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ode2rin · 4 months

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SAY YES TO ME ~ ❀ ·˚

𓆩♡𓆪 in which: your husband, reo, just knows exactly how to make you say yes.

For the first time in his life, Reo had never been happier to be the CEO of his company.

He couldn't recall feeling as alive even when he first inherited the position. While he appreciated the benefits and authority, nothing compared to the freedom of controlling his own time.

As soon as the clock struck 12 pm, Reo sprang to his feet, driven by a sense of purpose akin to a man on a mission. His determined strides echoed against the perfectly marbled tiles of his office floor as he made his way to the elevator. It was five hours earlier than his usual clock-out time, but today was an exception.

Because today was Valentine’s Day— and he had better plans than sitting around skimming through papers that hardly made any sense anymore because his mind was already consumed with thoughts of you, as if he didn’t spend most of his time doing exactly that anyway.

Before finally leaving his office floor, Reo made a beeline for his secretary’s desk to ensure the finishing touches were being made according to his instructions.

“Everything must be ready before we arrive,” he declared to his secretary, his tone more of a command than a request. This was serious business, after all. In fact, none of the investor deals he signed earlier this day would measure up to the importance of this one task at hand.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied cautiously.

Satisfied, he stepped into the elevator. His eagerness to see you was so evident— anyone can tell. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying one bit to do so. From the way he pressed the lobby button twice, checked his watch incessantly for the past few hours, and tapped his wingtip against the elevator floor as if its speed could hasten his journey home— everyone can tell that his very own company building was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, he supposed anyone with someone precious waiting for them at home would understand his seemingly pathetic behavior.

Pathetic, lovesick, whipped— you’ve reduced him to every synonym for such.

Not that it concerns him; what's more concerning is that he's not bothered by any perception tied to it. If he hadn't outgrown that teenage angst and was still chasing bits to fuel his ego, then it would have been a different story. He would have been hypersensitive to what bystanders thought of him. Now, older and wiser, he couldn’t care less about what they meant to prying eyes or big tabloids. None of their opinions were yours, so none of them mattered.

The journey back home was tenfold more insufferable than the time spent in the elevator. He kept his eye on his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror, and if he squinted enough, he could see the beads of nervous sweat forming at the poor man’s temple. He sighed to himself, seemingly reprimanding his own improper behavior. Hell, what was happening to him? He wasn't even an impatient man to begin with. All because of Valentine’s Day—all because he couldn’t wait to see you.

He got it real bad, as his longtime best friend would like to say. One he couldn't find it in himself to deny. It was true, anyway.

He didn't know when or where it started, but one random night four years ago, he woke up in a cold sweat, and the realization that he was hell deep in love with you gnawed on his center to his throat. So in love it set his heart on fire, all while being in love with the one person who lit the match.

Rumors were true— love never aligned with logic, intricate planning, none of what he excelled at as a businessman. And so, he abandoned logic and acted exactly as his heart had been urging him to.

The very moment the sun peeked over the horizon that fateful day, he was on his feet, his jet waiting to fly him to wherever the finest diamond engagement rings reside.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be standing at the entrance of your shared home, his grin widening with each approaching step he hears. You’re bustling around the house just to welcome him home—so, no, he couldn’t have it any other way. The mere thought of doing things differently made his heart leap into his throat, while a hollow feeling settled in his chest.

“Love! Welcome home!” you greet him, your lively voice warming Reo’s heart as it makes its way to him.

Even before you could throw your arms around his shoulders and kiss him senselessly to welcome him home, you're met with a bundle of red roses he had taken from his back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” you blushed, resembling the vibrant flowers he bought on the way home.

“Nothing is ever a bother when it comes to you,” he mused, big amethyst eyes sparkling back at you.

Ever the sweet talker, you looked at your husband who was now peering over you and the roses you’re cradling.

“Okay, Mr. Charming. To what occasion do I owe this?” you play pretend, your voice tinged with playful curiosity.

Instead of an immediate response, you felt his hands traveling to the small of your back, pulling you close against his embrace. His lips grazed your cheek, before whispering in your ear, “Be my Valentine?”

Here he goes again, you thought. “I’ve been married to you for the last four years, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out to him, keeping your smile to yourself.

That’s not a yes. Huffing, Reo pulled back from your hug to look you in the eye, “Your point being? There are no rules in marriage that say I can no longer ask you on Valentine’s day– if I remember correctly,” and he even had the pettiness to mock your tone.

“Wow, my husband is a bit sassy today, isn’t he?”

My husband, he repeats in his mind, and just like that, all sassiness and pettiness came flying straight out of the window. “I love being your husband,” he blurted out, totally unrelated to your previous banter.

“Oh, really, now?” you teased, feigning the warmth it sent to your chest.

He does, truly and definitely. A man like him is widely known for what he has– for the possessions under his name and for the power it holds. Yet here he was, wrapped around your arms, and suddenly, being your husband has been the best he has been called and known for.

There was no weight, no expectations, and no pressure tied to it— just love dripping in every letter. There’s no one he would rather be.

“Yeah, am I doing a great job?” smiling at you, he asks, “I’m not losing the charms, am I?”

