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otaku553 · 5 months

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Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

#one piece #spy x family crossover #sabo #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #crossover #I have so many ideas for this au #I’ll probably write like a drabble series for it #maybe. if I get around to it #extra things:#Loid and sabo get paired on a nonzero number of missions as siblings #they are only 6 years apart in age and they’re both blond so WISE is like.. ‘it’s free real estate’#every time this happens sabo finds a way to sneak into conversations that they’re actually cousins instead #this annoys loid a LOT because he thinks sabo can’t keep a cover to save his life. sabo is aware but he only has 2 brothers #and even in disguise he refuses to let someone else take ace and luffy’s place #ace’s codename within Garden is either ‘flame lily’ or ‘pyracantha’#the latter being another name for the firethorn plant #yor has only heard of him in passing and has not met him in person before. but she knows that she is sent whenever he blunders and lets #someone see his face #Luffy is kind of just chilling! he takes a lot of part time jobs everywhere #to the point that loid is briefly worried that he’s a tail or stalker or something since he keeps seeing luffy around #Anya really loves playing with Luffy though because luffy has such vivid thoughts of the ocean and being a pirate #ok that’s it for now #I am very. brainrotting

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alllgator-blood · 16 days

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I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

#cotl #cult of the lamb #famous prophets au #alternate universe #shamura #heket #kallamar #narinder #the one who waits #leshy #comic #violence tw #blood tw

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viennakarma · 3 months

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Alonso Shenanigans

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Mamá has business to attend, and Fernando is left to watch his son and get a hold of his whereabouts.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: female reader, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, dad!Nando, silly little slice of life, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Another bite sized fluffy Nando fic, because I think about that one thing he said about finding happiness in becoming a father at least four times a week. Comments and feedback are appreciated xx

“Are you sure, love?” You asked again, nervous, watching as Fernando carried Alejandro attached to his hip.

“Yes, I’m sure, will you be back later today?” Fernando asked, as Ale played with his father’s hair, mumbling a little lullabye.

“Yes, in around three hours,” you said, kissing the top of Ale’s head, then pecking Fernando’s lips, “I’m really sorry, this meeting came out of nowhere, I promise I’ll make it up to you when-”

“Amor, it’s ok,” Fernando interrupted, “Go, we’ll behave and wait for you.”

It was just media day, but unfortunately a last minute meeting at your company needed to happen, and you’d have to leave your husband and kid alone in the paddock so you could go back to the hotel to attend the meeting online.

“Love you two to the moon and back!” You said, scurrying off.

“Mamá!” Alejandro asked, suddenly noticing his mother’s absence, and getting fussy.

“Mamá had to work, we’re going to have a lot of fun together today!” Fernando said, putting him on the floor, and holding his hand.

He took Alejandro all around, when he went to talk with the mechanics about the last update to his car, when he went to take a few pictures, recording a few marketing stuff, here and there. Everyone knew Alejandro as “Little Alonso”, his tiny feet padding around, his head full of disheveled brown wavy hair, and eyes that were pretty much the same as his father. He was always around, pointing at his dad’s car, muttering gibberish half in spanish and half in english, he also liked walking to the engineers pulling on their shirts to get their attention so he could ask for a headphone.

At the age of four and a half, Alejandro was a known face around the paddocks, always asking questions and waiting to know about everyone’s business.

“Papá, I’m hungry!” Alejandro patted his own belly, which made his dad chuckle.

“Ok, we’re getting food, campeoncito,” Fernando muttered, leading his son to his room. Inside, he rummaged through all his bags, searching for his snacks and juice bottle.

He ended up sitting beside Alejandro in the cafeteria, the little boy munching in a pot of cut fruits, a bag of chips, and a mango juice. Alejandro talked about everything, asking about the people and the colors, and why everything was where it was.

Eventually, Fernando had a meeting, so he set a little playing mat to Alejandro on the floor of the meeting room, where he put his son’s toys, paper and crayons.

“Papá, yo quiero inside your car!” Ale asked, as Fernando placed him on the little mat.

“I’ll take you to sit in my car as soon as we finish here, yes? Just sit tight and I’ll be really fast. Do you want to play with your toys, or paint a little? Come on,” Fernando took a crayon and started drawing, looking over his shoulder to see his engineers and strategists getting inside, sitting down, opening their laptops and notes. Nobody batted an eye to Fernando kneeling on the floor, convincing his kid to sit quietly. Everyone was used to the Alonsos’ shenanigans.

Finally, after making sure Alejandro was still on the mat, under his sight, Fernando went on and started the meeting.

It took something between 20 and 30 minutes until it was over, and when Fernando went to pick Alejandro, he noticed his little boy wasn’t there anymore, and the door was slightly ajar. Muttering every curse word he could think of, he bolted outside. Alejandro had become a little menace in escaping rooms now that he was tall enough to tiptoe and reach a door handle.

“Have you seen Alejandro?” He stopped a couple of the staff in the hall to ask. They just shook their heads. He went to the garage, and stopped the whole team of mechanics, his heart beating faster than it did when racing, “Have you guys seen Alejandro?”

“He walked past with Lance a few minutes ago,” Someone said, pointing outside. Fernando breathed again, ok, at least he wasn’t alone, roaming around and in danger.

Striding forward, Fernando kept looking for his teammate and his son, and eventually ended up in Ferrari. He walked inside to ask Carlos if he had seen the little boy, but he stopped short when he noticed a tiny hand print made with what looked like grease on the livery of the 55 Ferrari, and the letters “ALE” written sloppily with the very same black grease.

“Oh, mierda,” he whispered. Carlos noticed him, walking up to Fernando with a smile.

“Ale was just here with Lance, we talked for a couple of seconds, and when we looked, he had his hand printed on the car,” Carlos explained, as Fernando winced.

“Lo siento, Carlos. Do you know where they might have gone?” He asked.

“Well, Lance said he was going to wash Ale’s hands. So, back to Aston Martin, maybe?” Carlos shrugged.

Fernando went back to his garage, looking for Lance and Alejandro. Finally, he found Lance using a cloth to dry his hands. He smiled and waved at Fernando, who quickly went up to him.

“Is Alejandro with you?” Fernando asked.

“Oh, he saw George walking by, ran up to him and they both bolted together. I have no idea where they went. Sorry.” Lance muttered.

Fernando walked out again, going to the Mercedes motorhome to find his son once again. Honestly, everyone loved Alejandro way more than they loved Fernando, he was pretty sure, and the little boy was frankly a menace all around. If he found someone like George to match his energy, they would go around causing trouble to everyone.

At the Mercedes motorhome, he found Lewis staring curiously at a bowl of fruits.

“Hey, have you seen Alejandro? Lance said he and Geor-” Fernando stopped himself when he got closer to the table where the bowl of fruits sat.

“Well, for sure they’ve been here,” Lewis muttered, holding an apple, showing how the fruit had one single bite taken off. One little bite which Fernando knew very well who that dental arch belonged to. There was a bite on the apple, the banana, the pear, the peach and every single fruit there.

“¡Ay, dios mio! I’m sorry about this!” Fernando whispered, “I need to find them before him and George set the whole paddock on fire.”

Fernando walked out, knowing that George was probably going to look for Alex or Lando, who would probably support their little mischief around. He found Williams garage first, where he found a laughing Logan Sargeant picking up what looked like hundreds of little pieces of lego. And Fernando knew his kid, and knew he loved throwing things to the floor to make a mess.

“That’s Alejandro’s doing, right?” Fernando asked, wide eyed. Logan nodded and explained how the little boy had been there with George to taunt Alex after throwing his lego piece to the floor and scattering all the tiny pieces. Fernando helped Logan pick up the pieces from the floor.

“The three of them left, saying they had to prank Lando too,” Logan told Fernando, when they finished.

Fernando ran off, walking to McLaren, where he found Lando washing off his hair which was tangled in pink play dough, and George was trying to help him. Standing a little far behind, Alex had Alejandro sitting on his shoulders, the two of them giggling with Oscar.

“Alejandro didn’t do that, did he?” Fernando asked, worried and getting angry.

“No, no!” George was quick, “that was an accident on my part!”

“Yeah, little Alonso is innocent on this!” Lando added. Fernando squinted, not sure if he fully believed that, since Fernando himself had gone through something similar with Alejandro and his play dough.

“Look, any kind of oil will remove that from your hair,” Fernando patted his back, walking to his kid.

Alex gave him Alejandro, who Fernando decided was best to keep attached to him, not letting the little boy out of his sight again.

“Green! Verde, verde!” Alejandro was exclaiming to Alex.

“What is going on, pollito?” Fernando asked.

“He asked me to paint my hair green next time,” Alex explained, showing his blonde hair.

“And you agreed?” Fernando frowned.

“Yeah, whatever little Alonso wants, little Alonso gets,” Alex shrudded, laughing and pinching Alejandro chubby cheeks.

“You guys spoil him too much!” Fernando shook his head, waving goodbye and taking Alejandro back to his garage, “now I understand why mamá wants to buy a little backpack leash for you, little troublemaker.”

Alejandro held his face, looking into his eyes, then hugging him tight, which made Fernando’s annoyance from having to chase his son around completely dissolve, and he melted, hugging his boy. He could never get angry with his cute little man, especially when he reminded him so much of his younger self.

“Papá? Where’s Mamá?” Alejandro asked, looking around.

“Mamá is coming back soon, pollito,” he whispered, kissing his son’s cheek, “I’m missing her too.”

Fernando didn’t lose sight of Alejandro anymore, and when he had to leave for the press conference with other drivers, he left his PR manager to watch Alejandro while you had not come back. He was sitting on the sofa, answering questions but he still could watch Alejandro in a little chair on the opposite side of the room, beside the manager.

At some point, he noticed Alejandro getting fussy and pouty from staying in the same place alone for too long and looking fairly sleepy, Fernando could tell from one look.

“Alejandro,” Fernando called into the mic, the little boy looked around, hearing his dad’s voice, finally, he set his eyes on Fernando and jumped from the chair, “vente aquí.”

The boy took off, running towards his dad, eliciting a little “aw” from the journalists, and a lot of cameras following him until he got to his father, sitting on his lap, nuzzling into Fernando’s chest.

Fernando kept answering questions, and in a couple off minutes, Alejandro was fully asleep. Everyone started talking a little lower, as to not disturb the little one who was sleeping so calmly on his dad’s chest.

When the press conference was over, Fernando carried Alejandro inside his room, keeping his son on his lap, while he went through some data.

Finally when you came back, you found Alejandro on Fernando’s chest, his dad holding him tight while both of them took a little nap, looking so much like each other that it warmed your heart. You kissed both of their heads, running your fingers through Fernando’s hair to wake him up.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, so my pretty boys can eat and rest properly, yes?” You said, kissing Fernando softly, his eyes shining with so much adoration that he didn’t need to say the words, you could see the I love you. “Did you two behave?”

“Like angels!” Fernando winked, which told you that they probably had some Alonso Shenanigans today.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #formula one

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amorfista · 8 months

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"Beach lookout's nap"

The Dad Batch (and Omega) deserve a day of blissful relaxation, I don't think there's anyone out there who wouldn't agree!

