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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

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Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.” He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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janaispunk · 2 months

Text

end game

series masterlist • this is part VII

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Heartbreak, an explanation and an epilogue.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), angst, feelings, heartbreak, depression, mention of weight loss, fluff, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (it's never stated in the fic but i headcanon that reader is on birth control), basically free use kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, Dave is a menace, praise kink, idiots in love, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: the biggest thank you to @joelscurls for letting me scream about this again and againnnnn, and reading over my drafts countless times, you’re the best, jess! <3

thank you to @daddy-dins-girl for talking plot holes with me and motivating me to write <3

thank you to everyone who has read and loved this series, i have received sooooo many kind words, feedback and just so much love. i started writing this as a pwp oneshot and the fact that it has turned into my first series ever and one that i had soooo much fun with is wild. i’m incredibly emotional about saying goodbye to my babies, maybe i’ll revisit them when i need to write some kinky shit out of my system haha. i hope that you like the ending that i’ve built for them.

a few words about the plot: i actually have zero clue how the hitman business works (shocker, i know), so some parts of this are purposefully vague in a way that i hope is believable and somewhat realistic. just roll with it, thanks :D

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

find my full masterlist here & follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates.

The first week you don’t hear from Dave, you’re confused, but not necessarily worried yet. There have been weeks of silence in the past, though you’ll admit that you had thought that things might be… different now.

Your texts to him stay on delivered, never switching to read. Which has also happened before, especially when he was away on business, but still… The thought that he has gone back to his normal life without sparing as much as a glance back at your time together is nagging at you.

You can still feel his hands on your skin, can still hear him whisper in your ear how beautiful you look, how perfect you are for him. It’s hard to come to terms with the thought that it wasn’t real, that his words and actions didn’t hold the same weight for him that they did for you. Reality has finally caught up to you and it hurts.

When two weeks blend into three weeks and you’ve still heard nothing, you start getting worried. He had said his line of work was dangerous, after all.

Your conversation, still so close and yet a lifetime ago, echoes in your mind. 'Nothing's gonna happen,’ you had said. ‘Not to the girls, not to me. And not to you.’ And not to you. ‘You don’t know that, sweetheart,’ his voice rings through your head. Sweetheart. The word tastes bitter on your tongue and wraps itself around your chest until you feel like you’re choking with it, like you can’t draw breath into your lungs anymore.

Sweetheart.

You don’t know that.

Sweetheart.

You start looking him up online, to find anything that might at least tell you that he’s okay. You don’t want to believe that he would be cruel enough to ghost you, but you barely dare to consider the alternative. You find nothing, no mention of his name, like he doesn’t even exist.

Your calls stay unanswered, your messages stay unread. You find yourself subconsciously checking your texts and your emails countless times a day, catch yourself staring out of your window in the blind hope that he might appear outside. He wouldn’t just leave you like this, would he? Would he?

Days blur into weeks and eventually into months. You’re painfully aware that it’s not healthy, this kind of heartbreak, especially not over a relationship that never even meant anything. If only your heart would understand that.

It was never serious enough that you told any of your friends about it, never wanted to be labeled as the girl that sleeps with married men, never wanted to admit your feelings to someone else when you could barely admit them to yourself. Regardless, even without knowing what exactly was going on, your friends had tried to be there for you, to convince you to go out with them, to cheer you up, but you had turned them down often enough that on this Friday night, your phone stays silent.

It’s better this way. All you want to do is rot away on your couch, staring at the TV with unseeing eyes until it’s an acceptable time to go to bed. Maybe it won’t take you hours of lying in the dark to fall asleep tonight. Maybe it won’t remind you of a different kind of darkness in a different room, a room where the sound of waves against the shore and the deep breaths beside you lulled you to sleep.

You need to get yourself together, your inner voice whispers. Next week, you think. Or the one after that.

A knock on your door shakes you out of your thoughts and you pad over, expecting to be met with the Chinese takeout that you had ordered in hopes of fueling your appetite at least a bit with the prospect of comfort food. Absentmindedly, you note the surprisingly short delivery time. You barely look up as you swing the door open, busy fiddling with your purse to extract a few dollar bills.

After finally managing to pull them out, you face the doorway. A greeting dies in your throat.

Familiar deep brown eyes burn into yours, framed by the face that you wish you’d forget but can’t. The short brown hair, the clean shaven jawline that you can still feel underneath your fingertips, the memory all too fresh in your mind. He looks tired, you think, and instantly scold yourself for knowing him well enough to even notice.

The seconds tick by as you motionlessly stare at him, blinking slowly, your mind running a mile a minute. Why is he here? He can’t be here. Are you making this up? If so, things are far worse than you had thought.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. It’s probably the least sure of himself that you’ve ever seen him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand twitching like he almost reached out to you but changed his mind. “Can I- can I come in?”

You regard him for a moment longer. The sound of his voice makes him appear more real, and the fog in your head slowly clears. He’s alive. He’s here. In front of your door. Alive and well. Your emotions boil up inside of you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You think you can just show up here after months and ask if you can come in? I thought you were… I thought…”

Your voice betrays you, breaking at the sharp sting of pain in your chest that you’ve fruitlessly tried to suppress and the feeling of your throat closing up. Tears spill over and you furiously wipe at your cheeks, determined to keep some semblance of dignity.

“I know,” Dave breathes, defeatedly. “I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.” His hand reaches towards you again. You shy away from his touch and an expression of hurt ripples across his face. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice only trembles a little as you snap at him. After another look at his face, you eventually step aside and jerk your head towards your living area. You briefly think about how messy the place is, for how many weeks you didn’t have it in yourself to clean up. You can’t bring yourself to care. Seeing him walk through your flat again after being so painfully aware of his absence leaves you almost dizzy. You take the opposite ends of your couch, both of your bodies stiff, careful not to touch one another.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Explain.”

So he explains. How he received a call, barely thirty minutes after he stepped into his house, with a mission that was too perfect of an opportunity to pass it up. There had been no time to let you know, the risk too high to use his personal phone once he started working.

He goes back to the persona that took up half of his life for so long, the identity that is no more, the man that fell down a watchtower and was washed away by the sea. Body never found. At least that’s what everyone who knew this man thinks. Everyone who knew him, but not Dave York.

He’s been thorough with it, with the most important mission he’s ever done. There are no loose ends, no one who could trace things back to the real him.

It took longer than he had anticipated and he kept laying low afterwards, until he could be absolutely sure that no one would be looking for him anymore.

He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get rid of the worry, ever stop looking over his shoulder, but rationally, he knows that he did it. He got out.

Then he had talked to Carol, let her know that he wants a divorce. It had been- easy, almost. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream at him, just nodded like she had known this day would come for a long time. He thinks that she almost seemed relieved, in a way.

Your eyes had been glued to his face since he started speaking. Tears are silently running down your cheeks.

“I know that I should have found a way to contact you. I didn’t-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so worried that someone would find out about you. I never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe that.” He knows that he looks a mess, that his desperation to make you understand is written all over his features.

Every day that he didn’t call you, he knew that he was hurting you. He tried justifying it with himself, that having you think he left you was better than risking somebody coming after you. It never gave him much comfort.

It’s even worse, now that he sees the damage he had done. You have lost weight, deep circles have formed under your eyes and you move like you’re barely holding yourself together. He saw the panic on your face when he tried reaching for you at the door. No matter what he had done to you in the past, you always sought out the safety of his touch afterwards. Until now.

“Please believe me,” he whispers.

You study his face for what feels like a lifetime. Tears are glistening on your lashes. You look so tired, so defeated that it makes his heart ache.

“You’ve done it?” you finally ask. Your voice is a quiet thing, barely bridging the distance between the two of you. A flicker of hope rings with it. “You’re safe now?”

He nods silently, fighting the urge to gather you in his arms, to promise you that he’ll always be there from now on. A small smile curves your lips upward as you mirror his nod, like you’re trying to let this new reality sink in.

“That’s good,” you murmur.

You lean forward, your fingers tentatively closing around his fist that’s clenched tightly against his thigh.

Hope flickers inside his chest. He can taste the three words that he’s been wanting to say to you for far too long on the tip of his tongue. He’s not going to, not right now, not today. But someday soon, he thinks that he might.

Two years later

“Bye girls, say hi to your mom and Matt from me,” you smile, embracing each of them in a tight hug before they dash out of the door, a jumble of giggles and excited chatter. Dave trails behind them with a grin on his face, pecking your lips and calling out for them to slow down.

Your heart is full, overflowing with love for this family that, against all odds, has become yours. You watch Dave usher his daughters into the car and push the doors closed behind them, the smile still on your lips. As you walk back into the house, your eyes linger on the thin silver band adorning your ring finger.

It’s still new, still an unexpected sight when you catch it on the edge of your periphery. It’s the tangible proof of you being the happiest you’ve ever been.