“Trust me, you’re very much good at it,” you fondly brushed the strands of hair covering his eyes, “and you’re not losing the charms,” you quoted.

“Really? So if I were to ask again, would you say yes?”

“With or without your ‘charms’, you know exactly how to make me say yes.”

Reo let out a hearty laugh at your remark. “You’re right,” his fingers reached out to your left ring finger, where his oath of forever lay glimmering.

God— he really did that. He put a ring on it. It was his name next to yours, his rings on your hand, his bed you share, and his forever you spend with. Four years and more to come, but Reo was certain he would never get over it.

Before his rationality left him and wrecked his own plans, Reo caressed your back, his hands moving dangerously low down your hip and giving it a squeeze, “Still wanna hear it from you though,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “So, what do you say in letting this poor man take you on a date as his valentine?”

You drew closer to his hold, your arms finding their place around his neck, hands occupied with the flowers now resting on his back, “I say,” you pressed your lips as if trying to think, “I’d like some kiss and maybe hear a please first—”

You couldn’t even finish teasing him because in a heartbeat, Reo closed the distance, seizing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss drowning out the sound of words with an intensity that left no room for second guessing his invitation. Nothing about Mikage Reo was silent and subtle– not even when he kissed you. It had to be breathless, deep, urgent, and parting your lips in surrender.

His hands found their way, trailing with purpose along your spine, while his other traced the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch. Teasing fingers then tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate for more.

He pulled back first, leaving you light-headed. He flashed you one smirk, lips almost melting into yours.

“Please?”

Fuck. You didn’t need to be asked thrice. You nodded your head aimlessly, earning a chuckle from him. “Go then, pack some clothes. Our jet is waiting for us.”

“Jet? Did you mean car?” Where the hell was he taking you to use a jet for?

Seemingly reading the question on your face, he answered, “I know what I said, love. We’re going to Paris.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, squirming from his hold completely, “We could just dine somewhere close, Reo.”

Now, who told you he only had dinner in mind? Who did you take him for? You shouldn’t be surprised anymore— there’s nothing in this world that would come close to the satisfaction he got from spending lavishly on you. It was a reminder that he could and most certainly would give you everything you wanted. “You don’t like Paris?”

You tried to reason, heavy on the try so it seemed because you soon realized it was a mistake clarifying your point, “I mean, I do but—”

“I think I heard enough, love,” a sheepish smile formed on his lips, “I’ll wait for you here, alright?”

You rolled your eyes at him before retreating to your shared bedroom to prepare for freaking Paris. Of course, you're going. There’s really no winning against him, you’ve known that ever since. He longed to prove to you that he always had the irresistible charm of making you say yes.

Not that you'd ever thought of saying no. The ring weighing your finger down could attest to that.

note. been seeing people saying their partners no longer ask them valentines bec they're tgt alr... reo would never do that btw do better

another note (pls tolerate me). i'm pretty sure i'm fighting for my life when this gets posted (it's qd!!) so here's me wishing all of you a happy hearts day 🩷

#💌 valentine's special '24 #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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bloodlust-1 · 7 months

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˗ˏˋRelieve Meˎˊ˗ part 2

Halsin x fem Tav — Explicit 18+

Summary: Halsin is looking a bit tense, Tav offers to massage his muscles and relieve his tension in the best way she can. He wants to return the offer to help relieve her as well.

"You're beauty is one that could have only been crafted by a goddess herself...how kind of nature to allow my heart to touch its most beautiful creation."

-> part 1 <-

TW: smut!

Note: part 2, more juicy. Ik this is what ya’ll been waiting for ;p

As the sun fell from the sky, another night crept on the horizon and coated the sky with stars. The fire illuminated the camp once again and Tav could feel the anxiety build up in her the darker it got. Of course, Karlach had been bothering Tav all day about what happened between her and Halsin last night. She assured her it was a tender moment but nothing happened. However tonight felt different. Halsin requested Tav to visit him tonight, and that she was.

Tav waited until most of the party settled in their tents for bed before making way to Halsin. She stepped out quietly and pulled the drapes of his tent. There he was, sitting on the floor in a kneeling state. He was praying to his god, the oak father. This was something she actually never seen him do.

“Am I interrupting?” She stepped in and kneeled down next to him with her hands placed on her thighs.

"No, never." Halsin turned his head to her. His eyes were so...pretty. She couldn't decide if his eyes were more green, grey, or brown? She'd never seen anything like it. Those eyes told a story, she could see the youth in them. It enticed her.

"Halsin?"

"Is there something on your mind?" He responded gently.

Tav twiddled her fingers together, nervously, "Tell me about your family." He never spoke of his family nor did he ever have a family of his own. He had it all, so his being alone felt odd to her. Tav leaned her head on Halsin's shoulder, feeling his warmth and strength.

He froze in the moment, but then shook his head as if he was trying to shake off past memories, " They passed away a very long time ago, may they rest with the Oak Father. They taught me all my values: My mother was a beautiful wood elf of various crafts. I did not see her much as she always traveled for her studies. However, my father was a very strict druid. Such a random question in a time like this— why?"