While Tech is taking the best nap of his life [Part 1], Omega and Wrecker joined efforts to make the coolest sand-Tipoca city [Part 2] there is out there!

Echo and Hunter might have gotten concerned about the ruckus [Part 3] that these two started to cause...

Crosshair, on the other hand...?

He couldn't give a flying kark.

...or least that's what it would seem like.

Even through a slit of sight, nothing escapes the skillful sniper's eyes. Watching his brothers (and sister) from the distance, he peacefully swings on his hammock, a couple of meters above the ground and (hopefully) far away enough from the mischief that is, apparently, stirring among his siblings.

This state of bliss comes to a halt however, when the crackle of a comm breaks through the sounds of nature.

“Omega to Crosshair, come in Crosshair!”

"For the love of the Maker", he thinks to himself.

Admitting his defeat, Crosshair opened his eyes fully and stared at the palm leaves above, casually spotting a palm weevil crawling over them within a split second.

He took a deep breath as he pressed the button of his own commlink, making sure to drag his words to let Omega know of his displeasure as he spoke:

"What do you want?"

TO BE CONTINUED!!!

Alright, alright, alright.

I know I said that I'd post a version with 1-2 tats and then the full body, but I just could NOT choose which tat to leave on😭 so now you get the zero tats as the "HC" version, and...

DON'T BE SHY, ZOOM THE HECK IN!

(also i know that he shouldn't have an ice vulture in this hc where he never left the batch so he never met Mayday, whoops)(SORRY FOR THE HUGE POST TOO)

This was so. Much. Fun. Not all the tats have a HUGE, INTRINCATE meaning but, honestly? I'm just SO HAPPY with the result.

Some of the tats are very pretty so, I thought I'd clean them up and show you guys! Might even make stickers in the future!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

@arcsimper5 THANK YOU SOOO MUCH for the hammock idea, plus the wonderful story that you've written around my drawings!! You're a sweetheart!!♥♥♥

@grinningnexu THANK YOU! for the thousand amazing tattoo ideas!

@nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius THANK YOU TOO! for the ice vulture idea; I'll make a sketch for his back tomorrow!! ♥

@wwheeljack @freesia-writes the no-tat version is the og now XD

I'm very, very happy about the drawing. The colors and background were super fun to make. The perspective might be wonky but I don't mind, I'll get better at it eventually xD

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT AND AS PER USUAL, THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE FEEDBACK AND LOVE!!! 💗💗💗

Taglist: (PM or @ to join!)

@dukeoftheblackstar @justalittletomato @darthmaulshispanichousewife @botherbother-blog @aftergloom @badolmen @ihaventpickedausername @ohboi @stardustbee @nik-barinova @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @gen-has-green-vibes @ejfivercommander @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @eyecandyeoz @noesqape @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @staycalmandhugaclone @callmesunny04 @ginnymilling @sunshinesdaydream @blueink-bluesoul @cloneloverrrrr @moon-wrecked @idontgetanysleep @tech-aficionado @followthepurrgil @renton6echo @queen-jiru @shoe-bag @eyayah123 @eloquentmoon @and-loth-cat @ladyzirkonia @stardusthuntress @bambambunny

#star wars #clone wars #the bad batch #the beach batch #the dad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch #bad batch crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #star wars fanart #the bad batch fanart #clone force 99 #my art

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bloodmoonmuses · 2 months

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sun-faded youth; shimmering potentiality | choi beomgyu

genre: choi beomgyu x reader, childhood friends to lovers, angst (like, wayyy more angsty than I anticipated lol), eventual fluff

wc: 3.2k

warnings: some swearing, mentions of food

summary: one day, after disappearing from your life for three years, beomgyu returns to place in which you grew to love him most: your childhood home.

The sun faded wallpaper of your childhood home would be remembered as the backdrop to your early morning adventures. Clad in your Princess Belle costume and Beomgyu in his Superman cape, the two of you wake to brave the world. Side by side, as always.

You and Beomgyu are alike in every way. You like the same foods (applesauce and goldfish crackers). You like the same TV shows (Spongebob). You like the same activities (drawing and playing make-believe). You like the same time of day (morning). Every Saturday, Beomgyu would come over to your house for breakfast. While your mother made blueberry pancakes, the two of you would craft.

You remember one day in particular, the memory wrinkling at the edges like a withering flower:

Strewn haphazardly across the living room is an array of crafting materials. Crayons, glitter, colorful paper, magazine scraps- it almost resembles a candy shop in how colorful it all is. Beomgyu snatches a glue stick away from you, using it to paste some torn pieces of newspaper to his hodge-podge of an art project. Picking up a pair of scissors, he cuts a few notches out of the top of the paper, making triangular peaks. His little hands can barely hold the scissors. They’re clunky in his grasp.

Despite his small hands, Beomgyu is quite tall for a 6 year old. Your eyes drift to your heights etched into the archway. A red line at age 2: You’re about 3 feet tall. Beomgyu is 3 and a half feet tall. A blue line at 4 years old: You’ve barely grown. Beomgyu has doubled in size. Most recently, there’s only an inch difference in your height. You’re finally catching up to him.

When satisfied with his embellishments, Beomgyu bends the paper and glues the ends together. He holds up his creation gleefully, wearing a huge grin that’s toothy in the best way.

“It’s a crown,” he declares, voice buoyant and as clear as a bell.

“Make me one too!” You demand.

Beomgyu crosses his arms and pouts. “You can’t be a prince!” he says. "I’m a prince.”

You roll your eyes at him. Boys are so simple, as your mom always said. Your best friend was no exception. “I wanna be a Queen, Beomgyu. It’s different.”

“Nuh-Uh!” He shakes his head furiously.

“Yuh-huh!” you contest.

“You’re full of it,” Beomgyu says. He turns away from you, placing the crown on his own head triumphantly.

You talk at his back. “Queens are, like, more better than princes, silly.”

At this, Beomgyu promptly turns back around, still grinning with his pouty lips. In all honesty, arguing was his favorite pastime. He liked seeing you riled up. “Meanie,” he says.

“Stupid,” you retort, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Nerd.” Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. How princely, you think.

“Loser-”

“Time for breakfast!” your mom calls out from the kitchen.

The memory dissipates, like mist momentarily illuminated by a ray of sunlight only to then disappear into the sloth of a summer day. You try to grasp onto it, but with each passing day it more so resembles a daydream than a lived experience. All you have left is the occasional recounting of your youth with your mother.

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t remember Beomgyu at all.

It’s the summer before your senior year of college. You’re back in the same home you grew up in. Your mother refused to sell the house, even after all these years. In many ways, you’re grateful for this. In others, it makes you angry. Beomgyu hasn’t spoken to you since highschool graduation. It’s been three years. A part of you thought he’d drift back to you eventually. He knew where you lived. He knew where to find you. But he never came.

“Have you heard from Gyu?” Your mother would often ask.

You were never sure where it all went wrong. You loved him as much as you could possibly love someone without literally fusing into their form. Your eyes beheld the same stars as his but saw different constellations. Hearts that once followed the same rhythm were now out of sync. Your love couldn’t scale the distance. It couldn’t withstand the time, or weather the storm of your respective metamorphoses. When the flood passed, the clouds parted and the sun emerged, you weren’t gifted a prophetic rainbow. Instead, you were left with nothing.

“What do you think?” You’d always say, venom lacing your tongue.

Your mother looked at you with softened eyes. “Sore subject?”

“Yeah. Sore subject.”

Regardless of your fluctuating bitterness, being home did bring you comfort to some degree. You liked being shrouded in familiarity. Per the tradition, albeit without Beomgyu, you and your mother are making pancakes. There’s a wordless groove between the two of you, your mother measuring out the ingredients while you mix them accordingly. When the consistency is to your liking, you gently fold blueberries into the batter.

As you’re reaching for a pan, there’s a knock at the door. Well, four knocks. You hear Beomgyu’s voice in your head: A fourth to let you know it’s me.

It can’t be. There’s no way. Last time you checked, Beomgyu wouldn’t be back in town for another week. (Not that you’ve been stalking his socials or anything like that.)

Your mom dusts her hands off on her apron, then walks to answer the door. You remain in the kitchen, stricken with something you’ve never felt before. It feels as though you’re in quicksand, sinking into the floor beneath you.

“Gyuie! My little pumpkin, it’s been so long!” It’s really him. The gleeful timbre of your mother’s voice makes you nauseous. She doesn’t sound like a real person. How she can just pick up where they left off is beyond you. She doesn’t know of the guilt, the shame, the confusion that you’ve been harboring for the past few years. You’re sodden with pain.

When you walk into his line of vision, Beomgyu freezes, but only for a second. “I’m still taller than you,” he says. There’s a smirk dancing on his lips. Typical.

You’re instantly transported to your younger self, so full of admiration for him. Looking up to him- both physically and figuratively. He’s in a black tee and baggy jeans, looking laid back and nonchalant. Except, you know better. His nose is twitching, a tell that he’s actually a bit nervous. He’s grown into his face. His eyes are just as bright as you remember them. You’re happy to see that his spark isn’t gone. Then, that fondness twists into something hot- liquid and molten at the pit of your stomach. You wash away your distorted reverie, stepping back into your body.

You see Beomgyu eye the archway of the living room. The height markings have been painted over.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. It’s all you can bring yourself to say. There’s a bite to your tone, one that you don’t expend much effort concealing, and Beomgyu looks visibly wounded. He quickly recovers, scrunching his nose as he takes your anger on the chin.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to see your mother gathering her belongings. “I’m gonna head to the grocery store. Forgot to get bacon to go with the pancakes.” She grabs her purse and walks to the entryway. “Put the pancake batter in the fridge. Beomgyu, you know you’re always welcome here. Be good, kiddos.”

When she exits, the door slamming with such finality that it rattles your bones, you stand there in silence. No words are exchanged, but his eyes are saying so much. They’re swirling with a mixture of hurt, embarrassment and yearning. You look away.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says. “I really am.”

You want to speak, but the words never come. Not when you need them most. Regardless, Beomgyu isn’t one to back down. “I wanted to see you. I’ve missed-”

“Don’t,” you say, cutting him off. More silence follows.

Beomgyu pivots. “Is the treehouse still in the backyard?”

“Yeah,” you say carefully. Your voice sounds like it's running away from you. “Haven’t been in it in years.”

“Wanna check it out?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

When you climb into the treehouse, your heart lurches. It’s a time capsule- a snapshot of forgotten dreams and naivete. There’s a dusty toy box, likely rusted shut from lack of use. In the corner is a pile of blankets and pillows. A few chairs are stacked in the far back, and fairy lights are still strung to the ceiling. On the walls are your drawings, fantasies of princes and princesses rendered in waxy crayon. It instantly brings tears to your eyes.

“Needs sweeping,” you say, sniffling.

Beomgyu chuckles. “The queen doesn’t keep her castle clean. Shocker.”

You scoff. “Can’t manage the kingdom on my own.”

“Prince and Queen are very different roles, you know,” Beomgyu jokes back.

“Well, you didn’t want to be my king, clearly.”