Things had been rough at first, after Dave came back to you. You understood why he handled the situation the way he did, but it took you a long time to trust that he wouldn’t disappear again. To believe that he left his old life behind, that he chose you. But he did.

You busy yourself with cleaning up the inevitable chaos that having the girls over for Dave’s days with them always creates. It’s not the life that you would have expected yourself to have a few years ago, but right now, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with a message from Dave.

Be back in 15. I expect you naked and on your knees waiting by the door.

You bite your lip, heat building inside you with rapid speed. Your phone pings again.

Don’t disappoint me.

Fuck. Wetness is already gathering between your legs as you jump into action.

The car door slamming shut has never sounded so good before. You’re listening intently, catching Dave’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and the jingle of his keys before the door opens beside where you’re kneeling.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, watching the mix of smugness and adoration on his face as he takes in your position. A shudder runs through you and your nipples harden under his demanding gaze. He steps closer, caressing your cheek.

“Such a good girl… my obedient little wife, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, the coherent thoughts slowly draining from your brain and craving more of his touch, more of him.

He smiles down at you, his eyes glinting predatorily. You’ve come to know this shift into the darkness since you first met, but it’s more playful these days, not laced with the urgency that possessed him back then. Still, he gets intense, especially after having the girls over forces you to keep things rather tame during those days.

“Show me your ass, face on the ground, come on,” he demands coldly.

You obey without question, turning around and bending forward, pressing your upper body down to the floor and presenting your backside to him. He lands a couple of slaps on your cheeks and you flinch, moaning out softly. Your pussy already feels slick with arousal.

“What do you say?” he asks, rubbing his hand over the heated skin.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper.

Another slap hits you. “Do you know what you did to deserve this?”

You wrack your brain for a few moments, but come up blank.

“I- no, sir.” Your voice is small and breathy, your body bracing for the impact of his hand again.

He chuckles. “Nothing. I just felt like it.” Another slap. “And you’re mine to do as I please, isn’t that right?” Your thighs are trembling. You’re so wet that it feels like you’re dripping onto the floor.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You know what’s the most fucked up about this?” He crouches down beside your face and strokes your cheek softly, smiling down at you. “How much you whore like it.”

He straightens up and heads for the stairs. “Bedroom, come on.”

You don’t even try standing up, knowing that he won’t let you, and crawl behind him, which earns you another chuckle and a “good girl”.

The image of your naked form on your knees behind Dave who hasn’t removed a stitch of clothing sends another bolt of arousal through you. You’re desperate for him to touch you.

He roughly lifts you up and manhandles you onto the bed until you’re spread out underneath him.

“So…” He grabs your wrists and holds them over your head, pressing them into the mattress. “These stay right here, you hear me? Don’t move, or do I have to restrain you?”

You pout at the prospect of not being allowed to put your hands on him, but obediently hold them in place when he eases his grip on you. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He grins down at you. “I know you will. Got my girl well trained, haven’t I?”

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and your “yes, sir” comes out in a whimper.

He leans in closer, spreading your thighs wider with his body and you force yourself not to buck your hips up against him. The craving for any part of him to touch you, for any kind of friction, is overwhelming.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. Your pleading eyes hold his cold gaze as he’s leaning over you.

“Patience,” he growls. “Open your mouth.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “Wider.”

You part your lips as widely as you can, sticking your tongue out and trying not to squirm against the sheets. He remains motionless for a few seconds, taking in your desperate state with a cruel smirk on his face.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then he tips his head forward and spits into your waiting mouth. The filthy feeling of his saliva coating your tongue and filling your mouth almost drives you insane with want and you groan, shifting against his thick thighs between yours, but to no avail. You wait for his next command, your mouth still wide open, not daring to swallow before he tells you to.

But no command comes. Instead, he reaches up to press two fingers down on your tongue, dipping into your mouth and smearing your combined spit over your face. The silver band on his ring finger is cool against your skin and you shudder, loving the reminder that he’s really, entirely yours.

Your body feels like it’s burning up, your hands are twitching and you’re desperate to move them, to touch him, to do something, but you hold yourself still until he finally tells you to, “swallow, baby.”

He smiles and finds your lips for a surprisingly soft kiss, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re being so good,” he tells you gently. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you smile, chasing his lips when he pulls back, but he tuts at you and you fall back against the bed, huffing out a breath. “Just… please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, the softness gone as quick as it came. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

You bite your lip, but stay put while he stands up to finally start removing his clothes. He’s agonizingly slow with it, holding your hungry gaze while he unbuttons his shirt in unhurried movements that make you want to tear the clothes off his body yourself.

You drink him in, first the sight of his broad chest and his strong shoulders, then his muscular legs, and finally, making your mouth water and your pussy burn with desire, his cock.

As much as he keeps taunting you, you know him well enough by now to be able to tell that he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, even when he’s trying to conceal it. He returns to you, sitting back on his haunches and drinking you in, until after what feels like hours, he finally reaches out and swirls his fingers through the wetness between your legs. It’s a barely there touch, but you’re so painfully turned on and sensitive that you let out a gasp.

“So fucking wet,” he marvels and applies the slightest bit of pressure to your clit. It’s enough to make you see stars and you’re sure that he could make you come just from this. But, of course he won’t. He laughs at your reaction and retracts his hand to lean forward instead until he’s on top of you again, your legs spread wide to accommodate him and his cock slides through your folds.

He lowers his head to nip and suck at the skin under your jaw, one hand toying with your breasts and your hardened nipples. Your whole body is buzzing, he’s so close and it’s so much, but it’s not enough, not enough, not enough.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, peppering your skin with kisses and rocking his hips in small movements that make his cock nudge at your clit over and over.

“F-fuck me, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, your body still obediently stretched out underneath him with your arms above your head. He nods wordlessly and reaches down to position himself at your soaking entrance.

“Be as loud as you want,” he growls against your neck. “I missed making you scream.”

He bites at your skin at the same time as his thrust into you punches the air from your lungs. You scream, just like he asked, as he hammers into you, his lips still attached to your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. The sensation of finally being filled by him, of feeling the stinging stretch of the way he forcefully pounds into you is like heaven. You think that you’re talking, crying out a mix of his name and sir and please over and over.

You’re flying towards your climax and judging from his groans, he can already feel you tighten around him.

“Go ahead,” he groans, before you’ve even strung the words to ask for permission together in your mind. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pinches your nipple just once and the additional sensation is enough to send you flying, your pussy clenching around his cock and drenching him in your arousal as you scream out his name. It’s pure bliss, and you never want to come down.

“That’s it,” he growls, not slowing his movements, fucking you through the aftershocks until you’re a whining mess beneath him, “that’s my perfect girl, fuck-”

You force your eyes open to smile up at him, taking in the wrecked expression on his face, relishing in the knowledge that you’re the one to make him look like this. You just really wish you could touch him.

“P-please, can I-” you’re breathless, barely able to speak, and jerk your head towards your hands above you.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thrusts somehow growing even more forceful, “do whatever you want, baby.”

Your hands fly towards his body, touching every inch of his skin that you can reach, nails digging into his back and fingers grasping at his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can taste, all you can feel.

“Fuck!” he swears, grabbing your shoulders and holding you in place as he’s pounding into you, “give me another one, touch yourself, come on-”

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know that he’s close to his own climax. It only takes a few swipes of your fingers over your clit until you’re coming again, soaring through the heights of your pleasure, your whole body trembling with your release. Dave’s hips stutter and he comes with a shout, pulsing inside of your fluttering pussy until finally, you both still.

He drops his sweat-slicked forehead against your chest, peppering your skin with kisses and engulfing you in the warmth of his arms. After cleaning you up, he moves your bodies until you’re tucked against his side, one arm thrown across his chest while he holds you close.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of his naked body against yours, of the way he feels like he was made for you. By now, you can admit that he had always felt like this.

“I love you,” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You press your face deeper into his neck. “I love you.”

It’s easy, now. Words that you say every day.

…and i love YOU, thank you for reading! 🤍 if you liked this, a reblog or a comment would absolutely make my day.

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 30 days

Note

AITA for not walking my dog with my neighbor anymore?

I (20sNB) graduated from my masters program in 2019 and moved back home with my parents. It was meant to be temporary, but before I could save up enough to move out, the pandemic hit. I ended up living with my parents until late 2022. During that time I was responsible for walking our dog. I ended up meeting and connecting with a handful of other dog owners in the neighborhod and we would walk our dogs together and let them play together at a local dog park.

One of these dog owners, C (70sF) turned out to live right around the corner from me, so we started walking our dogs together very often. Her dog has always been a bit domineering, and my dog has always been a bit submissive. But for a long time they played together very nicely. They would run and chase each other and play with the toys we brought to the park for them. Sometimes they would play fight, but I could always tell from my dog’s body language that she was having fun, and wasn’t actually feeling threatened or scared.