"You just have the most beautiful eyes. Made me wonder who you got them from." Their eyes locked, and they shared a deep gaze, communicating without words the love and adoration they have for each other.

Halsin spoke gently, "My mother's." His thumb gently caressed Tav's cheek, tracing the contours of her face, while she blissfully closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully surrender to his touch. Their breathing slows in unison, their hearts beating as one, lost in the beauty of this tender moment.

With one hand Halsin wrapped his arm around her back, slowly gravitating her back against his bedroll. He hovered over her body, it was way smaller in stature than his. Tav loved how large he was, to feel so protected and engulfed by his size. It was her biggest turn-on about him.

"You're beauty is one that could have only been crafted by a goddess herself...how kind of nature to allow my heart to touch its most beautiful creation." Halsin's mind was consumed by their memories and emotions. His heart raced as he remembered the way she smiled, the sound of her laughter, and the warmth of her embrace. He can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for her strength, intelligence, and beauty. He wished he could turn back time and spend more moments with her, to cherish and hold onto every second they had together. There was no spoiling that now, he would seize his moment.

Halsin ran his free hand up alongside her figure, indulging in the curves of her hips, waist, and breasts. Every inch of her skin was his to explore, he squeezed her body tenderly under the large grip of his hand. Halsin watched Tav squirm as her face flushed bright red. His eye transitioned from gentle to authoritative. Oh, how Halsin loved seeing Tav make such pleasurable faces under his control.

"Do you know how hard it was to restrain myself the first time you offered yourself to me at that party?" Halsin's hand slipped up Tav's shirt, cupping her breast. He could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin to his touch. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long." His voice was gentle, his tone— commanding. His fingers traced her outer nipple slowly before pinching it teasingly. He loved the way she winced in a pleasurable pain. "And now I have you under me, moaning out such a lovely melody."

She gripped the cloth of Halsin's shirt as she let out small moans of pleasure. How could teasing feel so good, but feel so horrible all at once, she instantly wanted to just indulge herself in him. But for now, she enjoyed his attention. After all, he wasn't a piece of meat.

Halsin pulled Tav's shirt over her head and tossed it to the side. He leaned over and covered her exposed breast with his mouth, whilst his other hand groped her other breast. His tongue twirled over her hard nipple before pressing it against his teeth. The faint noises of grunts, heavy breathing, and slurping filled his tent.

Their skin started to exhume moisture for the heated moment. The sweet smell of musk and sexual tension, it was too intoxicating. Halsin planted sloppy kisses on Tav's chest, making his way up her neck. His steamy breath hit against Tav's ear. Her skin is soft like fresh petals, her sweat salty yet sweet. Halsin thought of her as nothing short of perfection.

"More?" Halsin huffed deep fast breaths into her ear. His lips parted from her neck, and he leaned his head back up in eyes view of her, waiting for her response.

From her view Halsin's face had a tint of red, his skin satin in moisture, not a lot but a glint of sweat. Her chest squeezed to his question because, of course, she wanted more. It was just so hard for her to answer. She almost felt shy to say yes, but this was what he wanted: to hear her voice.

"I—...." She felt a lump in her throat. Gods was she waiting for this, but the words just couldn't come out. She was aroused, nervous, and happy all at the same time.

Halsin put his hand over her jaw, clutching it slightly knowing the intensity of his strength, "Say it. I want to hear you say you want me." Tav had never seen him act this way and, gods was it a pleasant surprise.

Tav hung open her mouth, her heart racing out of her chest, "H-Halsin, I...want you. B-badly...please have me."

"Perfect." He uttered before pulling her face closer to his. He smashed his lips against hers, and his tongue danced with hers. Tav grabbed the sides of his face while wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling his groin against her core. It was hard and thick, and she could feel the heat coming off of it threw his pants. The kiss was roughly sloppy judging from their saliva running down Tav's cheek. She didn't even care, all she knew was that she wanted it rough and messy.

Their lips parted for a moment as they both gasped for air, between huffs, Halsin leaned up and pulled his shirt over his head. Exposing his muscles and hairy chest. His abs glistened in what little light gleamed into the tent from a nearby candle. Its soft glow cast its light that hit his skin in all the right places. He wrapped his fingers in Tav's waistband, pulling her pants down slowly, teasingly. He continued to tug at her pants until it pulled over her ankles, exposing her true form. All of Tav's nature was for Halsin to admire, he stared at her with lustful eyes, admiring her naked body.

His eyes began to glow like two shining suns, their bright yellow glow illuminating the darkness around him. The light emanating from his eyes was so intense that it seemed to cast a warm, golden glow on Tav's body. The effect was both mesmerizing and otherworldly. This was only a glow Tav saw when he shifted into wild form. She felt completely vulnerable, like his prey.

Halsin shook his head side to side lightly while shutting his eyes tightly, "I must tame myself, I don't want to hurt you in my wild form. But know this, you make my blood run so hot that it could awaken its beast."

"That's quite flattering, Halsin. Do I make you that crazy? That you can no longer contain yourself..? I couldn't say I wouldn't enjoy that..." Tav mustered out all her courage. Yes, she felt exposed and shy but the power she felt over Halsin's sexual urge, it was beyond an ego boost.