Beomgyu again takes your jab in stride, shrugging it off. “Going for jester instead nowadays.”

After exploring the treehouse a bit more, Beomgyu positions the chairs in a triangular formation. He whacks the dust off the blankets, and drapes them over. Then, he climbs under the fort, placing another blanket underneath. He adds some pillows and settles there, motioning for you to join him. You shake your head.

“Oh come on, _______. Get in here.”

“Fine.” You enter the pillow fort and lay on your back next to him.

“Look what I found,” says Beomgyu. From behind him, he takes out a paper crown- the same one from your wistful memory. “Here.” He places the crown on your head and it fits perfectly. As he does so, he looks directly in your eyes, a blush appearing on his cheeks and nose. His hair is slightly damp with sweat. The humid heat of summer drapes over the entire room, intensified by the tiny shelter under which the two of you lay.

“How’s college?” you ask.

“Fine. Soobin stays on my ass, not that I get into much trouble anyway.”

“You’re in a band, right?”

Beomgyu makes a face at you and you flush. You could’ve sworn he told you about the band before he left. He used to talk your ear off about his dreams of joining one. You had seen some pictures on Instagram of Beomgyu and a few of his friends playing shows at random dive bars in their little college town. Now he knows you check his page periodically.

“Stalker.”

“Loser.”

“Wow. Great comeback, stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker.”

“Whatever you say, weirdo.” You smack his arm. “But to answer the question you totally don’t know the answer to; Yes. I’m in a band. You’ll have to meet the guys one day. You won’t believe how tall Kai has gotten. And there’s this guy, Yeonjun- the girls go crazy over him.”

“What about you?” you continue. “Do people go crazy over you?’

“Not anyone I care about.”

You turn on your side to face Beomgyu, your noses so close they almost touch. His hair falls over his eyes, long and floppy. He’s grown so much. You wish you were there to see the bags under his eyes form. To see his smile lines deepen and shoulders grow broader. You subconsciously reach to sweep a few strands of hair out of his eyes, tucking the tendrils behind his ear, and admire his pretty face.

“You actually look more like a prince than a rock star,” you muse.

“Not a rock star. I’m just in a band. Which you already knew.”

“I actually hate you.” Beomgyu laughs, eyes forming half moons.

Your mind is racing. You have so many questions to ask him- questions you thought you’d never get the answers to. He’s here, real and tangible, and you’re terrified that he’s an apparition- that at any moment, you’ll wake up and realize you’ve been dreaming. You try your best to not impose your own wants onto him, but all you can see is the little boy to whom you divulged all your secrets. Now, you want nothing more than to run away from him, as quickly and as far as possible, so that he can feel what you felt so many years ago.

“Why’d you leave without telling me?” The words leave your mouth before you can even register that you’re speaking.

“I’m not good at goodbyes.” Beomgyu attempts to chuckle it off, always trying to confront his shortcomings with some type of levity. His smirk is more like a pained grimace.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” you confess. “You were my best friend, Beomgyu.”

“If you had told me to stay with you, I would’ve in a heartbeat.”

“I wouldn’t have given you an ultimatum. I always knew you wanted to go to a bigger school with more opportunities.” You’re exasperated, pinching your nose bridge in annoyance.

“I know, but if you had even suggested it-”

“Well, I didn’t! I didn’t do anything but support you, Gyu- like I always have! And you punished me for it.”

Unlike your childhood, the memory of Beomgyu leaving is burned onto the back of your eyelids. When you close your eyes, you see it so vividly:

You had just graduated highschool. You and Beomgyu had agreed to meet in your treehouse right after the ceremony. He was the first person you wanted to celebrate with. You biked all the way home, still in your cap and gown, feverishly pedaling down the streets of your neighborhood. The town was ablaze with elation. Music blared in the streets and confetti littered the ground.

When you arrived, you threw your bike to the ground, not even bothering to prop it up on its kickstand. You climbed up into the treehouse, only to find it empty. You checked your phone. No messages from Beomgyu. You figured he had forgotten. You mounted your bike and made your way to Beomgyu’s house a few blocks over. In his bedroom window, you saw a girl caressing his face- similarly to how you would when Beomgyu was sad. She fluttered her lashes at him and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. You recognize the twisting of your gut as jealousy.

When did Beomgyu slip from your grasp? Did he fall in love with her while you fell in love with a hypothetical- shimmering potentiality providing you comfort as you accepted the inevitably of your separation. Three months of summer together, then what? You’d confess your love for him and ruin the near decade of friendship your relationship boasted? It was a risk you weren’t willing to take, so you held the secret close to your chest, to wither away with the rest of your forgotten dreams.

Your vision whites out, fuzzy and blurred. You end up walking your bike home and crying for the rest of the day. In the following weeks, Beomgyu didn’t call, visit or even send you a text.

You tried one more time, the night before you drove up to campus, to see him, knocking on his door four times. His mother answered, looking at you solemnly.

“Hi, Mrs. Choi! Is Beomgyu here?”

“No, he left for school last weekend darling.” she had said. You felt the soft spot in your heart for Bomegyu harden, and walked home in the cold.

Your body jolts back to the present and you realize you might’ve never moved on from this day. Beomgyu shakes you from the thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry, _______,” he whispers.

You take the crown off of your head, giving it to Beomgyu. “I… admired you so much back then, even though I’d never admit it,” you say. “I wanted to be just like you. Now we couldn’t be more different.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can get to know each other as we are now,” Beomgyu suggests. Always hopeful, never one to play the pessimist. It’s one of things you loved about him most. “It’ll be a new adventure for us both.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I admired you too, by the way,” he adds. “I wanted to be as headstrong as you. Do you still draw? Do you still want to be an artist?” Beomgyu looks at you with wild curiosity. It’s like you’re meeting him for the first time all over again.

“Yes, and yes. You thought I was headstrong?”

“You’re the only person who put up with my bullshit. So, yeah. Very headstrong.”

Suddenly, your stomach growls. Loudly. Beomgyu stifles a laugh and asks, “Wanna cook up those pancakes?”

In the kitchen, you wait until bubbles rise to the top and flip the pancakes accordingly. Beomgyu rummages through the fridge, pouring two glasses of orange juice. You sit at the dining table, side by side.

“I have a confession to make,” Beomgyu says. “I hate blueberries. I ate them because you like them.”

You gasp. “Gyu! I would’ve lived without the damn blueberries!”

“I’ll just eat around them,” he says with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath.

You take a bite of your pancake, a blueberry bursting in your mouth. As you eat, you help Beomgyu pick around the blueberries in his. When done with your meal, the two of you wash dishes. He washes and you rinse. The sloshing of water and clinking of dishes orchestrate your movements. You catch up with one another while cleaning, joking around like you used to. Out of nowhere, Beomgyu plops a cluster of bubbles onto your nose.

“You did not!” you exclaim, immediately repaying the favor by throwing suds back at him.Then, there’s bubbles everywhere, flying and floating in the air like dandelion fluff.

“I absolutely just did, loser!” Beomgyu says, chasing you around the kitchen with more bubble ammo.

“Nerd!” you yell out as you run away from his attack.

“Stalker!”

“I am not a stalker!!!” In your tizzy, you slip and fall on some soap, Beomgyu promptly falling on top of you right after. Hovering above you, he bores into your visage fondly, deep eyes sparkling with affection. He looks like a dream. Then, like in some of your dreams, he leans down and kisses you. He takes his time, gently moving against you. It takes a second for your body to catch up with your mind, but when you do, you’re kissing him with the fervor of three years, four knocks, a lifetime of shared pancakes and the burgeoning of unabashed love. He cradles your face closely, not wanting to let you go.

When he comes up for air, Beomgyu says, “It’s a good thing saying goodbye isn’t really my thing, ‘cus I have no intention of saying it to you any time soon.”

As Beomgyu leans back in to kiss you again, the front door swings open.

“The grocery store was a madhouse, but I managed to get some bacon,” your mom says. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t–” She closes her eyes dramatically, dropping her shopping bag on the floor.

You and Beomgyu instantly stand to your feet, putting as much distance in between you as possible.

“Mom, please don’t make it awkward,” you groan.

“I mean, I always had my suspicions, but–” she starts.

“Mom! Please!”

Your mother smiles knowingly. “So I guess this means you two made up?”

a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #beomgyu fic #choi beomgyu #txt fic #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #txt x reader #beomgyu fluff

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c0kitty · 7 months

Text

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 .... 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 w/ bakugo katsuki x gn!reader « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄

summary: two times you crocheted katsuki something + one time katsuki realizes something so painfully obvious. (⛦) content: fluff! kissing. reader tears up. reader crochets. comfort!! love confession. sickeningly sweet. i'm a lil bad at summaries. gn pretty sure. (⛦) w/c: 1.6k+

i. your first project,

the first time you’d crochet him something, it was a pretty shitty day for katsuki. he had spent a little more than an hour meeting with his friends who, in the most kindest words, were spawns of satan. the constant teasing left him a little drained, the food he left in the dorm fridge was gone, and he was left with a headache throbbing at his temples.

to add on, he hadn’t seen you all day.

so, he goes to your dorm, finding it already open. something he’d always given you mouth on. (what if a stranger comes through? even if it was a little impossible with the amount of security that roamed the halls.) inside, he pauses at the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed, holding a long slender stick with a hook at the tip.

it looked like a miniature murder weapon. “... what the hell is that?”

seemingly startled, he guesses by the reaction of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, widened eyes, and a small gasp that left your lips. “fuck me, why the hell are you so silent.”

“hello to you too, princess,” katsuki sarcastically remarks, stepping further into the room. he comes closer til’ he was just about hovering over you.

you pick back up whatever the hell was in your hand. you could still feel his stare, which you quip. “it’s crocheting, tsuki’. i’m trying to pick up a hobby to get off my phone more. its kinda fun.”

katsuki grunts as a reply, moving to sit next to you. it causes the mattress to slightly sink to his weight, whilst he goes to take off his shoes, methodically, all while watching you.

with your teeth catching your bottom lip, you looked so focused, engrossed, not paying a mind to him. his gaze eventually drifts towards what was hanging from the stick. it’s long and narrow, with a soft-looking material, colored a deep-shade of red, and black. it was a scarf.

it’s edges weren't perfect, a little bumpy and not entirely straight, but it still looked pretty damn good. his crimson eye’s go to meet yours, but he finds you already looking at him. “i was gonna make it a surprise. but i made it for you.”

a nervous smile plays at your lips, “do you like it?”

nobody has ever really taken the time to create something personal for him — the warmth in his chest, made him just want to crumble, n kiss your pretty lips. it was nothing short of perfect, even the imperfections.

he'd forgotten you were waiting for an answer and a flicker of insecurity hints in your eyes, your words hanging in the air.

but, he quickly reassures you, his hand traveling, holding at your chin. “it's perfect, okay?” drawing nearer to you, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “perciate’ you so much baby.”

ii. just for him,

it starts to become a thing every other week. you would crochet him a piece – either something that fit his, in your words, “grunge” style, or something from the colorful yarn leftover from your old projects. and regardless, he would proudly wear it.

over time, people start to notice. seeing him wear a cute black cat beanie was a little out of the norm for him. and the following week, he would wear the same-stitch, fingerless mittens. everyone knew he wouldn’t buy those by choice. someone had to be giving it to him, someone he cared about. someone, like his girlfriend.

being in a school full of smart heroes had its many downsides.

people start to ask, or he would say, "harass you," to make them things. it starts to piss him off after a while — hearing your continuous no’s, and then them trying to ask again like your answer was gonna change after a minute. plus, it’s not like any of those broke assholes were willing to pay, they were just planning to mooch off you.

and, maybe there was a selfish reason for it.

he didn’t want you to share something you were so passionate about with people you gave no shits about, or lov– liked. because it would lose its value — lose the stupid special feeling he got.

this surge of events eventually leads to him cursin’ them out for you, because you were just a little too nice to yell, give murderous glares, or deliver creative death threats. which after, they wisely never approach you about it again.

iii. your last gift, for the year of course,

its a cold new year, katsuki watches as a snowflake falls delicately onto your nose. you guys were huddled on the balcony of his parent’s home, thanks to his mom's desperation, and persistence to meet you. and to his embarrassment, his mom and you got along very well, so well in fact you guys exchanged numbers, planning to meet with each other without katsuki himself.

despite his loud protests, you’d forcibly ushered him out in the shitty-ass cold because you wanted to see the snow. the frigid air embraced you both, his breath left white in the air. katuski’s body pressed the balcony handle, you’d positioned yourself in front of him, his arms encircled your body, his hands holding at your waist.

