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erodasfishtacos · 2 years

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MANCHESTER NIGHT TWO

prompt: Harry is having his ‘adjustment day’ and everyone has to suffer with him

word count: 7k+

warnings: smut, blood, minors dni 18+

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

*thanks to @ladylazarus98 and @fallon-carrington123 for inspo 😙

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

*** <- click for visuals throughout the story

As stated before, like clockwork, a couple dates into tour - Harry gets crabby beyond belief.

It’s been happening since the Up All Night Tour.

Give it just a few shows until his body starts to catch up and then he has to get back into the routine which takes some adjustment.

He’s also hasn’t had a stage this big for his tour since One Direction days and now he has a whole stadium to prance around in.

Tour means drastically less sleep, a thousand more pounds of pressure on his shoulders each day, extreme amounts of exhaustion from his actual show, and less time for anything but performing.

Harry has always managed to juggle all these things pretty well except for his sporadic bouts of crabbiness and just overall poor mood.

YN had been used to those for every tour, just waiting for the day to hit, sometimes it was the second tour day and then other times it was the seventh.

It turns out to be his fourth, if you’re including his set at the summer ball in wembley stadium.

Last night, Harry had been so utterly drained from his performance in his hometown that they hadn’t done anything but go to sleep after the show with very little spoken because he was still so overstimulated from everything that day.

YN is up earlier than him which is unusual, he definitely wasn’t fancying a workout after that show last night, he deserved a lay in.

They were staying with Anne, not the same home Harry grew up in but still warm and cozy - with many touches of mum that she knew he missed.

Anne is out to breakfast with a group of her friends, the house is quiet as YN fixes herself a cup of chai tea and sits on a chaise that over looks the well maintained garden.

Nearly an hour later, YN hears slow, heavy footsteps from behind her then a graveling grumbling, “Morning.”

YN already knew, just by the greeting that today was the day but she always had hope that she was wrong though she rarely ever is.

When she turns to look over her shoulder, she sees her husband in just his briefs, hair going every which way, and his face is still puffy from sleep - he looked adorable.

“Come have a cuddle,” YN offers, patting the spot next to her, normally, he would have curled right in next to her and they would have stayed there for a long while.

Harry’s face twists up before he’s shaking his head, “Don’t want a cuddle, I want a coffee. My mum doesn’t have the bloody oat creamer I need. Now I’m shit out of luck, I guess.”

YN wants to roll her eyes at him because the pout on his face is absolutely ridiculous and the way his shoulders are tensed up is dramatic.

“Well, we can go to the market and get some,” YN suggests the obvious option even though she really didn’t want to go through Harry being noticed out in public.

There wasn’t much time before Harry would have to be at the stadium which is still about forty-five minutes away from his mum’s house.

“Fine,” Harry huffs out before turning on his heel to go get dressed, feet still heavy and irritated as they drag against the hardwood floors.

YN knew by now not to personalize it, not to get her feelings hurt because that only made it worse - she tried to avoid any type of confrontation on these days because feeding into the negativity is what he wants - wants others to be in a foul mood like he is.

He returns back downstairs in a low-key outfit of a hoodie, running shorts, and tennis shoes with a beanie and sunglasses - people knew he was in the area, they were going to be on the lookout for him.

YN was already dressed in a pleasing hoodie and leggings, pulling her own hood up and slipping on a pair of sunglasses as well.

Harry’s quiet during the ride into town, his hand on her thigh but he doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t push him - he can get so overwhelmed and overstimulated that it can take a whole day for him to reset.

They’re in the small market, in the dairy aisle, and find a similar enough container of oat creamer that he can use for his coffee.

“Do you think I have enough time for a nap-“ Harry begins to ask quietly as they walk out of the shop after checking out but is cut off by screams.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry mutters under his breath as he noticed a large flock of fans that had formed outside while they were shopping.

Harry doesn’t stop for any pictures, tries his best to acknowledge the fans without stopping to greet them because he just doesn’t have the energy for it.

Despite his grumpiness, he’s always a good husband, pulling YN close to his side as he begins to try to nicely push his way through the group of screaming fans.

“Bloody eight in the morning,” Harry hisses in irritation as they get jostled around by the mass of pushing bodies.

YN feels a sharp pain shoot through her Achilles when someone accidentally steps on the back of her heel with their heavy combat boot.

“Ow! Harry,” YN gasps in surprise as she pauses where she’s standing and squeezing her eyes shut as she tries not to panic - it can get overwhelming so fast.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Harry asks urgently in concern, eyes hardening when he sees the back of her foot bleeding from a scrape - it wasn’t serious but it was preventable and looked like it hurt like hell.

Harry manages to keep a level head but his voice is loud and booming, “Everyone needs to step back. You just made my wife bleed. Give her space for Christ’s sake!”

He’s not yelling but it’s firm enough that everyone takes a step back with surprised eyes at his tone that he rarely ever used with the public.

Harry wraps his arm tightly around YN’s shoulder as he hustles them towards the car, quick as he whips open her door and helps her in - blood pooling in her sandal as it drips.

When he revs up the engine of his Range Rover, the crowd steps back a bit to give him space to peel out of the car park, he’s shaking his head angrily as he goes well over double the speed limit.

He’s quiet again, getting a good bit of distance between them and the market before he’s pulling over at a small empty playground and shoving it into park before he’s out of the car once again.

Harry is opening her door and gently reaching for her ankle, brows furrowed and an angry grimace on his face that highlight the dark circles under his eyes.

“What happened?” He asks as he examines the cut with careful movements, thumb caressing her ankle bone.

“Someone was too close behind me, stepped on my heel with their boot,” YN yelps when he prods at the sensitive skin around the wound and tries to yank her foot away but he grips it firmly.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes roughly as he steps away to open to boot of the car - scrounging around until he comes back with a water bottle and one of his clean tee shirts from the cleaners which he picked up yesterday, “This might sting a bit.”

YN’s hand grips the handle on the door and squeezing when he begins to pour water over the cut and wipe the dirt from the shoe away with his shirt.

It wasn’t the end of the world but it sure as hurt.

Harry then rips the shirt, without a care that it was an expensive cotton tee from Alessandro himself, and wraps it around her ankle in a makeshift wrap.

YN leans forward after he’s done, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him softly despite how stiff he is, he kisses back.

“Thank you, best husband,” She murmurs against his lips but he actually scoffs and takes a step back, a stormy expression still on his face.

“Yeah, really the best husband,” He frowns, pouring the water over his dirty hands before drying them with a scrap of the shirt, “If I was a good husband, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt or put in the position in the first place.”

His words were sharp, disappointed in himself as he shuts her door and gets back in the driver’s seat, grip on the wheel so tight his knuckles are white.

By the time they get home, YN is frustrated that Harry doesn’t have enough time to lay back down for a nap because sleep exhaustion was not fun.

She really really didn’t want him going out on stage when he was this tired, he always felt frustrated with his performance afterwards which just made everything spiral.

Harry isn’t under the same impression because when they get home, YN is busy cleaning up her foot and telling Anne what happened.

He disappears upstairs, YN assumes to get his items together to take to the stadium but she gets distracted with Anne and the cats.

It isn’t until the shiny black SUV pulls in to chauffeur them that YN realizes that she hasn’t seen Harry in about half an hour.

When she trails up to the bedroom they’re staying in, she sees him fast asleep ontop of the covers, he hadn’t even taken his tennis shoes off he was that deprived of sleep.

YN felt awful when she had to sit next to him on the bed and gently rub her hand over his chest, whispering, “H, need you to get up.”

It reminded her of his One Direction days.

They were so overworked.

All the boys ran in less than five hours of sleep and were expected to work every moment they were awake.

From recording to interviews to having cameras for documentaries shoved in their faces every other minute - they were constantly spread thin.

They were tucked away in a tiny tour bunk on top, the curtains drawn and they were both fast asleep with Harry’s nose buried in her neck.

After concerts lately, the team had been making the boys stay up even later to record for their next album - no care for how much they just wanted to go to sleep.

When Harry would finally crawl into the bunk, after a concert and then two hours of studio time, it would be two in the morning.

He would be asleep in a minute flat, YN could barely get a goodnight or I love you in before he was nuzzling into her and snoring.

It was like that tonight, they had just performed in Paris and it was an unusually hot night on stage - the heat had Harry’s hair matted to his neck where it fell out of his bun.

The heat always made it harder on their bodies to perform, running around that massive stage, and on a running timer of little sleep.

When Harry had ran off stage after the finale of Best Song Ever, he’s grabbing YN’s hand and rasping, “Just want to shower with you and sleep for days. C’mon before they try to grab me to record.”

They find him, however, before he can get onto the tour bus, and demand that he come record the chorus for Fireproof.

“Just want a shower and to sleep. Is it that much to ask for?” Harry grumbles unhappily before giving YN a kiss and pat to her bum, “I’ll miss you. I’ll try not to wake you when I get in.”

He always did. But it was okay.

It was nearly three hours later when Harry is crawling up the ladder and pushing the curtain back so he can slide into the bunk next to her before pulling the fabric back in place.

He smelled good of his normal eucalyptus body wash and mint shampoo, he was still a little damp like he didn’t want to towel off, and he was just in his briefs as he nestled in next to her.

“Mmm,” YN hums drowsily, acknowledging him as she wiggles back into him and sighing happily when he wraps his arm around her and kisses the nape of her neck.

“Sorry for waking you,” Harry whispers sleepily, planting a few more kisses along her neck and shoulders.

“What time is it?” She mumbles half- asleep still as she helps him pull the blankets over his body too.

“About four in the morning,” He tells her before being interrupted with a yawn as he begins it’s his head on the same pillow as her.

YN vaguely remembers huffing out that it was too late and that he needed sleep but by the time those syrupy words rolled off her tongue, Harry was already dead to the world.

Not much time could have passed before fluorescent light is infiltrating their little nest and a deep voice is announcing, “Time to get up.”

YN squints the light away, grabbing blindly at her phone to check the time.

“It’s six on the morning, Paul. Harry just got into bed at four,” She tells him through a groan, her boyfriend hadn’t even stirred yet.

“Don’t know what to tell you. They have a jammed packed day, no wiggle room. Harry, wake up,” Paul’s voice is louder this time before he’s pulling open the curtains to everyone else’s bunks.

YN knows Harry’s awake when he inhales sharply before taking a lazy, long breath out - lips smacking together against the skin of her neck.

She brings her hand to card through his long lock, nearly to his shoulders. They’re fluffy and soft from his shower the night before.

“I’m so tired,” Harry mumbles sleepily, eyes still shut as he nuzzles further into her body, “I feel like m’gonna die if I keep running on two hours of sleep every night.”

“I hate seeing you this exhausted,” YN replies sadly, massaging his scalp for a moment longer before Paul’s making his rounds to make sure they’re out of bed.

Harry still looked like that same sleepy boy right now as he sniffles and digs his face further into the pillow in resistance.

“H, the car’s here already,” YN tells him, letting her hand drift down the warm muscle of his tattooed bicep and forearm.

His eyes blink open harshly, pausing to process for a moment before he’s grunting, “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner? Only been asleep for a minute and now we have to go. Bloody ridiculous.”

YN rolls her eyes as he pushes himself off the bed with a irate grumble, he begins shoving stuff in his tote bag, and cursing to himself.

She knows by now not to take it personal, to not argue because it only makes things worse. Sometimes that’s easier said than done but not when it comes to little things like this.

When YN goes to hike her own duffle over her shoulder, Harry hip bumps her, and lugs it over his own - like she said, even when he’s grumpy he’s an amazing husband.

“See you at the stadium in a few hours,” YN tells Anne, giving her a kiss on the cheek and allowing her to wrap her in a motherly hug

“Bye mum,” Harry says bluntly, giving her a wave before he’s stepping up into the car and shutting the door.

Anne looks at YN with a confused expression, taken aback by the curt behavior of her son.

YN waves her hand dismissively, “It’s not you. I think today’s his adjustment day.”

That’s what they all referred to it as.

“Well, it’s definitely his adjustment day,” YN scoffs in agitation as she slams shut the dressing room door and heads out to where the rest of the band is hanging out, “Date six this time.”