He scuffed in a small giggle, "Your body must take in me before it can handle any kind of beast, it's very untamed and...large." Halsin admired her ambition but he did not want hurt, this was pure pleasure, pure love. With that being said, He placed both his hands on her knees and spread her legs. "let me taste you." He leaned over, his shoulder was broad over her, his physique chiseled, and she could feel the warmth of his breath hit her core. It was all too real now, his head between her legs. He truly put her needs first before his own sexual desires. Or maybe eating her out was his sexual desire. He wanted this as bad as she did. He wanted Tav to get ready for him.

Halsin loved everything about her down to her scent. It was pure pheromones to him and damn did it unleash his inner demons. He placed kisses against her core, and small traces of her wetness glistened on his lips. His eyes, deadly, stared up at Tav, he licked his lips. She was nature's juiciest fruit, forbidden, and he took a bite. His thoughts blurred and his only instinct kicked in: Eat.

His face buried between her legs, and his tongue explored every fold and crevis. It was so wet, and Halsin rubbed his tongue against her clit. She rewarded him with moans of ecstasy. He was better than good, he was skilled. Halsin must've done this many times before and she was lucky enough for him to paint a picture on her canvas. His tongue skillfully teased her clit, Tav arched her back and clutched his hair between her fingers. She pushed his face closer to her core. Silvia ran down between her inner thighs, and Halsin squeezed her thighs tightly, enjoying all the nature's gifts of a woman bestowed to him. However, this one tasted so much sweeter when you're in love.

Tav winced out in a pleasurable melody from his grip, and in return, she tugged harder. Her stomach rose up and down like a boat riding its waves. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, he looked so concentrated on pleasing her. The tent filled with moans, gasping air, slurping, and shuffling from Tav squirming under his grip. Halsin refused to let her go. She would have to take all his raw pleasure, even when she became too sensitive for more.

"Hahh— Halsin, fff-uuck—" She gasped out, her stomach became tense as she felt her climax inching closer and closer with each stroke of his tongue. His eyes like daggers stared up at her, he watched her moan and twitch under his grasp. He picked up his pace, as he circled his tongue around her clit.

Tav started to breathe heavier, it was so intense yet pleasure melted her body causing her legs to shake, and her stomach to twitch up. Her climax started to whelm up in the pit of her stomach, her body went tense and frozen for a moment. She shut her eyes tightly, and a single moan left her lips just when she reached her maximum height. She let out a sigh of relief. Tav peeped down at Halsin. From her POV his broad shoulders were hunched over her. She saw him licking up the juices for his sweet reward. His lips to his chin were coated in a slick liquid, it had a slight tint of white. God how sexy he looked when he had her cum on his face.

"You're ready...Come to me now." He sat up and kicked off his pants, his shaft swung up and he was right. A warning was not enough for Tav cause damn was he right, Large. He crawled back over Tav and placed his mouth over hers. She could taste the salty sweetness of her own brand. The musk of sex filled the air and it was heavy.

Halsin pulled away, "Lick." He pressed his fingers against her tongue— she obeyed. She licked the skin of Halsin's fingers, getting them soaked before he pulled them away. Halsin used his wet fingers to lubricate his cock. He pumped his hand a few times against his tip, letting out small grunts before placing his tip against her entrance, "Relax..." He kissed her forehead softly.

He pushed the tip of his head in. "Mmmh!" Tav clutched Halsin, he stroked her hair to comfort her. He slowly pushed in to give her body time to adjust. Her wet walls helped Halsin slide in with a better slip, and moment by moment he was fully in. He took a long steady thrust in and out. The tightness inside her melted from hurt to tinglyness.

Finally, they were one. Sharing each other's body in the name of love. They shared a gaze, lost in one another's eyes. Tav reached out to grab his face, "Halsin...Do you love me?"

"You're the only person that fills my heart. I do." A kiss was pressed against her lips. This one felt different, it was soft, passionate, and loving. He was so selfless. His hips started bucking in and out of her. Halsin grunted from the heat pulsing against his shaft. It only made him want more of her. He groped her breast while pumping in and out of her. His strokes were long and hard. Their chests clashed together in deep breaths.

"ahh, you feel so good" Halsin grunted as he fucked Tav harder. Their hips smashed against each other, and their sweat glided against skin it didn't belong to. Halsin hung his head down against Tav's neck. His moans were manly but slipped off the tongue like a lyric into her ear..

Tav wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing his deeper and harder into her. Fuck, why did it hurt so good? She tightened her walls around him. He skillfully fucked her for moments that felt like hours. Halsin Pulled out, "Turn around, I want to see that pretty back." Halsin gripped her sides and flipped her on her knees.

Tav dug her knees into the ground, her palms touching the bare floor. Halsin had hands like an ocean. Each time he pulled away he pulled her right back in. She looked over her sweaty shoulder to see Halsin. Kneeling behind her in all his messy glory, the sweat beaded down his abs, and that stare of his-- it was animalistic. Halsin returned his member back to her core, this time holding her by her hips. His hands explored her ass, squeezing it hard, it left behind his finger marks.