“you happy princess? m’ freezing here just for you to see the same old snow we see every year.” he complains, even though his crimson-red eyes held warmth, ones that matched your growing smile. you raise your heel pressing a short kiss at the corner of his lips, before retreating.

“quit being dramatic; it’s so beautiful out here.” you insisted, before your eyes widened, like you’d remembered something, and abruptly, you leave an inch of space between the two of you, reaching for something in your puffer jacket.

there’s a slight furrow to his brows, not understanding why you had to pull away — leaving you out of his grasp. til he puts it together, as you pull out a terribly wrapped item, a gift.

“i told you we didn't have to give each other anything.”

“yeah, like the $100 dollar gift you gave me today. see, i knew you would do that so i came prepared.” you say, pointing an accusatory finger.

“now open.” you shove the present in katsuki’s hand, and shaking his head in disbelief, he grabs it, tearing the wrapping off.

“i know i already made you one. but i saw how … worn out it was.”

holded in his rough hands, was a scarf. reminiscent of the colors to the one you gave him months ago — the one he had worn all the damn time, sometimes even in the hottest of weather. with how much time he wore it, after a while, the color of that scarf started to fade, with the yarn unraveling.

“here let me put it on for you.” you take it from his hands, draping it around his neck. you watch as he glances down, just admiring it. “looks so pretty, baby.”

this scarf looked more intricate, with the stitch pattern on the scarf resembling daisy blooms. he’d noticed how your crochet skills seemed to improve, the scarf had a cleaner, straighter edge than the other one.

and for some reason, as he looks down at your gift, a flood of memories of the moments with you, seem to be all rushing to him — your sweet, drawn kisses, the stupid arguments, and your laughter that seemed to always ring in his ears.

moments like those, that laid ahead for the both of you, made him want to look forward to the future, your guys’s future. to wake up next to you, morning breath n’ all, to lazily lounge on the couch and havin’ to forcibly cuddle because of you, to possibly sharing each other's last name. it all swelled katuski’s stupid heart.

it was so obvious why. with your soft gaze on him.

“i love you.” he blurts out, his eyes fixed at your parted lips.

“i love you so damn much, it’s so fucking stupid. you turn me into a sap, y’know. everytime i look at you i just can't help but want to smile, want to hold you. everything I do, every thought that crosses my mind, somehow, it goes back to you. …i ” he sighs, his bravado faltering for a moment, red eye’s averting from yours.

“you don't have to say it back, i just wanted to tell you.” katsuki grumbles, the tips of his ears red as it can be, as he does his best to maintain his ‘i could care less’ facade.

“look at me.” and katsuki does, he’s met with your glistening eyes, stars reflecting. “i love you too, you idiot.”

he couldn’t help but release a soft, incredulous laugh — he was really rubbing off on you. somehow the space between the two of you closes again, your hands fit in his warm jacket. tightly hugging him, as if he was going to leave any second.

“and of course, you had to one up me with a grand ass speech.” you relent, looking up at him, a small pout forming over your features.

“m’ always two-steps ahead. catch up princess.” he replies, a smug smile spreading across his plush lips. his mittened hand moving to hold at your face, thumb brushing along your cheek.

his eyes flicker to your lips, watching as your tongue glides against it. “... can, i?” your lashes flutter at him, weakly nodding. and then your being kissed, slowly, and sweetly. his tongue brushing your bottom lip, savoring you, savoring this moment.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader fluff #bakugo fluff #katsuki fluff #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x you

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jeankirstein4ever · 15 days

Text

Love Songs - Modern!Eren J.

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚

A/N: Match up for @ermbabyel! You guys have been such supportive angels, sorry there was such a long break but the vacation was lovely!

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚

Your first impression isn't ideal - it's the dead of night in a CVS, exhausted and bored with the current color of your hair only to be met with the loudest group of boys in the universe. Eren, Connie, and Jean had had a long night of drinking and playing at some dive bar, barking laughing, and yelling throughout the store.

" fifty bucks if you dye your hair, 'ren," Connie calls out some stupid bet, leaving you to side-eye them as they get closer and closer to you - their volume becoming overbearing.

"Hey, what color should he -hic- dye his hair, d'you think your color would look -hic- good on 'em." Eren throws his arm back halting Jean and Connie as they approach you.

He smiles apologetically, "Sorry about them, they're a bit rowdy when drunk, but your hair is pretty."

You two make chit-chat in the isle, Connie and Jean had wandered off in search of food, while you offered advice on what color would suit him, and what kind of haircare to use to keep the color for longer.

He’ll pay attention to you as you speak- practically trying to drink you in; like a crow, he’ll get distracted by the glimmer and glittering jewelry that adorns your person. Mesmerized to a mind-fogging extent.

He invited you to one of his shows, a bit pouty when you tell him your aversion to louder cramped places, "Well maybe I could play something for just you?" A sly smirk plastered on his drunken face.

You get his number and finally talk yourself into inviting him over, opting for a movie night, and laying out a plethora of blankets and prized stuffed animals. The knock on your door startles you a little opening it, "Hey pretty girl", his dumb smile lazy across his lips, guitar in his ring-clad hand.

He adores your enthusiasm as you lay out the horror movie options, ultimately letting you pick whatever movie you want, "if we don't get through them all I guess I'll just have to come over again."

It felt cliche but he couldn't pay attention for the life of him, you were too, too much of everything, and eventually, when you relaxed into his arms he wanted to eat you; heart and soul.

The next couple of times he comes over, it becomes harder to ignore that desire.

He'll hold your thighs firmly in between his hands, the pads of his fingers rough from years of playing guitar. Licking a long stripe against your wet dripping hole, making you whine. "gotta stay still baby, wanna hear all your pretty noises, can't do that when you're runnin' away from me."

Nipping at the flesh of your inner thighs, one hand interlaced lazily with yours, the other working your body like you were the only thing he knew, drawing his fingers in and out in agonizingly long strokes.

saliva was spilling over your lips, mouth agape and gasping for him, " 'ren, 'ren too full, can't." In contrast to his hands, his hips work fast, too eager to feel you, his hands lifting your soft hips to him, practically bruising your cervix at this pace.

He's shirtless hovering over you, necklaces and hair sticking to his warm skin, "fuck baby, wish you could see yourself, god, gonna-"

Cum spilling out of you onto the flesh of your thighs and his abdomen, Eren collapses into a heap on top of you, his head laying in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your shoulder, "you sound prettier than any love song."

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚

Blue Jeans - Lana Del Rey

Favorite - Isabel LaRosa

Glue Song - Beabadoobee

Real Love Baby - Father John Misty

Homecoming - Kanye West, Chris Martin

Speed - Kali Uchis

She Wants My Money - Dominic Fike

I. Pink Toes - Childish Gambino

Power Trip - J.Cole, Miguel

Kiss - Prince

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s0fti3w1tch · 1 year

Text

Tentative Devotee AU (TBC Soon)

Leonardo is a Foot trainee, raised and trained by Lieutenant and Brute since he was 9. Life before then is fuzzy at best. — In the past several months, he's been going on his first proper missions, quickly aware of a persistent threat against the Foot Clan: 3 mutant turtles and a human who've foiled them time and time again.

What he wasn't aware of was that they were 4 siblings who never gave up on finding their missing brother.

CONTENT WARNING! This AU will explore: Mourning of family / Mourning of a child (who isn't actually dead, but believed to be). Violence is canon-typical up to the standards of the movie— That is also a reference point for the tone of this AU. There will be cult themes and dips into the topic of cult trauma, alongside family issues.

Main Comic:

Enemies || [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ tbc... ]

Baby Blue || [coming soon]

[TBA]

Minisodes/Mini-Comic:

Donnie's Apology Gift

First Mission Mishaps!

PSAs: Triggering Content, Why Leo will not have a "Dark Side," Cult Parents

More content below the cut! ♥︎

Scrapped/Changed Ideas or Scenes:

"Maybe this is the lowest point of my life" / Severing Ties

Usagi's first design + role

Mona Lisa first design

Reference Sheets:

Leonardo's Room

UPDATED LEO FULL REF

Leo's Outfit Change + Sorta-Timeline

Hand Marking

Scarf

Leo's Guitar

Eyes (outdated)

Nail Polish

Butterfly Charm

Future!TD!Leo

Usagi WIP

Doodles:

More Lore/Story Heavy = ♥︎ / Just More Fun = ☀︎ / 💬 = answer to an ask

Leo Solo!

"Keep it together, Leo"

"What I know about family?"

He/They/Xe of the day! / Speed-Color ☀︎

Scooter Boy! ☀︎

He's Writing Fanfic ☀︎

Guac Baby ☀︎

"Yeah, of course! But also..." ☀︎

Animation Test

No Sleep

[ i was listening to sonic music while drawing this ] ☀︎

disillusionment

Cook :P ☀︎

3 Swords?! ☀︎ 💬

Peepaw'd :) 💬

Head Empty + Leo kinda mad ♥︎ 💬

Blep! 💬

Feelings Down ♥︎💬

Multi POV

TD Spoilers Over Memes [1]

Trust in the Foot ♥︎ 💬

"Keep your brother safe" ♥︎ 💬

Big Sisters ♥︎

Turtle Sister to Turtle Sister 💬

Foot Clan Family

Motorcycle Theft! 💬

Shell Cracks + A Small Moment ♥︎ 💬

Trans Sibs!!! ☀︎ 💬

Hamato Clan

Not Growing With Us ♥︎💬

Recognition? 💬 ♥︎

"Donnie, stay out of this"

Unknown Tension

Protective Older Twin 💬

"Can we be brothers?" 💬

Donnie's hope (colored ver: here)

"Donnie, whatcha got there?" ☀︎

Drawing for Donnie 1

Yōkai Connections

Hueso's First Encounter With Leo 💬

+ All my AU Crossover Content linked here~!