The boys chuckle because they know exactly what she’s talking about by their third tour, he’s just like clockwork.

A few minutes later, Harry admerges in his tight black skinny jeans, loose button-up, and a headscarf holding his curls back.

“Where’s YN?” He demands when he doesn’t see her anywhere in the vicinity.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been a douche at soundcheck and we’d tell you,” Louis shrugs, not bothering to look up from the video game he's playing with Zayn.

“You can go fuck yourself,” Harry snaps instantly, jaw clenching as he storms past his bandmates who just ignore him anyways.

He was normally the kindest, least problematic out of all of them so they’d let his bad days slide more easily than with each other.

YN is currently pouring herself a glass of fresh squeezed mango juice from the Kraft service table when Harry finds her.

“You know I love you,” Harry murmurs quietly as he steps behind her, she can feel him pressing up against her.

“I would hope so,” She replies with a chuckle, taking a sip before saying, “If not, we just wasted quite a few years.”

“Are you mad at me?” He pushes, ignoring the dirty look she gives him when he takes the cup out of her hand and swigs down the juice she’d just poured - he reaches around her to refill it.

“No,” YN sighs as she takes the glass back, leaning back into him, “Just hated days when you’re like this. It’s hard for me to watch. You just get worn so thin and get so mentally tired that it makes me sad to see you get pushed so much.”

“It’ll get better, in a few years, when I’m on my own,” Harry promises as he leans in to kiss her temple, hands squeezing her hips, “If I ever get the chance to do a solo tour.”

Oh, would he.

A sold out stadium tour to be exact.

And he wasn’t lying, when he went solo things did get a lot better.

He wasn’t spread as thin as ice constantly, everyday of the year but maybe now half the year - only when he’s touring or promoting but he definitely had a bit more down time for self-care.

It was the back-to-back concerts, like Glasgow, Capital Ball, Manchester night one, and now night two before Wembley, she was so proud she could burst at the seams.

Harry had been just a moody during soundcheck, a frown etching his lips downward as he kept an annoyed expression on his face.

“S’too loud.”

“I say it’s too loud so you turn the volume up?”

“Okay. Why is it suddenly becoming difficult to get this right? We’ve done it a million times before.”

Fans idealized who Harry is as a person.

That’s not saying that he isn’t wonderful and kind but he is human, this is the side YN gets too which is part of being in a marriage - the good and the bad.

People blog about how perfect their relationship must be, how Harry must bring her flowers in bed everyday, and never get cross with her.

Harry Styles the brand isn’t the same as Harry Styles the person.

Most people get the brand, very few get the person.

YN feels bad as she watches the audio techs scramble to make it right, bickering between each other as they fumble with the buttons and switches.

The soundcheck was already running too close to showtime which YN knows has Harry on edge, the fans will be let in almost as soon as they’re done - he’ll have to start getting ready.

—

“Hey!” YN squeaks, giggling quietly as she looks around the hallway, “Harry, you don’t have much time before you have to go on stage!”

“Shush up and let me kiss you before the boys find us,” Harry leans in, connecting their lips as he’s pushing her back against the wall.

“Oi! Styles, get your arse to the stage! What did I tell you about distracting him?” Preston barks at them as he’s trying to taper down a smile by putting his hands on hips like he means business.

Harry grumbles as he gives her one more kiss before bumping their noses together, “Want to go get pizza after the show?”

“Isn’t as easy as before. Now you need security and approval,” YN murmurs but there’s no heat behind the words, “I’d love to get pizza later.”

She reaches up to adjust his bandana, he looks like a frat boy with his golden dark tan, black cut-off tank, and ripped skinny jeans.

“Styles! I mean it! Now!”

“Bloody hell! M’coming!” Harry shouts back before flipping him the bird.

Harry picks a fight with Harry Lambert about his outfit, complaining about nothing and refusing any replacement item.

Everyone already knows he’s going to wear what was originally planned but he has to complain that the zipper was too flimsy or the shirt didn’t mesh with the shoes.

He didn’t want the three other shirt options and so he goes back to the original but debates over his shoes for nearly twenty minutes.

Lambert looks like he wants to strangle him by the time it’s over.

Usually, Harry would slip into his clothes with any issue as they planned these outfits in advance and Harry had specifically approved every single one.

YN isn’t in the room when Jeff chews Harry out about how he acted today at the grocery store, how he should have stopped and taken pictures, and signed autographs.

She misses that Harry had just told his best friend and manager to fuck off and leave him alone, to not come near him at all, and mind his own business.

YN had been sat with Anthony Pham as he clicked through pictures from the night before on his laptop, he landed on an action shot of Harry jumping up the few stairs when he was going crazy during ‘Satellite’.

She had meant to warn Harry to be careful about doing that and he had just happened to be storming out of his dressing room when she looks up.

“H, baby,” YN calls, unsure of where he was heading but he stops in his tracks and meets her gaze with a tight jaw.

“What?” Flat. Blunt.

“Anthony was just showing me some pictures from last night. Please be careful when you jump those stairs. It might drizzle and if you slip, you’re really going to get hurt,” YN tells him softly, it wasn’t pestering or nagging - it was because she cared and thought she’d remind him.

His face pinches up even more as he listens before he’s booming out, “I’m not a fucking baby. I don’t need to be told that. S’my show and I’ll do what I want.”

YN takes a deep breath, steadying herself so that she doesn’t match his negative energy but inside, she’s absolutely livid with him.

“You’re right, Harry. It is all your show, popstar. You do what you want,” YN scoffs as the angry rising up in her chest before she’s giving Anthony a pat on the shoulder before she’s walking away the from the situation.

Popstar.

When YN used it, it was an insult. It was to highlight how spoiled or egocentric he was being. Every time she says it in that context, it triggers him.

“I don’t want to go out tonight. I’m saying no and it’s final,” Harry huffs firmly, sitting on the couch in their first London flat.

“You promised me last week that you would come with us, H. Everyone’s expecting you and I want you to come as well,” YN bites back as she stands at their kitchen counter.

“No. It was leaked that I was back in London. Everyone knows I’m here. I’m not going out to just be bombarded with fans and paparazzi tonight. I’m not doing it after a three week long press tour for This Is Us.”

“Fine,” YN mutters, slamming her cup down a little harsher than necessary, “It’s much more important than what I want. Right, popstar?”

“That’s not what I said! You bloody know that I hate when you call me that!” Harry raises his voice, running a hand through his curls.

“Then stop acting like a spoiled little popstar!” YN retorts hotly, she logically knew she was the one being a little over dramatic - she just had not liked his tone.

His face instantly turns into a deeper scowl when he hears it, his teeth gritting together as he stares intently at her back before following after her.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Harry demands lowly as he takes strides behind her, “M’not being a popstar, I just don’t need mothered.”

YN spins on her heel, crossing her arms, “I’ve been plenty plenty patient with you today. My patience has run out. You need to adjust your attitude or you can sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Rather that anyways,” Harry hisses brattily, kissing the back of his teeth - YN can see straight through the rough guy act.

Anyone else would be intimidated by his broad shoulders, stoney glare, and clenched jaw but not her, not one bit, she doesn’t back down.

“Don’t come crying to me when you hurt yourself on stage,” She shrugs casually before shaking her head in disbelief at his overall attitude today.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry rumbles back before he’s storming off, back towards his dressing room before he’s swinging open the door and slamming it shut.

YN has to chuckle because even on his worst days, like today, he’s just a little brat but never gets to the point where YN feels anything but a mixture of annoyance and fondness.

YN inhales deeply to let the annoyance flow out of her body as she walks towards Harry Lambert to get her outfit for the show.

It was a simple light washed gucci jumpsuit, the denim was the same color as the denim that made up Harry’s overalls. ***

(imagine them in the same color denim as Harry’s)

YN was planning on a cute pair of mule heels but with the cut on the back of her ankle, she figured she better go for something more comfortable.

She decided to just keep on her slides, she was going to stay off to the side of the stage tonight - about halfway through the show Anne and everyone else would join her.

It’s nearing showtime when YN realizes she hasn’t seen Harry in a hot minute as she sees Jeff storming down the hallway - near red in the face.

“What’s going on?” YN questions with concern as she sees Harry jogging down the long corridor towards the stage.

“He fell asleep and now he’s pissed that he only has five minutes until showtime,” His manager huffs before he’s mumbling an update on his walkie.

“Maybe if somebody fuckin’ woke me up!” Harry complains boisterously as he’s tucking his ear pieces into and hustling towards the stage where he now has less than a minute until showtime.

He’s too distracted by being rushed to the stage by the crew for YN to wish him luck or anything like that but YN finds a storage box to sit on - on side stage.

She can feel the camera flashes not only on Harry but on her as well, it was always awkward to remember that people would film her watching Harry and post it as well.

The show is going fine, Harry seems to be a little more subdued than the night before but overall he always manages to put on a great performance and his fans won’t be able to tell.

Towards the end of the show, a light drizzle begins to fall and coat the stage - making it slippery and what YN had warned against.

As Harry is going crazy during Satellite, he starts jogging backwards down the long catwalk before turning quickly to jump up onto the platform - skipping the three steps.

YN’s heart drops when she sees his face twist into grimace before he’s covering his expression with a forced smile again.

He hadn’t tripped or tumbled over but he most definitely had landed funny on his ankle, just like YN had ‘mothered’ him about.

It must be bothering him because he does not jump around nor does he run for the rest of the show, babying that foot.

YN’s first reaction is to be furious with him, she told him this would happen and he was in such a poor mood that he got angry instead and ended up hurting himself.

She wants to scream ‘I told you so’ as soon as he steps off the stage but she not going to make the situation even worse than it already was.

After the show, all of their friends and family who attended were supposed to go out to eat at a restaurant Jeff had paid out to have for the night.

However when Harry jogs off stage gingerly before slowing to a slow walk as soon as he’s out of the eye line of fans.

YN is waiting for him like always, feels a bit of warmness when he comes to her, dipping down to kiss her before pulling back and murmuring, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” YN murmurs, thumbing a stray curl off his damp forehead, “You going to go shower before we head out to The River’ Edge?”

Harry’s face turns stormy for the hundredth time of the day, he shakes his head adamantly as he straightens back up, “No, m’not going. I just want to go back home.”

YN already knows why but still prompts, “Why?”

“Why? Because I just bloody did a show for nearly eighty thousand people and I want to relax, not entertain fifty more,” Harry huffs like it’s obvious, crossing his arms and pouting out his bottom lip.

She’s actually relieved that he doesn’t want to go because she know his attitude wouldn’t have been any better there and this miserable day would have just dragged on.

YN’s heel was still hurting, the skin tender and sore, and she didn’t feel like walking anymore tonight either but the only thing she was worried about was Jeff.

He wasn’t going to be happy that Harry wasn’t attending his own party.

“Go get out of your stage clothes and I’ll go tell Jeff that we’re going to head home,” YN reaches up and rubs at his shoulder before turning to find his manager.

“Okay,” Harry grumbles before stalking off towards his dressing room, it was amazing what a mask he could put on when he has to for his job.

When YN finds Jeff and pulls him aside, he’s just as livid as expected and his patience is minimal based on his argument with Harry earlier.

“Why can’t anyone fucking listen to me?” Jeff shouts in frustration, he seems to have already had a few drinks in his system.

“Can you not control your husband for a fucking minute?”

“We’ve had this planned for months! There’s no reason to cancel.”

As Jeff continues to rant, YN is speechless as she’s being screamed at for something she didn’t even do but she was guilty by association because Harry was her husband.

However, Jeff becomes eerily silent suddenly as YN feels familiar hands grip her hips and pull her back into the strong, muscular chest of her husband.

“I know for a fact, you weren’t just raising your voice at my wife,” Harry states in an unsettlingly calm tone as he moves to step in front of her.

Jeff looks guilty as he glances between the couple.

Then Harry’s voice raises in volume, startling YN with the deep bravado that rumbles from deep within his chest, “I said I know you’re not raising your voice at my wife. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff relents with a sigh, raising his hands in surrender, “I just am frustrated that the party -“

“I don’t need to hear your excuses,” Harry cuts in, moving his hand to intertwine with YN’s as he begins to pull her away, “Don’t let me catch you talking to her like that ever again or there will be major, major problems. Understand?”