Each pump challenged Tav to hold her stance, making her sink lower and lower into the ground until her bare chest touched the floor. Their skin clapped against the force, and she could feel him grow hotter inside her. Halsin's grip was deathly, Tav's skin reddened to his touch.

"haahh!" Halsin slumped over her, leaving nibbles and bites on her back. Hickey's formed in random spots on her skin, marking his territory like an animal would. This was him telling everyone 'She's Mine'.

Tav struggled to fight against his strokes without completely crumbling under his strength. Halsin noticed this and grabbed both her wrists in his hands. he pulled her arms outward, her body now completely off the ground as he pulled her arms to push his cock deeper and deeper in her. Their moans entangled the dense air along with the clapping noises.

Halsin's eyes started to glow golden, his climax was coming to a close. But this felt too good. He wanted to stay in her as long as he could. He pulled her body up against his. Her back and ass pressed with no gaps against his abs. It was so wet. it was so raw. He pumped his cock while wrapping his arm around her in an embrace, and the other hand gripped her neck. They fucked in this position for a moment until she felt Halsin's body grow tense, and his grip became stronger.

"I— Ugghh, cumming." He pumped his final thrusts before his cock twitched, it was rock hard when a fill of warm cum burst inside her. His grip became weaker and they were glued to each other until his cum lessened to a stop. Halsin pulled out, a lonely feeling in her core was left as her walls retracted back without him there.

He held her body and allowed it to sink into his bedroll. Halsin held her close to him as he kissed the back of her neck. He was utterly captivated by all of Tav, there was still so much they could offer to each other. He strongly believed in fluidity in a relationship as his bear instincts guided him to where it desired. But there was a piece of him that wished he could have the nature of a swan. Mating for life with only one person. This was something he pondered about a relationship, a family, or even a stable love. For now, he enjoys the tender moment of Tav in his arms. The love and connection that bonded them together. Maybe it was fate that brought them together. Was she a lesson of love? He was scared he'd never find someone like her again.

"Tav, Please don't leave me. You belong at my side." He whispered almost in a somber tone.

"Of course not. Where you go, I go. I promise when this is all over you can show me your home...and all those little ducklings you love so much." She giggled and kissed his hand. It was a promise.

#bg3 fluff #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 smut #bg3 halsin #halsin #halsin smut #bg3 posting

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simblr-question-of-the-day · 1 month

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Introduction

Hi! I'm an anonymous asker who sometimes sends fellow simmers questions. "Simblr Question of the Day" is something I saw going on around September '23 and I wanted to revive this "trend"! After a bit, some simmers suggested a SQOTD blog, to which I agreed and finally did it! I can broaden my asking horizons to blogs w/o anons now :)

I'm going to continue preserving my anonymity, but I'd like to share some basics about me ! ~

You can call me squat or squatty! A name I chose based on the way I pronounce "SQOTD," You can also call me SQOTD Anon! My timezone is ( PST ) - I like the colors yellow and pink/red, I've been playing the sims since I was 5 and I like to read and write :)

And below the cut will include a little rundown of how I will run this blog and navigation hashtags ~

- I want to start off by saying that while I do play TS4, I'm going to try and keep my SQOTDs all-sim-games-friendly, so if you play TS3, 2 or 1 and want to answer, go right ahead! Feel free to "translate" them for older games if you want to answer and it seems too "Sims-4-oriented" - Also! You can absolutely answer: 1. older SQOTDs 2. a SQOTD multiple times or 3. a SQOTD that isn't prompted by an ask while this is a ~daily questions blog~, you can also consider it a questions archive where you can pull any question out and answer it whenever and however many times you want to :) -I will queue a question once a day around 4am-5am PST, I will try to vary the type of questions (builds/renders/cas/sims/ocs). I also do around 3-4 tzrs per SQOTD. -I will also send a SQOTD to a random 5-10 Simblrs either around 4-5 AM or somewhere in the same day in my time (I forewarn this in the chance that I'm asleep around 4-5 AM) - and yes, I will make sure that it's different Simblrs everyday :) -Interact with these posts in anyway you prefer: reblog, reply or a separate post! (make sure to tag me ^^) -I'm going to attempt to reblog as many answers as possible, but I do want to avoid spamming dashes, so not always, but I will occasionally reblog ^o^ -I FULLY encourage YOU to continue sending asks with SQOTDs (crediting/tagging me is optional). I don't expect every simblr to know about this blog and SQOTD is intended to be a community thing, so while this blog will extend SQOTD reach, asks will spread even further -If you have your own SQOTD, you can send me an ask with your question and I will answer it prompting anyone of Simblr to answer it! -Since this isn't my main blog, I won't be following anyone back, but I will always check this blog at least twice or thrice a day and check my notifs and engage with the community as much as possible :)

Navigation

〘 Main Tags -

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| - SQOTD, Simblr question of the day, Squat's TXT.Files, Squat's reblogs, Community-contributed questions

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| - Sim/OC Questions, Build Questions, Gameplay Questions, Story Questions, Render Questions, CAS Questions, Post/Simmer/Simblr Questions

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↳ I am very open to critique, suggestions and feedback, feel free to send me these messages via ask or DMs :)

#feels good getting this out! Thank you for the feedback and thank you for your SQOTD answers! I love reading them so much!#simblr question of the day #SQOTD #SQOTD anon #new simblr alert #navigation #introduction #simblr #ts4 #ts4 simblr #sims 4 #sims 4 simblr #the sims 4

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py-dreamer · 2 months

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Man I am on a roll these days!

