0.6k

A/N = wow my first edging + past tense piece. ik this was supposed to be fem-sex but i accidentally made it gn so eh

You would pity him if it weren't for this delicious view. The scion of Mondstadt. Master of the Dawn Winery. Head of the largest wine empire in Teyvat. The man who holds all those titles…riding a dildo in a bunnysuit. The sight alone made you lick your lips, one hand propping a kamera pointing down at him, another circling your clit as the vibrator stuffed inside you whirs with vigour.

Diluc's trying his hardest to hold back, to stifle his moans, keep his composure in check. His ankles must be aching from squatting in that position in those black heels, sliding himself up and down the thick length of the silicon cock. If your hands weren't preoccupied, you would have reach to caress that scarlet mane of his, brushing the cute bunny ears that adorn his pretty little head. Instead, you opt to press on the shutter button a couple more times. Mementos for the both of you.

"Luc, I'm close," you whispered, feeling the knot in your tummy getting tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

Poor Diluc doesn't get a chance to react before you sprayed your juices all over his face, gasping in shock and shuddering as he too reached his peak. Some of the droplets land on his tongue, which he oh-too-delightedly accepted.

"Sit on the chair," you ordered as you stood up, watching as he obediently followed your command.

You set the camera on a table and kneeled in front of him. Carefully, you slip off his heels, pausing before planting kisses on his sore feet. He stiffened at the gentle display, pale face warming up to the colour of a fiery blaze as he muttered a "thank you". You smiled up at him, parting his thighs and staring in awe at the glistening covering over his pussy.

"Don't stare, (Name)."

You laughed at the evident embarrassment in his voice. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just amazed at how wet you are." You swiped a blob off his thighs, shoving the stained finger in your mouth to lick it clean before purposefully taking it out with a pop. "all this just for me."

"Please stop teasing me and get on with it," he sighed in exasperation.

You obliged him by parting his labia with the aid of your fingers before sliding your tongue into his hot pussy. Already, he is oozing with stickiness. The taste, the scent; it makes you delirious, and you can't help but moan into his cunt as you lap up his juices like the finest wine. Diluc grinds against your face, moaning as he pushes you deeper. Fuck decency and pride. He's so cute that you almost want to shove a carrot in his mouth to shut him up.

You gently take his hands off you, looking up at him with a devilish grin even as your tongue continues prodding him. His palms rest on the armrests now, body forming an arch as he keens into you.

"Will you beg me to let you cum?" you lips formed a smirked as you play with his erect clit.

"Enough. You– ngh…are pushing it."

"Aww, am I?" you cooed. "But you like this, don't you? You love it when I make you beg."

"That's—"

"I'm not letting you cum unless you beg."

"I…"

The words died in his throat as soon as your lips made contact with his cunt again. You take in everything of him and he helplessly gives it all to you, chanting a series of "more, more, more!" as you skillfully toy with him. Closer, closer, closer, he is so close, so close, so close—

Oh the whine that escaped his lips when the warmth left him, hole clenching cold air. "Wh…"

"Shh, I told you didn't I?" the same devillish made its way on your face once more. "I'm not letting you cum until you beg."

#genshin impact smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin diluc smut #diluc x reader smut #diluc smut #genshin diluc x reader smut #sub diluc

[coulsonlives]

Mkay, time for my in-depth review of Zuko's scar in the live action ATLA, because I'm a lil salty.

This is the first shot of Zuko we see, and my first impression is: this isn't the best makeup. The first thing that stands out is the flatness of the scar. It's unrealistic, because burn scars usually heal in a lumpy way, it's called hypertrophy. See the burn scar from the Hound (Sandor Clegane) in GOT:

That lumpiness is super important for making skin appear like it had been burned by fire and healed over! But because it's not really there in Zuko's face, it just looks like he got a bad sunburn:

I understand Zuko doesn't need a super deformed face, or enormous textures in his scar, but we basically have just flat skin right now, and it doesn't sell 'bad scar' at all. The makeup should've been somewhere between those two things.

The second thing is the general inaccuracy of the scar itself. I'm not gonna nitpick how it doesn't go as far down his cheek, or how it's not affecting his left eyelid, but there are some major things I am gonna mention. In the animated show, his left eyebrow was burned away because the fire contacted the skin underneath it, and then went over that, up into his forehead:

Here's a crappy edit I made where the brow is mirrored, you can see how much the scar extends over it.

But in the makeup, it looks like the fire either stopped directly at the underside of his brow, or it did burn his skin under the brow, but the brow grew back somehow. It looks weird. Because the brow is still present, there's less contrast to draw your attention to the scar and subconsciously say 'this isn't normal'.

Here are two other edits I did:

This is what I'm talking about when I say the brow (and height of the scar) drastically changes how Zuko looks. He looks so much closer to the animated version now, but he's still free to emote because his eye isn't affected at all, and his brow could still move normally. It also helps give him that harsher appearance, which people tend to say exists with the ponytail hairdo! But it would also work great with his long hair look, which would soften everything anyways.

(For the second edit, I also tweaked the ear a lil bit.)

When it comes to the colours of the scar, I'm undecided. In the OG show, they probably had to change the colour of his scar so much to indicate there was even a scar in the first place, because it would've been annoying to add tons of line detail for the animators to deal with instead. At the same time, the live-action show could tone it down a lil bit. But it doesn't look bad, per se.

The third observation I have is Zuko's ear. If you look in the animated show picture above, his left ear (your screen right) is smaller than his right ear, because it's scarred over. I don't think it's practical to have that kind of effect in the live-action show, because it would mean even more CGI (they'd literally need to paint out the real ear, and then replace the ear with a digidouble ear). But if you look at the trailer capture, you'll see the scar colour doesn't even extend to his ear at all!

If you open the picture in photoshop, the scar around his eye and cheek has a reddish hue, but the skin on his ear is the same colour as the skin that isn't scarred. This isn't a cherry-picked sample, the hue is the same in each entire area. As soon as you stop sampling the ear and start sampling the cheek, it drops right into the reds/oranges:

I think the ear coming away unscathed might be a little unrealistic too, considering the scene where Zuko is burned by Ozai currently looks like this:

The fire is obviously going around the sides of his face, not just going directly into it and then bouncing away. It's kinda brushing around. With a scene like this I would expect the ear to have some kinda damage. Is it because they toned down the overall scar so much that any apparent damage on the ear would become nonexistent? Maybe. But right now, the scar just looks like a blob on his face, instead of a spot where fire actually flowed around.

And I just wanted to point out something else I've seen, not in the trailer, but in the fandom. Because I'm already tired of seeing it, it's dumb. Basically I was on a forum and I saw someone say 'if you want something like Two Face from Batman, this is the wrong property to ask for that'. I thought it was super unreasonable because nobody is asking for this:

And nobody is having a 'meltdown', like some other dishonest peeps are saying! People are just mildly upset that the actor's skin looks like it's been coloured in with dye, and there's almost zero hypertrophy to actually telegraph the fact that it's definitively a scar.

So those are my thoughts.. The scar is barely serviceable, they kinda dropped the ball imo.

Don't get me wrong, I totally understand the ~hollywood need~ to make things super toned down so you can see actors' glamorous faces or whatever, but some additional scar makeup wouldn't have harmed his ability to emote or anything. They didn't even need to do anything to his eye.. Just fix the overall first impression the scar gives, which would've worked with the stuff I mentioned above. So I'm not sold on 'it's to show the actor's face better' as an acceptable reason. It's an explanation sure, but it's just not good enough to justify the difference to me.

#if there's another explanation for this i'd love to hear it! i follow some of the news but i miss a lot of interviews/press junkets #atla #atla live action #zuko #atla zuko #atla netflix #dallas liu #burn cw #injury cw #body horror cw

[around1302]

EPILOGUE: SIX YEARS LATER

SPARE PARTS: a series

LONDON

(W) strong language, oral (male receiving)

THIRD PERSON’S POV

FOUR YEARS LATER

Cheers ring throughout the arena, thumping so loud even the floors shook. Charlie watches off stage, hands over an agape mouth as she tries to process just how proud she is – which is a pretty impossible feat. Amelia’s screams deafen her from the left, her own jumping adding to the shakes and only making her husband worry because a woman only two months from her due date definitely shouldn’t be moving like that.

(Even if she insists she knows what’s doing by the third time round).

“Oh, my God, this is going straight to his dick,” Liam laughs, whistling so loud that a few fans nearly spot them hidden behind the curtain. It was absolutely essential no one saw them – this wasn’t their night in the slightest.

“Thank you so much London!” Louis belts to the crowd one last time, trying his best to soak those emotional final few moments in before descending and joining his friends backstage.

They all scream, engulfing him in a suffocating group hug Amelia’s forced to bow out from early. Louis is clearly high on adrenaline, nearly shaking with the thrill of it all, as his former bandmates lap over each other to congratulate him.