Jeff nods, embarrassed by everyone around them staring at the spectacle as Harry directs YN down the hall towards the exit of the stadium where there’s a car waiting.

They don’t speak during the walk, Harry stills spun tight and his shoulders are tensed up as he ignores all the crew ogling him with excitement and amazement.

In the SUV, Harry kicks off his sneakers which he typically doesn’t do so YN takes that as another sign that his ankle is bothering him.

Harry is the biggest baby when he’s hurt usually.

He wants to be cuddled, soothed, and wants YN’s full attention at all times (which isn’t very different from everyday for them).

But he’s stubborn and grumpy as all get out.

He goes easily when YN wraps her hand gently around his neck and directs him until he’s laying across the backseat with her nails scratching at his scalp as he blinks heavily, trying to stay awake.

The ride’s not even an hour but Harry drifts off after only a few minutes after the car pulls out of the stadium lot.

He’s groggy as YN unlocks the front door to Anne’s house and leads him up the stairs where he disappears into the bathroom to shower.

YN disappears downstairs to scrounge through the freezer until she’s grabbing a solid bag of frozen peas and pouring herself a glass of water, as well as one for him with a few pain reliever pills.

When she enters back into their room, she changes out of her denim outfit and into a cute pajama set because she didn’t want to sleep in her underwear at her mother-in-law's house. ***

Harry comes out soon after, not one for long showers when he’s sleepy and has just a tight pair of briefs on as he rubs his eyes. ***

“C’mere,” YN pats the space next to her on the bed then grabs the cold bag of vegetables.

“What are those for?” Harry grumps as he subtly limps to the bed and plops down heavily right up against her.

“For the ankle you hurt on stage,” YN raises her eyebrow at him before nodding down to where it’s swollen and bruising.

“I didn’t,” He argues instantly, defensive with his hackles up and knitted brows, “Don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining shit.”

“Mmm, must be,” YN replies nonchalantly, tossing the bag back onto the bedside table and acting like she’s wriggling down to get ready for bed - refusing to give into his antics.

Harry grunts and grumbles for a few minutes, turning and squirming because he does want YN to baby him and he’s fighting against himself.

YN is faced away from him, trying to taper down her smile when he finally relents after a painful day of attitude, “Want you to ice my ankle, baby.”

She flips to her other side before sitting back up, biting the inside of her cheek and shaking her head fondly, she loved her overly worked, exhausted husband so fucking much.

“Yeah?” YN hums softly, welcoming Harry when he leans over and nuzzles into her throat, “Ready to let me take care of you?”

“M’sorry,” Harry whispers against her skin, lips brushing against her pulse point, “I never get better at dealing with my adjustments to tour.”

“Been like this since you’ve been sixteen,” YN tells him as she directs Harry to move until his foot is in her lap and she’s wrapping a dish towel around the bag and pressing it to his ankle.

“Think I just landed funny, hopefully it will feel better in the morning,” Harry frowns, hissing at the cold touch before relaxing against it.

“Hopefully,” YN repeats as she keeps it pressed there, her thumb rubbing at his skin in soothing circles to calm him.

Harry pauses for a moment before acknowledging, “You were right, shouldn’t have been jumping ‘round like that when it was wet. Will you forgive me for acting like a prat today?”

“I forgive you every time,” YN giggles with a shake of her head, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have let you put a ring on it.”

“We’re twenty eight now. Don’t regret letting me wife you up at nineteen?” Harry’s voice has taken a deeper rasp, he’s totally using his sex voice right now because despite how tired or injured he is - he will still try to get it in.

“Never for a moment. Got to marry the famous Harry Styles, breaking new records with every album, fat bank account. It’s working out alright,” YN teases coyly, goosebumps decorating her skin as Harry’s gaze gets more directed and intense.

“Yeah? Just married me for my money and fame?” Harry rumbles, leaning down to toss the bag of peas on the floor.

“And your big cock,” She smirks as her eyes drop to where he’s noticeably hardening and filling out the thin fabric, pushing against it to make more room.

“Always been a fan of that, hm? Never complain, exact opposite actually. Constantly begging for, for me to fill you up just right,” Harry’s fully turning himself on at this point as he grips the bottom of her sleep shirt.

She smacks his hands off, “Think you can act like an utter brat all day and still get the goods?”

“Said M’sorry,” Harry bites back, persistent as he reaches out again and YN lets him pull it over her head, her bare chest revealed, “Plus, s’your wifely duty. Be a nice little thing and let me ‘ave you.”

Those words shouldn’t make her as wet as they do.

“Should make you just make me come and not let you,” YN gasps as he ducks down, puffy lips wrapping around her nipple and pulling it into his mouth.

He pulls back for a moment, a cocky smirk on his face as he says, “We both know m’coming tonight. Let it drip out of you.”

“H,” YN whines at his filthy words as he bits at her nipples as he’s shimmying her shorts and panties off her hips in one fluid motion.

It’s not how she saw their night ending but she definitely wasn’t complaining.

There’s not any preamble because even though he’s horny, he’s tired, and doesn’t have the energy to go at it for hours.

He slips in with no resistance, moaning loudly into her mouth as he begins a steady, harsh rhythm that hits her spot every odd stroke and his thumb is tight on her clit to make sure she falls off the edge with him.

It’s only mere minutes after they finish that Harry is snoring softly into her neck, while body wrapped around hers - thigh swung over her legs, arm across her tummy.

It’s something that never gets old to her.

There’s millions and millions of people who adore Harry, they want in every way imagineable, they make it known by coming to his concerts in swarms.

People have been obsessed with him since he was sixteen.

But despite all that, Harry never changes.

He craves attention but he needs it the most from his wife. He lives for being able to snuggle and hang all over her at all times. He needs her to be there to take care of him and tell him he’s doing a good job

He’ll always just be Harry to her.

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the-obnoxious-sibling · 5 months

Text

in which buggy doesn’t sleep well, missed breakfast food so much in prison, tells tall tales, and schedules a—not a date. a… day to catch up with an old… person. shanks. whatever.

the next part to this story, which is a follow-up to this one, which was itself a second take at—actually, here’s a tag for all of the near miss stories & related talk, go there if you want the context. (i’ve linked to the chronological order sorting of the tag, so you should see the “thinking about near misses in east blue” post first.)

Buggy was still mad at Galdino hours later, when he got fed up with his feet being tripped over in the dark and the rest of him (sitting up in the rigging, sulking hiding just sitting) had gotten cold. But given the very limited space on the Red Force, it was either bunk with someone or sleep on the deck, and Buggy was not about to do that. The men—ugh, now Galdino had him doing it!—were way too excited about following Buggy’s every move, he shuddered to think what they might do at night. Assuming he could even get to sleep with all of them hovering like that.

So if he was bunking with someone, there was really only the one option: the only other guest on this ship who’d treated him like a human being.

But he wasn’t happy about it.

Galdino paid him no mind, using a borrowed mirror to inspect himself as he prepared for bed, applying a thin layer of wax along the edge of his hairline. When he was done with the mirror, he silently held it up so Buggy could look himself over. He used pretty long-lasting makeup, the better to survive bloody fistfights and brackish ocean spray—and some of it had even survived the sterilizing baths they dunked you in when you arrived at Impel Down! Buggy would write to the brand, to tell them to use that fact in their advertising, but that degree of longevity probably wasn’t a huge selling point now that Ivankov and his ilk had escaped the prison.

Anyway, nothing had happened today that could really mess it up. His face was fine.

…it could use a touch-up, though. Just to solidify the linework on the crossbones, make the edge of his lip really crisp. Buggy touched the corner of his lip, considering, and very much against his will recalled how it had felt for someone else to touch that part of his face.

It had been a long time.

Not so long that Shanks’ hand was the first to touch him since Shanks, mind you. But a long time all the same.

He scowled, and threw himself into bed. Touching up his makeup—and who, exactly, would he be doing that for?! That kind of thinking could wait until morning. When, hopefully, he would have recovered his sanity in full.

As he was drifting off, Buggy heard Galdino roll over and say, softly, “You may think of that guy as some dope you used to sail with, but fact is he’s an Emperor. One who’s taken an interest in you. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“And who asked you to do that?” Buggy muttered into his pillow.

“No one,” Galdino acknowledged. “But if I’m hitching my wagon to yours—and it sure looks like that’s what’s happening here—I want to make sure we aren’t about to ride off a cliff.”

With that grim visual in his head, Buggy sunk into an uneasy sleep.

The next day dawned warm and bright. Buggy had thoughtlessly picked a bed that sat under the one small window in the room, right where an early morning sunbeam would shine in his face. He groaned a protest, but unfortunately, once up he was up. Leaving Galdino to sleep his fill, he stretched, grumbled, and made himself presentable.

(This did not involve touching up his makeup in any way.)

A handful of Red-Haired Pirates were also up and about, though Buggy couldn’t tell how many were early risers and how many had been on watch overnight. A few nodded at him with the bleary eyes of hungover men. Uneasy at the acknowledgement, however small, Buggy ducked into the mess, praying that there would be something hot to eat at this hour.

Prayers were answered in the form of the ever-grinning Lucky Roux, who was setting out large pans of a few types of porridge under warming lamps, with toppings (both savory and sweet) laid out in small bowls. Buggy opted for oats with some dried fruit and syrup on top, something that would fill him up and leave a sweet aftertaste. Though he might go back for the rice porridge later if he could get a soft-boiled egg to go with it… oh, eggs. He’d missed eggs.

There were also two steaming pots of liquid sitting to one side, one a tisane that smelled oddly familiar—after a moment, Buggy remembered the hangover cure Rayleigh had sworn by, and had to bite back a nauseous stab of nostalgia. He went for the other, not caring what it was so long as it was hot. It turned out to be awfully bitter, so he stole a bit of the porridge syrup to sweeten it.

Loaded down with food and drink, Buggy set himself up next to the kitchen, facing the rest of the mess. No one would be able to sneak up on him but Roux, and the day a man that size could—

“Any special requests?”

Biting back a shriek, Buggy spun to see Roux poking his head through a small window between the kitchen and mess. “I’m no short-order cook,” he said with a grin, “but this early I’m happy to make people what they want, so long as I have the ingredients on hand.”

What Buggy really wanted was a hot dog. Fuck, he missed bread. And meat. But he didn’t want a cheffy take on it, he wanted the greasy sausage and halfway stale bun you got when you bought a hot dog at a boardwalk. Since that wasn't likely to happen… “Over-easy eggs and toast? Oh, and ham, or bacon, whatever meat you’ve got.”

“That, I can do.”

Buggy dug into his oats, watching other men slowly creep into the mess in varying states of wakefulness and dress. The most tired looking came straight to the kitchen, where Roux already had plates waiting—the night watch men, then, being rewarded for that unpleasant duty. That was smart, Buggy thought, reluctant but firm in his admiration. If he ever got a really top-tier chef in his crew, that’d be the way to get people to do the worst chores: give them good food after.

“Building Snake says we're making landfall this afternoon?” one of the night watch guys said to another. Buggy tried to lean in without making it obvious that he was eavesdropping. “Seriously, that soon?”

“We need to resupply if we're gonna keep housing these guys for much longer,” the other replied, glancing over at a cluster of Whitebeard Pirates around one table, Marco’s distinctive tuft of fiery orange hair poking out of the center. “We buy goods today, give all of them shore leave so they aren't in the way while we load up tomorrow, and if the winds favor us we offload the clown and his troupe the next day.”

Buggy twitched. What now?

“Oh, did Rockstar find the Buggy Pirates already?” Roux asked, handing the pair of men their plates. “When’s he gonna learn he doesn't have to work so hard to impress us?” The three of them shared a laugh over this overachiever who’d apparently found Buggy’s ship in under a day. (The hell were they doing so close to the Calm Belt?) Leaning down to hand Buggy his requested dish, Roux said, “Only three days from your crew! That must be a relief, huh?”

Ignoring the startled looks on the night watch pair’s faces as they ran off—yes, Buggy had been here the whole time, so good of you to finally notice—Buggy grabbed the plate and breathed in deeply. Eggs soft as silk, bacon just the far side of well-done, toast triangles gleaming with butter… god damn, but it was worth being awake at this hour to get quality food. “It’ll be nice to be home,” he said around a mouthful, “but I’ll miss this.”