I love this doll base for the lmk characters, I actually drew some designs for the other lmk characters in this base in a notebook and as much as I would like to post them, Idk if that'll be any time soon.

I know in the show, Mk's headband is his signature. Even since childhood, I get that but I also saw a design of kid MK with him without the headband and fell in love.

Also he has light up sketchers. Cause why not.

It was a lot of fun doing the crayon drawings and seems like red and yellow are our lil prince's favorite colors, though it was a bit difficult to do them on such a small scale and at a slanted angle.

why does Mk have random building blocks?....

...

(I genuinely don't know)

Looking back, I do wish I made the toys a little more scuffed up cause while I do believe Pigsy would buy some toys and new clothes for his son the kid but I do love the idea that many of MK's old toys were hand me downs or at least second handed from Pigsy's past or even any cousins giving old toys or heck. Maybe some of Tang's university students found out their teacher has a new kid and give some old stuff to help out since Mk is a sweet kid and his appearance was quite spontaneous.

Perhaps that doll is a clone Wukong placed to keep an extra eye on the boy

BTW that love heart is NOT romantic in any way you creeps. Like how a child loves a toy, there is nothing weird happening here.

WUKONG IS HIS GODDAMN DAD/FATHER FIGURE AND IF YOU GENUINELY SHIP PEACHYNOODLES, GET OUT

OUT OF THIS HOUSE!

I try to respect different ships and opinions. I try my best.

But we see in the show, their father-son dynamic. I know there is a ship format of mentor x student but there is a clear parental relationship here!

It just feels icky, especially when you consider the inbalance of both power and experience in any 'romantic' context

Sorry, I just went on a tangent there, but hope you enjoy the actual piece and enjoy the easter eggs (>u ')/

(also out of curiosity, are any of you interested in the stopmotion film, Kubo and the two strings cause there might be a new au on the horizon!)

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theemporium · 7 months

Note

💰 charles finds your olddd Pinterest boards filled with things little you once wanted. so of course, he buys them all for you. one by one each day until you start realising what they are🤣 charles loving & spoiling even little inner child you <3

like… is that a PONY??

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

It was subtle at first.

Charles was a giver in every sense of the word, and that was something you had come to learn and appreciate over the time you knew each other. However, for a relationship that started on the foundation of him buying you gifts, it wasn’t particularly odd for him to splurge some money on you for pointless reasons whenever he felt like it.

You were used to the bouquet of flowers.

You were used to the small pieces of jewellery.

You were used to the fancy dinners at high-end restaurants.

However, when Charles handed you a box with a very old but familiar pair of designer heels you remembered seeing all over the magazine covers when you were in school, it did make you raise your eyebrows a little.

But Charles kissed away any second thoughts or questions you had before grinning widely, telling you he hoped you would wear them to the restaurant he was taking you to that night. And truthfully, you didn’t think twice about them as you thanked him for the gift.

Yet, slowly but surely, more of his gifts started making you a little suspicious.

You loved your boyfriend. You truly did. But he was never the most observant in real life despite his skills in a car, and you highly doubted that he just happened to remember all these random conversations you apparently had months ago. The mere fact he would use that excuse every time you questioned it should have been reason enough for you to know something was up.

However, the confrontation didn’t happen until Charles had driven you out of Monaco, into some nice countryside in the south of France.

“You bought me a what?!”

Charles grinned proudly as he gestured to the building around you, surrounded by large fields that disappeared into the horizon. “A stable!”

“Charles,” you started but the words died in your throat as you tried to take it all in. You could hear the horses inside, neighing and huffing and probably wanting to be let out into the fields rather than the stalls they were currently resting in. Hell, the fact there was more than one was overwhelming.

“I even got your favourite kind of horse!” Charles continued, just making your confusion grow.

“My favourite kind of horse?” You questioned with your brows furrowed together.

“Yes, it’s all black like the one in—” However, before he could even finish his sentence, he cut himself off. His eyes widened like he realised he said something he shouldn’t have, and that suspicion in you spiked once again.

“Like the one in what?” You questioned, though he remained silent. “Like the one in what, Charles?”

“Nothing,” he tried to laugh it off.

“Charles.”

His cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour as his expression grew sheepish. “I…found one of your old moodboard things. On that app you sometimes use.”

And your heart melted when you realised what exactly he found. An old Pinterest board you had started in your early teens and added to throughout the years until your early twenties. It was a collection of desires and wishes you had made growing up, a place for you to put the things you always considered unattainable.

And here you had a boyfriend checking everything off the board like it was a list.

“Charles,” you murmured softly as you moved closer, your arms wound around his neck before you placed your lips on his. “You’re so incredibly sweet.”