“God, it felt so weird at first,” he pants, nodding his thanks toward the crew member who handed him a water as they all made their way to the tour buses. His tour buses, “being up there alone, but it was incredible. I just want to go out there and do it all again.”

“Good job you’ve booked a whole ass tour then,” Niall grips his shoulders, kissing the back of his sweaty head.

“Lou, you were fucking ace!” Zayn shouts over the phone Liam nearly forgot he was holding. It’s a miracle the signal and battery even held up in the 02, especially from Zayn’s hotel in Florence.

“How’s the exhibition going?” Louis responds, taking Liam’s phone to face Zayn for a minute.

The five of them climb onto the buses, each taking a minute to gasp at how different it is. Like slipping on an old cardigan, they all expected to see the red leather they were so used to and the posters they’d chosen and the always stocked mini fridge. This bus is all Louis now.

“So good,” Zayn begins to break up as the bus quickly sets off to Louis’ London apartment, “I had a buyer yesterday, meeting with him after tomorrow’s gallery opening.”

Everyone gives their congratulations, then Louis hangs up the phone before Zayn turns into nothing but a blob of pixels, handing Liam’s phone back to him.

“I’ve never seen a crowd like that,” Niall shuffles on the sofa he would never say is uncomfortable, but, well. It’s no Spare Parts tour bus. “So impressive mate.”

Amongst the pumped up conversation about Louis’ first solo show, Charlie feels her silenced phone buzzing away in her back pocket. Pulling the device out, she can’t help the small smile that makes it’s way onto her face – earning knowing groans from the others.

There’s only one person who can elicit that smile.

“Just answer it.” Louis chuckles.

“It’s just because I told him to call if there was an emergency–”

“Answer it before I do!” Amelia intercepts, throwing a cushion at Charlie. She barely catches it before it hits her face, so as she stands to take the call, she sticks her tongue out at her best friend.

And a finger.

Charlie hears a muted, “love you too!” as the door to the bunks close and she’s alone.

“Hi,” Charlie accepts the FaceTime, unable to hold back her smile as her husband comes into frame. “Everything okay?”

“Look,” he holds up a toy, specifically a 2 year old Rubik’s cube that aims to help with colour awareness. Charlie thought it was dumb, but it’s hard to argue with Harry when it comes to Reagan. “Our kid’s a genius.”

Charlie scoffs. The cube has one side completed in red, all four squares.

“Our kid’s two years old,” Charlie cocks her head, “but did she really do that?”

“Yep, we sat there for like an hour–”

“We?”

“Well her fingers aren’t the strongest.”

Charlie breathes out puffy laughter.

“Who did the cube?”

A pause. Tired eyes crinkling at the seams.

“Okay, so I physically did it, but she told me where to go!”

“Rae can say, like, five words, she did not.” Charlie loudly guffaws. Then she realises Harry’s been whispering this whole time, so she quickly clamps her mouth. “Is she asleep?”

“Yes,” Harry yawns, “took fuckin’ forever.”

“Hey! No swearing with Rae in the house.”

“She doesn’t know what they mean, Char.”

“And what happens when we send her to preschool with that in her vocabulary?”

“God, I don’t know. Do we go to jail?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, Harry cracks a lazy smile.

“How was it?”

“Oh, H, it was amazing. He was so good.”

“I’m sad to have missed it,” he yawns again, “I always knew he’d kill it solo.”

“Mm,” Charlie props her chin on her palm, “go to sleep baby.”

“Not tired.” Harry lies, his fringe tickling his lashes as he shakes his head.

“You just yawned three times in five minutes.”

“I want to stay up.” He nearly sounds like a sulking child.

“I’m not going to be back till gone midnight.”

A pause. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles, “we’re nearly at Louis’ apartment and I promised I’d actually stay at this party.”

“Do you have to?”

“If ready-to-burst Amelia is, I hardly have an excuse.”

Harry softly laughs, and Charlie wants to wrap herself in that laugh. In fact, she’s wanted to go back to her husband and her daughter and their dog for hours, but she can’t hide away from yet another party.

“I’ll be back at 12:30.”

“Okay babe,” Harry yawns. Again. “Have fun. Give Louis my congratulations.”

“I will,” Charlie let’s her eyes drop over Harry for a minute. After three years of marriage, the sight of him in sweats and blankets and messy curls is no less sexy than when he’s in his silk shirts and his–

“You’re pulling that face.” Harry snaps her out of it.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” Harry shifts, Daisy’s fur visible in the corner of the screen as she clearly hogs her side of the bed, “you sure you don’t want to come back early?”

The door to the bunks open and Liam’s head peaks through, “Charlie, we’re here.”

“Okay, I’ll be one minute.” Charlie smiles, standing up.

“You alright, Harry?” Liam shouts.

“I’ll be one minute,” grits lilts, shooing Liam out with a smirk.

“I really need to go now,” Charlie’s attention reverts back to the screen, to Harry. “I love you. Stay up.”

“Always,” Harry has to have won some kind of world record for yawning at this point, “I love you.”

2 YEARS LATER

Thousands upon thousands await him, chanting and cheering for him as the final recognisable song from his (carefully curated) pre-show playlist slowly fades to a halt.

He should be jumping up and down on the spot, breathing short, sharp breaths and recounting the lyrics he always forgets (and probably will always forget). He should be hyping himself up to play his first ever stadium alone, he should be warming up or fuck, praying.

But no. He’s nowhere to be found.

He’s late.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” his manger, Jeff, paces over Ibrox’s backstage, about ready to quit, steam leaking from his ears - cartoon or not, his top client is always the one to make that happen.

Jeff could accept late six years ago. It was nerve wracking, opening a tour alone after a controversial departure from the band. Plus, he was well aware of his reputation, Jeff knew what he was signing on for.

But the man’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. The man’s not some stupid early twenty-something who sees this whole thing as a fun little quest he gets to dictate. Over the years, and especially through the pandemic, he finally matured. He finally realised that being punctual is actually okay! And more than that, it doesn’t give your manager and crew kittens three minutes before Golden is supposed to blast to 50,000.

… except when it comes to pre-show blowjobs from his wife.

“Oh, my God, baby.”

Harry throws his head back, fingers taking turns in fisting the cushy sofa beneath him and raking through Charlie’s curls. Her tongue swirls his tip, her own insistence for punctuality urging her to make him finish as soon as possible. She looks up at him through long lashes, knowing eye contact while she mouths him like that will have him tipping over the edge in no time.

It was never even supposed to happen. She only went in his dressing room to wish him luck, see how he was doing, give him a chaste kiss if anything. And, if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to see his outfit before the world did.

Catching him half-dressed with the hair that told her he’d been nervously messing with it for half an hour, well. Who wouldn’t drop to their knees and kiss their way to his cock in their mouth?

“Yeah, shit,” Harry pants, forcing his head to roll forward so he can watch her. “How do you just seem to get better at this?”

Charlie smiles around his prick, injecting butterflies into his stomach and–

“Harry, I’m going to ask one more time.”

“One minute!” Charlie surfaces, barely able to breathe as she shouts at Jeff this time. Jeff’s grumbles are audible from the other side of the door, as are the sound of feet shuffling away.

If there’s one person Jeff isn’t going to yell at, it’s Charlie.

Harry’s eyes widen, embarrassment heating his neck, but Charlie’s hand pumping his shaft silences him till he’s biting blood into his bottom lip and announcing,

“Baby, I’m gonna–” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence before her mouth is back on him, and he’s coming down the back of her wonderful throat.

The noises he makes as he finishes only spur her to suck him through his orgasm, all the way till he’s pulling her away and twitching with sensitivity.

“Okay, you need to go.”

Charlie stands, wiping her mouth and shanking his boxers and trousers up for him while he lays back, dazed the fuck out of his mind.

“Huh?” He barely understands a word she’s saying, let alone able to comprehend where he is and what he’s about to do.

“You have a show, H,” Charlie straddles his lap to fix his hair, styling it quickly in the way she knows he likes. Harry’s hands instinctively fly to her waist, grinning lazily as she fusses over his fucked-out appearance.

“That might’ve been your best work, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” Charlie mumbles behind a smile. He pecks her swollen lips.

Standing up, she adjusts herself, too. Her hair that had been ragged at by a feral Harry, her lipstick that was practically cheekstick by now. Her top, that he’d messily yanked down during their initial make out session when he insisted he just had to bite at least one mark into her breasts.

“Okay, you have two minutes,” Charlie checks her phone, grabbing his white tank and jacket from his coat-rack. Coming round from the head, panic starts to set in.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing up. Charlie turns around, noticing that gone-off look in his eyes which tells her he’s either about to brush it off completely or melt into a panic attack. Neither are exactly great coping mechanisms, but Charlie really needs to prevent the latter right now.

“H, it’s nothing.”

She throws him the tank, waiting for him with the jacket. He glances at her, that postcoital glow long gone. Anxiety was starting to seep into those gaps she had managed to close just a few minutes ago, but were starting to crack at the seams.