Roux burst into big, booming laughter. “You guys! Always so appreciative of good food. I’d expected to rate higher than prison fare, but I’m flattered to hear I’m also better than your usual!”

In the middle of stabbing the yolks of his eggs with a sharp corner of toast , Buggy squinted suspiciously up at Roux. “What do you mean by ‘you guys?’”

“I mean Roger Pirates, of course!”

Buggy blinked.

“Shanks is always happy to eat whatever, but he can’t hide how much happier he is when I make his favorites. And that Silvers Rayleigh…” Roux shook his head.

Buggy nearly choked on an egg. “You’ve met Rayleigh?!”

“Oh sure, about ten years back? We’d barely been on the Grand Line six months, just hit Sabaody and were debating whether to move forward to the New World or stay in Paradise a little longer, and suddenly Shanks was running off to talk to this old man. Of course I had to feed him, if just to prove to the guy that I deserved my job. He really—” Roux sniffed the air, spun around and yelped, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

So that was how they had Rayleigh’s hangover cure on this ship. “Sabaody, huh…?” Buggy wouldn't have thought he’d end up there, with how often world nobles visited the place. Did Rayleigh have a death wish? Or was he just old enough at this point to escape notice? Buggy snorted. Lucky him.

A storm of feet came thundering from out on the deck, drawing the attention of most of the room—until the mess door flung open to reveal a cluster of men in ragged Impel Down uniforms. They spotted Buggy and cried out, “Captain Buggy! There you are!”

This got eye rolls and looks of annoyance all around, which Buggy almost wanted to join in on. Seriously, did these guys need their hands held on the way to the bathroom too?

“Here I am,” he said dryly, sipping at his drink. “Don’t you people remember what mealtimes are? Where else would I be at this hour?” Ignoring their responses (“Of course! Captain Buggy’s so smart!” “So logical!”), he edged a little closer to the wall, having a feeling he was about to get crushed.

The men did flock to his side the second they were able—attempting to offer choice bits of food to him, like he didn’t clearly already have something better on his plate—but their devotion was thankfully balanced by respect, and they didn’t sit so close he couldn’t breathe.

They were still totally incapable of keeping their mouths shut, though.

“Captain Buggy, will you tell us of another of your adventures?”

Buggy bit back a grimace as pirates less enamored with him gave his group a dirty look. Yeah, he wouldn’t want to be in tight quarters with them either, if he were hungover and not a Buggy fan. But how could he ignore their request? “Sure! Anything for you guys!” What stories hadn’t he told yet…? “Have I told you the story of… how my crew acquired our fiercest member, Richie the Lion?”

“A lion?!” “No, Captain Buggy!”

“Alright, then. It all started when my brave crew was exploring a jungle island, years ago…” The actual story of how they’d gotten Richie was nothing special—it was really the story of how he’d met Mohji, a mistreated performer in an East Blue circus where Buggy had hidden out until the first time someone mentioned his nose, at which point he wrecked the place. But who here would know if he adapted the story of a day he’d spent on a jungle island with Captain Roger and Shanks? (…besides the obvious person, of course.) So he wove a tale of cleverness and might, of Captain Buggy spotting a dangerous beast that had a crying child trapped up in a tree and tricking it into pursuing him instead, only for the lion to be instantly tamed by his sheer power… and of course, Buggy being richly rewarded for the rescue.

“And that’s why we named him Richie,” Buggy concluded. “After the riches and fortune he brought me that day.”

“How touching!” “How bold!” “How amazing!”

How exhausting. “Now,” Buggy said, mopping up a smear of egg yolk with his last corner of toast, “are you satisfied for the moment, or do you need another—” Glancing up, he nearly choked on his bite. Shanks was standing in the midst of the men, sipping from a steaming hot mug and watching Buggy with an amused smile on his face. That fucker definitely remembered being stuck up a tree with a lion clawing at their feet. “Shanks! W-what do you want?”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he said, glancing down at the man sitting across the table from Buggy. It seemed the men had been so captivated by Buggy’s storytelling that they hadn’t noticed Shanks either; now that they had, they quickly moved to accommodate him. Taking the suddenly empty seat, he set down his mug—Buggy’s nose wrinkled up, it was the hangover tisane—and leaned his chin on his fist. “If you’re taking requests, how about when we first met Oden? That’s a good story.”

“I—that—” Like hell Shanks just wanted a story.

Lucky Roux got Buggy’s attention, and held out a plate clearly meant for Shanks; it was the same kind of breakfast he’d favored as a child, down to the diced tomatoes perched atop the eggs—originally a deterrent to keep Buggy from stealing his food, at some point it had become a highlight of the dish for Shanks, the freak.

…maybe he did just want a story. For all that he was an Emperor now, Shanks didn’t seem to have changed much as a person. Buggy passed the plate along to Shanks, and tried to relax. “That is a good one.”

Turning to the men watching this exchange wide-eyed, Buggy barked out, “Now, who among you swabs recognizes the name of Kozuki Oden, once heir to the shogunate of Wano?!” This got a couple of looks of recognition, but mostly confusion—except for, from the far side of the room, a few angry grumbles. Buggy laughed. “Don’t tell me the Whitebeards still hold a grudge? Just because our crews fought for three days, and Oden chose to come with us in the end?”

This garnered a far more impressed reaction from the ex-prisoner crowd, and some narrow-eyed looks from the Whitebeards. Oh, they definitely still held a grudge. But Shanks was smiling ever so slightly, and that was enough to make Buggy smirk and say, “Well, feel free to offer corrections if you think I’m telling the story wrong.”

And then he told the most overblown, exaggerated version of events he possibly could.

Some of the Whitebeard Pirates threw out corrections—and insults against Buggy’s memory and honesty—but Buggy gave as good as he got, Shanks occasionally chimed in with falsely innocuous comments like “that’s not how I remember it” to their corrections, and the story was all the better for the pushback. That was the thing with lying: the larger lie sounded more believable when someone objected to small details, because your audience assumed that everything that hadn’t been corrected must be true.

For all the insults and slander tossed around about dead men, the mood in the room was significantly lighter by the time Buggy finished the story. Most of the Red-Haired Pirates had left, their duties for the morning calling, but the former prisoners and Whitebeard Pirates lingered to hear Buggy out until the end, with Oden and his family sailing off on the Oro Jackson, Whitebeard’s men calling out fond farewells and complaints at his disloyalty in equal measure.

Even Marco the Phoenix was convinced to speak up at that point, saying, “Pops never forgave Roger for that, yoi,” with a slight, sad smile.

“For stealing Oden?” Buggy snorted a laugh. “If you wanted him to stick around, you should’ve gone to the last island yourselves! That man wanted adventure, and we were going on the greatest one imaginable.”

Marco protested—Oden had been like family to Whitebeard, didn’t that mean something?—and with the story complete and the breakfast hour long passed, the crowd began to disperse. (They’d learned yesterday that people who lingered in the mess tended to get roped into dishwashing duty, whether they were crew aboard the Red Force or not.) A couple people still remained: Shanks, who’d spent so much time egging on the Whitebeards that he’d scarcely touched his food; Marco, going back for a third or fourth cup of the not-tisane; and a few especially devoted ex-prisoners, staring starry-eyed at Buggy.

“The last island…” One of them breathed. “Captain Buggy, what’s it like?”

Buggy blinked. “Laugh Tale?” He glanced at Shanks, who was watching him with a perfectly neutral expression, then down at the bitter dregs left in his cup. What to say? Buggy flushed. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie about this. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

“What?!”

“We didn’t go,” Shanks said, getting a grateful look from Buggy and surprise from the rest of the room. “Buggy got sick, and I stayed behind to look after him.” This won Shanks some undeserved admiration from Buggy’s fans—what a sacrifice he’d made, and for Captain Buggy’s sake! Yeah, right.

…well.

Well.

What other reason could he have had, to stay behind?

Galdino’s (terrible, awful) words from yesterday popped up in Buggy’s head. Gah, surely not that! Surely he hadn’t—not back then. Surely he didn’t now, for that matter! Buggy grimaced. It wasn’t like he could just ask, not around all these people.

Not around them. But maybe…

“Shanks, I—”

“Listen, Buggy…”

They blinked, dumbfounded. After a moment’s silence, Shanks gestured for Buggy to go ahead.

Buggy scratched at an itch along his jawline. It would be nice to be back on the Big Top, where he could get something like a clean shave again. But before that… if he could just get the question out. He gritted his teeth. Why was asking for things so hard? “Yesterday, you said you’d like to sit down and catch up if you weren’t so busy. If you really meant that… I hear tomorrow’s gonna be a shore day, at least for people who don’t have a real role on your ship, so I was thinking…” Buggy shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe we could do that? Can you spare an hour for me?”

“Yeah!” Shanks grinned, so wide and bright Buggy could hardly bear to look at it. “Yeah, I’d love that. But forget an hour, I can give you the whole day.” When Buggy frowned, puzzled, Shanks explained, “I was about to ask you to spend time with me.”

Buggy laughed under his breath. “Figures.” All those nerves for nothing! If he’d just kept his mouth shut a few seconds longer, Shanks would’ve asked, and then Buggy could’ve looked like he was doing him a favor by giving him exactly what Buggy wanted. Oh, well. Turning to the men hovering behind him, Buggy snapped, “You hear that?! You boys are gonna have to find something else to do tomorrow, I’m gonna be too busy to hang around telling you stories of my greatness!”

“Yessir, Captain Buggy!” (“Wow! An elite captain-to-captain meeting!”)

“And if any of you dare to follow or interrupt us, you’ll live to regret it! Spread the word!”

The men disappeared obediently. Buggy let himself bask for a moment—god, but it was nice to be listened to. Even if they did take it to extremes. And even if they only did it because they thought Buggy was a pirate on Captain Roger’s level, and not just a kid the guy had taken a liking to. And even if… with a little sigh, Buggy turned back around. Gathering up his dishes—even if he managed to avoid dishwashing duty today, clearing his place was the least he could do—Buggy glanced up at Shanks and froze at the look on his face. That fond little smile… heat rushed to Buggy’s cheeks, and he groaned, shoving a hand in Shanks’ face.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Shanks laughed, pushing Buggy’s hand out of the way, still looking at him like…

“Like—” Buggy remembered Galdino’s words and violently shoved the memory down. He remembered a similar look on Shanks’ face, years ago, and violently shoved that memory down too. Getting to his feet, he floated his stack of plates through the kitchen window and bolted. “Just don’t!”

But even as he left, he knew Shanks’ expression hadn’t changed. He was still looking at Buggy like he liked him.

And Buggy had just agreed to spend the day with him tomorrow.

What had he been thinking?

#notfic #every day this thing gets less and less notficcy… i’ve capitalized things this time (gasp)#well ao3 crossposting *is* gonna happen so i might as well make editing for that eventuality easier on me #the near miss fics #one piece #shuggy #shanks #buggy

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pagemasters · 25 days

Text

Fantasies He…

BABY’S FIRST FIC!!!

Author’s notes: So after reading so many for years I thought maybe it’s my turn to take a crack at it. There’s I think 3 parts to this, with the first one having basically no smut and mostly platonic fluff between Az and Feyre, but part 3? Can’t say the same thing for the middle Archeron sister lmao

I swear this started out to be one part but the story told me otherwise, part 2 is fully drafted I’m just revising and editing

I’m a very visual person, so enjoy the floor plan of the nursery and a rough sketch of what I think her mural would be and the star! I am a painter if it wasn’t obvious so the whole portion on starfall stars is actually based on how Bob Ross paints his northern lights, just with modifications BUT I haven’t tried it myself for this specific purpose. Also the colour of Feyre and Rhys’s stars are the colours of the first ones that hit them during Starfall btw! I love the platonic relationships between the inner circle and we don’t get enough of it

If you enjoyed it I would love u forever if you let me know!! :)

Ps. Omg dialogue is so difficult to make realistic but also in character, none of that “hey big brother” etc. shit you see in tv shows where you’re like who tf says that to their sibling ?? Ps.ps. I haven’t taken an English writing class for 5 years so if punctuation was wrong let’s pretend it wasn’t LMAO

I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO DO AO3 LINK BUT IT’S ON THERE WITH THE SAME USERNAME LOL SORRY

Summary:

Azriel spends the day with Feyre, only to get caught in the rain on the way home. Good thing the townhouse is empty. Or is it…

CHAPTER ONE: DAYDREAMING

The rain finally decided to make its appearance as Azriel stepped out of the River house. Taking a deep breath, he let the soothing scent wash over him as he relaxed his wings.