Of course, C and I also ended up bonding. She’s a retired kindergarten teacher, and she’s very, very nice and kind, and I would consider her a friend. We now exchange baked goods on holidays and she sends me birthday and christmas cards now that I don’t live down the street from her. And since I moved out, whenever I came to my parents’ house to visit, I would call her up so we could walk the dogs together and catch up.

However, a few months ago, while my mom was walking our dog at the dog park, a different, even worse behaved dog, attacked and bit her. This attack was bad enough to draw blood, and my mom had to take her to the vet and get her on antibiotics and everything to make sure it didn’t get infected. Plus, the dog we had before this one, got sick and almost died because of a bite from an unvaccinated dog, so this was pretty scary for us. But it ended up being okay. No infections and the wounded healed well. But ever since then, our dog, who previously was very social and good with other dogs (we took her to obedience school as a puppy, so she was socialized very early on) has become much more nervous around other dogs, especially new dogs.

We’re trying really hard to resocialize her, and she’s slowly getting better. She still sometimes growls at new dogs, though. Which brings us back to my neighbor and her dog. Her dog is poorly socialized, and growls and barks at other dogs. I know my neighbor tries her best to fix her dog’s behavioral issues and has even worked with specialized dog trainers to no avail. But I’ve noticed that my dog is much more likely to growl at other dogs when we walk with C and her dog, because C’s dog growls. Not only that, but I’ve noticed that when they play together, my dog doesn’t enjoy it anymore. Now, her body language does read as threatened and afraid when C’s dog play fights (C’s dog is a boxer, which means she loves to play fight.)

So, I’ve started not calling C when I’m in town. I feel guilty about it because I really like C and avoiding her feels like a shitty thing to do. I feel like I'm basically ghosting her. But I know if I reach out to her, she’ll bring up walking the dogs together. Walking the dogs is the entire basis of our friendship and the only reason we spend time together, so I can hardly tell her I don’t want to do that anymore.

AITA? I just want to take care of my dog, and right now walking with C is not only causing my dog unnecessary stress, it’s re-enforcing bad habits that I am trying really hard to break.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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siilvan · 10 months

Text

soap headcanons

characters: johnny “soap” mactavish

summary: general/romantic headcanons!

genre: fluff, gn!reader (no desc.)

warnings: none! :)

note: been dealing with a lot recently, so here’s a low effort fluffy headcanon post with one of my favorite boys— i know it’s bad, but i just threw it together while fighting off sleep and didn’t bother to proofread it </3

his love languages are physical touch and acts of service.

⋆ as i’ve said before, it’s no secret that soap is a touchy guy, especially with the people he likes.

⋆ that being said, a casual high-five or side hug is vastly different from the way he touches you. instead of friendly taps and sarcastic banter, there’s a certain fondness in his gaze whenever he reaches for you.

⋆ doesn’t bother hiding his favoritism. if you or anyone else comments on it, he simply shrugs off the claim and drapes an arm across your shoulders. "i think you’re just jealous of 'em," is what most people hear after bringing it up.

⋆ big on acts of service as well!! soap loves doing things for you, no matter how big or small it may be. never demands acknowledgement or repayment for his acts, either - your comfort and happiness are his top priorities.

⋆ getting up early to surprise you with breakfast in bed, running to the store when you need something, handling the household chores so you can sleep in… soap takes every chance he can get to help out.

⋆ if you’re both in the 141, he revels in getting to do things for you while in the field, even after price and ghost chastise him for focusing on you too much. if you’re a civilian, however, soap can’t help but feel guilty every time he leaves you. knowing that you’ll potentially be without him for months, worrying and wondering when he’ll return, having to do everything on your own; the mere thought of it makes him hold you that much tighter every single night.

when he loves, he loves hard.

⋆ soap is a passionate guy, both at work and in his personal life. when he loves someone, he does it with his whole heart and soul. his love is all-consuming and full of warmth, just like the man himself.

⋆ there were plenty of sleepless nights before he confessed to you, hours spent obsessing over what to say and what to do, desperately trying to figure out how to express his feelings. drawings of you filled the pages of his journal– some were more refined, with great care put into each detail, while others were sketches that he snuck in after assignments, when you were too exhausted to notice his eyes flicking between you and the charcoal-covered page.

⋆ if you’re ever in danger, pity the fool that put you there. this man would move heaven and earth for you without a second thought or a single complaint, and there is nothing on this planet that could possibly prevent him from doing so.

⋆ leading off of that– soap is very protective. not unbearably so, he’s not the type of guy to control you or treat you like some kind of property, but he will take any opportunity he can to care for and protect you. he basically appoints himself as your personal bodyguard, regardless of how capable you may be.

⋆ simple things like holding your hand, guiding you through crowds, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, giving you his jacket, and calling or texting you to check in is his bread and butter. if he can’t physically be with you, chances are you’ll end up with someone he trusts by your side. he knows first-hand how dangerous the world is, and soap has no plans of letting you be put in harm’s way.

he is a massive flirt.

⋆ look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t know how attractive he is. i’m not saying that soap is a cocky bastard - far from it, in fact - but he’s well aware of the effect he has on people.

⋆ once he discovers something you like, he utterly abuses it. your eyes linger on him whenever he braces himself against the doorframe? well, suddenly it’s the most comfortable way to stand! your mind wanders off to a certain place when he speaks to you in a low voice? my, my… he just remembered another story that he simply must tell.

⋆ once he’s sure that the feelings are mutual, soap is bold. cornering you just to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, placing a hand on your knee or thigh just to watch you squirm, casually slipping cheeky remarks and subtle innuendos into your conversations in front of the team. if you respond in kind? even better. he’d love to go back and forth, to challenge you and see who breaks first.

⋆ unsurprisingly, his resolve crumbles first. despite his confidence and desperate attempts to break you, all it takes is a single ghosting of your lips against his to send him over the edge.

⋆ it’s nigh-impossible to not be confident while in this relationship. soap loves, loves, loves complimenting you at every chance. it doesn’t matter how you look or how you feel; you’re always attractive in his eyes. if you ever try to disagree with him, he’ll just grin and shake his head with a simple, "none o' that, love. you’re perfect just like this."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

#call of duty #cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty headcanons #cod headcanons #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap headcanons #cod soap #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #sylph.writes

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egophiliac · 1 year

Note

please i would like to know more knitting headcanons if you have them. i love the most wholesome cozy headcanons out there

this got SO away from me, I'm so sorry, it started as "here is some needlework-related headcanon" and then I just lost my entire mind and it turned into "here are Scenarios about characters doing crafts". I…wasn't kidding about dedicating large amounts of time thinking about characters making things out of yarn.

it's not quite a fanfic but, uhhh, take it about as seriously as you take my comics, I guess. :') we're all just having fun here!

the closest Grim has gotten to knitting is the time he ate half a skein of yarn because it "looked spicy". (that was not a fun day for Yuu or the Ramshackle bathroom.) the ghosts, meanwhile, have canonically have made clothes for Yuu and Grim and, honestly, they're probably their own little knitting club (and Yuu's self-appointed eccentric granduncles). you know they're loving having an actual person to play dress-up make things for. we shall be well-prepared for any more impromptu Tsunotarou snowstorms.

Riddle, Trey, and Jamil all know the basics of sewing, but don't do any needling beyond mending/darning/general upkeep. they're all annoyingly practical. (Najma is also annoyingly practical, but she's more fashion-forward about it than Jamil. she's probably really into visible mending.)

Ruggie and Epel probably do know how to knit, in addition to those basics, but to them it's more of a utilitarian thing (need a new warm hat for the winter!) than something they do for fun. on that note, I think Epel wouldn't really have a complex about knitting -- partly because it IS a practical skill to have for those Harveston winters, and partly because he would have learned from Marja, and no one would dare imply Marja is anything less than absolutely badass.

meanwhile Ruggie is over here gleefully unravelling Leona's old sweaters so he can make himself a cashmere hat. it'sfreeyarn.jpg

Jack crochets little cozies and accessories for his cactus. he makes seasonal and holiday-themed versions with cute little sewn-on buttons and, you know what, now I need to draw event outfits for a cactus. hold on.

Deuce's mom definitely knits. he might've learned the basics from her when he was little, but never used them until recently, when he's been trying to pick it back up in order to make her a gift. (there's probably a heartwarming story in there about a special scarf or something that she made him that he's trying to replicate for her.) he's been at it for literally months now because he keeps screwing up his math and Riddle has to help him fix it.

Ace doesn't do any needlecraft, and razzed Deuce about it for a while until he found out the reason he was so Determined is because it's for his mom (and also the heartwarming story about the special scarf or whatever). so then he felt kind of guilty, and since he'd rather die than admit it, resolved to just never mention it again. except Deuce is so hilariously inept that not making fun of him is really, really hard. so Ace is just sitting there having a personal crisis every time Deuce whips out his needles and adorable little yarn basket. his life is so difficult. :(

Cater bought an amigurumi kit once when they were The Thing on Magicam. he made a few hedgehogs, took pictures, then gave them away to his friends and hasn't thought about them since. (Riddle was so moved by the gift that he forgot to yell at the first-years for a whole day. his hedgehog has a place of honor on his desk.)