“50,000 is not nothing.”

Charlie puts his jacket on for him, afraid he’d stand there forever if she didn’t.

“50,817.” She corrects. He scowls. “Sorry.”

“Look, of course it’s not nothing. It’s a huge deal. But I know you,” she grabs his face, forcing his eyes to still on something solid. A stray curl falls against his forehead, framing his furrowed brows. “You’re going to get on that stage, and you’re going to fucking kill it.”

Harry huffs a breath, unconvinced.

“Honey, you’ve done it before.” Charlie smiles softly, brushing away the strand.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “with you.” He nudges his nose against hers, and Charlie wants to cry at his vulnverability. It’s rare she sees a Harry like this. For as long as she’s known him, he’s remained stoic in the face of fear, and although he’s not as rigid as he used to be – he’s never one to panic so much.

Endearingly, Charlie can pinpoint when he became much more of a worrier to one day, one person.

“H,” Charlie firms up, “it’s just like that. You have your band, you have me and your friends and–”

Harry interrupts the beginning of Charlie’s pep talk by grabbing her face and kissing her, hard. As if he was pouring out all of his nerves into her mouth and something in her lips and her tongue managed to just kill them. He pulls away, pepping light kisses against her cheek and jaw, making Charlie chuckle softly as his hair tickles her face.

“Okay, okay,” she leans back, forcing him away from her skin, “round two after the show, yeah?”

Harry holds his pinkie out. Charlie rolls her eyes, and holds her pinkie out. They kiss their respective thumbs and Harry nods.

“You got this.” She scrunches her nose, and Harry swears he feels his heart drop out of his stomach, which, how? After all this time, how does she still manage to do that to him.

It needs to be studied.

As he leaves his dressing room, Charlie gives him a swift slap to the ass, laughing as he turns and playfully scowls (despite knowing full well he loves it). She says a silent prayer for her husband as she follows him toward the stage, the sound of thousands of impatient fans already deafening.

They round the corner to backstage, where the team and Jeff are minutes away from breaking down themselves. Jeff nearly drops to the floor in relief at the sight of Harry, but wastes no time in calling tech over to mic him up.

Charlie gratefully smiles at Sarah, taking a fussing Reagan from her arms. Harry turns to let the team thread his mic through his jacket, and finds his remaining anxiety instantly dissipating at the sight of his daughter wearing entirely too big headphones and fisting at Charlie’s t-shirt as she complains about said defenders.

“Hi, princess,” Harry coos, reaching out for Reagan to grab his finger with her little hand.

“Daddy, you look funny.” Reagan giggles, wiggling enough for Charlie to set her down.

“Heey,” Harry lilts, getting the go ahead from the tech man before bending to his four-year-old’s height. “You don’t think I look handsome?”

Reagan shakes her head, brown curls bouncing against her cheeks.

“You look like play-dough.”

Charlie snorts, because she kinda hit the nail on the head. Harry’s band are giggling, too, as they prepare to get on stage. Harry narrows his eyes at them all.

“Do I have to wear these?” Reagan bashes her fists against the headphones.

“Afraid so, Rae,” Harry adjusts them so they sit a little looser on her head, but she’s still unhappy. “Your ears are too little right now,” he tries to explain, but if he knows his daughter at all, he knows she’ll be upset throughout the whole show because her hairdo’s squashed.

That’s Auntie Amelia’s damning influence.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry stands, not deaf to the chants for him outside.

He kisses Reagan’s head, then turns to his wife.

“How’s Daisy?”

“Daisy’s fine,” Charlie sighs around a smile. Of course Harry’s worried about their dog right now. “Lia and Niall texted, she’s passed out on the sofa.”

Harry nods, clearly trying to delay the inevitable. So Charlie hurries it along for him, knowing he could stand there and ask stupid questions all evening to avoid that initial opening.

“Don’t fuck it up.” She winks, pinching his chin. Harry breathes short laughter from his nose, his lips squashed as Charlie pulls him for one final good luck kiss. Reagan sticks her tongue out at the sight of her parents’ affection, to which Harry does the same back and earns a tinkling of giggles back.

Charlie lifts Raegen so she can blow a kiss to her dad, currently jumping up and down and getting a few final stretches in before the opening to Music For A Sushi Restaurant fills the stadium, the screams become deafening, and Charlie watches as her rockstar husband takes the same stage her rockstar self did last year.

@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

#spare parts series #harry styles series #one direction series #harry styles x oc #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #1d series #1d smut #1d ot5 #harry styles friends with benefits #harry smut #harry styles x reader #one direction

[mournstera]

Sevens — a minimalistic and responsive, single-column theme

Static previews: - Preview (1) - Preview (2)

Download code: GitHub

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[bwabbitv3s]

Good Godfather Vlad AU - Part 6

Lingering Memories and Future Plans 

Link to Index Post, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Vlad is not sure what is worse, the look of hope on the boy's face knowing he is not alone, or the horror it turns into at the revelation of what Vlad implied by it being drawn out. He is not able to ponder for long as in typical timing Jack interrupts them. Dragging Danny away to meet another old acquaintance. Voice booming out another ridiculous nickname suited more for a teen than a grown adult as they disappear into the crowd. There is an almost hollow feeling to standing there after his most tightly kept secret was finally told to someone. 

It is hard the rest of the night trying to socialize for long enough for it to be acceptable to slip out early. Only getting glimpses of the Fenton family in the now crowded room. Drifting away from them to mingle and get his thoughts and emotions under control with frivolous small talk. The last hour has been a whirlwind and he has a lot to unpack in private and some very creative allegories to work out for his therapist. He is not quite ready to face any of the Fentons anymore tonight. 

It won’t leave him alone as he tries to talk about useless things like the frogeye salad at the buffet, how the gym still has the old mascot mural, and listens to people talk about their children when he can’t even remember if they were in his classes. The thoughts on his mind keep sliding back to what his old friends would do to him being part ghost. What they could do to their own son trying to understand.

What ghosts had they interacted with to colour their impressions of ghosts? Had they faced only the emotional blobs of animated ectoplasm that were the jellyfish of the ghost world? Leaving them thinking ghosts are just thoughtless creatures barely intelligent and driven by instincts. Maybe the half formed ghost animals that were next most common. He knows his first few encounters had left him with a poor insight to them. While the most populous of the ghosts he had encountered were not a true representation of what ghosts are in general. It would be like judging all the animals of a forest by just garden snails and slugs you find under one rock. 

Memories drift to his first few encounters with sapient ghosts. Ones that seem to line up more with the ominous phrasing of having to deal with the ghost from Danny. Had they faced any of the aggressive ghosts that were never human or living creatures before? The ones that don’t understand the fragility of life or danger they could inflict. Or almost worse the ones that were stuck in an endless loop of their death unable to understand what had happened and doomed to linger until they run out of energy and end. It was almost enough to make him actually drink tonight. He downed his fizzy mocktail almost wishing he could let himself have an actual cocktail, but no drinking never made things better for him. 

 Maybe he could try and introduce them to some of the more friendly and harmless ghosts he knew? Slowly get them to see the ghost animals when not aggravated and just acting the same in death as life. If he got it just right he could easily convince them to come visit as a favour for advice on their expertise in ghosts. Sighting that he is a bit out of practice after switching to business. After all his home is haunted by the Dairy King he could probably work out a deal with him to help slowly change their minds over the course of a few days. Then once they are in research and observation mode over hunting help ease them into it. 

The start of the plan begins to form from there as he watches the lights get switched from mingling with buffet food to the evening dance as the live band takes over. Miraculously the evening continues without any emergencies and he is able to leave without it looking odd. The last thing he sees before slipping out of the gym is a set of glowing green eyes and a timid wave. Vlad offers a very small wave of his own as his eyes glow red briefly. In the cool evening air he lets out a sigh. It is going to be a long night and he needs some time to unpack things with his therapist before he should make any actual plans. 

~ ~

Whoo, that was hard to get ironed out. I had to keep wrangling it back into place as I got Vlad's train of thought right. Next chapter or one soon will likely dip into Danny's or Jazz's POV. As always the Tags have my thought and stuff that would not fit into the post.

#good godfather Vlad AU #good godfather vlad #Danny phantom AU #danny phantom #danny fenton #vlad masters #This is a very Vlad heavy installment #The reunion could only last so long #Vlad's mind is his own worse enemy here #He is used to having so much control and plan for things #Not being able to know just what the assumptions they have is hard on him #Danny meanwhile is having a little bit of dissociation over this #He might not be alone and someone knows what he is going through first hand #Also the overwhelming need to know just if Vlad can help him with his powers #I might just make the next chapter from Danny's POV #That or it might dip into Jazz

[hanyi-writes]

my entry for @staarri's YOU'RE MY LOVER ! event (❁´◡`❁)

With eyebrows meeting in a crease on his forehead, Kaveh stands in front of the easel holding up the canvas he’s been working on for an hour.