The meeting with Rhys was short, just a weekly update on the goings around the other courts and allies, nothing that required the full inner circle to make an appearance. Something he knew after centuries of this work should be a good thing, but it doesn’t stop the pang in his chest at the missed opportunity of seeing her.

Not that he didn’t try to catch a glimpse of her. He did take a walk through the beautiful home his brother had built for his mate after seeing him, the smell of cedar and masonry long since faded from the construction days; replaced with flowers and candles and the dinner his shadows whispered Nuala and Cerridwen were working on. The scent of paint lingered though, and he discovered the reason why as he got to the residential wing. His High Lady wasn’t in her studio, but he found her nonetheless with a brush in her tattooed hand.

“I think you missed a spot.” Az said from the doorway, trying to repress his smile at her startled reaction. Even though Feyre and Rhys opted for doorways fashioned with wings in mind, he kept his drawn in tight, not wanting to risk smearing her paint as he stepped inside.

“Rhys won’t let me use the step ladder without him holding it. And me. And the bump.” Feyre twisted to look up from her spot on the floor and smiled in greeting before lowering the brush to pat her stomach in emphasis. She gave her mate’s antics an affectionate eye roll and shake of her head before releasing a heavy sigh, glancing back at her work.

“If I remember correctly,” Az teased, “you are prone to falling quite spectacularly.”

She let out an indignat squawk so loud he had to bite his lips to prevent laughing, her body spinning so fast to face him fully that paint ended up splattering from her brush to the white drop cloth.

Their flying lessons had ceased for the most part since the war, so watching her fly into a tree or eat rocks wasn’t as common an occurrence— but that’s not to say that still doesn’t happen. Knowledge he happens to be privy to not just as her flight teacher, but as the spymaster, something she’s very aware of if the narrowing of her eyes and mouth hanging open are any indication.

It’s hard not to notice the similarities between the sisters, when even with your eyes closed the cadence of their speech was also similar. But it was never so apparent between youngest and oldest Archeron as when Feyre’s eyes pinned him in place, the expression of mock outrage was so much like Nesta’s it was almost comical.

“Ruuuude,” she said, drawing the word out in a whine with pouted lips, no doubt remembering the amount of face plants he’d witnessed when she first began to fly. “I see how you treat your High Lady, Shadowsinger. Just wait, it’s not too late for me to paint a little something in your bedroom.”

“And here I thought pouting and grumbling was beneath royalty, at least you can say you’re a tree hugger.”

She gave him a gesture that was certainly beneath royalty, and he didn’t hold back his chuckle this time.

“What gave you that idea, have you even met Rhys?”

“Oh trust me, you should’ve seen him when we were kids.” He said, grabbing her hands to help her stand. “He discovered in a book that while bat wings look identical to ours, the anatomy of their wing is labeled similar to that of the hand. So for them, their talons are their thumbs. After that, he took it upon himself to hang upside down in silent protest whenever he was mad, but didn’t want his mother to wash his mouth out with soap for swearing.”

“He did not.”

“Mhmm, until his faced turned purple.”

“And where were you and Cass for all this?” Feyre said through her giggling, a wide grin of unrestrained joy plastered on her face.

“He couldn’t have done it alone, a thumbs down by yourself would look stupid.”

“Ah yes, because the three of you hanging upside down like overgrown bats isn’t ridiculous.” She cackled, “How long until he gave it up?”

“A few weeks. After Cassian passed out in the middle of camp and we all got broken capillaries on our faces. Still, a better alternative than the awful tasting soap in Illyria.”

“What, as opposed to other tasting soap?” He just shrugged, smiling.

Rhys’s mom’s reaction to warriors dragging them across the rocky ground home was as lively in his memory as she was when she berated them when her son fessed up. She was less thrilled to hear the real reason than Devlon was having passed out children strewn about the place, but she never did call them out on the lie they fed to Devlon about it being a dare when he came banging on their door. That night though when they were more lucid, she brought them on foot to one of the mountains surrounding their outpost and stood them at the opening of a cave. He still remembers the eyes he felt on them, the warning bells ringing from his shadows as she gestures her hands out and said, “If you want to act like bats, you can join them; or you can toughen up, learn how and when to pick battles and what hills are worth to dying on. Because there will be more people who will piss you off, but this is not an option when you’re leading armies. So,” her hazel eyes meeting each of theirs, “What will it be? Do you want to stay here or take the soap and fly right on home.” Needless to say they bolted home with the taste of pine tar suds coating their mouths like a film no amount of water could rid them of the taste. He could still feel the eyes of whatever was in that cave the entire way home, but thank the cauldron he could fly at that point. His heart ached at the memory of the female, the one he knew picked a low cave for him to make her point, just in case. The one his shadows caught a few times after that upside down on the couch after a rough day when she thought she was alone.

As Feyre’s amusement continued with eyes glazed over—no doubt having a silent conversation with Rhys—Az cleared his throat, his shadows pulling back as he gestured to their surroundings and asked, “So how’s the nursery coming along?”

“It’s going great,” she replied after a moment, her laughter subsiding as she surveyed the mural. “I know it’s not geographically correct, and that Starfall and the time when our courts insignia’s stars show don’t overlap, but I couldn’t not include them. I want him and any possible future child to see the night court as I did when I first fell in love with it and their dad.”

Indeed, while he knew Rhys was already in love with her, he got to watch Feyre love him back as much as he deserved in real time the longer she was here. And the way she captured the land they all loved so much here was… breathtaking.

On the wall that held the doorway he just stepped through lay the mountain with the moonstone palace atop it. The first place she saw here. They both knew where the doors to Hewn city rest below, but it was covered by the landscape. As if there were no room for nightmares in this room, even if it was a court this babe may one day rule.

“I have no idea how you made that mountain so realistic,” he said to her in awe, pointing to the painting adjacent to the wall they just looked at.

“The crib is going to go right below it when the rooms done. I want it to watch over him.” She replied almost reverently as she looked up.

The mountain was the tallest of the three she painted, and it looked just as it had on his trek up there with his brothers during the rite. Physically it was practically stone for stone, those three stars lines up overhead perfectly, but the energy differed. Instead of the cold and foreboding thing he remembered on the way up, it seemed almost… euphoric? As if the wild joy and love Rhysand, Cassian and he felt as they made their way to the top and won seeped its way onto the painting. Like the unyielding strength from that mountain and what it brought out of them would guide and protect him, just like it did for the three winged dots surrounding the monolith at the tip. How that was even possible was beyond him.

He could barely tear his gaze away, but snickered as he saw the tiny but recognizable building at the base of it to the right. “The cabin, huh?”

“Of course, gotta prep him for one day kicking all of your asses during your snowball fight.” She added, blushing. “I put few snowballs flying just for good luck.”

Though he knew the other reason the cabin was significant to Feyre and Rhys, the thought of his future nephew joining their game warmed him. But It did make trying not to focus on other non-winged and winged babies that could one day join in the snowball fight impossible. Children have always been an abstract idea, a figment he knew existed but besides Rhys’s sister, he wasn’t around. And after what happened to her… He thought for a long time he would never have one of his own, but that sentiment start to change in recent years. He could avoid it most days though, but being surrounded by the baby stuff made the hypothetical harder to ignore. The thoughts on if he’d have his own little ones propped on his hip and curled into his chest with their chubby cheeks and inquisitive eyes. If they would have his hazel or her golden brown ones, or something different if they adopted. Would their little hands or clothes or hair get caught in the scales of his armour just like hers did when he took her on her first flight to the town house from the House of Wind, when he held her for the first time. Would Elain… Az paused, stopping that train of thought before it just twisted the knife even further, seeing more things he can’t have.

His shadows began to circle him, and if Feyre noticed she politely didn’t comment on it before pointing out what she was working on when he interrupted her.

To the right of the cabin and right were she was sat Velaris, and it really did look like a city of starlight with how she painted the glowing nightscape. He could make out the four markets that were the heart of the city, with extra emphasis on where the town house sat along with the new residence they were currently in. Bisecting through it all, the Sidra River looked so realistic he could probably skip a rock across its surface. It flowed like a living thing, reflecting the lights from the buildings on its edge and even the stars above. Two of which weren’t normal stars.

Above the city proper and even the flat topped mountain that held the House of Wind was the beginnings of starfall.

“How-“Azriel could barely get out, “how is this even possible?”

“Perks of now being immortal; plenty of time to practice. And having a husband with wings who takes you to get aerial views.” She simply said gesturing to their city, as if she didn’t create magic with swipes of colours.

“The green one is mine, and the light blue one is Rhys’s. I’m planning to get everyone to add their own star to the wall.” Now looking him, she smirked. “Which means you came at a perfect time, Shadowsinger. Your turn.”

He gave her an unbelieving expression, shadows instantly vanishing. “You can’t be serious.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, “if I trust Cassian with a paintbrush, you’ll be fine. He’s coming by in a few days when he gets a free moment, Nesta and her two friends are keeping him busy with training.” Nesta is keeping him busy with more than just that, it’s a wonder he even has energy to train them.

But looking at Rhysand’s mate, Azriel saw her glow in a way different from her powers. Feyre radiated joy as her hand cradled her stomach despite barely showing, not caring about paint getting on her already splattered clothes. For his brother, for the friend beside him and his nephew in her womb, he removed his jacket and let out a resounding sigh in defeat. “What do you need me to do?”

So Feyre excitedly brought him over to her pile of paint tubes on the drop cloth. She grabbed the white and as he selected the colour phthalo blue she went off to prep the clean, dry brushes and a fresh palette for him.

“So pick the area of the sky you want your star to be, I’d like to keep the inner circle’s additions mostly above Velaris, but I’ll add tiny ones fading out once everyone is done. Amren and Mor are away, Cass is busy and who knows if or when Nesta would want to contribute. That means besides Rhys and I, you have the pick of the litter.”

“What about Elain?” He asked, trying to keep his voice and face as neutral as possible when she handed him a 3 inch brush already dipped in his blue.

“I’ll drag her in here after dinner when she gets in from the garden. The colour of the sky is already dry which is the important part, so there’s no time constraint on when everyone adds theirs besides my due date.” She gave him a knowing smile which he dutifully ignored, along with the disappointment in his chest as she confirmed Elain wasn’t in. “Now I want you to cover a large area of where you generally want the shape of the star to go, it doesn’t have to be perfect but cover much more than you think you’d need to.”

He hesitates, “won’t this cover up your sky? It’s a dark colour.”

“Just trust me.”

He followed her instructions, cringing as his brush made contact with her beautiful wall and went over the faint background stars she had already done, but relaxed when he saw they were still partially visible.

Az looked back at her, seeing his shadows lazily inspecting them, as if they wanted a part in the activity their master is occupied with. Feyre playfully eyed the curious one that grazed her hand as she took his current brush from his scarred hand to switch it. “Now with this fan brush, I want you to coat it in the white paint. And as you do so, get a feel for how the bristles bend and move.”

Doing as High Lady said, he got her guidance once he brought the loaded brush to the wall, being sure to dab, not swipe the white in a near full coverage circle followed by a line over the shade of blue he had no idea how to pronounce.

“So this is where the magic begins,” she stated when he finished and passed a third brush over, a flat paddle one identical to the first and this time a cloth. “You see that perfectly clean teardrop you made? You’re gonna ruin it.”

At the alarmed look he gave her, she just cackled. “I knew you’d make that face, Rhys did the exact same. I want you to very lightly swipe the brush starting at the largest end of the teardrop and out towards the tail of the star. That’s the only motion you’ll be doing. And after each swipe you can gently wipe off the brush before starting again. You can also practice the strokes around the mountain until you feel ready like Rhys did, the sky there is also dry.”