Separated Leo Crossover : Bathtub Arc ☀︎

Preview Comic (Test)

TMNT AU Competition Basketball Saga ☀︎

DOUBLE-HANDED BACKHAND SWING

Nail Bat Recieved

Leo Hype Squad!

No PomPoms

I didn't intend for this AU to be that big, but I realized I did want to give this a go and make at least something. It's my goal to finish this project eventually.

The AU will be told in segments, comics of various points of the story.

Bonus! Miscellaneous info that doesn't play big into this AU but matters enough to me:

Leonardo is transmasculine, uses he/they/xe pronouns and is referred to with primarily masculine terms.

A version of Stan Sakai's Usagi Yojimbo comics exists and it's Leo's second favorite comic series in this AU.

'Tentative Devotee' is the name of the fanfic I was originally going to write. It was just gonna be a 2-shot fic and a way to navigate some feelings as someone who was born and raised in, and eventually left, a cult.

The initial tone/direction of this AU was much different, Leo ending up in the Foot Clan under different circumstance (i.e. direct kidnapping from Lieutenant and Brute). I found this didn't quite work for me.

#Tentative Devotee AU #ROTTMNT Tentative Devotee AU #TD!AU Leonardo #Tentative Devotee Leonardo #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt au #Foot!Leonardo #buwan's art #my art #AU Masterpost #I wanted to write for this AU for a while #I don't know how much I'll draw of it but I will #I wanted my go at a potential Foot!Leo AU #and get some feelings outa my system so #here we are now!#hope you like whatever I make of it!#rottmnt fanart #rottmnt leonardo fanart #Tentative Devotee Reference Sheet

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stupidfuckingwindow · 6 months

Text

Cable knit sweater // Ken

Pure smut deadass. This is filth. You deadass just give him a handjob.

Word count: 427

"Oh, God- Please, baby.. I'm so close, please don't stop.." Ken's voice comes out in whines, every breath followed closely with sharp gasps.

His hair is a mess, platinum blond strands splayed out on the floor around his head like a halo. There're tears to his eyes, which are squeezed shut in pleasure. Ken's thighs quiver around your waist as you squeeze and stroke at his cock, letting him buck upwards and into your hand.

He's already hit climax three times, glittering pink cum splattered onto his white cable knit sweater. Your hand is coated in the substance, fingers glossed over.

You already know you're never going to get his fluids completely out of his clothes (you've tried and failed before- the pink coloring easily stains anything that isn't dark), but he's just so pretty when cumming that you can't even be mad at him. There's just something about seeing his perfect face messy, for once.

Another noisy moan leaves Ken, and he tosses an arm over his eyes, already beginning to border on another orgasm. His hips stutter, and you rub a thumb just under the head of his cock, drawing a sob out of the doll.

He's trying to speak, but it's coming out as more of an incoherent string of words than an actually cohesive sentence. His one free arm (the one not dramatically thrown over his face, that is), reaches out towards your direction, hand aimlessly grasping for you to hold it.

You take his hand in yours, slotting your fingers between his. The choked out moan he makes at the contact is high pitched, and you know he's full-out bawling now.

"Please, please, please… Please-!" Ken's voice shakes, words slurred as he pleads with you. You're not even sure what he's begging for, and it doesn't particularly seem like Ken does, either. His back arches off the floor, legs squeezing tighter around you to pull you closer.

As he cums for a fourth time, both of Ken's hands shoot out to pull your face towards his. The two of you share a frantic, messy kiss, with Ken sobbing into your lips that drown out most of his noises.

His release splashes onto the both of you, this time. When you eventually break the kiss and pull away to see the damage, he's coated your chest and lower stomach in his glitter. Your hand leaves his finally softening dick, focused now on tending to him.

The two of you fall asleep on the floor, right next to the still crackling fireplace.

#ryan gosling #ken smut #just ken #ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ken x reader smut #ken barbie #ken x you #ryan gosling x reader #n.sfw.#ken #i do NOT write anything thats cohesive and makes sense LMAOO

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cowgurrrl · 4 months

Text

It Ain't Me Babe

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: A holiday present from me to you ❣️

Summary: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]

Warnings: creative insecurity, mentions of financial instability, teacher things, Ellie talking about Sarah, more flirty flirt, I think that’s it??

Nothing has ever been as annoying or guilt-inducing as an unfinished piece of art. Sure, every artist— no matter the medium— has felt like an uncreative, unoriginal hack, but it still feels just as new as it did the first time. Moonlight streams through your window as you glare at the canvas, hoping for an idea or stroke of genius. It's late. You should be in bed, especially since it's a Sunday night and you spent your weekend working at the bar down the street. But you're holding a paintbrush between stained fingers and praying for a miracle. It's been eight months since you last sold a piece for a whopping $200, chump change when it comes to living in Austin these days. Even with two jobs and doing commission work, you're living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe that's why it's so hard to create? That has to be the reason. You don't remember it being this hard when you were younger.

Creating art was the only thing that brought you solace during your teenage years. It didn't matter if it was drawing, pottery, painting, sculpting. All that mattered was that you were doing it and you were good. You won awards, scholarships, and attention. Your art teacher, Ms. Henry, was a godsend. Grey-haired, glasses-wearing, colorful Ms. Henry glided through lessons and projects like it was second nature. She always had pencils in her hair, a mug in her hands, and a kind word on her lips when you entered her classroom. She's the one who pushed you to go to your artsy liberal arts college full of people richer and better than you. Even with her love and support, you struggled and almost dropped out after that first semester.

"There's always someone better," she told you when you ended up crying across from her in a coffee shop. "But there's nobody in the world who can make what you will because there is and never will be another you. I mean, God, what a gift. I'd hate to see you waste it." That sobered you enough to keep going and eventually pursue a teaching certification. Ms. Henry has since retired to the Pacific Northwest with her wife, Mable, and sends you a postcard every once in a while because she believes smartphones will be the downfall of civilization. After so many years in education, you're ready to agree with her.

You sigh, feeling your motivation fluttering away with your breath, and plop your paintbrush down in the cup engraved with the words "DO NOT DRINK" in bold. The canvas doesn't look like much of anything right now— just a mass of colors and shapes that could potentially pass as an abstract version of a landscape. It looks like the other painting you left at the school to work on when you have time. And the painting before that. And the one before that. You curse at exactly the same time your phone buzzes with a text.

You awake?

You don't bother responding and go straight to FaceTiming her. She picks up on the second ring, her beautiful, round face greeting you with a smile. You met Andie during high school, and her effortlessly cool attitude and bulky violin kit quickly became a part of your heart. You two were inseparable all four years of high school, dividing your time between rehearsals and time spent in the studio, but college took you to art school and her to a prestigious orchestra program in Vienna. She's been there ever since graduation, playing for diplomats and royals alike, but she comes home for holidays, and you've been trying to save money to go see her. Being so far from her is hard, but you make it work.

"Why are you awake?" You ask by way of a greeting, more than accustomed to your seven-hour time difference and her early riser habits. She laughs, and you hear a tea kettle whistle in the background.

"Well, hello to you, too," she says. "I have rehearsals all day today, so I got an early start. Why are you awake?"

"I'm staring at my waking nightmare."

"Oh, God, are you having another spiral?"

"I'm a hack."

"You're an artist."

"I got rejected again this weekend," you say as if to prove your point, and she sucks her teeth. "They said my art didn't fit their vision for their exhibition, but to feel free and submit another time."

"Well, they must not know great art when they see it. There will be another exhibition and another chance for you to show off your amazing skills. And when you get accepted, which I know you will, I'll fly in, and we'll drink fancy champagne and talk shit the entire opening night." She says, and you sigh. Her persistent optimism is one of the things you love about her, but sometimes, all you want to do is sulk.

"Or I could fly to you when your first composition gets performed, and we could do all those things in Austria instead of this shithole."

"Hey, some of us like that shithole."

"Some of us haven't lived in the shithole in ten years."

"Touche," she concedes. "But I'm serious about what I said. You're a good artist, just going through a little bump in the road. One day, we'll be really sexy and successful, and we'll look back at this and laugh with our rich spouses while drinking expensive wine."

"One day," you say, smiling. "How are rehearsals going?" She groans at the question, and you laugh. Whenever you talk to her, she's working on a new show or with a new conductor and always has something to say. There are many things you could call your best friend, but lazy is not one of them.

"I feel like we're stuck on this one part, but the conductor won't listen to me. He says he knows better than I do, which might be true, but also, if he just listened to me, then we can move on. I don't know. I'm sure if I poke him enough, he'll have to listen to me."

"Sounds reasonable."

"That's what I'm saying," she says as she shuffles her coffee mug and breakfast to her dining room table before checking the time. "It's midnight there. Don't you have school tomorrow?" She asks, and you sigh.

"And an early morning staff meeting and art club after school."

"Sometimes, I worry about your mental health." She says, and you laugh a little too deliriously to prove her wrong. You stay up talking with her for a while before finally getting hit with a wave of fatigue and crashing into bed.

The next day is not any less hectic than your weekend was. The staff meeting early in the morning is mind-numbing and completely unnecessary. The printer in the teacher's lounge breaks halfway through a heavy-duty print job, and you're left scrambling for new activities and lessons. Not only that, but your students were more out of control than usual, prompting a veteran teacher to come in and scold your class on your behalf. It would be kind if it didn't make you feel two inches tall and your students didn't look at you like you betrayed them. You spend your planning period indulging in the silence of your empty classroom and fighting off a migraine.

The second the final bell sounds, your art club kids are knocking down your door, more than ready to work on their projects for the winter showcase. The winter showcase is hosted by a local art gallery that opens for submissions from students every fall. If a student's work is taken, it gets shown in the gallery, and they get entered into a prize to win money and a chance to paint a mural downtown. It's a big deal. So far, you haven't had a student win first place, but you've had them get very close. You always assure them you're proud of them no matter what, which is especially true when Ellie slinks into your classroom with a shy smile.

"Hey! We're just setting up supplies to work on stuff for the showcase. Do you have something to work on?" You ask, gesturing to the students working around the room in a buzz.

"I think so. Are you gonna play music?"

"Who do you think I am?" You make a face, and she laughs. "Why don't you find a spot and get comfortable while I queue up a playlist?" She hesitates for a second before she takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to approach another student to ask if she can sit with them. They start chatting easily, and her shoulders relax as she gets more and more comfortable with all the new people. You put on a random playlist and move around the room to answer any questions about colors or give an opinion when asked for one. Over the course of an hour, Ellie makes her own little group of friends, and they all talk as if they've known each other forever as they work. She seems so in her own element, and you can't fight the pride beaming in your chest. Okay, so maybe your job can be pretty cool sometimes. Not fame and fortune cool or traveling overseas cool, but cool nevertheless.