Is this even right? The drover yellow he’s used for the nilotpala lotus doesn’t seem… correct. The painting he’s making has a set colour palette that called for vibrancy but not so overwhelming to the eye, but the shade of yellow left some sort of bad taste on his tongue. The lotuses were not the subject of the painting; a figure in the background he elected to add in because it happened to fit, and blended well with the rest of the  composition.

He can’t quite shake it off.

Biting down on his thumb, he leans in close to scrutinise the colour. The nilotpala lotuses were sketched somewhere close to the waterfalls in the backdrop, so detail wasn’t important. However—it’s not some yellow blob. Kaveh made sure the beauty of the nilotpala lotus was displayed, for it to be noticed by a pair of eyes that’d know its magnificence if one had seen it in person.

It'll be some secret he shares with the viewer; some hidden gem only few would appreciate.

Still, he can’t quite shake it off. When he looks at the painting as a bigger whole, his eyes are slowly drawn by the intensity of the nilotpala lotuses. It’s not annoying, per se, but…

Turning to his wooden palette, the tip of his paintbrush dips into a darker shade of yellow, and Kaveh replaces the bright hue with it.

Though it’d be just something hanging on the wall, he requires it to be perfect. Perfection is required even in something you might not accept, because if the Palace of Alcazarzaray was his magnum opus, this painting shall be his tour de force, his everything, his…

…painting. His painting on the wall.

Kaveh steps back with a sigh. He heard, once, while you were speaking to Cyno, that your favourite flowers were nilotpala lotuses. At that moment, it didn’t strike him as much. He encounters them whenever his path crosses with a body of water, and though they weren’t in full bloom during the times he passes by, their beauty can be easily recognized to those with an undiscerning eye.

You said you liked the shade of yellow the lotuses had, ignoring the brilliant blue its petals centrally flaunt. You were far more focused on the seedpods, and if he had half the manners his roommate has, he would’ve chuckled. Truthfully, it was more endearing than it was amusing. Most would appreciate the flower, beautiful as it was, but the seed pods caught your eye first. The details seem to matter more than the bigger picture.

…It was a painting, however. The subject was the meadow, and the lotuses were mere details in the background.

The rotting ends of his chair drags across the floor as Kaveh brings it back close to the canvas; wood creaking when he takes a seat. Where the edge of the meadow is, the canvas peeks through. The tip of his brush quickly fills in the gaps using hues of green mixed with speckles of black, mixing in seamlessly with the rest of the scenery. Thin strokes of hunter green create stems of the flowers…and he goes back to that drover yellow again.

He manages to stop himself, this time. Kaveh places his paintbrush down and brings a palette knife, scraping it off.

Another colour he won’t use, and if he remembers, he’ll place them in a container to use for another time. He sets the knife somewhere close to the other discarded shades, turning back to the painting to continue placing the final touches.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

His brows knit. Is he hearing things? For every streak he makes, a noise follows. Maybe the neighbours are fixing that beam of wood on their porch that juts out every now and then. However, the sounds are… arbitrary. Not concise in the way Taghi hammers down the plank.

Is someone… knocking?

With the painting set aside, Kaveh quickly stands and enters the foyer. It’s times like these he wishes, as beautiful as they are, the sidelites weren’t patterned stained glass because he can’t quite make out the figure outside, and he’s stuck with the decision to open the door.

“Kaveh, hey. I’m not disturbing, am I?”

You’re the figure outside.

“Oh, hey,” you smile when he says your name. “You’re here.”

He tries not to let his mind wander looking at your dopey, lopsided grin. You’re dressed casually, and look like you’re not in a hurry, so, perhaps… “Yep! I’m here. You doing alright?”

“Uh!” Kaveh takes a quick look at the living room. Drat, it’s messy. “Yeah, I am. Hold on, uh… it’s a bit of a mess here. I don’t think it’s—”

“I can always help tidy up,” you offer, but take no step inside. “As long as it’s okay with you, of course.”

There’s not another choice he’ll make other than letting you in. It’s only instinct that pushes him into the kitchen, busying himself with preparing coffee for the both of you. While surprising, your sudden visit is not unwelcome—it only makes Kaveh wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to come, his thoughts becoming wisps in the steam rising from the coffee boiling in the dallah.

“You’re not busy with commissions right now?” When he takes a glance, he sees you’re quietly arranging and capping the tubes of paint on the small table he uses as a workbench. Kaveh’s eyes widen, guilty about the fact you’re cleaning up for him, but there’s a mumble under your breath—one, two, three, four—and his trowels and palette knives are delicately moved to the desk from the ground.

You’re always picking up his messes and putting them back where they belong. Somehow… it’s become routine. He could count how many times he’s seen you like this, and because of it, his feet no longer move. Guilt remains, but takes in the sight of you treating his possessions with utmost care.

Kaveh can’t stop the rush of something, in the back of his brain, when he watches you like this.

How much longer can he take, stifling this fondness inside of him?

“I-I am,” The question is innocent, but manages to stumble him; a nervous laugh bubbling out. “But… just, uh—you know how inspiration goes! Sometimes, I lose steam, and have to let it all out on another project.”

You snort. “So that translates to, ‘I haven’t gotten enough sleep for the past few weeks’?”

Kaveh sees you inspecting the canvases he’s placed by the wall. Your fingers slot between them, as if counting each one. If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to say how many he’s discarded just for one painting. “Well… not necessarily.”

It goes quiet.

Your huffing breaks the silence. By then, you enter the kitchen, and Kaveh takes note of the frown on your face. He’s standing on the counter, blinking, as you approach him with a furrow to your eyebrow.

A hand lifts, and your thumb swipes over his cheek, just below where those dark circles lie.

“You’re gonna drink coffee with me when you have eyebags under your eyes?”

The action is unexpected, yet expected all the same, because Kaveh can’t stop his stomach twisting in knots, and the heat in his cheeks he wills himself to bury.

“It’d… be rude to let you serve the coffee yourself.”

It’s more than what a friend would do. However, Kaveh convinces himself you’re looking out for him because you go and wipe that finger on some cloth used in the kitchen, streak of paint on your finger leaving a stain.

He convinces himself to stay, and not sprint away, because he reasons, more to himself, “You’re the guest. It’d be discourteous to let you on your own.”

“I can’t refuse that...”

Your sigh is too soft to be mistaken as irritation. Your reluctance in letting him serve coffee bleeds into the heat of your stare lingering on the side of his face as you’re taking a seat by the dining table, gazing.

Kaveh wants to tell you that you should be waiting in the living room, guest as you are, but his head turns in the angle that meets your eyes, and stops.

Your staring drapes over him like a warm blanket. It is all sorts of comforting, heart-soaring, fucking fond and just tender, but its heat suffocates him. Understanding why you’re looking at him like that escapes him like a petal coursing through the wind, leaving his fingertips before he can even catch it.

“Uh… so, what brings you here?”

He can’t dwell on such feelings. His control, though, is tested, because you’re prone to soft exhales and laughter more than anyone else he knows when you’re with him, but it is tempered by the fact Alhaitham sees you like this. Kaveh will just ignore how much it happens with himself.

“Well, someone forgot we were going to hang out today,” The smile in your voice is so obvious. “But seeing as you’re working on something, I can let it slide.”

Kaveh purses his lips. Right. You’d normally drop by with a heads up beforehand, but you’ve visited home too many times that he’d let you in even without prior notice—he can hear Alhaitham in his head complaining about such a thing, but he throws that voice away without any second thought—and he didn’t even question if something slipped his mind.

“You… I’m sorry. Weren’t we supposed to go to Puspa Café today?”

“Yeah.” You answer, but assure him, “But when I got there, Gata was outside.”

“Enteka’s cat?”

“Mm. Cat was meowing to me as if to say they were closed.”

You sound like you’re just making him feel better that he forgot. His scepticism must’ve gotten ahead of you because you’re huffing and puffing. “I checked the doors, okay? It was locked.”

“Right,” Kaveh rolls his eyes. Is that the best story you can make up? “I never knew Sareh had a twin flame.”

“Sareh and I are soulmates,” Faux offence causes a hand to fly to your chest. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“Right, and Lesser Lord Kusanali has a mother. Try making up a story that’s more believable next time,” Kaveh says your name, dripping with incredulity, and you laugh, and laugh; the sound is loud, bright, and just so familiar, like he’s heard it all his life. If he could just get more moments like this, where he’s in the kitchen and you’re just watching, then he can be content. He can be content as it is.

(He won’t have to dream about a day where you and him are lying in bed together, discussing whatever pops up into your mind in hushed voices, because in that fantasy, it’s early in the morning, and the home you’re both in is his. Yours.

“Ours...”

He won’t have to dream to feel how soft you are by his side, how your warmth drums under fingertips tracing absentminded patterns on your skin; just admiring how you’re here with him.

“...Ours.”

He won’t have to dream about something that’s beyond him, because he’ll be content with being someone you can laugh and have coffee with, and the painting won’t haunt him, because then it won’t have to be perfect.)