With a deep breath, he took a step away and tried it until he felt like he got the technique she wanted down. This was for his family, he reminded himself, he will not let his nephew down. And despite getting her nod of approval, he still felt like he was going in blind as he did what she said and his jaw dropped.

Well shit. Now he understood why she wanted him to put down the colour he chose first.

“The blue is actually transparent; so while it looks dark in the tube, it blends out much lighter. Especially with white under or overtop. You’re doing wet-on-wet blending.” What was once just a bright blob over blue so dark you couldn’t see it on her perfect walls, he could now see how the white faded. How the light and the dark mixed until they became one. So Az wiped the excess off his brush, and continued on and on until it looked similar enough to what she and Rhys created. They fell into a rhythm, Feyre handing him back the fan brush to brighten or a new one with bristles so impossibly soft as they worked as a team. She barely had to tell him what to do now, so with next to no pressure he feathered it out vertical rather than the almost horizontal strokes from before, until only a streak of blue light remained. They could’ve been at this for minutes or hours, he had no idea. He didn’t even question her instruction to use a densely bristled tool he could’ve sworn was a toothbrush to flick on watered down white paint for the star trail.

“This is incredible, Feyre.” He stated, stepping back at last.

“That wasn’t me, that was all you my friend.” She grinned at him. “Once everyone’s is dry, I’m adding a sheer shimmery paint to make them pop, but even without it you did a beautiful job.”

He felt heat rise to his face, and inclined his head in thanks without removing his eyes from the wall.

“You certainly have an eye for this, Az. Care to quit and become a painter? I could use an assistant.”

A chill went through him, and he started to turn in her direction before the window caught his attention. Dusk must have fallen along with the rain who knows how long ago. About to rub his temples, Feyre squeaked out a warning before he remembered the task at hand and looked down at himself. The plain black long sleeve shirt covered in splatters didn’t matter, he goes through them like water for work but the paint coating his skin made his stomach drop the same way her jest did. Much different than the red he was used to seeing there, all the blood he still couldn’t wash away.

He can paint a picture with his knife, but nothing like Feyre’s ability of creation. Each slash he makes as delicate and precise a dance as any Nesta favours, but instead it’s to a symphony of screams. And unlike Elain… the only soil he sees is grave dirt. If the bodies make it that far.

His work is never meant to been seen by others, it’s means to and end, a way to protect his family and his court. Unlike their work, where it would be a crime to hide it from the world.

“Tempting offer, Cursebreaker,” Az murmured, swapping the dirty cloth for a damp one his shadows brought him. Paying close attention to his siphons and not his scars, he still didn’t feel clean enough no matter how hard he wiped the paint from his skin. “Sadly, I don’t think your mate would be too thrilled to have to hire someone else to feed the creatures in Hewn City.”

She snorted, making a lighthearted comment about at least no one had to feed Byraxis, for now… The forced tease in her voice didn’t fool him as she realized she must’ve hit a nerve, but he appreciated her effort anyway.

“I do have to head out, but I’ll pop by soon to see the progress when I drop off paperwork.” He told her, his lips pressed to the top of her head and shockingly made contact with her hair in a brief farewell. Rhys must’ve lessened the shield knowing Az was with her, but not by much considering both her and the babe’s scent was still concealed.

Feyre did invited him to stay for dinner which he politely declined. It wouldn’t be served for an hour, but he needed space and to fly to clear his head—still feeling like if he looked down he’d be dripping blood that didn’t belong to him as he made his was out. He did try not to rush out as he walk through the maze of supplies strewn about the covered floor, keeping his wings high even as his shadows tugged at him, but he had a feeling she knew his reason for leaving. Well, at least the other reason.

Lightning cracks through the sky, snapping Azriel out of his memories. Damn, He must be more tired than he thought. If breaking one of the cardinal rules of flying—also known as “PAY ATTENTION JACKASS!” by his brothers when they taught him—wasn’t enough, he’s not even going to the right place. Despite not living there for years, he’d been heading towards the town house and not the House of Wind.

The storm just seems to be picking up, but at least with the downpour he no longer felt the warm spray of blood coating him rather than the paint, he just felt nothing at all. Well, nothing besides wanting to get the fuck home. Az really didn’t have the energy to fly up a mountain or winnowing through this even if it wouldn’t be his first time. But considering how often lightning hits the rocks rather than the surrounding city, crashing at the town house is easiest. It’s for the best, with it sitting empty now. At least he’d be alone.

Az pauses mid-flight though, when he notices the lights already on inside. And the smoke rising from the chimney only to dissipate in the rain.

What the hell? Who would be dumb enough to break into their high lord and inner circle’s home? It’s not like it’s broadcasted who owns the house but it’s pretty common knowledge after this long.

At least storms can be a great tool for his field of work, it’s almost a blessing in disguise he plans to use to its full advantage. Landing atop the roof as gently as possible, he ensures his wing beat blends in with the rain like it has hundreds of times before. Using his siphons to unlock the door and slipping inside, the creak of the hinge merely just a gust of wind as he shuts it behind him.

That’s when the smell of jasmine and honey hits him so strongly he has to bite back his moan. But it seems like he was the only one who did.

Because mixed within that scent ingrained in his brain, is Elain’s arousal.

And she’s…

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

#elriel #sarah j maas #Baby’s first fic #Fluff #platonic love #bob Ross who?#There will be smut I promise #Az has baby fever?#elain archeron #feyre archeron #azriel

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soapyghostie · 10 months

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Hi! i love reading you little stories about danny ‘jed olsen’ johnson!! I was hoping you could make a post about how he would look, like: many body scars, soft muscular body, or strong and tougher kind of body. Hope you understood what i was asking for, i tried to explain it the best i can! <3

You mean like general headcanons? I did a mixture of both his appearance and his personality if that’s okay. There is a link of a visual of what I think Danny looks like at the very bottom. Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

This man has many scars all over his body from his victims trying to defend themselves, but failed. Where he has scars the most is definitely his legs and chest where victims have landed sharp objects deep past his suit, into his skin. I guess his leather suit can’t protect him all the time. He has a giant scar running right through his left eyebrow. Him being the cocky bastard he is, he loves to show it off to his coworkers and make up an insane story for it. The crazy thing is that they actually believe him.

His gaze can intimidate anyone. He has these stern yellow eyes that will make you shrink into your skin if he glares at you. However, when he gives someone puppy dog eyes, you can’t resist. There’s no way you can say no to those gorgeous yellow eyes. Additionally, I just wanted to say, his eyes make him look cat-like. 😂

Danny has a very lean body. He has to be strong so he can overpower his victims. However, he isn’t bulky because he also has to be fast and carrying a ton of muscle will slow him down. He definitely works out a lot. I’d say he runs 7-8 miles and hits the gym at least two hours everyday because, let me tell you, he is definitely shredded. (I’m sorry. This headcanon is definitely the runner coming out of me.)

Danny has short, but fluffy black hair. He makes sure to keep it silky soft so he can easily run his hands through it. Also, to wow the ladies; he knows women love a man with gorgeous, silky hair. Dingus.

Dude, this man is literally so silent. He can judge which floorboards creak, which doors squeal when opened, what shadows keep him hidden from sight. It’s insane. Literally a god.

I think we all have gotten a glimpse of how much of an asshole and narcissist he is. He’s extremely mischievous, confident, and thinks he’s the biggest lady-killer. Spoiler alert! He really isn’t no lady-killer: he can’t even get a lady for the life of him. His cheesy pick-up lines and flirting skills are full of crap. He better be glad he has his looks or he’d get himself slapped across the face.

Danny is a fantastic photographer. He makes sure that any photo he takes is on point. He’s a perfectionist. If he takes a photo, no matter if it’s for work or snapping photos of victims, it has to be perfect or he scratches it out of his camera roll.

He is a great writer as well. I don’t know why the Roseville Gazette would hire him if he wasn’t. 🤷‍♀️ Anyways, a fucking unit at punctuation. He uses semicolons way too much than he probably should, just like me, and he knows it too. Hey! If it looks good and sounds good then that is all that matters. He’s also a pretty fast typer and always proofreads his writing at least 4 times before turning it in for publishing. He tends to get all his work done before all his coworkers.

He keeps a journal where he writes important information about his victims: where they live, their daily routines, and stuff like that. He also sketches out what each and every one of his victims looks like next to his notes.

He’s pretty cold-hearted and has an obsession for fame and recognition. He wants everyone to know who he is and to fear him. He’s addicted to the fear frozen on his victims faces when he calls them and has dozens of pictures of his victims hidden in his nightstand drawer to use for his articles.

Even though he’s a phenomenal journalist, he doesn’t get paid that much so this man literally lives off of ramen. However, he loves himself a nice home cooked meal: anything that takes a long time to cook to be honest. He would cook if he wasn’t so bad at it.

He loves himself a good bargain; he loves the power they hold over someone. The moment someone breaks their side of the deal, he can break his and they’re over and done with if you know what I mean. 👀

He loves drama. He’ll listen to all the tea and no one will know he’s listening in either. He’ll start spreading it around to all the other coworkers. Now everyone knows the business. That’s why you never whisper shit while Danny is around because he’ll get a hold of that gossip one way or another.

Danny Johnson visual

Hey you guys! Just a quick note that I’ll get to your requests on Saturday. This was the easiest request in my inbox so I didn’t have to think about what I wanted to write as much as I have to with other requests. I’m just so exhausted from camp, but I wanted to post something new for you guys to read. I hope you enjoyed it.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #horror #dead by daylight x reader #dead by deadlight #dbd killer #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen #jed olsen x reader #danny jed olsen johnson #slasher #sophi ghostie writes #ghostface #the ghostface #ghostface x reader #dbd ghostface

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junnopons · 1 year

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a guide to writing your sp

Before we continue, I wanna remind everyone real quick that you don’t need a template to script. You don’t even need a script, subliminals, or whatever. This is just for people, including me, who want to script as their method and don’t know where to start. This doesn’t have to be used for scripting an sp specifically. Feel free to use this to script your ideal self or whatever your heart desires. Also, to answer some questions about manifesting a sp in general (feel free to skip this, as this is probably gonna be the longest part of the blog 😭)

Q) what point of view do I need to write my script in? A) there isn’t any specific rule for how you write your script, except the rules you give yourself. feel free to write it however you wish

Q) does this person need to be in my life currently in order for me to manifest them? A) not at all. whether you want to manifest your childhood bestie, a complete stranger you met only yesterday, or a rando that looks, acts, and feels just like your favorite fictional character. you are truly limitless in who and what you can manifest

Q) how long will it take? A) as long as you want! 1 day, 12 years, 38 hours, 3 minutes, whatever! It’s just like manifesting something smaller like food or a phone. Although, if you still have doubts about your manifestation coming to you at the time you want I’d recommend working on self concept or repeating affirmations. You don’t have to though, ofc

Q) what if my sp is taken/not interested/or something else? A) now, with the knowledge of this being a rather controversial topic in the community feel free to take my opinion with a grain of salt. I personally don’t like messing with people’s relationships or feelings for any sort of gain, so I’d take that situation as an opportunity to manifest an even better version of your sp. this way no one gets hurt in the situation and you and your past sp can live happily

Q) what if I’m manifesting a fictional character/someone like a fictional character? How will that work? A) now, see I can’t exactly tell you the specifics of how it works (because tbh I don’t really know the specifics,) but I like to think about manifesting a fictional sp in two ways. 1. There are about 8 billion people on this earth right now. One of those 8 billion people are bound to have exactly your requirements, no matter how detailed or how simple they are. 2. There are countless amounts of realities, and just like when you script for reality shifting when you manifest you are also technically shifting to a reality with your desires. So what makes manifesting an sp any different

Feel free to send asks about anything else concerning this topic, I’ll be very happy to answer. Although, please don’t be rude or spam. That’s such a vibe killer (and no one wants to be a vibe killer). And with that, let’s discuss the guide to writing your sp.