“I just want to make you happy, mon amour,” he murmured back with a soft smile on his lips.

“You make me happy,” you assured him.

“Then I have done my job well.”

#cece's slumblurb party #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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eumivrse · 2 years

Text

JUST CO-WORKERS : aki hayakawa

warning(s) public sex ? idk, but it’s balcony sex at reader and aki’s apartment lol. fwb, unprotected sex, creampie, slight spanking

word count 1,537

author’s note honestly didn’t wanna post another drabble but this has been on my drafts for months now n im having a little aki phase anywayz so hii

aki smoking that pack while giving you backshots, the morning news playing in the background, sun slowly rising across the horizons.

the air felt cool and groggy, the city still awake with lights from the long night, yet no one was outside to see your tits bouncing against the metal bar of the terrace that’s preventing you from falling over 9 stories down.

aki groaned in frustration, a cloud of smoke slipping out his nose and lips as he finally pressed the butt of his cig on the ashtray next to you , “baby, stop moving around so much, would ya?” he was literally asking the impossible judging by the way your body jolts with each thrust.

you mewl, face down to watch as some of the residents from your apartment complex exit the building and vouch for a taxi. “fuck, fuck— aki…” the molten stench of the cig was making you dizzy, enough that you were forgetting that people can hear you.

it’s definitely not the best type of noise to hear first thing in the morning for your neighbor’s sake, but you and aki have been up all night for work and are unable to fall asleep due to the adrenaline rush from killing devils so what better way to cure that than to just fuck like animals for a good night’s— or morning’s rest?

aki hunches over your shoulder, one hand squeezing your tummy while the other tilts your jaw back to meet his eyes. “ ‘m gonna need you to quiet down, alright? i want to be the only one who can hear you.” he leans in for a kiss, one that was full of lust, all wet and messy.

it’s complicated with aki, really. he doesn’t want to be in a relationship but would constantly get your hopes up whenever he’d probe you into these types of situations. the first time was when you came home after a dinner with other co-workers and a drunken kiss led to a hook up. something like this should’ve been expected as soon as you both were assigned to live in the same apartment, you just didn’t expect to like him as much as you do right now.

his cock was stretching you open, clit starting to feel cold from being deprived of touch. your cunt was so fucking wet, the sound of your slick slapping against his balls tickling aki’s ears. his hands were firm on your waist, adam’s apple prominent from his perspired neck.

the base of your ass slammed against his abdomen as you throw it back on him, his abs gleaming from the sheen of sweat and the sunlight peeking past the cracks of the buildings in front of you.

your knees were starting to give out, arms hooked around the railings of the terrace. “aki- i want you, please. please make me cum.” desperation lingered in your voice, it was comical honestly.

“hm? don’t you say the same thing when you’re with other men?”

you mewl when his tip plunged onto your g-spot. “wh-what other men?”

he scoffs, palm striking the skin of your ass and forcing a yelp out of you. “you don’t think i know? all those nights you’d invite some random loser from the bar and i have to listen to you fake your orgasm? i gotta say,” he slaps you again and grabs a chunk of your ass to grip on. “you’re a pretty good actress. but i know you, sweetheart. and i know how fucking beautiful you really sound when you cum.” he chuckles in between pants.

“why do you care so much anyways?” you yelp and aki rocks his hips vigorously, your hole starting to seep with arousal, dripping down your thighs and the curve of your ass marred with the print of his palm.

aki isn’t a chatty person at all, but you’ve been around him long enough to know that if he’s rambling like this, he’s pissed. under those nasty words of praise, his cock is bullying your insides and is risking you of getting a noise complaint.

he isn’t wrong though, you go around sleeping with other men on purpose to make him seethe in jealousy— to make him realize how much you mean to him. you intentionally exaggerate your moans for him to hear on the other side of the wall and he’s taking out the envy on you right now.

his clammy palms bruised the plump of your waist, his breathing heavy and teeth digging on his bottom lip. “because…” he punctures the same spot over and over again at an intermittent pace in between his words. “you deserve more than that.”

you grit your teeth, fists clenched while you whimpered. aki pulls out and wraps his palm around his fat cock, resting it in between your ass while jerking himself off.

he grunts, slapping his tip against the base of your back and taunting you. “so you want me to beg? is that it?” you groan.

“sure. not with that attitude though.” you couldn’t see him, but you bet he probably has that shit-eating grin plastered on his face right now.

it’s a change of pace from his usual stoic attitude.

he sneaks his hand in between your legs and teases your clit, the flat of his finger flicking you. “aki- don’t do this, shittttt…” you were starting to feel your stomach contract, sweat trickling from your forehead down your nose. the heat of the sun was starting to cower the dewy air, you turned your head, mouth quivering from the immense stimulation.

“please aki? i’ll be good to you. i’ll be a good girl for you…” it was so unnatural for you to pout as you are right now, bottom lip sticking out as you plead to him.

aki laughs, moaning while he fucks into his fist before poking his tip back in between your folds. “ ‘wasn’t that hard now, was it? ‘knew you had it in you.” he takes one of your arms and pins it on your back, a ball of his spit plopping down his cock before he snaps his hips against your ass.

his cock stretched your tight hole deliciously, thighs jiggling with each thrust. the tv’s noise and your moans was now swallowed by the honking and the engines of cars downstairs, you can practically see the whole road with your tits smashed against the railings. your arm is sore from being held behind you, slick running down your inner thigh.