Leona has never touched a needle in his life, and would be insulted if you implied he might enjoy expending a small amount of energy over anything he doesn't have to.

Kalim has touched a needle, once, when he tried to help mend something. he was so atrocious at it that Jamil forbade him from ever touching one again. if he started knitting it would probably give Jamil heart problems.

Azul strikes me as being someone who always has to be doing something. but he also doesn't like the inefficiency of spending so much time and effort without much return (personal satisfaction doesn't count). so I think he doesn't really do any crafting outside of whatever's necessary for whatever bit he's running at the moment…though maybe there's a tasteful stitched sampler or two hanging on a wall in Mostro. just because.

Jade is a little more crafty (ho ho, puns) outside of Schemes. by which I mean he exclusively makes mushroom-related decor and insists on hanging it up in Mostro. (Azul keeps asking him to stop. Jade pretends not to hear.)

Floyd once knit most of a densely-cabled fisherman's sweater in half a day. he got within 200 stitches of finishing before he got bored and never got back to it.

Vil probably, like…spent a week making a pair of cute mitts or something, and was really proud of them! then Neige made the mistake of getting super excited and trying to bond over it, and inadvertently soured Vil on knitting forever.

Rook I genuinely believe is both capable of doing everything, and also actively involved in using those skills at any given time. he could make an offhand remark about how he's been needlefelting tiny petals to stitch together into an elaborate rose-themed bodysuit and I would just be like "yep, that tracks."

he could also mention that he just put the finishing touches on the statue of Neige made out of hair that he keeps in the Hey Arnold-style shrine in his closet, and I would still be like "yep, that tracks".

I don't think Idia knits, but he might have bit of theoretical interest in it because of the relationship between knitting and binary? he probably spent a while trying to figure out if he could somehow make a playable version of Doom on a sweater. (it's magic, so yes. he doesn't want to actually have to make the sweater though.)

Ortho once made a hat and some mittens for Idia. it might be cold when they finally go to the park. :)

Malleus has a tapestry that's been his quick breather project for the last 400 years. he was vexed when he ran out of a color that hasn't been produced since the plant the dye came from went extinct a century ago. >:( the new flosses just aren't the same.

Sebek has tried embroidery in order to feel closer to ~wakasama~ but he doesn't have the patience for it. he's trying, though! his daisies are barely lazy at all these days! (he would probably actually be really good at knitting, since a lot of it is just…following instructions and doing math. since his main point of reference right now is Lilia, he hasn't figured this out.)

Lilia knits poorly and with much gusto. gauge? never heard of her. tension? this is supposed to be a relaxing hobby! it's unclear if he knows how bad he is, or if he's deliberately trying to see how embarrassing he can get before the others stop wearing the things he makes them. (they never will.) either way, he's having fun!

Silver was a self-sufficient little homestead boy by the time he was twelve, so of course he knows all the fun things you can do with wool (fortunately he learned how to knit before Lilia had a chance to ruin him) (idk, a friendly squirrel taught him or something, he's a literal disney princess his life is like that). he has a unique talent for being able to sit there asleep and somehow still spin perfectly consistent yarn.

look, I just want Silver to use a spinning wheel, c'mon

Neige and Silver both make tiny sweaters for orphaned baby animals. Neige's are more skilled (they have colorwork and little seed buttons) but Silver's are softer, since they're made from the wool that his forest bunny friends gather for him and donate to the cause. (Ace heard him mention this once and had to go have another personal crisis over it.)

this also ties into another absolutely unfounded headcanon I have about Silver and Neige being friends with the same bluebird family that alternates island sides for breakfast and dinner. there isn't any more to it, I just think it'd be cute. 🐦

orphan baby animals aside, Neige absolutely 1000% knits and you'll never convince me otherwise. he made that sweater. he made Snick's scarf. if you spend too long around him he'll have already started making you a cardigan in your favorite color. the dwarves don't knit because they don't have to. (wait, no, Timmy probably does -- you never actually see him do it, but every once in a while there's a new aggressively cute potholder added to the collection. Toby has tried, but he is physically incapable of not dropping stitches everywhere and ending up with a sad little pile of yarn.)

Che'nya says he does yarn sculpture, but really he's just batting the yarn balls around and leaving them for someone else to clean up.

Rollo does enormous cross-stitch recreations of illuminated manuscripts on 60-count linen (over one, of course). he will lecture you for two hours on how much he does not enjoy doing it and how that makes him better than you.

Mickey doesn't (I SAID EVERYONE). I'm sure his girlfriend knits though.

Crowley enters stitching competitions at the local fair. his depictions of handsome-looking ravens in top hats do better than you'd think, but he still keeps losing to goddamn Ambrose with his perfect backs and railroaded stitches and no hoop marks and…

resisting the urge to say that Crewel does crewel. failing.

…okay, but look, he does fashion design in canon, it MAKES SENSE --

Trein is a Good Cat Owner, so (after carefully researching durable and pet-safe materials) he crochets little mice with catnip inside. he gets a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing them get torn to shreds. :)

Sam doesn't partake himself, but he does have weirdly intricate knowledge of every potential needlecrafting technique and the associated tools -- which he just so happens to have in stock now!

like Rook, I do believe that Sam just…knows everything, through his "friends" or otherwise. he could start spouting details about the historic production of goldwork thread, and as long as he then offers to sell something to us while shouting gratuitous English, it would feel perfectly in-character.

you wouldn't think Vargas would be into crafting, but he did spend a week painstakingly painting antlers onto a hoodie for his deer cosplay. magic? pah! he didn't get these muscles by NOT smearing craft-store fabric paint everywhere BY HAND.

(this is also why Crewel agreed to wear the…thing…that Vargas made for his turn at being camp monster. he actually spent time and effort on it and the whole idea was giving Crewel his own personal crisis.)

this got so far away from me, I am so, so sorry

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #there's probably some in there somewhere? i forget what has and hasn't gotten to eng yet #long post #...again i am so sorry #i THINK i got everyone. there's probably some major character i somehow managed to embarrassingly forget about. oh god #(the mirror is exempted on account of not having hands)#disclaimer that i try to keep up with canon but i do sometimes miss or forget things #so if something contradicts canon that's just me being a doofus #i mean this is 100% me just making things up anyway so take it as you will #i am not in a right state of mind right now

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mtkay13 · 1 year

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I say now is the time I start updating my tumblr gallery again... I've been slacking...

More TYK design studies! Here, specifically, an evolution of Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing throughout their lives, to see what stages they got through to reach who they are during book canon.

I headcanon ZZS as this little smug genius and tried to keep this unimpressed, self-satisfied smirk throughout, with I hope a noticeable shift for the last two.

5 y.o., still living at the Zhou estate, with his family. He's a bit of a weak child (pulled from ZZS saying he didn't have nearly as good a constitution as ZCL does), but quite smart, already with a knack for spying on people.

10 y.o. has joined Siji manor, proud and smug and feeling superior for having been chosen by QHZ and being hella good at what he does.

15 y.o. is now freshly appointed sect leader, and I think it's going well enough, that he's quite feeling himself there.

20 y.o., has now been working for HLY for a bit more than a year, roughly.

25 y.o., right after the ending of Qi Ye, right after the war, right after he pretty much got his very personal bad ending. I feel like he's quite numb, can only survive through floating above everything and just focus on work and some distracting, meaningless things.

29 y.o., TYK canon after unmasking.

---

With WKX I wanted to represent, without being too on the nose, the progressive loss of humanity.

5 y.o., still living with his Jianghu heroes parents. Quite a happy and playful child, more interested in having fun than studying. Probably a natural at many things, however, such as learning his father's sword techniques (unlike the arts of healing lessons that he probably didn't pay much attention to)

10 y.o., has been in the valley for a few months already, surviving.

18 y.o., is a servant for whom is currently the Ghost Valley Master.

21 y.o., is now the GVM himself, has successfully lead a coup against his own master and then won what was basically a battle royale for the throne.

26 y.o., is now a seasoned GVM, has been in this position for much longer than average, is working on his plan.

30 y.o., TYK canon.