With writing an sp I like to imagine it as writing a wiki page of an official character (or writing an introduction to an original character of yours). The way you write it won’t make a difference, but I like writing mine with lots of details. Something like

Next comes the appearance part. Personally I like to make sure my appearance part is detailed to help with visualization. I also like to make my sps look somewhat close to known celebrities. That way when wanting to visualize them I can use various forms of media. For example, if you’re sp looks a lot like Felix form stray kids feel free to use edits of him to visualize. There are many ways of writing an sp’s physical description. Such as

“my sp looks like Felix from straykids with yuzuru hanyu’s body “ or “my sp has *very specific facial feature from one celebrity* with *another specific facial feature from another celebrity*” or simply write it like “my sp has brown dyed hair with emerald green eyes”

You can also leave this part blank like every other part of your script. The possibilities are endless.

Then, I like to go into the backstory and personality. I do it in the same group of paragraphs personally because I like to see how the backstory affects the person I’m writing about to make sure it’s pretty realistic. I like writing this part in 3rd person, but feel free to write it anyway you choose to. Also feel free to take this as seriously as you want to. For those, like me, who need a backstory idea or help with writing what characteristics your sp might have because of their experiences I recommend visiting the “one stop for writers” website.

After that, I like to get into one of the fun parts, my sp’s relationship with others. Whether it’s their relationship with their mother, the relationship with your friends, or the relationship with your family. Just don’t forget to write about yourself.

Personally I like writing my sp’s relationships something like this: “[Name] and their mother unfortunately do not get along that well, mainly due to *blah blah blah blah*” but ofc you can always make it less detailed too. Something like “Sp’s relationship with mother - neutral” will work just as good. Allow whatever’s up there to fill in the gaps for you

I don’t necessarily believe you have to script anything after that. I like adding more things such as personal style, how we meet, talents and skills, inspirations, etc,. But nothing on here or on the guide is mandatory. As long as you have a basic idea of how you want your sp to be you don’t need all of this. And so with that, I think it’s time for me to go. Do note that this blog with always be updated in case I find spelling mistakes or new information, but if you have any questions about this part or any part of the guide don’t be afraid to ask. With that, I’m logging off. Peace.

#void state #manifesting #manifest #manifest sp #sp manifestation #manifesting blog #loa affirmations #loa #law of assumption #junno posts ✨

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kiwiana-writes · 4 days

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @cha-melodius and @stereopticons for the tags! I know I’ve done this in the past, but it’s been a hot minute…

How many works do you have on ao3?

239!

What's your total ao3 word count?

822,937—but that’s a collaboration-boosted lie. Per my writing tracker, words that I have personally written and published on AO3 is 693,613

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly RWRB these days, but the majority of my back catalogue is Schitt’s Creek, with a few others sprinkled in for fun. The Pairing definitely made my brain whirr… we’ll see.

Top five fics by kudos:

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest), RWRB, 65.5k, the Much Ado About Nothing stage actor AU

Kinda think that I might be his type, RWRB, 12.8k, Alex and Bea fake date and Alex gets a little distracted by Bea’s brother

We were supposed to find this, RWRB, 3.3k, soulmate AU

We always walked a very thin line, Happiest Season, 2.7k, Riley character study/alternate ending

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, RWRB, 5.8k, barista Henry repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth in front of his coworker crush

(This is how I learned Puck It has been knocked out of my top five 😭)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! And absent a Schitt’s Creek resurgence of some kind that sees me absolutely inundated I don’t see that changing.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could), Schitt’s Creek, 1.2k, for the love of god read the tags

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like… most of them? I love to end on a good HEA haha. For sheer joy, though, it’s probably With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest)

Do you get hate on fics?

From time to time. I’m very free with the delete button. Weirdly, it occasionally pops up in the AO3 comments but mostly seems to come to me via anons on tumblr??? I have no idea why.

Do you write smut?

It’s been known to happen, I guess 👀

Craziest crossover:

I haven’t written any AO3-era crossovers! A few fusions/media AUs, but no crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. I’ve only been asked once, and they wanted to post off AO3 which is a big heck nope for me (and my permissions statement has now been updated to reflect that)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Heck yeah I have. I’ve done several anthology-type collaborations where we each wrote a chapter in a fic, and I’ve fully cowritten fics with @ships-to-sail several times. We have another collab coming up for @aroyallybigbangrwrb and I’m also cowriting The Big Secret AU with @indestructibleheart which is essentially us one-upping each other on emotionally devastating ideas until someone writes them down. Good system 😂

All time favorite ship?

Stop making pansexuals choose things.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Look, the chances of kinktober 2021 being finished at this point are slim 😂

Schitt’s Creek kinkverse… I don’t know. I have little snippets written of future fics and they’re great but… idk. Maybe I’ll write one vignette-y wrap up fic one day.

What are your writing strengths?

Narrative POV, dialogue that feels like the characters, epistolary bullshit, smut apparently.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Coming up with actual plot lmao. Visual descriptors — I’m not even remotely a visual person so I really really struggle with writing the sorts of things people can visualise. Also like… the passage of time? A scam.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. I’ll shoulder tap a fluent speaker if I need an actual sentence/anything Google isn’t super reliable for. Forever heartbroken that there are no fics in my second language in AO3 and no reason for me to be able to sprinkle it into my own writing (though one of the subscriber shindig prompts might be about to change that 👀)

First fandom you wrote in?

Favorite fic you've written?

Stop! Asking! Pansexuals! To! Choose! Things!

I don’t know there are 239 of the bloody things 😂 I’m far more interested in what other people’s favourites are than what my own is!

I have no sense of who’s done this already so apologies if this is a double up but tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise @getmehighonmagic

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @nontoxic-writes

@read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

#20 questions for fic writers #kiwiana-writes

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plasticbag3207 · 1 month

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Alastor and Vox Possibly Knew Each Other in Life

I recently started writing/planning a fic centering around how Alastor and Vox met, and how their friendship turned sour into what their rivalry is today. I’m sure people have already written fics like this but I haven’t seen any (not that I’ve been looking) with this as the main plot and without heavy shipping.

Until literally this morning I wasn’t ever quite able to peg down Alastor and Vox’s ages. I assumed they were at least in their 30s, though it didn’t seem out of the question to say they were older or maybe even a little younger.

That is until I found the leaked character sheets of them. Apparently a year (or two?) ago someone leaked a lot of the character sheets/voice sheets for most of Hazbin Hotel’s cast. Obviously leaking is bad, don’t do it. I also don’t know if everything on those sheets is still canon, so I’m only going to talk about the ages. Also massive thank you to my friend for talking about this with me and helping me come up with stuff :)

(Theories, Headcanons, and Spoilers for the fic below the cut)

According to Alastor’s character sheet, he’s roughly in his 40s, and I’m going to say he was born in 1891. Assuming sinners don’t physically age at all after going to hell (because I’m 90% sure they don’t), that’d make him 42 at his death in 1933. Vox on the other hand, I’m saying was born in 1902, and died in 1955, making him 53 when he died. With these dates Vox and Alastor were only 11 years apart.

In my headcanons Alastor landed his job as a radio host in his mid 20s (1913), and built his way up to being the most popular radio host in New Orleans. By 1918 (27 years old) he had his own full show, which ran for 15 years until his death—and was wildly popular.

My headcanon for Vox on the other hand, is that he started as an actor. He always loved attention, and soon by his early 20s (1924) became a big hit on the silver screen. Very quickly he climbed to the top, becoming beloved by Hollywood and starring in many more movies over his lifespan.

I don’t think Alastor had such a massive disdain for television or visual media yet, though I’m not going to say he loved it. He saw Vox as some attention hound, constantly desperate for more with an insatiable appetite—not unlike himself.

Vox at some point stumbles apon Alastor’s radio show, and instantly loves the guy. He laughs at every joke, loves the creativity of the sound effects, and such. After some tugging of strings he meets Alastor in person and offers to interview him on one of his late night shows. Alastor reluctantly accepts, though the two can’t help but be put off—and even annoyed at times by each others’ presence.

The interview, to say the least, does not go very well. Alastor found it a bit humiliating, Vox being too caught up in the spotlight and not all that willing to share it with Alastor. After that, Al decided that “this face was made for radio” and radio only.

They potentially saw each other in passing, but beyond that their interactions were limited.

Eventually Al dies, and is outed as a serial killer. Vox becomes ever more popular with televisions becoming a household item of the 50s until he dies.

Yippie :)

I’m not 100% sure how much of this is canon compliant, but whatever it’s my fanfic I’ll do what I want with it. Also don’t worry I didn’t spoil the entire thing, just aspects of their human lives. Most of the fic will probably be in Hell. (When/if I post the fic on Ao3 I’ll link it here aswell)

EDIT: I started the fic, it’s a little rough but I’ll polish it up eventually. I also can’t promise I’ll stay 100% true to everything I talked about in this post but it’ll probably be pretty close. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :)

#plasticbag3207 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin hotel vox #vivziepop #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #vox hazbin hotel #fanfic

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muichiro-tokito122 · 2 months

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TENGEN NSFW ALPHABET

(this is my first time writing one of these so have mercy on me, im not that good 😭)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) Tengen definitely is too lazy to get out of bed and get stuff like water, so he just stays next to you in bed and binges kisses and rubs your aching hips, yet again, if it wasn’t a LONG round, he WOULD get up to get you water or smth like that..

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

boobs. I don’t fucking care. Look at all his wives! THEY HAVE HUUUUUUUGE BOOBS! Honestly, he just loves watching the way your breasts bounce when you ride him, and cumming on your chest is one of his faves…

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) Tengen doesn’t cum a lot? He can hold back, but when he does cum, which is rare, he cums BUCKETS, and he isn’t afraid to let it all out in you~~~. Yet again, Tengens cum isn’t necessary the most… delicious… thing ever. You could have lived without tasting it. It’s more salty than bitter.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Tengen seriously wants to have an affair with ALL of his wives, like ALL of them. And he really wants to slap your ass, just to see what would happen. Not that he hasn’t before. He also wants to see just HOW MANY of his fingers fit.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) My man has 3 wives all ready. Yes. It would be surprising if he were a virgin. He’s experienced sex with 3 and definitely even more women, so he knows what a woman wants.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) to Tengen it’s more important for his woman to feel pleasure, but at the same time he wants to see their face twist and contort in pleasure, so honestly probably riding, or face off.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) No. Tengen teases you mercilessly. He’s constantly whispering dirty jokes in your ear and laughing at your faces.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) yes. The carpet matches the drapes. But he is nicely trimmed. However since his hair is white, it’s not very visible, so it’s more of the feeling than the visual.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) he’s very intimate. Tengen’s hands are always roaming and pinching and stroking to say the least, he’s always whispering something in your ears. And he’s not very gentle either. However he won’t hurt you, he will ask if you’re enjoying yourself or if you’re in pain.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) he doesn’t need to jack off, lets be honest, ONCE AGAIN. He has 3 wives. I wouldn’t think he needs to jack off.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) He definitely likes it you’re loud, and he likes pet names. And he really wants you to call him daddy. He loves foreplay and prop using, he’s not a fan of toys though.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do) anywhere around HIS house. On tables, counters, couches, beds, you get the idea.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) When you show a lot of skin. It definitely riles him up. As well as when YOU flirt with HIM.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) he wouldn’t EVER put you in pain, he pulls your hair, but not to the point you’re bleeding, if there’s a drop of blood, he’s stopping.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) again…. I’m sobbing… HE HAS 3 WIFES! 😭😭😭😭 HES GOOD AT IT! but yes. This man could have you sitting on his face for hours and wouldn’t get tired of your taste, he especially loves when you buck your hips into his mouth. Unlike other men, he doesn’t necessarily LOVE getting sucked out, he’s okay with it, but he wouldn’t be like “Ho ho ho, suck my dick.” 🙄. Like other men, looking at you, Sanemi.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) he’s fast no matter what. If it’s a long day. He just wants to get the stress out quick and then sleep it off. He’s definitely not going to be gentle, even if you ask for it.

Q = Quickie��(Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) Y E S. He has a HUGE sex drive. You could be wearing his clothes and he’d already be thinking of ripping them off you. During the day he’d be pulling you over the table, or counters just stuff like that.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) He loves trying out new things and he’s never even thought of opening the lonely condom box on the nightstand.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) maybe 4 rounds? Each 30 minutes, maybe… He is a hashira after all.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) No. TBH he’s confident with his cock and his cock alone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He teases mercilessly. Baby girl, I’m sorry, but he’s going to make you suffer before he takes you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) He prefers to stay quiet so he doesn’t drown out the sound of your moans, he just likes to hear them, because he knows you’re feeling good.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) he just randomly slaps your ass. Whether it’s in sex or not. You could casually be speaking to the other hashira and he would just WACK!