Your laughter slowly dies down, a smile remaining, and he finds that the coffee is done. With two fenjals in hand, and a dallah in the other, Kaveh hears you following him into the living room.

The table is set, and both of you are sitting on the same divan.

“Smells good like always, Kaveh,” A tip of your tone submerges itself into something like mirth, and he can’t help but scoff, about to say something, but—

“Hold on,” Kaveh rises from the couch. “I forgot something, give me a second!”

He returns from the kitchen with a few items in hand, and takes a second to pour your coffee first. In the order you always make it in, the sugar comes in second, dissolving in the heat, then with the milk; left-over steam turning into wisps from condensation.

You’ve always liked it cold, with inordinate amounts of sweetness in it.

“Here,” Kaveh hands your cup over. “Your coffee, just how you like it.”

Moving to take it, your hand loosely hovers over his. You freeze and pause, looking down at the coffee—did he make it wrong? Did he forget anything? Drat. Maybe there’s a new addition to your recipe—

“You remembered,” Your voice drops from an octave, grip tightening; expression pinched.

He… doesn’t understand what you mean. “Of course I would. You’d think I forgot?”

You laugh, but the sound is strained. “Not really, but…”

Contemplative silence falls onto you. Kaveh thinks it’s about the coffee, and that he’s made it. Something in his gut feels like the issue is not with him remembering, but another thing that’s gotten you like… this.

Just what is it? Kaveh wracks his brain. Several possibilities pop up, ultimately disregarded of how outrageous and unrealistic they are, but one sticks like an annoying fly he can’t catch.

…It flutters away, ultimately, because it’s a possibility he can’t entertain.

The two of you are friends… that’s what you both are, he thinks.

“Are you alright?”

You startle, head snapping towards him. The edges of your smile are forced, another faked laugh leaving you like it’s some practised assurance. “Oh, I’m fine. Just got my thoughts on things. Don’t worry about me, Kaveh.”

“If there’s anything bothering you,” Kaveh says earnestly, “I’m always here for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose, Kaveh. You’re busy, aren’t you?” He sees you quirk up and it feels the same. “Don’t act like I didn’t see the painting. I think a few worries and burdens on me won’t kill me.”

Would it, really? As far as he knew, you’re not the secretive type. You tell things as they are, so if you tell him you’re alright…

Then you probably are.

Still, he’s compelled to offer something in return. “You know I don’t mind if you use my shoulder to cry on.”

“You’re not concerned I’ll mess that pretty shirt of yours?”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I mean.”

The banter falls into place, and he finds you’re chuckling heartily. “I wouldn’t want to ruin that expensively tailored shirt of yours. Seems like a waste to use it for tissues on some measly tears.”

“You need to tell me your tears aren’t measly?”

“Of course not, Professor Kaveh.”

“Hey! Are you mocking me?!”

The banter falls into place with puzzle pieces you fit and connect together with his, and for a second, he can forget how he’s neglected to pour a cup for himself; too preoccupied with tossing light-hearted comments to you like he usually does.

It feels right to be your friend, and just your friend only; it’s the only thing he feels familiar with. To toe the line between friend and lover is a delicate and risky choice, but it is so difficult to look away when he can’t help but bask in the fondness the sight of you brings. Kaveh can’t liken it to anything else but like watching the sun set and rise in a familiar motion, but this time, it is with the lens of knowing that there will be someone whom you will wait day and night for to appear. He can say he can watch people move mountains for others, but he’ll stick to what he knows: painting the sun rising and imagining it setting, because that’s what it feels with you.

It's as if anything he makes is for the purpose of attempting to grasp you in it.

.

.

.

Chatter between the both of you settles, eventually, and not one but three cups of coffee have been consumed. He eventually realised he forgot to pour himself one, and in some forward display, you offer to pour him his.

Kaveh didn’t have the heart to tell you it’s not really customary, because the eager look in your eye had him stuttering over his words, and now, more than five cups have been drunk.

“Think Alhaitham said it’s not proper to drink more than five,” you say, taking his fenjal away from him.

He baulks, mostly more from the fact Alhaitham’s told you about etiquette when he himself doesn’t practise it, and just watches you set aside the fenjals and dallah.

“Since when did Alhaitham even…?”

“Enough about him!” You laugh, patting his shoulder. “What’s that you’re painting?”

He follows the direction of your gaze that settles on the easel standing alone by the windows, most of the afternoon sunlight cascading through the glass panes. Suddenly, you rise from the couch, approaching the painting with childlike curiosity; it makes him gulp.

“Is this the painting you told me about yesterday?” Your fingertips graze the painting, but not so much to ruin it.

Kaveh can’t see your face like this when your back is to him. “Oh, I… uh, didn’t mean for you to see it.” Heat surges on his cheeks and takes a sip from the coffee to hide the flushing. Drat. You’re not facing him—why is he hiding when you can’t see it?

He takes a shaky breath, “I mean, it’s not yet finished—I-I’m planning to give it to you, of course! I wouldn’t hide things from you.”

“You made it? For me?”

“Yeah… I did.”

You fall silent for a moment.

All he can see is your hand still hovering over the canvas, and the little moments where your head tilts slightly to look up at the parts of the painting he normally can see with ease. Kaveh thinks you look nice staring at something he’s made.

He’s too busy admiring you to stifle the desire to take you to the lighthouse he’s helped restore in Port Ormos to take your breath away. The wind from the sea would course nicely through your air, and he can almost taste the excitement buzzing in the air when you lay eyes on it. If Port Ormos would take your breath away, then how would you react to the Palace of Alcazarzaray? He’s too busy staring at your wondrous figure in front of the canvas he’s preening like a peacock in attention to something that’s not even him, but some part of him.

“The nilotpalas lotuses are beautiful,” you murmur, “Is this the meadow you took me to that one time? You made it dreamier than it was.”

“…’Dreamier’?” your voice pulls him back to reality, a weary chuckle leaving him. “I thought it was already dreamy—the  sight, I mean.”

When your head turns, he can see the expression on your face and—

And his brain blanks.

“The nilotpalas,” The smile you’re wearing is bright, and if he looks too deeply, fond. “They’re my favourite part of the painting.”

Words feel heavy on his tongue. “Are they?”

You hum happily, “No matter how far or near you are looking at this painting, you can see them.”

What? That’s not… meant to be. “T-the meadow’s the subject of this painting. I might’ve failed in the composition—”

“It doesn’t take away from the painting, silly,” you cut him off. “You’d know more than me that it adds to it.”

Does he? He thought the lotuses were distracting. What did you mean by no matter the distance, you’d still see them? The purpose of changing the shade used for the lotuses was to hide them, fading it into the background. It wasn’t on purpose that it was supposed to be noticed. Should he just remove them all together? Should—

“You accept suggestions?”

Kaveh startles. He blinks. “What?”

You repeat with a laugh, “Do you accept suggestions? Touch-ups?”

“O-of course, yeah!” Kaveh leaves the fenjal on the table, going up to where you are in the living room. He’s already picking up his paint brush, “What should I change?”

“Hmm…” Your hand moves, looking for the spot you wanted to be touched up, and then you’re leaning in… absurdly close to the canvas?!

“Wait, is this some kind of joke?!” Kaveh reels you back and sees that stupid mischievous smile on your face. You erupt in laughter, “No, wait! I just forgot what spot I was talking about.”

He can’t even summon the usual irritation he feels that appears when talking to Alhaitham.

“No, but, seriously…” Your laughter dwindles into giggles, but Kaveh busies himself in scanning your face for paint on the tip of your nose. Good that there’s none, he’s not sure if the paint’s body friendly… “I wanted you to touch something up.”

Kaveh finally meets your gaze, “Well. No more jokes, if you’re serious about it.”

“Psh, okay.” You roll your eyes. He’s… not seeing it, is he? The fondness in the gesture?

Kaveh looks away, chewing on his lip.

“Can you change the colour of the nilotpalas?”

“Oh,” Kaveh says intelligently, snapping back to you. “The… nilotpalas?”

“They already look nice, but…” You point to the palette knives. “I see some nice shades there. Varying degrees of yellow, but I think… hmm, this one would look nice for the overall colour scheme of the painting.”

The drover yellow enters his sights again. You’re pointing at it.

“Oh, all of that is for the kalpalata lotuses,” Kaveh explains quickly. “Not… for the nilotpalas.”

You look at him, surprised. “I thought you were all using the same colours in different ways? You said that to me, once.”

His eyes widen. Archons, he did. Now, how is he supposed to say No, it’ll look ugly with the rest of the painting, in the nicest possible way?

“Also…” You scan the painting with a confused look on your face. “There’s no kalpalata lotuses in this painting?”

Wait, there’s none? Kaveh quickly searches for them, but finds nothing. “Oh, uh. I—I… I’m gonna add them in once I get the chance.”

“Oh, where?”