For reasons, it's quite important to me to have this overview and to consider in detail each of their progression since I think it participates heavily into how I understand them as people. The followings were already posted in my previous post with all the design, but since it's thematically coherent I will add the families and some details about them:

The Wen family, especially the parents, were Jianghu heroes in the best wuxia tradition. Wen Ruyu had to look a like Wen Kexing, and Gu Miaomiao be this pure, strong, energetic heroïne. As mentioned above, I like child WKX to be a very fun and energetic child himself-- he likes the colours his mother wears, likes to run around and look at beautiful things. I found that the two buns were a cute addition to his design. He's about 3 y.o. on this illustration. The Zhou family is meant to look plain and normal, as ZZS himself-- little parenthesis: although I do like to draw ZZS as handsome, I think he isn't much more than that; I think that it's fine to consider that he looks rather plain, especially next to people like WKX or, obviously, JBY or YBY. Since ZZS seems to have a fascination with heroes in the book, I like to imagine that he was naturally the least heroic of the brotherhood; both his brother and sister being a better match than himself (although ultimately they are all fairly normal people). I liked to have his mom be the originator of his height (I think he should totally be the tallest of the brotherhood, btw).

That's it! Thank you for reading!

#tian ya ke #qi ye #wen kexing #zhou zishu #wenzhou #tyk #wen ruyu #gu miaomiao #design #character concept

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random-refuge · 1 year

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ROTTMNT Fic Recs part 2

Here is the follow up I promised to my first ROTTMNT fic recs post which you can find here where I list my recommended works with a completed status.

These are some of my recommendations for ongoing fics. Just another reminder that Leo and Donnie are my favs so I gravitate towards fics focusing on them more than the others.

Like Father Like Son by eternalglitch

I feel like this fic doesn’t even need an introduction. It’s the most popular ROTTMNT fic on AO3 right now with a ton of fan art and videos dedicated to it. But in case you haven’t heard of it basically Leo gets kidnapped by Draxum and forced to do his bidding and a lot of physical/ psychological abuse ensues while his brothers desperately try to find and save him.

A Twin Thing by minumi

This fic centers around the disaster twins and the special bond they have even though Donnie will say it’s impossible for them to have such a bond since they aren’t actually twins. Each chapter takes place in a different time in the boys’ lives so we get some turtle tot content. Has some lovely autistic Donnie moments though the author is clear they are drawing from their own experiences so it may not speak to everyone.

Separate Times by QueerBadBitch

When future Mikey opens a portal to the past, future Leo accidentally gets flung through it by an explosion while the 16 year old him ends up in the future. There is a lot of great angst, wonderful moments between the displaced Leos and their family from the past/ future plus some really heart wrenching disaster twin content. The author takes some liberties so it’s not 100% canon compliant. This is also the first fic to have gotten me curious about Leosagi as Usagi is future Leo’s husband, though he isn’t in the story too much. The author has some great side stories for the fic including how Leo and Usagi met.

A World of Samurais and Ninjas by Annonnie

This was the fic that made me get on board the Leosagi train. It’s an AU where Mikey accidentally transports Leo from the prison dimension to another universe occupied by a young Usagi (Miyamoto Usagi, not Yuichi). The interactions between Leo and Usagi are unbelievably cute, I love Usagi’s characterization as he is quite mature but also acts like a bit of an idiot when he’s in love. It also has some chapters focusing on the family grieving their loss and it’s very well done, especially Donnie who is going mildly crazy 😏

51st Day by frudence_the_loredaughter

Okay here is a Leosagi fic for my Yuichi Usagi lovers. This fic takes place after the second Season of Samurai Rabbit and after the events of the ROTTMNT movie. Usagi accidentally ends up in Leo’s world and they have to figure out a way to send him back home, though it’s also hinted that he may have been sent there for a reason. Has one of the cutest/ funniest meet cutes between our two idiots plus some very fun language barrier content as Yuichi speaks only Japanese while everyone in Leo’s family other than Splinter only speak English or ASL.

call me here (i will appear) by gayneku

An AU where Leo dies in the prison dimension and comes back as a ghost. Honestly I can’t say much else without spoiling it but it’s got some really wonderful angst and I especially like the characterization of Donnie grieving the loss of Leo. The author also has some wonderful additional content for the fic here

Fallout by GauntletKnight

SO MUCH ANGST! ALL OF THE ANGST! This is one of two post movie recovery fics I’m gonna recommend. It takes place during and directly after Leo gets pulled from the prison dimension. Each chapter is from the pov of a different brother. Draxum is in this one and he’s trying to be a good dad and has some nice scenes. Very little comfort in this fic, honestly it just keeps getting worse and I LOVE IT 😈

The Aftermath by Starrcrossrose

Another fic dealing with the aftermath of the movie. This one takes place about 2 months after the invasion and it’s just angst angst angst, horrible coping mechanisms, angst angst, Donnie being absolutely done with Leo’s bullshit, more angst AND OH GOD WHERE’S THE CONFORT IT JUST KEEPS GETTING WORSE and I love it! Make my boys suffer suffer suffer

Like take a look at the masterful disaster twin content this fic provides:

“He felt like his heart was tearing, and even deeper, he felt something else breaking apart. Like someone had gripped the very essence of his being and was determined to destroy it. He’d felt his brother - his twin - leave the earth, and knew without a doubt that when and if he died, he’d feel that too.”

Never Do That Again by DiscowingSuit

This one has Leo stuck in a time loop for the events of the movie where he has the pleasure of getting killed over and over and over again! Very little comfort in this fic so far, mostly just hurt and angst. Trigger warnings for somewhat graphic depictions of violence and dead bodies.

I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good by Dandy

This fic has just started but the premise has me hooked. A yokai rips Leo’s soul from his body and he has to find a way to undo it. His brothers don’t know magic is at play so he’s desperately trying to communicate with them in ghostly form while they grieve over his unresponsive body. Has some great Donnie vs Raph content I haven’t seen much of in the fandom.

I’m very angry, actually by Cowboy0505

I’m recommending this fic because I love the concept and really want to see more like it. In this fic the purple dragon kidnap Donnie’s brothers in hopes of using them in exchange for his tech. It’s in it’s early stages as the chapters are quite short but so far I’m enjoying it.

Fair warning that this fic only updates every 2-3 months but omg is it good. Leo’s sword gets shattered while he is in the process of teleporting which results in him being unable to reform. I don’t want to say much else cause I don’t want to spoil it but it has some fantastic angst and plays out like an adventure story once it really gets going. You’ll also notice that ParvumAutomaton is one of the writers and if you liked either of the fics by them that I recommended in my original post then I guarantee this one won’t disappoint.

Picking up the Pieces by Andromedabrown, GalacticDreamer, ParvumAutomaton

Very Thoughtful by theashemarie

This is a wonderful fic that explores Donnie’s low-empathy written by an author who is autistic and has low empathy. It’s a beautiful character study and I love it so much. So far all the chapters take place when the boys are young so it has some super cute turtle tot content and the most recent chapter has Donnie meeting April for the first time.

warmly in the dark by bobtheacorn

A disaster twins centric fic that just makes me go

Just some unbelievably heart-warming content. Donnie’s autistic characteristics are heavily featured and chapter 3 is especially hilarious, feeling very much like it could be an actual episode of the series.

One Two Three (Four) by CringePhase

Okay, fair warning that this fic hasn’t updated since September and prior to that it hadn’t updated since 2020 so I’m not certain if it’s abandoned or if the author is just slower to update. This fic features Donnie being kidnapped and brainwashed by Draxum to believe Draxum is his dad and he cannot remember his brothers. Despite the gloomy premise it has some really hilarious great dialogue that feels very in character, some wonderful moments between Donnie and his other 3 brothers including a whole chapter dedicated to Mikey and Donnie as well as the disaster twins going head to head in a fight (Leo’s fucking pissed y’all). It also features Huginn and Muninn quite heavily and OMG WHY DO AUTHORS NOT INCLUDE THESE TWO IN MORE FICS THEY ARE JUST THE BEST!

Anyway that’s all for now. I’ll edit this post to @ all the fanfic authors I mentioned who have tumblr accounts later.

@wicked-elfie @dandylovesturtles

#rottmnt #leosagi #disaster twins #rottmnt disaster twins #rottmnt fic rec #leochi #miyamoto usagi #samurai rabbit #yuichi usagi

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wrenwreakinghavoc · 4 months

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I would love to hear your thoughts on Nosk if you ever got the time to erite about it. Your artwork of it was a delight; I loved Ghost being lit up in orange. 10/10 lighting!

First of all - THANK YOU SM FOR THE COMPLIMENTS!! I haven't tried shading like this in. Months, like I said

Second of all

WELCOME TO MY PRESENTATION

(Also thanks for the excuse to draw my Vessel sona)

Don't get me wrong I don't hate Nosk, they're one of my favorite characters in Hollow Knight and media in general. I absolutely adore the concept behind them and the SUSPENSE through those tunnels leading to the big reveal still remains one of my favorite scenes to come back to in HK. The design and concept behind them is very neat and the overall feeling of that first time you enter the arena and see that cutscene is just. Wonderful.

That said, my issues are all about the actual fight. Specifically the attacks.