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) He is a very tall man. So he would be around 7 or 8 inches 😳💀, and a bit thicker than average.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Very. That’s all I’m saying. Very

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep after around 2 hours since he is not very sleepy.

#tengen uzui #tengen smut #manga and anime #hashira x reader

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radishaur · 2 years

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Ok, I need to talk about Teruhashi from The Disastrous Life of Saiki K real quick but not in the way you think. I think Teruhashi is a well written character in and of herself, however I think what’s even more interesting is the perspective her character brings to the “can you be a good person if your motives are wrong” argument. I see this argument/back and forth a lot and it’s the idea that if you do good things for an ulterior motive, then are you actually a good person? Your actions still brought about positive effects so at the end of the day, do you still end up being a good person even though your motives are skewed?

I think this very contrast between motives and actions is what makes Teruhashi such a particularly interesting character; it’s the very joke her character is built on. Thanks to Saiki’s abilities, we hear Teruhashi’s inner thoughts, so we as the viewers know that she acts the way she does because she makes herself and not because it’s natural. The writers make it clear that she behaves the way she does not because it was her natural reaction but because she gains something from acting that way. She directly benefits from creating this “perfect” image of herself, not only in the form of those around her being so devoted to her but also in the sense that acting this way allows her to validate her own self-image of herself as the perfect girl. In fact, in many cases the way she acts directly parallels what she was thinking in her head. A great visual of this juxtaposition in her character is in Season 2 Episode 8, where Aiura Mikoto sees her aura. She describes it as being a giant set of angel wings, but with black feathers mixed in, which is an inside joke to the viewers, making fun of the fact that on the outside her actions are pure and good-natured, but her inner voice is actually much darker.

I think this contrast is also one of the reasons the fandom’s opinions on her differ so wildly. I think subconsciously a lot of people would say that your motives do matter on if you’re a good person or not, and since Saiki gives us a way to see that her motives in most scenarios are not “pure”, they dislike her character because to them she isn’t a good person. I think it also brings about an interesting discussion about how we would view her character if Saiki wasn’t able to give the viewers that inside look into her thoughts. Obviously the show would be completely different if this was the case, but I think it’s interesting to think about nonetheless.

Anyways, I have many more thoughts on this that I can’t put into words right now, but thanks for reading if you got this far. I’ve been obsessed with this show again recently and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t usually write in-depth analysis of fandom media so I hope this made at least somewhat sense. Now I’m going to retreat back to the fanfiction corner of the fandom, so expect fanfiction soon. Ok bye!

#saiki kusuo no ψ nan #saiki #the disastrous life of saiki k.#teruhashi kokomi #teruhashi #kokomi #saiki k

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slexenskee · 2 years

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Re: wtf is going on with Gojo’s Six Eyes/A list of Gojo’s ridiculous powers

Tbh I had to write this up because I too have trouble keeping up with this man’s massively over-powered abilities lol. Y’all also I’m lowkey shook how many of you haven’t watched jjk and only know the shitposting dumpster fire that is Ru-kun 🤣 amazing

Six Eyes: Okay so in JJK the Six Eyes can see cursed energy in, like, super granular detail, up to great distances, and Gojo can tell a lot about a person from that alone. It’s also the reason he has like, infinite cursed energy, because it can use all the info to regulate his cursed energy to maximum efficiency so his output is almost zero. He’s also impossible to sneak up on (by everyone but Toji lol) because of it, and has some kind of eidetic visual memory? I imagine he just has an eidetic memory to begin with though haha. I honestly just kinda assume it’s like the Byakugan without the weird seeing right through people. In the BNHA verse this basically just means he can ‘see’ people’s quirks all around him, in a radius thats probably like 25m at rest (like has his blindfold on and isn’t actively using it) and up to 1km (.5 miles) in like ‘battle mode’, he’s paying attention doesn’t have a blindfold on etc, and like 5k+ in the ‘oh shit I’ve lost my kid’ panic mode. So from like an AoE standpoint it’s okay, BNHA has heroes with quirks that have a better radius than that, but the level of detail it has is pretty god-tier, like if he’s in a crowd of hundreds of people he can still pinpoint every single quirk and what it is.

In this universe the Six Eyes can see Plus Alpha Energy, aka Quirk Energy. Gojo can see what a person’s quirk is and more or less how it works. As of the most recent JJK chapters, it was also revealed that the Six Eyes can see souls or something like it? It’s also unclear how much they see beyond just ‘energy’ as Gojo regularly walks around with a blindfold on and doesn’t bump into shit, and inanimate objects don’t have Cursed Energy in JJK canon, so idk how he does that if the Six Eyes only see Cursed Energy.

They also tire him out to some extent, and can’t be ‘turned off’ like the Sharingan/Byakugan, which is why he normally covers them with a blindfold, sunglasses, or bandages as he did for whatever reason in JJK 0. I headcanon that it’s not debilitating for him to go a long time with them uncovered by any stretch, but it does exhaust him. And since he doesn’t like using his Reverse-Cursed Technique without reason, he’d rather just keep them covered.

It’s also never stated why tf they’re called the Six Eyes. Why Six??? Whatever there’s a lot that is unexplained in JJK we just gotta roll with it.

THEY ARE ALSO BEAUTIFUL??? What a vibe Akutami-sensei so glad we’re done with the whole creepy byakugan shit ✨

Limitless Techniques (blue, red, hollow purple): They work the exact same as they do in JJK, manipulating space using the concept of infinity, etc etc. The only real difference is that people can see them in BNHA even if they don’t have cursed energy (I think in JJK technically non-shamans can’t see cursed energy at all?) For readers who haven’t watched JJK, Limitless acts on the atomic level and more or less works like gravity. There’s Blue, which attracts, and Red, which repels. Hollow Purple is when Gojo combines positive infinity and negative infinity and makes a spatial anomaly in a very epic and unsubtle way. We’ve only ever seen Gojo use it as a beam of pure destruction, so we don’t really know much about its actual limitations. Since it’s more or less voiding reality though, I imagine it’s unstoppable and there’s just no way to block it, you either get out of the way or don’t exist anymore lol. In my fic, it’s main limitation is that it’s on the slower time (long activation) isn’t very precise and can’t be stopped once he starts it.

Infinity: Again, exact same as in JJK. Gojo’s mastery of it + his Six Eyes + his reverse-cursed energy technique means he never has to turn it off ever. He has an impenetrable forcefield around him that theoretically can be activated 24/7. Is it good for him to have it on that long? Probably not because he has to use his reverse-cursed technique to constantly ‘refresh’ his brain and I am of the opinion there is nothing more curative in life than good sleep lol. What does Infinity keep out? Literally everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. Rewatching JJK ep8 is insane this thing even stops sound waves. At any rate in this fic it again stops everything, even quirk energy (or rather, the plus alpha energy waves emitted by quirk energy)

^ Gojo being op asf in EP 8 stopping Jogo’s attack and his soundwave-attack bug things

Infinity is also automatic. JJK S2 ends with Gojo perfecting Infinity to the point it works without conscious thought on his part, and literally filters ‘dangerous’ things out by calculating their speed/matter/velocity. He can reconfigure what can/can’t pass through his barrier basically instantaneously, and as of JJK S2 was figuring out how to go even further and filter out things at the atomic level, like parsing out certain molecular structures that are poisonous. Infinity in a nutshell runs like a computer program, or more specifically an if/then statement, and Gojo can program it however he likes.

An explanation of how Infinity interacts with Quirks/what quirks work on Gojo vs. what quirks don’t can be found here

Domain Expansion (Infinite Void): Forgot to include this one on the first go around but adding it since he does use this technique in this fic at least once. Domain Expansion in JJK is the ‘pinnacle of Jujutsu Sorcerery’ and in essence it envelops the user and nearby people in a certain radius (not sure what it is exactly but I’m assuming you have to at least see the person to be able to drag them into your domain) into a ‘domain’ controlled by the user. It’s the most OP of all cursed techniques and Gojo isn’t the only sorcerer who can use it, although his is like the most lethal of everyone’s. His is called Infinite Void and its this existential crazy ass world where all the information of the entire universe floods his opponent and basically renders them inert because its too much information for any mortal brain to process.

Aaaaand the only way to combat it is to lay out an opposing domain, and since no one can do that in bnha it’s unbeatable lol. Gojo doesn’t use it often because it tires him out and it’s also just not useful unless he’s trying to render someone brain dead or other very specific occasions.

Reverse-Cursed Technique: Using reverse-cursed energy to heal. Idk how this works it confuses me to this day, all I know is that it can heal crazy shit and Gojo used it on himself to bring himself back from the brink of death: spoiler alert, like knifed in the brain kind of ‘brink of death’. So even if someone ever manages to get past Infinity, they’d have to blow him up/cut off his head to have him stay dead lol. As of canon, he hasn’t ever used it on anyone else other than himself - apparently that’s harder to do than self-healing?

Quirk - Blue Flames: His actual ‘quirk’ that he was born with as Todoroki Touya are his flames, and he basically never uses them on their own in this story. This is the exact same quirk as the OG Dabi, it just doesn’t hurt him because he can use Infinity to create a barrier between himself and his own flames, since I don’t believe they’re ‘emitted’ from inside his body. While he may no longer injure himself using his flames, they still tire him out way more than his cursed techniques (where he has his Six Eyes to precisely ration how much he uses to a negligible amount) just like over-using a quirk would any other quirk-user.

Quirk + Cursed Energy - Cremation: This is a combo of using his quirk and his cursed techniques. He was already god level from his cursed energy, but cremation makes him like a double god or something 🤣 stupidly overpowered. Insta-death shit. He emits flames using his quirk, draws an imaginary barrier of ‘Infinity’ around a defined perimeter, and uses the pressure of his Limitless Blue (attraction) to condense the flames in that space into, like, supernova levels almost instantaneously. Like this is not fire anymore, this is legit plasma. Basically he’s using heat and pressure to cause nuclear fusion on the atomic level. It seemed very fitting, since his cursed techniques are all atomic based. It achieves the same end state as Hollow Purple using different methods.

Pros - it doesn’t leave a trail of destruction like Hollow Purple; Gojo can be very granular on what area is effected by the technique; its much faster than Hollow Purple, being almost instantaneous.

Cons - not as flashy (which would totally be a con for Gojo lol); leaves no trace behind; tires him out since it requires him to use his quirk, which is not refreshed by his reverse-cursed technique or regulated by his Six Eyes.

Teleportation: had to come back to add this one too lol. This is still pretty unexplained in JJK, so I’m making it up. Mine is based on 2 things - time and proximity. Time as in - the last time Gojo was at the point he wants to teleport to (an hour ago, yesterday, two weeks ago, etc.). Proximity as in - how close the two points he’s traveling to are. To me, Teleportation and Hollow Purple are his two cursed techniques that require the most energy, but teleportation’s energy expenditure depends on the two factors I mentioned above. Like Gojo warping him AND Hawks back to his hotel in Tokyo from Palawan? That would put a noticeable dip in his reserves, even with his Six Eyes. Because it’s a long-ish distance, because it had been at least a few days since he’d last been to his hotel, and the real kicker - because he was teleporting another person, which I imagine to be 100x more taxing than teleporting himself. But him teleporting around the forest in the training camp? That’s nothing to him because the distance was so close. (Although him teleporting Izuku and Kota back to the camp cost him more in energy than erasing Muscular from existence LOL) In my fic he doesn’t need to know the exact destination of where he’s teleporting if he has a ‘lock’ on someone’s quirk and knows their exact GPS coordinates - i.e., how he found Yui.

Also unrelated to gojo’s powers I bought the Mappa animation keyframe book for JJK and omggg look at it its stunning!! also Gojo 10/10 confirmed wears lipgloss 🤣 Mappa has it outlined and everything!!

#fic may death never stop you #mdnsy FAQ

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