Students gradually start packing up their things and leaving when they get texts from impatient parents in the parking lot or close to dinner time, but Ellie stays behind, bobbing her head to a beat or bouncing her knee under the table. She's the only one left in the classroom when you start packing your stuff and preparing the room for the next day. "You've got a ride home, honey?" You ask, and she glances nervously between you and her phone.

"Yeah. My dad should be here soon." She says.

"Alright, well, I've gotta lock up here, but I'll wait outside with you until he gets here."

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"It'd make me feel better knowing you weren't left behind. Plus, I'm the adult responsible for you until he picks you up, so it's kinda illegal for me to just leave you here." You say, and she looks hesitant again but nods. Together, you walk out of the classroom and through the empty hallways until you get out to the scorching September afternoon. You stand outside in silence for a few seconds, taking in the sunset, before you turn to look at her.

"How'd you like the club?" You ask.

"It was fun! I met lots of cool people."

"I told you, kid. You just needed to give it a chance."

"I know, I know," she rolls her eyes, and you smile. "Thank you for pushing me to go. I don't think I would've gone without you." She's so genuine and kind in her tone that it throws you off-kilter. You're used to being berated by students, staff, and parents. To be told you actually had an impact on someone is not commonplace, to say the least.

"I'm sure you would've found your way there without me."

"Maybe, but you helped me get there a lot sooner than I would've on my own." She says, and you take a deep breath. It feels nice to be acknowledged, especially after the day you've had, and Ellie seems to sense it. You're looking for something to say when she looks down at her shoes and kicks a stray rock. "Just take the compliment and move on. Don't make it a thing."

"Alright." You say, laughing, and she cracks a smile, too. Traffic will be horrible on the way home, and you have nothing to eat for dinner, but it's okay. You did one good thing today. That's all you need.

"Sorry, my dad is taking so long." She changes the subject, a touch of anxiety creeping in, and you shake your head.

"Does he always work late?" You ask, and she shrugs.

"Sometimes. Dad and Uncle Tommy have been picking up jobs to send money to my sister in Boston. "

"What's in Boston for your sister?"

"Medical school. She's about to go into her internship at a hospital there."

"That's a big deal." You say, and she hums.

"Yeah. She'll probably save the world or something one day." There's a hint of something nostalgic in her voice, and you decide to push just a little.

"Do you miss her?"

"A lot," she says. "She's my best friend."

"She's lucky to have you." You say. She smiles but doesn't say anything. You want to ask more about her family, but a rickety, greenish pickup truck comes rumbling through the parking lot before you can. Ellie shifts her backpack on her shoulder as her dad and uncle come into view, and you smile at them. Joel, however, looks frantic.

He's unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the driver's side door before the car can even finish moving. There's dirt on his pants and a little bit of a sunburn across his arms, the muscles straining across the black fabric. He politely pulls the ball cap off his head to reveal sweaty curls as he approaches you, jerking his head toward the truck at Ellie. "Why don't you wait in the truck with Uncle Tommy? He's got a snack for you." He says, and Ellie lights up at the mention of food. When you're alone, he tucks his hands in his pockets and gives you an apologetic look.

"'M so sorry. We got caught up at work and lost track of time. It won't happen again." He says, wringing his hands like he's waiting to be scolded, but you wave him off.

"It's okay. Things happen, and I'm just glad she's got someone picking her up." You say.

"How'd she do today?"

"Really good. I think she fits right in."

"She make some friends?"

"I can't give away all my secrets. What else are y'all gonna talk about at the dinner table?" You tease.

"I guess that's right," he says as he stares at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "Thanks for waitin' with her."

"It was my pleasure." You say. You stand awkwardly for a few seconds, rocking back and forth on your feet. His eyes are locked in yours, and there's a silent competition to see who's gonna blink first. "Well, I should let you get home. Have a good night."

"Uh," he starts, stopping you before you can even fully take a step. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," you say a little too quickly, and he smirks. "I was very flattered. Besides, it's not the first time."

"Beautiful woman like you, I'm sure you've got 'em linin' the block for a chance with you." He says. You're dancing a delicate dance here. You're not not flirting, and you're not not interested in him, but if your principal finds out, it could cause a whole new world of problems. Still, it's nice to be wanted after so long of being on your own. You're not a saint, but you're also not doing anything inherently wrong, right?

"The teacher thing usually freaks 'em out before they can get very far."

"That's a damn shame." He's quick with it, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the line. A buzz in your bag reminds you of the time and why you're still at school, and you find your footing again.

"Uh, I usually give out my contact information to the parents of my art club kids in case they need anything or need to contact me quickly. Since Ellie's an official part of that, I figured I should give you my phone number in case anything comes up. If that's alright?" You say, and he pulls his cracked phone from his back pocket.

"Yeah, yeah. That's more than alright." He says, handing it to you to punch in your information.

"It's for emergency purposes only."

"What d'you consider an emergency?"

"Mr. Miller-"

"Joel." He corrects, and you give him a look as you pass his phone back.

"Don't abuse it. I'd hate to have to put you in a group chat with all the PTA moms."

"You're evil." He groans, and you laugh. Tommy, leaning over and honking the truck horn, interrupts your conversation, and he shoots daggers through the back window.

"I'll see you next week, Joel." You say, dismissing him, and he hesitates for another second before nodding.

"See you next week." He says and turns on his heels to get back in his truck. You think you vaguely catch Joel scolding Tommy for being impatient, but you ignore his deep voice and the engine sputtering as you walk to your own car with a little more pep in your step than this morning.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 (look at how many of you there are!)

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #the last of us x reader #joel tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fic #the last of us au #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #joel au #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #tlou hbo #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year

Note

May I please have a Wally with a reader that is somehow sentient and aware with knowing they've somehow got stuck in this tv show and are heavely aware Wally has something to do with it?

So they're extra closed up about themselves, stay home a lot to avoid the puppets in overly social gathering (like they can handle two or three of them but not all at once as it's too overwhelming with happy shizzles and stuff), yet that doesn't mean they don't talk at all to them. They don't keep their mouth shut either when something's bothering them, like when they get annoyed when Wally stares too long at them and makes a comment about it or genuinely admit they dislike Home with how disturbing it seems to them.

Wally somehow doesn't mind as he's genuinely interested in them and wants to become their friend as best as possible, not for any reason with manipulation, just pure friendly business. But as the reader knows he's the main star of the show they're forced to play in, they know the camera follows him almost always, thus they avoid him like the plague which causes a cat and mouse play between you two. Wally trying to get closer to you with perhaps making paintings and gifts for you while you just casually dip out of there while somehow looking like you don't hate him.

(It would be even funnier if you somehow became the second favorite character of the show as you stand out a lot with your attitude and being the only human being there, perhaps even attracting teens to watch the show with your remarks at the puppets for a certain someone not even having a nose or eyebrows and your monotone voice singing and having no energy with dancing once you somehow get stuck in a song sequence with the others (kind of like red guy from dhmis)

Funny thing is, sadly for Wally, is that you get along well with Frank and Eddie as they're the more calm ones, Eddie still joyfull a lot, but more calmer than Julie and Howdy perhaps are.

So there's Wally, staring with the most confused and slight jealous eyes as he watches you joke around and actually smile with the duo/couple(?) while you always give him a frown that's somehow even deeper than Franks.

Sorry for the slight ramble and long explanation (I'm a fanfic writer myself), just wanted to give a summary of how I see it and wondering how you'd think this would work out.

Btw, reader doesn't hate Wally, they're just warry and uncomfortable with his stares and Home in general, and with the knowledge that's he's one of the reasons they're stuck here. They soften up to him a little eventually, like letting him hug them shortly or talking more casual with him, but no way he ever sees them entering his house.

This was so long I'm so sorry.

Anyway, have a great day/night!

Oh don't worry I think this is a great idea! I like how fleshed-out it is!

...........

You have only spent a week in the neighborhood...before realizing something was terribly, terribly wrong with the world surrounding you.

At first, this place seemed like nothing but sunshine and rainbows--full of fun, joy, color, and friendship. A place that one could only dream of living in all their life, free of worry or strife.

It felt comforting and safe, so when you started having these weird feelings that not everything was as it seemed..you figured you were just nervous about settling into a new place.

But when the folks here asked where you were from, you'd end up drawing a blank...starting to question where you really did come from. So you'd simply tell them you're just "out of town" and leave it at that, although you always sounded uncertain about it.

And there's something else that was especially peculiar: every activity the neighbors did almost always stopped at the end of the day. It seemed strange to you since there's plenty of things you could do. Like campfires or stargazing!

So one evening, you asked all of your neighbors why they rarely hung out during the night, and they had relatively normal responses: Eddie says it's tricky to deliver mail at nighttime; Howdy was too tired from working at the bugdega all day; Barnaby and Sally had to plan their next stunts, tricks, and plays; Julie and Frank wanted to get their "beauty sleep"; and Poppy needed to take care of things back at the barn.

All seemed to be perfectly reasonable answers...

Until you got to Wally.

He looked as though he was ready to respond...only to fall quiet and stare off into space, as though he was in another world. But the fact that his pupils seemed to dilate gave you the chills for some reason, and you calmly tried snapping him out of his trance.

Then he did, and quietly said something about Home "disliking" it whenever he stays out too late. And he bid you goodnight before leaving.

That exchange was the moment you realized something was very off about him beyond his staring habits. It's like he didn't know exactly what to say.

As if...it's such an unusual question for him, but normal to you.

And out of nowhere, the truth hit you like a truck:

This whole place was just one big TV show, with all of you trapped inside as the unwitting stars who were meant to follow certain "scripts" during your daily interactions.

You don't know how or why you knew that, but it became clearer when you constantly got the feeling that your movements were being watched.

You could sense eyes on you even when you were alone.

And sometimes you'd hear indistinguishable voices of adults and children alike while you slept, unable to discern whether they were merely in your dream or existed in reality. It must have been the former, considering none of the other neighbors said they heard anything.

To you, these people...these "viewers", sounded like they were in a faraway land--an unreachable place where you couldn't call out to them for answers no matter how hard you tried.

You knew nothing about them, but they knew everything about you.

Your character had become so fascinating to them from the moment you arrived in the humble neighborhood. You've actually become the second favorite almost instantly, given the uniqueness you've brought to the colorful cast as a human merely wearing an average-sized costume.

They've observed that your personality makes you relatable to young teens, attracting them to the show. Many of them got some chuckles out of your dry and semi-self aware humor (in that you'd joke about how Wally's missing his eyebrows and nose when everybody else has them). It was an immediate hit.

Even when you got pulled into some silly musical number with the rest of the gang, you just spoke in monotone and put lackluster energy into dancing when the camera panned over to you--much to the dismay of your "neighbors".

The viewers just couldn't get enough of you. They adored you.

And they can't stop watching.

You, on the other hand, weren't aware that you were so popular...and quite frankly, you didn't want to be. It terrified you.

So for a while, to protect your own sanity, you began attending less and less social events, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. You've declined invitations to Sally's and Barnaby's shows, which made you feel kinda bad..but you were just so fearful of everything at the time.

Were any of them aware of their circumstances, too?

You had no idea, and it would probably make you sound like a crazy person if you told them how you really felt.