Nosk has arguably one of the most interesting buildups to a fight in HK, and is in one of the most creepy areas of the game, considering the arena and atmosphere of the fight too, I was expecting this to be a hard boss. I was expecting really difficult and potentially creepy attacks. The OST is one of the most anxiety inducing tracks in the game. Yet the entire fight just amounts to them.. running around? Occasionally jumping onto the ceiling? It feels like a rip off.

Nosk literally only has three attacks and they're all easy to dodge/cheese, if they were just small parts of the fight, it'd be fine, but instead 50% of the fight is just Nosk running across the arena, which is easy to dodge with or without the use of hiding under the platform(still one of the funniest ways to cheese a fight honestly).

Nosk has a bunch of hanging CORPSES in their den, so I thought that maybe they'd have a close up attack where if you got too close it'd trigger them swiping close range, kind of like this:

Extremely low budget explanation but STILL

The attack with screaming and the infection getting everywhere? NICE! Nosk on the ceiling shooting orange juice at you? GREAT! But the fact those are basically the only two good attacks in this fight with THREE really just. It weighs it down for me man.

By this point in the game(I mean I had to Google where Nosk was since I only saw art of them on my first playthrough since they're hidden), plenty of bosses had phases, too. I feel like the fight could've easily been more anxiety inducing if they had a few phases.

For example:

Phase one - same as current fight + close range attack

Phase two - running attack happens less, potential variations of other attacks, speed up things a bit

Phase three - more orange juice, maybe webs(since that's how the other creatures in the background appear to be captured), could potentially do some jumping version of the running attack(like jumping around the arena aggressively making them harder to do damage to without being hit)?

I'm obviously not a game designer, but I do like rambling about things and potential ideas that could happen to make things better.

The Nosk fight on its own isn't even terrible, it's just the fact that it doesn't live up to the buildup of the way to the fight and the cutscene in the beginning, let alone the absolute panic the OST makes me feel.

Oh and don't even get me STARTED on Winged Nosk. HOW DO YOU MAKE SOMETHING LESS TERRIFYING BY ADDING WINGS IM IN GENUINE SHOCK

I know I probably repeated myself a lot and this is very scattered, but I hope that you somehow enjoyed seeing me ramble aggressively about a fight in a silly bug game that I think has issues anyway.

In conclusion Nosk has an amazing concept, design, OST, atmosphere, and some alright attacks, but really could've benefitted from some more attacks/phases.

I wrote more about this fight than I did for my English essay on Thursday so I don't know what that says about me but do with that what you will

#hollow knight #hk #nosk hk #hk nosk #man i love text walls have fun reading this #ask

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cynthiaandsamus · 2 days

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Just gonna dump some musings about my very very old edgy teenager Danny Phantom OC to document him for no one really but myself.

David Masters, recently adopted son of Vlad Masters transfers into Danny's school with a Future Trunks-ass haircut and fashion sense that screams that he thinks the early 2000s Celtic Cross emo girl is the greatest thing ever. His ghost alter-ego is Shadow Specter, turning his hair black with red accents and curling both sides of his haircut into spiky C-shape with one side flipping up and the other side flipping in the same direction like a lopsided super saiyan and a sort of half-cape that ends around his upper back. Despite being Vlad's adopted son the two don't like each other very much, David being a hollow replacement for Danny and he knows it, making for a strained relationship to say the least despite him generally doing what Vlad tells him to.

Power-wise he's basically a midpoint between Danny and Vlad, basically given a few months of intensive beatings labeled as training by Vlad, the 'showing the ropes' he offered Danny on their first meeting allowed him to get the hang of his powers a lot faster than Danny but he lacks the practical experience and versatility Danny has and has a penchant for getting easily angered and frustrated during fights as opposed to Danny's dry quipping. His signature ability is the power to manifest an ectoplasm sword similar to Fright Knight's but designed by an emo teenager with curves bent into a gentle S shape and similarly curved handles that make it look flame-like despite being solid. His first encounter with Danny goes pretty well and he's able to outmatch him at every step but gets absolutely bodied by the Ghostly Wail which ends the fight in a draw since David flees and Danny is too exhausted to give chase. David essentially flies straight to Vlad and is like "Why the FUCK didn't you tell me he could do that!?" and Vlad's very petty about it saying that Shadow Specter is supposed to be better than Danny in every way and doesn't need the handicap of a full briefing which basically puts some serious tension in their relationship right off the bat.

Throughout various skirmishes Danny slowly catches on to his tricks and is able to exploit his emotional vulnerabilities, though brief flashes show Shadow Specter's eyes glowing red when he becomes really angry, leading to a rage mode that makes him a good deal stronger at the cost of what scant rationality he has, even increasing the size of his muscles and ectoplasm blasts when he really gets going. David knows he's only a placeholder until Vlad can either convert Danny or perfect his cloning technology and his frustration, ruthlessness and instability grows. He hasn't had the time to mature or the support network Danny has and despite being technically stronger he's always just coming up short. This frustration peaks during one of his encounters with Danny after Danny's figured out how to use his ice powers to create makeshift weapons to block his sword and he goes absolutely ballistic eyes turning red as he slashes his sword and ends up ripping a hole to the Ghost Zone, sucking him and Danny inside.

Exhausted from the fight, the two realize they have no idea what part of the ghost zone their in or how to get back to either of the two portals they know of. During this David de-ghosts and lets Danny see he's been one of his classmates all along, not someone he really had any meaningful interactions with but it helps hit home that he's a kid just like him. With some time to reflect, Danny tells David that his voice changed recently and that's why he can use the Ghostly Wail. He says there's been a lot of changes going on with both of them lately (simultaneously solidifying the ghost/puberty metaphor) and that eventually these changes will stop and they'll get used to them, but that doesn't mean that how they handle them doesn't matter. He's noticed his own powers growing in a direction Vlad or his future self could never have predicted because he lived through the pain and angst of being a teenager, and how David's have been growing in response to his anger in frustration, making him feel good and strong when he's angry and vengeful. Danny says he doesn't want to be someone like Vlad, someone buried in revenge and obsession, he doesn't want to live in somewhere like the Ghost Zone, a literal dimension of grudges and regrets, and he doesn't think David should either. He reaches a hand out to David and offers to help him break away from Vlad and his anger so they can both work through these changes together.

David stares at Danny's hand in the silence of the Ghost Zone for what seems like forever, transforming into Shadow Specter one more time and slashing at Danny, coming inches from his neck and ripping open another hole back into the real world. Fleeing from the blow, Danny escapes back to his hometown and looks back to see Shadow Specter standing on the other side of the closing rift in the Ghost Zone with tears in his eyes, believing he's too far gone and resigning himself to the realm of grudges and regrets he's created.

#ooc #Danny Phantom #I made this guy when I was like 15 so yeah he's a Gary Stu but oh well

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bodycountgame · 2 years

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i know i’ve not been around a lot this year and i probably should have made a post like this sooner, but to be honest i’ve not been entirely sure what to say. i recognise that it’s been super uncool of me to just ghost and i am really sorry about that.

in general, i’m trying to get better at sharing less of myself and my personal life with strangers online and as a result i’ve spent literally months agonising over how i can explain in a compelling and justifiable way why i’m not around without actually sharing specifics. basically, i’ve been drawing a total blank. being a person on the internet is hard because as much as i rationally know that i don’t need to provide any kind of explanation for my absence, i find it hard to actually take my own advice on that front.

anyway, without any more ramble, i just want to say outright that i’m not currently around. i’m posting this at the end of august 2022 and i would say that you’re unlikely to hear from me in any meaningful way or get any new content for at least the next six months. that said, i do want to emphasise that i am fine and you don’t need to worry about my health or wellbeing etc - i don’t want to cause alarm! i am just indisposed.

i know a lot of people probably aren’t going to be thrilled by this update (or lack thereof). i had really hoped that i would have released at least chapter four by now, but please know that nobody is more disappointed by my lack of progress here than i am. it just is what it is, yknow?

i accidentally unshared my patreon page today (oops) because i assumed that it would stay up til the end of the month (spoiler alert: it didn’t) but if anyone who supported me there has found themselves without access to the itch.io pages that you had before then feel free to let me know and i’ll make sure that you do!

love you all, thanks for being here, sorry for being weird and vague and hopefully speak to you all soon,

nell xoxoxo

#update #important information

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regallibellbright · 6 months

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Didn't realize you were a ghost trick fan (I played it a month ago and finished it in 3 days of doing nothing but playing it it's one of my favourite games now)

Now we must discuss

My friend who’s currently playing it (and just met Jowd) follows me so I don’t want to get into TOO many details, but:

Missile. Best boy, or bestest boy?

There was actually a project spun off from the Ace Attorney fan musical like, a decade ago to try and do a Ghost Trick musical in the same style. Don’t think it ever got finished - I believe there was trouble getting enough singers - but I remember I wrote lyrics for a song for it before having a health crisis that meant I dropped the project suddenly. (This was basically the story of my 20s.) It was a fun time.