“Here, I think…” He tries to find an appropriate spot—

You lower the hand holding his paintbrush, eyes narrowed.

“Kaveh, I upset you…” Your eyes search his face for something he doesn’t know what for. “…didn’t I?”

He licks his lips, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No… you—you didn’t.”

How could you? Yet, you’re looking at him like you don’t believe him. Kaveh is certain he is not, because it’s just some little detail that he shouldn’t be hung up on a painting you won’t probably accept. Why should he be upset? It’s a painting, something hung on the wall; meant to be passed by and ignored. It’s nothing. It’s absolutely nothing. It’s—

“I’m sorry, my suggestion probably didn’t—”

“The… the painting. It doesn’t look ugly, right?”

Kaveh doesn’t understand why you don’t agree with him when you say, “No, it doesn’t?”

He calmly places his paintbrush. “The painting. It… the nilotpalas. It looks good?”

The face you make causes him to think that his question is strange. It isn’t, right? The painting is for you. It has to be perfect. The nilotpala lotuses distract from the main subject, the meadows he’s supposed to capture in the same way you both saw it that day—

“It looks good,” Something warm wraps around his arm and he flinches. “I love it. Your attention to detail never ceases to amaze me.”

It’s your hand, Kaveh belatedly realizes. The palm of your hand is warm over his long sleeves, rubbing circles over his skin, and it causes him to choke on his spit.

“I love how, despite them being in the background, you can see it clearly.”

“You do?”

You grin, “Of course I do. It’s the way every part of the painting has been given utmost attention. I mean, if it was someone else, they wouldn’t have given the nilotpalas a second thought.”

That’s how he’s meant it to be—how it’s supposed to be. Though, he can’t really escape your sights, can he? You… you just disregard all pretense and get to the point. Focusing on all detail, and nothing else.

Unlike him, you choose to enjoy the details; not to stress over it.

“But I like the way they’re sort of hidden,” You continue, some sort of a trance overcoming you. The look in your eyes makes his heart stutter—Archons, he’s dreaming it, he is. “It’s like some hidden gem only people who really look at a painting would know.”

His throat seizes up; eyes stinging. Kaveh calls your name, but you don’t stop.

“And then,” Your hand ghosts over the Sumeru roses sparsely placed in the meadow, “You can clearly see each petal on this. Your brush strokes are so fine that the detail is insane, Kaveh.”

Whenever you speak, it’s as if there’s a million things running in your head. The absentminded slight caressing of the painting is proof of this, and the gentle sparkling of your eyes supports this. You are entranced, and he cannot do anything to stop it.

Why? Why the nilotpalas, and not the entire painting?

“…Can I ask you why you like the nilotpalas?” His question is said in a whisper, teeth gritting against each other. Kaveh feels the question is out of his reach, and there’s someone dangling the answer right in front of him. All he can muster is a stupid, little question that might have a reply that’ll tell him he’s idiotic.

Your head slowly turns, eyes meeting with this, and there’s that soft look again.

Undeniable, yet unattainable.

Something like madness surges right through him because, Archons. Has this painting consumed him, to some point of insanity? He feels like tearing up over this. And for his object… object of affection to say they like a part of it he loathes—

He needs an answer. He has to ask.

“I don’t know who told you, but I like nilotpalas.”

A wry grin lifts the corners of your lips, and your hand slowly slides down to his fingers that’re calloused; nails that’re chipped and have paint underneath them. Your hold on them is so gentle the feeling of helplessness engulfs him.

“I love them, even.” You squeeze his hand. “I don’t know how many times I’ve travelled to Sumeru just to see them. It’s so hard to grow them back home, so to notice one in a painting is like… a blessing. And it’s in a painting made by someone who notices the little things.”

Yet, you’re answering his question with such kindness.

Your gaze flits to his, pausing.

Are you…?

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “It’s okay.”

Kaveh feels his throat drying up, and Archons, the tender lift of his hand to your lips is what does him in.

Celestia, your lips are so soft on his knuckles it drives him up the wall.

He blanks in real time. The subsequent warmth rushing from his fingers to his whole body is all he can focus on, and you.

You shouldn’t hesitate, the wisp of something in him ugly whispers. It festers in him; desperately hoping for something more. Do more, I’d let you. Heck, there’s nothing I won’t let you do. 

What’s gotten into him?

“I think nobody else would’ve kept in mind how much I love nilotpalas, and tried to squeeze them into a painting anyways.”

“It’s not squeezing them in,” Kaveh defends, a touch a bit exasperated, “It’s adding something you– you… you love in.”

Only then when those words stumble out of him, he understands what you mean. Oh, how he wishes he could laugh it out right now–because what he’s realised is that the meadow needed no nilotpalas. It was perfect as it was, and the entire painting was based on the sight he took you to once—there was no nilotpala in sight, and yet, in knowing that the painting was for you, he had, without giving too much thought, added nilotpalas in because you loved them. The painting was made for you, in mind, and in his desire for it to be the perfect painting, he added a thing you love.

Nilotpalas.

There’s a knowing look in your eye. Had you known of his feelings, before, and indulged in them to say as if, I like you too?

You know he’s made such a realization, because the soft curl of your lips is one he knows to be happy.

Then, soft palms make their way up to his face; cupping his cheeks with a gentle hold. The happy smile on you turns a touch bit tender, and your voice turns into something warmer.

“I think nobody else would’ve noticed the way I like my coffee—cold, with milk, and sugar on top.” You laugh, but he doesn’t find the topic amusing.

 “It’s only normal I should remember it.” He says seriously, eyebrows furrowing. “You come by so often I can’t help but remember it.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I also remember you told me, once, how much you like organizing things; cleaning them up—you said it was… therapeutic.”

But despite the revelation, despite all he knows, despite the love he knows is mutual, it nags at him persistently. The answer why is in his grasp, but remains evading reason, and he chooses to ask for an answer, in all of his confusion—“But I could never understand why you’d never clean up after Alhaitham.”

Your answer is a reasonable one, accompanied with a scoff so fondly exasperated, “It’s because he can clean up after himself like an adult.”

“Then, why’d you do it with me?” Kaveh questions, voice above a whisper.

No surprise washes over you this time. Just a simple little chuckle, and a smile.

“It feels as if I’m tracing your path, as if I’m following the footsteps you’ve left behind and witnessing another path I’ve never even thought of discovering.” your voice goes so soft, “I had so much fun imagining what you did with those paints and why you’ve set those trowels and palette knives aside. It felt as if I was there with you, painting.”

“…and if I was painting you?”

It leaves him before he could stop it.

“Then, I’d be able to see what colours you associated with me. I’d be able to know how… you see me.”

It’s simple, the answer. He sees you as if you’ve hung the stars, made the sun set and rise, and controlled the winds and the breeze.

Kaveh doesn’t know what possesses him to step forward, nearly nose-to-nose with you. Your head tilts up to meet his eyes so sweetly, he feels himself melt. Now, like this, he can see how gently you look at him–how the usually bright, wide eyed disposition melts into the fondness he’s mistaken for something else.

“Can I–” his voice breaks, slightly. Kaveh takes a moment to settle his voice, breathing in and exhaling deeply, before he properly asks, “Can I show you how I see you?”

There’s no hesitation.

“Please,” you say–no, ask. “Feel free to show me, Painter Kaveh.”

The press of your lips against him is soft. Eyes fluttering close, the rhythm between the both of you is tentatively explored–you’re trying to see what he feels through this kiss, aren’t you? 

But Kaveh confirms what you’re thinking, anyway; other hand snaking up to cup the back of your neck, holding you closer to him. 

Faintly, he tastes the coffee he’s made for you. The sweetness of the sugar and milk combined is intoxicating, and yet, it feels like bliss. Is that what would life be like with you? Just sweetness, and saccharine? 

Then, slowly, as if not wanting to break away, you pull back and watch him with a clear look in your eyes; somehow firm and resolute, as if that kiss proved everything to you. Did it? Did it prove how miserably he pines for you?

“I like you, Kaveh,” you breathe, a laugh bubbling out of you. Archons, he wants to hear that sound every day. “I like you very much.”

With a hand gently caressing the pulse of your neck, he says, in reply, “I’ve liked you, too, for a long time.”

“Me too, then,” you admit easily, leaning into his touch.

His cheeks heat, and this time, he doesn’t suppress the urge to hide in the crook of your neck. You welcome this with a loud, warm laugh that he can feel shakes your shoulders–and you welcome this change so readily with your arms wrapping around him, abundant laughter turning into giggles.

Kaveh does agree with you, but he thinks he doesn’t need to say it. You know, in the way you begin embracing him, and all he feels is you.