The only other person to show any sort of "deviance" was...Wally himself.

You didn't know why, but you felt like he had something to do with the situation you're in. Especially given his odd response to you that evening and the fact that...he just apparently loved to stare so much, watching you just like the audience did.

It didn't help that whenever you talked to him or he tried approaching you, you got the chilling feeling that you were being perceived by the audience--as if somebody was holding a camera over your shoulder, wanting to capture every moment the "main character" spent with you.

You'd prefer to spend as little time in the spotlight as possible.

However, being anxious about this world didn't mean you weren't a bit mouthy towards other things you disliked. You were known for being blunt and sometimes a "realist", shrugging of whatever crocodile tears the others may give you just for the crime of being honest and true to yourself.

So yes...you'd always call out Wally if he was staring at you for a prolonged period of time, or if he tried persuading you to say hello to Home if you happened to pass by the sentient house.

Your response? Straight up "no thank you, it creeps me out and I don't like how its window-eye things are looking at me."

The audience may laugh, but it's the truth.

That building scares you.

Despite all of this, though...Wally didn't seem to bothered by it. He likened your sarcastic quips to Frank's, so that was never an issue with him. If anything, he was genuinely trying to help you feel right at home in the neighborhood, hoping to become a friend you could trust and rely on if you needed anything.

It'll just take you a bit more time to adjust, and that's alright!

Sure, maybe his stares were strange to you and Home was well...Home. He understood why those things might seem scary to a new neighbor.

But then again, that's how everybody else acted when he first met them, and now they were all good friends!

He's sure you'll fit right in and find true happiness here. So he made it his mission to befriend you without coming on too strongly, inviting you to quiet picnics and painting lessons, calling you on the phone, and even showing up at your doorstep with gifts.

He even made sure to tell his neighbors to give you space, though he was really hoping you'd stop being afraid of him the longer you spent around him alone.

But while you accepted his presents and showed up to his invites...you just couldn't let your guard down around him. You never looked happy or relaxed, and didn't stay long, usually cutting your time together short under the guise that you forgot to do something important and had to leave now.

Your latest excuse was that you forgot to "walk your fish" even though you owned no such pet. You were a terrible liar, but Wally believed you anyways.

He was a patient man, so he'll wait how ever long it took to befriend you.

...........

"Alright, Home..today I'm gonna gift [y/n] my finest work thus far! Do you think they'll like it?"

Pausing, Wally listened for the creaks of approval and squeaks of reassurances, smiling when he heard them, although Home noted something else.

"Haha..you're right. Silly me. It needs more time to dry..or else the paint will just smudge and make it a not-so-nice gift. Sorry, I'm just excited, is all.." He chuckled awkwardly.

After setting the canvas back on the easel, he wandered over to the window and peered outside, humming a small tune to himself as he rested his arms on the sill.

It took him all day and all night to paint the perfect picture of your favorite animal---which he learned about from an off-handed comment you made a few days ago. His memory was sharp, remembering all the details about the creature, and he believed you'll love what he created as a result!

Surely now you'll see that he's not all that bad. Otherwise he'd be lost on how to convince you.

However, he noticed a rather...surprising sight from across the street, one that even Home had to confirm was happening so he didn't think he was going crazy.

You were actually out and about, having a casual chat with Frank, asking how he got together with Eddie before bumping into said mailman on the sidewalk.

Wally couldn't make out what any of you three were discussing, but Eddie must have said something humorous, as it made Frank groan and hide his blushing face. And you just chuckled and shook your head, patting the latter's back sympathetically.

He felt his heart sink.

You were talking to the couple--joking around, smiling, and genuinely enjoying their company. As if you've known them all your life.

Yet anytime he's even near you in any capacity, he's met with frowns deeper than Frank's and constant excuses to get away from him. Like he was some kind of pest or scary monster.

He didn't understand what he was doing wrong.

Of course, he's happy you're getting along with some of the neighbors, no longer being so shut-in...but it hurt to know he's still stuck struggling, literally begging you to be his friend.

*creaaaak?*

"..no, Home. I'm not jealous. What gives you that idea?"

*...creeak.."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Wally looked back at the easel, sighing. Part of him wanted to just throw the whole canvas out the window, but....he shook off the feeling, forcing a smile.

He wanted you to have it, even if you didn't like him that much.

So when he saw you finally parting ways with Eddie and Frank, he decided to head over to your house about an hour later, assuming you were gonna be there and needed to recharge from socializing.

He put on his best cardigan and made sure his hair was neat before heading out the door with the small canvas tucked under his arm, covered by a protective sheet. He wouldn't wanna spoil the surprise for you, after all..even if you anticipated it being yet another painting.

For some reason, the sky was grayer than usual today..meaning it's probably gonna rain on his parade.

But he didn't let that deter him.

After arriving to your house, he knocked three times, in a certain rhythm that you've distinctively recognized as him being at the door.

But he was surprised when you opened it right away. "Oh heya, Wally. What's up?"

"Ohh nothing much, neighbor." He chuckled. "May I..come in? I promise I won't stay long-"

"It's cool. It looks like it's gonna rain anyways. Wouldn't wanna ruin your "beautiful" hair now, huh?" With a coy smirk, you let him come inside the house, shutting the door behind you as you turned around to see what be brought you this time.

He looked shocked, almost, standing there like a fish out of water. You invited him in without hesitation...though he tried not getting his hopes up too high.

You're just trying to be polite. In a few minutes you're gonna kick him out for some silly reason.

Shifting your gaze away from his uncomfortable stare, you looked at the painting in his hands, tilting your head. "I guess that's for me.."

Nodding, Wally handed you the canvas, watching you remove the small sheet to see it was a painting of your favorite animal. Your eyes lit up, impressed by the amount of details that went into this one, before looking back up at him. "Wow, man..this is....awesome. How long did it take you?"

"Not very long!" He suddenly chirped, hands clasped together with excitement. "I just hope it fits nicely in your collection! A-Assuming....you...have one...that is..."

Bit by bit, his words began to fall flat with uncertainty, before he completely dropped the act, shoulders slumped.

Why did he bother trying anymore? What was the point?

You noticed his odd mood shift. "Wally? What's wrong?"

"..nothing, neighbor.." Sighing, he hung his head low, a cloud of doom and gloom manifesting over him as he shuffled towards the door. He felt like going back to Home and curling up in a corner somewhere. "I'll...see you later-"

"Wait."

"...hm?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, still feeling quite depressed but willing to listen to whatever you wanted to say.

You set the painting on a nearby table, approaching him with your heart constrained with guilt. "Look, Wally..I know you think I hate you or something, but...that's not true."

"It...isn't?" He blinked.

"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. There's just been...a lot of my mind lately. Things I can't really talk about just yet..I-I don't know. It's hard to explain. But the point is...I really do wanna be your friend. I guess I'm just...a very "guarded" person if that makes sense."

Although Wally was staring at you yet again, you didn't break eye contact, wanting him to know you're being genuine here. "I don't open up easy, but I know you've...helped me a lot, and I appreciate that. I do keep your paintings and I do feel bad for being a jerk to you sometimes. So...think you can forgive me? I'll even allow this if you want."

When he saw you open your arms up to him, he was frozen for a few long moments, astonishment written all over his face.

He just...didn't know what to say. Not only did you actually like his company, but....

He was allowed to hug you??

"..c'mon, pal. My arms are kinda getting tired." You awkwardly smiled, although you blinked as he suddenly latched onto you, letting out a few sniffles.

He wanted to sob so badly, but knew that wouldn't be very "neighborly" of him.

Yet you heard how he sounded, and felt guilty for treating him as some bad guy...when really he didn't seem malicious at all. You wanted to believe he had good intentions.

Whether or not he also knew the truth behind this place...that didn't matter right now.

He just wanted to be your friend.

You'll never be happy if you kept being so afraid of him all the time. That wasn't any life to live, even if you're unsure of whether this was your only life or not.

But you let him hug you anyways, patting his back.

"Th-This is very nice of you, neighbor. I forgive you." He mumbled, cheek squished against your shoulder as he clung to you tightly, never wanting to let go-

"Thanks......okay, you can let go now."

"..o-oh! Right, sorry." Reluctantly, Wally let you go, rubbing his eyes before dusting off his cardigan, breathing a sigh of relief. "Whew! I'm glad we're on better terms now. But...if I may ask..what changed?"

"Ah, well..I was talking with Frank and Eddie earlier..and I asked them about you."

"Huh....?" He pointed to himself, raising an invisible eyebrow. "Me..?"

"Yeah. Since they're more chill than most of the people here, I feel like I can be myself around them." You explained. "Howdy and Julie are kinda too loud for me, so...yeah. Those guys pushed me to reach out to you and try to make this friendship work...instead of the other way around."

'So...that's what they were talking about..' He realized, though he beamed anyways, happy you took their advice.

"Well that's great! I think we'll become great friends, [y/n]!" Smiling, he offered his hand to you, and you shook it as a way of saying you're both willing to start over.

"I..think so, too, Wally." You smiled back, feeling this huge weight being lifted off your shoulders.

"So...do you wanna come visit Home when the weather clears?"

"...I'll pass. But I'll wave to 'em from afar if that's okay."

"It's fine by me, neighbor."

#clanask #welcome home x reader #wally darling #wally darling x reader #platonic

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satorusgirltonight · 17 days

Text

Crack head canons: How My favorite JJK men would take care of their skin- with a skincare obsessed partner

This ones for all my skincare obsessed JJK fans out there

includes: Gojo, Geto, Choso and Nanami (the four husbands of jilly fr)

x reader, no pronouns used!

𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘

He has a full skincare routine.

BUT it's all over the place

He always wants to look his best

If you like skincare, he WILL steal all your products

“What’s a skin type”

Picks only the most bizarre packaging and colors because that's what draws his attention most

“Is this a toner or a serum?”

He's a little lost but you try to guide him in the right direction

He loves doing face masks with you, he thinks its funny

𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘

He used to have a moisturizer when he was still with Satoru

And he used to love it

But then he decided he didn't give a shit anymore because of that silly change of heart he had

When he met you, you asked him if he had anything

“I don't really care too much anymore” he would say

It totally reminds him of Satoru

He wouldn't let a face mask NEAR him

𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚘 𝙺𝚊𝚖𝚘

He doesn't understand his human body that much compared to his curse.

So, when he meets you and notices all your skincare, he assumes it's something humans do and..

He got curious

“I just thought you put it all on at once according to the labels”

So one day when you come home, he’s got all of it on his face.

He looked stupid, and you laughed A LOT

It's a hot mess but you wipe it off and attempt to teach him how you use it for your skin

He eventually picks it up because he notices his curse marks on his face are darker and change quicker

He agreed to doing a face mask with you one time.

It stung and he hated it so he never did it again

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒

He would always buy you the products, and always knew when they were low so he’d get you more

but he never used any unless he was with you in the bathroom while you did your skin prep

You loved to ask him if it was all rubbed in, and sometimes he’d try and be helpful by making sure you didn't skip a step

(He’s so husband material someone help me)

He doesn't mind it, sometimes you’ll put some on him for fun or to laugh about it

As long as it makes you happy, it made him happy

“Do you need more of that? I can run by the store and get some for you?”