So yeah, love that game. Of the two Standalone Cult Classic DS Games About Death With Quirky But Well-Utilized Mechanics Using DS Gimmicks, Spiky-Haired Amnesiac Protagonists, And Themes About How We Relate To Other People, (and HELLA spoilers with a massive eleventh-hour plot twist or two that completely recontextualize the game on replay, which I COULD draw deeper comparisons on but will not because the aforementioned spoiler thing.) TWEWY’s always been the one that consumed me more, but Ghost Trick is still one of my absolute favorites and I recommend it to literally everyone. It’s funny, it’s clever, it’s got an extremely cute pomeranian, it’s a GREAT mystery that holds up on replay, the soundtrack is fantastic, and the animation…

Cabanela is the MOST ridiculous character but trust me, there are more, and even more understated characters’ animations are top-notch. (Friend has not yet reached The Most Giffable Part, or I’d use it.)

#ghost trick #gifs #asks #it’s hard to talk about Ghost Trick because we as a fandom agree Not To Spoil Ghost Trick #but man I love Ghost Trick and I am SO GLAD it just got a Switch port.#* TWEWY has a sequel now and if you’d asked me ten years ago which one would lend itself better I would have said Ghost Trick #but like that does not change the fact to me that TWEWY is essentially a standalone game that got a sequel almost 15 years later #I happen to like Neo and the characters and playing in that sandbox but it wasn’t necessary to me you know?#anyway. loving the experience of playing the game with one friend who likewise Knows #and two friends who are wondering what the HELL is up with that desk lamp while we just smile knowingly. Don’t worry about it! :)

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uva-academy-vio · 5 months

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redoing my pinned! anyways,

hello rotomblr! my name is Vio Alberich! you can just call me vio or skeleguy lmao ^_^ vii is the nickname that my family and my very close friends call me, so i'm uncomfortable when anyone outside of them calls me that,,

i'm a student at the uva academy in paldea! don't ask me how i got in because i dont know either lmao

i'm 15 years old, and i'm gay, demi, and trans! my pronouns are he/him!!

i draw sometimes! i'll usually draw for other people though.

i have a cousin named jasper! she's a gym leader in galar, but only in the minor division ^^

i'm known as the uva academy's ghost whisperer!! i can understand ghost-type pokemon whenever they talk! it has its downsides though..

my battling team consists of:

Ray the Quaquaval [he/him] !! my first partner pokemon !!! he's mighty strong and confident too! he helps me with my self-esteem AND my acting skills :] aqua step and liquidation are his specialties !!

Ian the Kilowattrel [he/him]! my other bird buddy! he's silly but really tough, acting as a big brother to my team [and to me] !! hurricane and volt switch are what he does best!! :D

Sympthesis the Tsareena [she/they] !! being my only grass-type pokemon, she may have several type disadvantages, but she's very capable of striking your team down with a trop kick!! >:D

Riri the Azumarill [he/it]!!! he may be small, but he packs a punch !! his dragon tera type makes him all spiky and stuff!! he's tired a lot, but he's still happy inside!! hydro pump and play rough'll rattle you to the very core !!

Rick Blades the Ceruledge! [he/him]!!! my ace pokemon AND my good friend !! i'm able to talk to him since i'm able to talk to ghost-types! he's somewhat serious, but just likes making friends ^_^ bitter blade's his special talent, slashing through opponents and stealing their hp !!!!

i also have my ride pokemon, Maurice the Miraidon Cyclizar! [he/they/it] he's this purple colour due to being attacked by a grafaiai a few months back when i first joined uva. a seperate incident left him unable to battle but he's still a ride mon AND one of my best friends :DDD

MY OTHER POKEMON !!!

Cotton Candy the [shiny!!] Sylveon [he/they]!! a good buddy of mine that i found in a tera-ice raid den!!! his tera type makes his ribbons look like a glaceon's, and his pixilate ability makes moves like hyper voice and tera blast pack an extra punch !! >:]]

Wysteria the [shiny!!!] Alcremie [she/he]!! she was a gift from my cousin's partner for delibird day, and her and i have been friends ever since! her ribbon sweet and acromatic creme colours match my own colour scheme quite perfectly!!! moves like dazzling gleam and alluring voice are what she does best!! ^_^

Please, do NOT talk to me about Area Zero. I've never been there. I know nothing about it. TOTALLY!!

//ooc info under the cut

//this is an unreality/pokemon irl blog where i pretend that pokemon are real. if you're triggered by any of that, i suggest not interacting.

hi! my name's hugh! i use he/him and i'm the only mod for this blog, and my main is @shingetsu-online ! vio and i are both minors, so please so nsfw asks or interactions. no pro/comshippers either.

homophobes/racists/terfs/transphobes/sexists/mysoginists/other basic dni criteria, please do NOT interact.

also HUGE spoilers for pokemon s/v (but mostly violet) as well as sw/sh (but mostly shield) as well as other pokemon games.

content/trigger warning for self harm/eating disorders/abuse/gender dysphoria and mentions of the like.

thank you for reading!! vio's one of my few characters that i've actually spent a long time [almost a year. holy shit] developing/writing so i'm glad that i get to post him online and stuff!! again, thanks ^_^

#vio.txt #vio.pin #rotomblr #pokemon irl #pokeblogging #real pokemon #pkmn irl

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apolloknightly · 2 months

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I really need to draw Nevermore bansnabs

Alright

So Andrew (i.e Ikaros i.e Dan Middlebrook, not to be confused with spooky future Dan), does get an enemy.

A woman named Rose, you'd expect her to be like Vlad, but she's fully human. She has a son, well, two sons and a daughter. Daughter finished college along with Son, youngest son still working on it, she doesn't like him however.

But, she also hates the local scientist that took up the Ghost studies of Ectobiology, thanking for the inspiration of the Fentons.

Now, Trayson, has two step sons who are related. One being Dan (Andrew) and his little brother Xavier (first name Kaspar! Ironic ain't it?). Coincidentally, Xavier has a best friend that goes by the name of Isaac. Who.... May have gone missing for a month.

Now we put in Rose again, a wealthy woman with a husband who isn't fond of her by the way (Rose lives to her name, pretty delicate flower with thorns). She took Isaac, and was able to force recreate the halfa. Against his will, traumatized him, forced him to be evil.

Andrew/Ikaros was 23 when he turned ghost

Isaac/Nevermore became a ghost a few months after Rose found out about Andrew. Isaac was 20/21 at that time.

Good news, after a year of being an evil little ghost that looked evil and shit, Ikaros found out Nevermore was actually Isaac.

Also pardon me for having this all over the place, I was going in a good direction with this but ended up confusing myself and lost track.

Other than that, there had been times when Phantom and Nevermore had fought. Phantom wins, Nevermore is upset he failed his mission, and quickly leaves.

Nevermore is just a pawn. He's basically Dani. Minus the cloning is what I'm getting at really.

If you have questions ask me!! I'll be talking about Andrew/Ikaros later today c:

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #original characters #alternate universe for characters #isaac and andrew along with xavier and trayson were ocs #before i made this universe btw

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adanaac · 10 months

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Could I ask about your OC's? Specifically Ophicucus and Tsuru, I love how majestic Ophi is drawn and Tsuru fascinates me both with the concept and also how lovely you have illustrated him.

I hope you are well, and thank you again for helping me with my questions o7.

Sincerely HMAD.

oh good i get to talk about my son!!

my blorbo my beloved my babygirl he means everything to me

i made him in 2017 so hes sort of grown up with me (or i've grown up and realised things about him that i couldn't have when i was younger. i have so many complicated feelings abt this that i made a short comic about it last year)

to preface this im not a great writer dont expect good writing from me lol all i have is my personal experience and stealing tropes from stories i like

(got a lot to say so its all going under the cut. also a lot of death mention)

So. who is this dude

Tsuru (not his real name in-story, i havent come up with one im happy with), 18 years old, a ghost

he has a little sister, Ori, 15, who was meant to be my sona but then i just drew him more and like drawing him more anyway

first 2 drawings i ever did of him. he was based off natori natsume yuujinchou at this point, i dont remember why or if i even liked natori that much, but i remember distinctly hes based off him

u may have noticed he sort of looks older in my older art. this is because first of all art style drift lol but also as ive gotten older ive figured out that 18 isnt actually that old.

theres also a black haired version of him (two actually) its basically something like this ⬇️

important to know that everything about this dude is a convoluted metaphor

i lovingly summarize white tsuru as "people pleaser" and black tsuru as "nihilist prick" in my head and those are the things consistent throughout all the AU versions of him

(important differences only to me) alive tsuru doesnt act like black tsuru at all thats just his warped self perception (he also doesnt act exactly like white tsuru either)

also alive tsuru has black eyes and the shortest hair, black tsuru has blue eyes and slightly longer hair (also white tsuru is slightly taller than both of them)

if they all existed at the same time they would hate each other on sight but fortunately (unfortunately?) he is just 1 dude with issues

the general vibe is white tsuru is the "yippee floaty trickster" brand of ghost and black tsuru is the sort of ghost in horror media that stands just outside your field of view in the darkness dripping with blood

for the longest time only white haired tsuru was a "character", "black haired tsuru" existed just as his corpse at most, a footnote

but over the past 2 years ive figured that hes actually really fun to draw and play with, and in a different way than white tsuru

(wait fuck isnt this just abe trio. i do always almost accidentally draw tsuru when im trying to draw haruaki.... fuck.....)