#—stellaronhvnters. #zira's lover : event #kaveh #genshin impact #kaveh x reader #genshin impact x reader #hanyi-writing #can u tell i want to be an artist's muse one day #like. u don't have to paint me or something #i just want to see and feel a painting that you painted with me in mind... #i'd really cry about it

[godlizzza]

If you still take prompt requests, I just finished reading The Couple Down the Street! Augh, it was so good!!! If possible, I’d love to see moments of Herb being caught acting like a (reluctant) father figure / guardian / mentor to Piper, and then denying he does so whenever Dan mentions it, I feel like that might happen every so often, especially with her father now in the state that he is 🥺

Dan's preferred strategy when Piper was around was to blend into the background. He would observe them from a distance, popping his head into the lab every now and then to ask them if everything was okay? Did they need some snacks? Maybe a lemonade? Oddly enough, it was Herbert who took Dan up on these offers more so than Piper. The young girl was always far too absorbed in whatever task she and Herbert were performing to be tempted by such trivialities as graham crackers.

Whatever cloth Herbert originated from, Piper was cut from the same one.

Dan had told himself he was fine with Piper's frequent presence in their home and lab. Herbert was just about the most stubborn person Dan had ever met, and he knew it was pointless to fight him on this 'apprentice' idea. So, he did what he often did to sustain his and Herbert's marriage: he compromised.

Piper could come over three days a week, never staying past 6pm, not for consecutive days, and she could only enter the lab after her homework was done. This last stipulation didn't appear to be too much of a problem, as she was always excited to show her work to Herbert, who would diligently check it over and give a firm nod if it met his standards. Dan didn't miss the way Piper's eyes sparkled when Herbert doled out praise to her, even if it was a curt, "Very good." She stilled beamed, nonetheless. He would always see Herbert pretend not to notice.

It was one such afternoon just after Piper had skipped out the door to make the short bike ride to her mother, Mandy's, house that Dan noticed the crayon drawing she'd left behind on the kitchen counter. He glanced down at two crudely drawn figures that could only be Piper and Herbert. They were standing in what looked to be the lab, little blobs of colour he took to be beakers of fluid surrounding them as they held hands, both smiling. She always drew Herbert with a smile, confirming her overactive imagination.

Dan stared at the drawing with an odd kernel of disquiet brewing in his stomach. It was one thing for them to have an apprentice, it was another thing entirely for a young child to be imprinting on Herbert like a lost duckling.

You just don't like kids, his mind whispered to him and he promptly shushed it.

"What's that?"

Dan turned at the sound of Herbert's voice, watching his husband dry off his hands on a rag and reach for the fridge with a tired sigh. Dan held out the paper and Herbert took it without question. He glanced at the page as he took a swig straight from the open carton of orange juice that had been sitting in the fridge door for the past two days. Dan didn't like how pulpy it was.

Herbert swallowed with relish and said, "Charming," in a straight tone.

"You're not put off by it?" Dan asked, and Herbert levelled a critical stare at him.

"She's not even seven, Dan. It hardly feels fair to judge her artistic talents too harshly."

Dan rolled his eyes as Herbert wordlessly pinned the picture in place on the fridge with a magnet shaped like an apple.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, don't you think it's weird that she's drawn more pictures of your than she has of her own father?"

"Given that her father currently possesses all the personality of a doorstop," Herbert droned, returning the juice to its corner of solitude, "I would have to say no."

Dan shook his head as he paced out of the kitchen and towards their bedroom. He began to unbutton his shirt, anticipating pulling his pajamas on and crawling into bed. He'd worked nearly twelve hours at the hospital that day and babysitting Herbert and Piper had taken the last of his energy.

"I should've known you'd love being the center of attention," he mumbled sleepily. "Even if that attention's coming from a first grader."

Herbert scoffed at his back but didn't offer up any kind of rebuke. Dan also didn't press him for one.

He simply changed into his night clothes and collapsed onto the plush mattress. Herbert had always been stingy when it came to furniture, arguing that with how often they moved, it was hardly worth investing in anything new and expensive. The one thing Dan had been immovable on was a good quality, comfy mattress, and he felt he could kiss his past self for that one instance of resolution.

Already, he could feel himself being dragged away into unconsciousness. He didn't even register Herbert sliding into bed beside him. Not until he felt arms wrapping around him from behind, pulling his back up against a warm body. He hummed in pleasure and shuffled back against Herbert's front, greedy for the warmth emanating off of him.

"I'm not teaching her for the attention," Herbert said into his ear and Dan nodded against the pillow.

"Mm. Whatever you say, Daddy."

He instantly felt Herbert go rigid behind him.

"Never say that to me again," Herbert said stiffly.

Dan bit down on his lip but the smile still bloomed across his face regardless.

"Okay, Mr. Teacher."

#herbert west #dan cain #danbert #re-animator #reanimator #my fics #asks #writing prompt #glad you enjoyed! #the couple down the street

[ruthlesslistener]

A History of Regions in Hallownest (with marked maps)

*Note: this is HEAVY speculation/veering into headcanon territory, because we honestly just don't know most of the details to the history of Hallownest other than architectural cues, brief one-liners, and fossils. I'm mostly just doing this to provide a visual explanation for what my rough guess is, so take it with a grain of salt.

Anyways, did anyone else notice the fact that in Hollow Knight, you can tell which tribe lives in which area of the game based off of architectural differences? How about the fact that you can tell which gods rule in certain areas based off of environmental cues? Different areas on the official map are colour-coded, which is helpful and can give us some idea of which tribe lives where, but the gods are more fickle, especially since their territories have canonically changed over time as new gods were introduced, old ones began to fade, and bloody wars were waged over the indoctrination of new followers. I wanted to mark off the ancestral regions of the tribes of Hallownest, but those have a measure of overlap with the historical territories of their deities, so to begin with, I took the map of Hallownest as it appears post-fall (aka during the game), and picked out colours to indicate the main ones that we know of so that we can keep track of how their territories might have looked over the years. I left out minor/debatable gods simply because these five (The Radiance, the Pale King, the White Lady, the Lord of Shades/Void, and Unn) are technically the only ones that we can confirm where their territory holds were via environment.

[ID: the map of Hallownest as it appears in-game, with an additional note reading 'Map of Hallownest with Major Gods Colour Coded (post-fall)' on top. On the left, Unn is marked in pale green, White Lady in hunter's green, and grey text is used to indicate undisputed/neutral areas. On the right, the Radiance is indicated in pale pink, and the Pale King is depicted in pale purple. The Lord of Shades is marked below in darker grey.]

Next, I want to indicate where I believe the major god's territories were in three different ages in Hallownest: the time of the Void Civilization (pre-Radiance), the time of the Radiance (pre-Pale King), and the time of the Pale Gods. Because the goal of a god is to true-kill another and capture/secure the loyalty of their followers by erasing any evidence of their predecessor's influence, we are going to assume that there have been two stages of records-wiping and potential civilization-breaking, done by first the Radiance and then the Pale King. Therefore, the amount of speculation decreases the further down we go along the timeline.

Hallownest as it was during the time of the Void Civilization:

[ID: the same map of Hallownest as before, but now with transparent, colour-coded blobs over certain areas to indicate the potential territories of the gods during the era before the Radiance. The vast majority of the map is overtaken by a blob of grey, with a couple smaller blobs to the left and right, and a green blob over Greenpath. The green blob correlates to the colour indicative of Unn, while the grey blob indicates the potential range of the void civilization, including monuments and void gates (which is written on it in white). A note underneath states 'likely vast overestimate due to lack of knowledge of this era'. Blue text at the upper right states 'outlier unaccounted for: Lifeblood God]

Like I said, this era is pretty much mostly left up to speculation, as we have little to no information on the void civilization other than the fact that they existed, and the vitrolic hatred that the Radiance had for their god (the Void itself). We also don't know if Unn was actually here during this time period, but I included her because her civilization feels extremely old, and because I interpreted the fact that she pulled the Mosskin and much of Greenpath from her dreams to mean that the Radiance likely either didn't exist yet, or if she did, had not yet ascended to the God of the Dream Realm.

As for the Void Civilization itself, I made a rough indicator of where it probably was based off of the location of the void, the number of strange statues and voidgates/free floating void present in the air, the composition of the walls, and the areas where large, ancient-looking beetles are found, similar to the one in the Abyss itself. The cutoff point and 'extras' written on the higher blobs indicate areas where certain members of the tribes might have spread, based on the presence of voidgates, the Black Egg Temple, and soul totems that are carved in the abyssal style, but that's mostly just tentative speculation. The tribes likely involved in this worship were the Snail Shamans (who are tied to death/can teach void spells upon death/are now very scattered/rare), and the predecessors to the Beetle Tribe.

Next is the Radiance.

Hallownest as it was during the dominion of the Radiance (pre- Pale King):

[ID: the map of Hallownest, now with different transparent territorial indicators. The vast majority of the top right area is taken up by pink, which is tied to the Radiance. A stronger pink outline shows a more canonical guess as to where her actual seat of power was located. To the left, Unn's territory has expanded, and underneath both, an area of the map has been circled in purple and cut in with slashes to indicate the fall of the Void Civilization. Pink text says 'potential extermination via Radiance(?)' with an arrow pointing to it, and pink slashes bridge the gap between this circled area and the Radiance's territory. To the right, a small circle of darker green is visible on the fringe of the map in Kingdom's Edge, with the text 'maybe WL germination spot' and an arrow pointed at it.]