“We can do one of those masks as long as you promise to not take any pictures, i can't let gojo see that.”

I love writing crack headcanons and this one came to me this morning so lmk what you think!!

reblogs and notes are appreciated <3

#headcanons #jjk headcanons #choso x reader #jjk nanami #jjk choso #jjk fluff #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you

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mirkwoodmunson · 2 years

Text

meltdown

eddie munson x gn!y/n

2k words

sometimes the bullying is too much. sometimes eddie needs you to step in.

contains: aaaangst but then a lil fluff at the end ig so it’s ok, jason carver, hurt!eddie, pre-s4 tw: cursing, physical/verbal bullying, violence, meltdown a/n: companion piece to bad day. eddie's turn to have a rough time! disc: i do not give permission to share my content outside of tumblr; please reblog and do not repost; my content (even sfw) is not meant for minors; i am not responsible for the media you consume online.

“Piss off and juggle some balls,” Eddie snarls out, before abruptly getting slammed back into the side of his van, one of Jason’s basketball goons grabbing him by the vest, fists twisted into the denim and digging into his shoulders as he’s held against the vehicle.

He lets out a wheeze and then growls, attempts lashing out like a cornered animal but it only makes the jock pull him forward to slam him back again — harder — eliciting another gasp from Eddie as the wind is knocked from him a second time.

“You really shouldn’t litter, y’know,” the goon drawls smugly, as Jason Carver himself collects from the ground the pages of campaign material Eddie had dropped after being shoved into this altercation without warning. Material he’d been working on for the past three months.

Eddie’s eyes grow wide and panicked as Jason shuffles through them, the jock’s eyebrows furrowed and nose wrinkled, face twisted into a sneer to say ‘what the fuck am I looking at, weirdo??’

Eddie’s stomach drops, movement ceasing as he watches carefully.

“H-hey c’mon man, c’mon just drop ‘em, alright? Carver!”

The blond boy snorts, meeting Eddie’s pleading gaze with a careless one of his own.

“Sure, freak. Sure I’ll drop ‘em,” he coos.

Jason smiles, flat and ice-cold, and tears a neat rip right down the middle of the pages, Eddie immediately crying out angrily and squirming, distraught shouts only growing louder with every slow rriiiiippp Jason draws out for his own amusement.

He does eventually drop the pages — the small little squares he’d made out of them — lets them out of his hands slowly to flutter away in the breeze.

It’s gut-wrenching, the way Jason just grins in delight as Eddie furiously tries to break free, tries to thrust himself after Jason, tries to defend himself — but all his efforts earn him is a swift punch to the gut from the goon holding him.

Eddie doubles over with a huff and blinks rapidly as his vision explodes with color, lungs sputtering and stinging as he tries to chase a deep breath of air that they can’t hold with their ache, arms wrapped around his middle as he starts to sink to the ground.

He can hear nimble, quick-paced footsteps, someone running towards the trio, but in his position he doesn’t see you come up right behind Jason with your arms thrown back, hears you but doesn’t see as you cry out in a blind rage and swing your book bag with full might into the side of Jason Carver’s head.

He misses getting to see Jason practically soar to the ground, but he does see him flounder on the pavement, eyes wide in his startled panic, holding his head and trying to place his attacker.

You keep screaming, wildly swinging your heavy bag, taking a defensive stance in front of Eddie who’s still holding his abdomen, curled into himself and coughing.

“FUCK OFF YOU ROTTING PIECES OF DOG-SHIT!! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!! GET — AWAY!! I’LL FUCKING SHOVE MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS, JASON CARVER; SO FAR YOUR OWN MOTHER IS GONNA TASTE THE SOLE!!”

You get a few more good whacks in, making Jason and his goon stumble as the latter helps the former to his feet, trying to keep him steady as they gather themselves and attempt a hasty retreat.

“FUCKING FREAKS!” The goon throws over his shoulder before they both break into a run, Jason stumbling a bit and struggling with his footing.

As soon as they’re focused on high-tailing it out of there you drop your bag and sink to your knees in front of Eddie’s huddled figure, the boy still pulling in deep breaths that squeal with a wheeze in between his coughs.

“Eds?? Eddie baby, lookit me, look here,” you cup his cheeks and gently lift his head, pushing curls away from his face to give him room to breathe and checking for any other injuries; your stomach drops when he slowly looks up with your encouragement, his bottom lip quivering as he tries to keep the tears restrained but a few of them have already fallen down his rosy cheeks. He looks up, but avoids your intense, concerned gaze.

“Oh, Eddie… sweetie, come on, you gotta get up; I got you, c’mon…” you sigh gently and pull one of his arms around your shoulders, carefully lifting him with you. He leans into you and lets out a soft whine, his other arm tightly wrapped against his middle, letting you maneuver him.

“Keep doing those deep breaths, babe, you got it… it’s alright you got it… c’mon, m'gonna take you home, okay? It’s alright…”

Your voice keeps him docile, keeps him calm, keeps him focused and breathing and moving. He wants to hide, wants to be in the quiet dark, wants to crawl away with you so he lets you guide him to the passenger side of his van and into the seat. As soon as you close his door he leans his arms up on the dash and buries his head in them, shoulders heaving.

Your heart sinks to your feet and you breathe out slowly.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that piece of shit…” You spit under your breath, glancing back at the school. You take a few minutes to gather whatever scraps of Eddie's campaign you can find -- whatever hasn't already blown away -- tucking them into your bookbag as you scoop it up along with the rest of Eddie's things. You walk around to the driver's side of the van, hopping up into the seat.

Eddie tries to calm down when he hears you come in, looks away and lifts his shirt to swipe over his face, a quick successions of sniffles. You can see him tremble, errant hairs shivering, the way his hands moved almost frantically, body rigid and vibrating with adrenaline.

You set your bag in the back and then just sit silent for a bit. Letting Eddie have his time to quietly vent the steam while he tries to hide it from you — huddled away and trying to collect himself before you press for info or speak up again.

When he’s down to just heavy breaths, you reach over and slowly stroke his arm, testing the waters. They’re lukewarm and still, and Eddie just sits and lets you comfort him.

“Are you okay, Eds?" 'Silly question,' you think, 'of course he's not okay.'

"Do- …d’you wanna, talk about it?”

Eddie does a big shrug and huffs, looking into his lap while fiddling with his rings absently. He sniffles, swipes a sleeve against his nose, shaking his head a little.

“What’s there to talk about.” His voice is raspy and soft, stating it plainly; he still wheezes softly. You wince and withdraw your hand.

“Same shit as always. Bunch’a fuckin' little shits ganging up on someone bigger to feel tough.”

The quiet settles over you again.

And then you jump in your seat, when Eddie begins punching the dash in front of him, practically screaming,

“SAME FUCKING SHIT!! IT’S THE SAME — FUCKING — SHIT!! EVERY — FUCKING — DAY — OF MY LIIIFE!!”

He’s punching with each word, choking on a sob with every pained breath, and then he’s just shouting at the end, fists digging into his thighs as he strains with the force of his bellowing, face red and wet.

You just freeze and go quiet, eyes glued down onto your hands in your lap, flinching with the punches and closing your eyes when he yells.

He breaks off with a sob and rakes fingers into his tangled hair — you hear strands snap — tugging against the roots as he cries deep from his aching belly, rasping with each breath.

“It doesn’t stop!! It doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t—“

He stomps his foot, pulling his hair — he was so strained just sitting in place, groaning and crying and shifting irritably like he needed to do something, needed to move. Something angry and red and sad and tired was trying to break free, pushing at his seams, and it frustrated him that all he could do was just cry. He felt itchy and tight in his skin.

It wasn’t often, but you had seen him like this a few times before. When it got too be too much for him to hide with a grin and lame joke, too much to tuck away into the attic of his mind.

It was the ones that smiled the easiest, it seemed, that had the most they wanted to hide.

Grin and bear it.

It broke your heart every time. How could it not?

Eddie was such a strong person, his will unmatched and pride hung high — not proud, per se, but very aware of how bright he shone, and more than happy to shed that light. Happy to stand strong and be that person everyone saw him as — that you saw him as — untouchable, unwavering, mighty.

Eddie the Brave.

It broke your heart to see that light flicker and go out, even if only momentarily. Broke your heart to see Eddie — who was always the one to comfort and protect you — need comfort and protection himself.

But every light needs tending to stay lit. The flames may go out but they can be fanned into a roar once more.

Eddie would always help you pick up your pieces, you would always be there to help him pick up his.

He sits rigid in his seat with his palms cupped over his face, muffling the cries and sniffles, hiding the tears that fell freely — hid them till they were trickling down his wrists and dripping from his chin.

“Eddie…sweetheart…” Just the warmth, tenderness, of your voice makes his shoulders slump, quivering with the force of the next few sobs as his muscles struggle to keep taught.

“Baby c’mere,” you soothe, reaching to him and carefully sliding a hand around his wrist. You pull it away, and he lets you guide him towards you slowly. You lift his hand and bring it up and around your shoulder, and Eddie leans in with it and puts his other arm around you as well, now crying freely against your shoulder as he sinks into your awaiting arms and lets the meltdown run its course as you comfort him.

"I'm sick of it, y/n! I'm-I'm fuckin' sick of it!"

You tuck your face into brown curls, let your eyes slide closed as you murmur calming shushes, hand smoothing slow, deep circles into his back, gently grazing with your fingertips; other hand clutching tight to the scruff of his shirt, holding Eddie to you dearly.

"I know. I know, Eds..."

It's all you can say. Nothing would really make it any better right now, he just needed to let it out, just needed a moment to be comforted and told 'yes. you're right, Eddie. It does fucking suck. But you'll be okay.'

After a while he's more responsive -- quieted down -- rubbing your back as well and self-soothingly brushing his cheek against the shoulder of your soft, warm shirt, just under your collarbone. Listening to your heartbeat, letting that ground him.

You press nuzzled kisses into his hair, against his forehead and temple and the bridge of his nose, which makes him smile and crinkle it sweetly.

He leans up slowly in his seat while you keep a hand pressed to his back, watching him orient himself and rub his eyes, trying to physically wipe away the thoughts swarming over the incident. He smooths his palms into his thighs, over and over, a slow and soothing gesture. Breathes deep and exhales, still wheezing a little, still aching, but now mostly just tired.

"...can you, stay over tonight?" Eddie croaks just above a whisper, finally meeting your eye.

You smile and nod, holding up the hand you'd had on his back.

He smiles too, soft and weary, fishes the keys out of his pocket and drops them into your palm.

Your gaze shifts to the little keychain attached to them, a clear plastic heart that holds a tiny cutout picture of the two of you from a photo booth, giggly and excited after seeing The Return of the Living Dead.

“I can help you fix the campaign! You’ve been working so hard on it.”

You start up the van, Eddie squeezes your thigh -- a silent 'thank you,' and you head off towards Forest Hills.

#100th post lets gooo!!!!!!#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson angst #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson x gn!y/n #stranger things x you #eddie munson fic #mine #1k

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