(ive had tsuru for long enough that i just keep tacking details from my fav characters onto him.....)

halls smp

so ive been on this minecraft roleplay server called halls smp with other artists for the past 2 years, theres a new season of it every few months with a different theme each time to keep things fresh and ive just been making AU versions of tsuru for it so ive had a lot of opportunity to think about him

season 1 - halloween - jiangshi tsuru

this one is almost entirely unchanged from his base characterization because i didnt want to rp too much and also didnt know there would be future seasons at this point (also basically after the first day i gave up on being called "tsuru" bc its too hard to pronounce and everyone called me canada anyway)

same basic story, guy dies and theres now a white haired version of him (actually this is the same for all the AUs). in fact im pretty sure the black haired version of this one is exactly base alivetsuru. basically what ive been interested in exploring is different kinds of death, the events leading up to it, and what kind of person he becomes afterwards (but also in equal amounts im interested in making fun designs and playing minecraft and fucking around)

(this feels like the start of the beginners guide...)

i associate him with doves and at the time, tarot card 18: the moon, but in retrospect i now think he's card 0: the fool.

season 2 - winter - ishmael

guy who died at sea and eaten by a interdimensional whale and got isekaied. loosely conceptually based off moby dick, although i havent actually read it LOL but i did spend a week reading up on drowning and hypothermia

strangely, his death didnt create a white haired version of him, perhaps because he didnt have anything in life to give up his identity and replace it with. (and also remember the hair color doesnt actually mean dead/alive)

im only calling him ishmael now in retrospect, at the time he was just tsuru/canada

while designing him i had the biggest crisis bc i didnt want him to look to much like this old old oc i had (pic 1) but then i sucked it up and went with it anyway

i never got around to drawing it but his fingers are black from frostbite thats why he wears gloves all the time.

hes one of my favorite iterations of tsuru he looks so mad or upset all the time it makes me want to tease him, and also i think the grey skin and eyebags are very cute

i associate him with whales and tarot card 18: the moon

season 3 - golden grove - fox tsuru

honestly i think this is my favorite design of him i kinda popped off. i think im just a lot more comfortable working with warm colors. and also i associate white tsuru with foxes anyway (black tsuru is totally a catboy btw) (why is he not associated with cranes if his name is tsuru you ask?? bc cranes are hard to draw next question. he did start out based off cranes tbf, thats where the white hair and the tallness comes from)

dead fox possessing his dead human friend's body (although thats only the most literal interpretation of events; in all these iterations there's only ever been 1 person) the white tsurus are mostly interested in "moving on", whatever that means to each of them

btw my banner on this blog is him

hes sort of a set with s2 tsuru to me, mostly bc theyre the ideals that "white tsuru" and "black tsuru" hold taken to the extremes, and also theyre on opposite ends of the "hates people hates talking" and "loves to talk and mess with people" scale

anyway. hes tarot card 10: wheel of fortune to me

season 4 - wild west - mirage

the desert dragon, mirage. this is the season i started giving them actual names that arent "tsuru" and putting actual thought into the story lol previously it was just vibes-based character design. i have a short thing written about him thats meant to be the script for a comic, but i never got around to drawing it.

a sandworm-esque dragon that got tired of being a dragon and took up a passing witch's offer to give him a human form. this is all a metaphor i think. he has longer hair bc i wanted to spice things up a little

(also i consider this a form of death bc he left behind a giant sandworm/dragon skeleton somewhere in the desert)

the mirage-dragon thing comes from the shen 蜃 (which is used in the chinese word for mirage, 海市蜃楼 haishi shenlou, literally translating to "ocean city and shen's castle"). it's a clam-like dragon that produces foam that creates mirages over the ocean.

if u read "even if you slit my mouth", this is what the "shinkiro" or "shin" in recent chapters is. (i had one of those "smug because i already know all about the mythological creature a story is referencing" moments, which i also had with the four gods in yohaji bc i used to translate a game that mentioned them too)

isnt it romantic in a way? that the two places mirages are most known for happening are the ocean and the desert.

i dont have too much art of him because around this time i was uhhh (checks calendar) got back into yohaji and got consumed by it for a couple months lol (can u even blame me. it was july to september that was when like chapter 91 came out lol)

an earlier version of his design that i didnt end up using but i still really like this art

hes tarot card 9: the hermit to me

season 5 - fairytales/medieval - ophiuchus

NO FUCKING WAY YOURE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS for this one i actually ironed out what kind of people the black haired and white haired versions of him are. and also specifically this one isnt black tsuru but alive tsuru

i have a short poem thing about him, to summarize its like so many other fairytales about grateful animals granting their saviors something, but it doesnt end well for anyone

hes based off ophiuchus and asclepius of course, but also a lot of other snake stories in general, like the lindwurm and baishezhuan

to reiterate, for none of these stories do i consider there to ever actually have been 2 separate people, its always just 1 fucked up guy

i also sort of consider him to be a set with mirage, for both being serpents, and also for being "black tsuru whose personality is like white tsuru" and "white tsuru whose personality is like black tsuru", thereby codifying for myself that to him, someone who's stuck in his own head a lot, what matters most to him is his ideals, what all his actions are in pursuit of

he's tarot card 12: the hanged man to me

bonus: dnd character - alba

i also have a version of him i play for dnd, named alba to match with my party who all have color themed names. a halfling ranger who's very small and very loud. except he has amnesia and cant remember anything from before he was 12 (hes around 18 now according to him), including that he's actually a changeling who just transformed into a halfling to seem older than he is to work at a bar and nearly died in a bar fight.

(if you spend as much time fretting over semantics as me, you may note that changelings are medium sized and cannot transform into halflings which are small sized, for which my explanation is that he's been in halfling form since he was a kid, and after the amnesia he thought he actually was a halfling. this is also why his hair is white btw bc changelings have white hair. pre-amnesia in his "actual" halfling transformation he had black hair. i care too much about semantics but hey isnt dnd the semantics game anyway?)

anyway congrats alba for being the only version of tsuru that hasn't outright "died"!! if only because dnd has actual rules and i can't pull my usual death-ghost nonsense as easily!!!

hes very ship of theseus to me, all versions of him are. what makes up a person? what defines them? is it their face, their appearance, their name? their personality, their memories, their ideals? if you slowly replace each of those, one at a time, with a copy thats very similar to the original, at what point are you a different person?

as thanks for reading all of this i'll reveal what some of the metaphors are, the core of who tsuru, as a character, is to me. maybe this is fairly obvious, but all the death and personality weirdness stuff is a convoluted metaphor for depression and autism, as well as the experience of reading the things you've written years ago, seeing old photos and others talking about who you were years ago and finding that person wholly unfamiliar, that you understand the thought process of that person no more than you would a stranger's, as a result of having taken apart your identity and replaced it piece by piece with things from people you like more than yourself.

im always scared of scrutinizing tsuru too hard because he's just a weird reflection of myself, and i think i'll only be able to write a version of him thats more of a "whole person" once i figure that out for myself. the only way you see your own reflection is through a mirror after all, a flattened 2D surface.

haha this got kinda weird and depressing and personal at the end (mostly bc ive been writing this in the middle of the night, its now 4am)

after seeing my soul laid bare like this, if theres one takeaway, i think its pretty obvious why i'm so enamored by the parts of yohaji that i talk about often (huh wasnt this a post about my oc why did it become about yohaji)

oh yeah i just realised u probably also wanted to hear more about my yohaji version of tsuru specifically. honestly theres not really more to it i just like drawing him in situations. like of course the same themes apply but i just like drawing this dude thats 90% the reason hes my sona. like heres a pokemon au of him i drew recently bc i wanted to draw them as kids and also as pokemon gijinkas

anyway thats all. not really bc i could go on and on about him but this is way too long and also way too personal at this point. i think about him a disproportionate amount, i only have 2 other ocs i remotely care about and the extent of my thoughts for those guys is "i think hes fun 👍"

this has probably also been like, the 3rd most comprehensive description of tsuru that ive made, 1st being the thoughts in my head and 2nd being the past 5 years worth of DMs with my friend who i talk about tsuru with

(why was this sort of structured like the beginners guide. if youve seen the beginners guide tell me if im right or delusional. if u havent, go watch a playthrough of it, have an existential crisis, and then afterwards tell me)

#canada art #canada ocs #this hit the 30 image per post limit lmaoo

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