How the godly territories looked during the time of the Radiance is still mostly speculation, but it's less rough than the era of the Void Civilization, as we have environmental indicators to point where the seat of the Radiance's power was, and where Unn's influence spread to the max before the Pale King and the White Lady became threats. I am personally of the belief that the Radiance destroyed the Void Civilization and whatever god they worshiped when establishing her power, which was a necessary act for her own survival, but was brutal nonetheless (remember that gods depend on worship to survive and are countered by gods of specific other elements- these turf wars are very similar to lions and hyenas fighting, in a way). In solid pale pink, I've indicated the areas that might have technically fallen under her territory after she destroyed the Void Civilization, and outlined the ares where we know that the Moth Tribe (her favored followers) dwelled. Pink dashes indicate potential areas with her tampering, while the purple circle with the dashes through it is where I believe the stronghold of the Void Civilization was, and where she might have fully destroyed them. Because Unn was also a God of Dream, no danger was posed by her and thus the two likely survived next to each other in relative harmony, with Unn benefitting from the Radiance's ravages.*

Oh, and since the White Lady's roots are strongly present in the area where the White Palace was eventually built, it's likely that she germinated in Kingdom's Edge during the end of the Radiance's reign, and ascended to full godhood with the assistance of the Pale Wyrm (and visa versa) when they were taking territory of their own.

*Note that I do not fully blame the Radiance for her actions. They were brutal, yes, and likely unfathomably cruel, but the Void is one of the few deities/elements that could kill her, and securing a territory with followers is essential to the survival of a Higher Being. I cannot judge her for this any more than I can judge a new male lion from killing off all the cubs in his fresh pride to ensure his paternity. It's just how nature works.

Now we have everyone's favorites (sarcasm), the Pale Gods.

Hallownest as it was during the dominion of the Pale King and White Lady (pre-fall):

[ID: the map of Hallownest, this time with different territorial indicators. The map is dominated by a massive blob of pale blue at the top, a sizable blob of pale purple directly below with a section of it circled and crossed out with darker green, and a large chunk of olive green now takes up half of what used to be Unn's lands. The pale blue indicates territory shared between the Pale King and the White Lady, the purple indicates where the influence of the Pale King reigned stronger, and the olive green is where the White Lady's prescence was more apparent. The section where the White Palace is technically falls under the Pale King's territory, but has heavy influence from the White Lady. Purple crosshatching up by the King's Pass also indicates where PK's claim of the land comes to an end.]

Aaand out of all the godly territories, this one was the easiest to map out, as it was the most recent and thus easiest to define. This one, however, is somewhat unique, as much of it is shared between two gods instead of dominated by just one- likely why the Pale King and White Lady managed to claim such a large swathe for themselves in the first place. Marking exactly what was the Pale King's was far more difficult than marking what was the White Lady's, as her boundaries and claim are felt far stronger than his influence (mostly regulated to the City of Tears and Ancient Basin), however his insistence on commerce and trade routes meant that his architectural touch extended all the way up into Dirtmouth, King's Pass, and the Crystal Peaks, even though his actual hold over those lands was probably held only by the expansion of the tribes loyal to him (the Beetles for sure, the Moths at least for a little bit), and the backing of the White Lady, whose pale flora are seen in those areas. As you can see, large chunks of Unn's lands have been annexed into the Pale God's power, potentially due to Unn weakening enough for them to quietly move their territorial boundaries further outwards, while the land that lead to the squabble between them and the Radiance came about from the Moth Tribe changing loyalties, allowing the Pale King the rights to the Radiance's territory. While it seems like this switch was done voluntarily and with full consent of the moths, it should be regarded with the same amount of suspicion that one should hold for the annexing of Unn's lands into their domain.

*Please also note that the Pale King and the White Lady's conquering of their lands was similar to the Radiance's in terms of necessity, in that both needed to conquer a territory of their own and obtain followers in order to sustain themselves. WL seems to have managed to do this with relatively little fuss and was on her way to slowly replace Unn as the god of greenery, however the Pale King persuading the moths to defect was probably primarily what caused the conflict between him and the Radiance. The worship of one tribe (in this case, the moths) is an important resource to a god, so the conflict arose when he tried to steal her source of sustenance, and the Infection arose when she attempted to regain her territory. Both of their actions are technically valid from a survival standpoint, however the brutality of the fight and its effect on both the mortal tribes and the vessels was inexcusable.

And last but not least, we have the potential ancestral lands of the tribes of Hallownest! In this case, I've saved the best for last, as this is the most interesting from a cultural perspective if you're not out here oggling at the gods like a biologist watching wild beasts in the field (ie me), yet is still extremely interesting if you're a specbio/behavior and sociology nerd (also me).

The likely ancestral layout of the tribes of Hallownest:

[ID: the map of Hallownest, now with regions marked over with light green, pale pink, pale blue, aqua blue, pale yellow, golden yellow, dark grey, and blue-grey. The pale blue indicates the range of the Mosskin and their relatives, the pink is the Moths, the pale blue are the Beetles, aqua is the Flukes, pale yellow is the Shrooms and Mantises, golden yellow is the Hive, dark grey is the remnants of the Void Civilization (potentially the snails/ancient beetles), and blue-Grey is the Beasts, aka spiders and centipedes. The writing at the top reads 'Likely Ancestral Layout of Mortal Tribes (based on architecture)'. Dashed lines indicate overlap of regions and/or areas where stragglers may wander despite not necessarily being based there.]

Personally, this was the easiest to indicate, as the bugs and architecture of each tribe are visually distinct. I chose to indicate ancestral regions, as the shifts in deity reign did not always lead to elimination of the tribes themselves, merely their expansion and contraction. Areas where there is no set culture or type of bug (like King's Pass and Kingdom's Edge) were left blank, as they seemed to either be transient places or areas where past dwellings were uncommon- though I did mark part of Kingdom's Edge as under the Hive's rule to account for workers leaving to collect nectar. Dirtmouth was similarly labeled as ancient moth territory because of Thistlewind's commentary on 'the caverns of Hallownest being dangerous', indicating that the moths stayed on or near the surface, and I marked off the Void because there's enough snail shells in there to potentially argue it was where the snail tribe originated, and PK produced so many vessels that they're practically a species of their own at this point, albeit one that is very much dead. They weren't a civilization, they were a family, but they were hatched and killed on the bones of a place where many likely died under the Radiance's ascension, and so that accumulated net loss was enough for me to mark it on the map.

What I find interesting to note here is that in terms of expected ranges, it actually...makes sense? The Mosskin had a large historic range because they are a historic, varied people, and though they experienced some changes after the White Lady took chunks of Greenpath, it wasn't enough to make them fully distinct from their ancestors. They're also possibly herbivorous, and thus can sustain their larger numbers relatively easily. The same can be said for the beetle tribe, as most beetle species are omnivorous and there is significant variation in the members that we see, indicating that there may be two or more species present in that tribe. The Flukes feed on detrius, and are most likely a much more recent civilization to have arose due to the plumbing installed in the City of Tears accumulating enough nutrients for them to gather in one place. Bees, as we know, generally tend to all be one family staying in one place, so they're less of a tribe and more just,,,well, a hive, and while the Mantises and Shrumal Warriors have the smallest territory, we know from the game that the Fungal Wastes are currently in the process of expanding, and the Mantis tribe is a singular-species group of carnivores with an insular community, meaning that smaller numbers are to be expected from them. When compared to the range of Deepnest, another society built primarily of carnivores, they seem very small, but one has to remember that Deepnest has at least two different species of spiders and centipedes living in tandem, and that much of their territory is tunnels and hunting-grounds instead of open space. The Hidden Village is only slightly larger than the Mantis Village, which fits with the carnivorous lifestyle (as there must always be more prey than predator). I didn't include the Oomas because they are very much not from Hallownest. When you step back and look at it, its interesting to note where the overlaps are between the territories of the gods were, and the ranges of the mortals they were so dependent on.

So there you have it! One super long post containing a detailed breakdown of the territorial boundaries in Hallownest, dealing with the generalized guess of where the ancestral lands of the tribes were and a three-part breakdown of different major god territories over different ages. Again, the only two that I'm even somewhat close to being certain about being canon are the maps of godly territories pre-fall and the ancestral lands, but its fun to think about regardless. Hope y'all have just as much fun reading this as I did with making it :>

#hollow knight #hollow knight lore #hollow knight meta #hollow knight headcanons #the radiance #the pale king #the lord of shades #unn #the white lady #i would include the other gods/potential higher beings in here as well but #we got no idea whats up with them! #if they got outcompeted or what #so this is just including the major players + unn #who we know was there for a while before she got utterly steamrolled by wl and radi at the end