“aki, fuck, cum with me, ah fuckkkkk” you curse out loud, your breathing jagged and sharp.

he stutters, grunting as he lets go of your arms and bruises your waist with his calloused hands. “w-where?”

“inside, baby. hah- ‘want you to make me yours.” he frantically slipped himself inside of you once more before fucking you full of cum mixed with your own, pulling his cock out with a pop! sound as translucent white cum dripped down your clenching pussy.

“fuck,” aki gasps and you turn around, seeing his face drenched with strands of his raven hair sticking to his forehead. he massaged your breasts, your palms cupping his cheeks and pulling him in for a longing kiss as you walk back into your shared apartment.

you hadn’t realized he was leading you to his room and onto his bed, you were too lost in his familiar lips that tasted of spearmint and cigarettes. you pulled from each other, your thumb pressing on his bottom lip.

you never slept in the same bed even after sex. it’s as if it was an unspoken rule— a boundary you should never cross.

however, this time felt different. aki got you to lay on his mattress and covered you with his fluffy comforter, the buzzing of the ac easing your sore body.

he settled next to you after putting his boxers back on, back against the headboard. “you’re free tomorrow, yes?” he asks, opening up a bottle of water from his nightstand and chugging on it before passing it to you.

“yeah duh, we’re in the same division.” you take a sip from the plastic bottle. probably not the best idea to share a drink with a chronic smoker, but you stopped caring.

aki always hated having to express his feelings especially after the tragedies that had occurred in his life. you were the only one that didn’t pity him when you found out about his past and that gave him a sense of hope.

maybe he’s not cut out for this and more so that you’re supposed to have a wall of professionalism in between you two, but to hell with all that. “let’s go on a date tomorrow.” he sighs.

“as…?” you slumped your head on his shoulder.

“as a couple, duh.” he places his nose on the top of your head, getting a whiff of your coconut shampoo.

“awh, is this your first time asking someone out?” you scoff.

“don’t make me take it back.”

“okay, okay! fine, i’ll go out with you tomorrow.” you’re being nonchalant, but nothing can express the amount of happiness bubbling up inside of you.

he hooks his arm around your shoulder and pushes you closer to him. “this means we’re dating now, right?” you whisper, pecking his jaw lightly.

“yes, babe.”

#the ending was kinda eh but wtv #aki hayakawa #aki csm #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut #csm #chainsaw man #csm smut #chainsaw man smut #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader smut #aki hayakawa x reader smut

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lalacliffthorne · 9 months

Text

because Instagram has been showing me a lot of dudes on motorcycles lately and that just really messes with my brain. so here's a lil modern!Az drabble. with a motorcycle.

(this actually might be a tiny lil sneak peak at a new drabble universe I´m currently building... 👀)

Trudging down the steps to the parking lot, I blinked into the sun that was already close to the horizon, sending warm golden rays over the few cars still there. Letting my eyes flicker over them, I felt my brows crease a little in confusion when I couldn't find Feyre's old mint-colored Bronco anywhere.

Beginning to slowly make my way through the parking lot, I looked over my shoulder, sliding my phone out of the pocket of my jeans as I looked back ahead - and stilled on the spot as my heart missed a beat, leaping against my ribs.

Near the entrance of the parking lot, Azriel leaned against his motorcycle. He was so tall, he basically lounged on the seat, his long legs stretched out on front of him. As usual, he was wearing all black, his jeans tucked into his boots, his armored jacket open over a plain hoodie. A strand of dark hair had fallen over his forehead as he looked to the side towards the other entrance, his brows crunched a little against the light of the low sun that made his skin shimmer golden.

Next to him him, two helmets sat on the tank.

My lips parted slightly, my breath hitched, and like he could feel my eyes on him, Azriel turned his head, his gaze finding mine.

The crease between his brows smoothed a little, and I thought I saw a soft twinkle flash through his eyes. Then one corner of his lips curved, and he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets and raising a brow at me.

Beginning to slowly move towards him, I squinted against the golden light, something beginning to pound against my ribs as I fought the ridiculously wide smile threatening to spread over my face and called: "What are you doing here?"

"Just finished class." Azriel's deep, steady voice sent shivers through my body, my heart stumbling in its rhythm when he watched me approach him, a soft twinkle dancing in his eyes. "Rhys texted me that Feyre's stuck at the gallery and that you needed a ride home, so I waited."

Something skipped against my ribs when I came to a halt in front of him, tipping my head back to frown up at him in slightly confused suspicion.

"And you just happened to have another helmet with you?"

Azriel's eyes flickered over my face, and one corner of his lips curved a little. Then he started stripping out of his jacket.

My heart tipped over in my chest, and my breath hitched as my eyes darted up to his face.

"What are you doing?"

"As long as you're on the back of my bike, your safety is priority." Azriel took a step forward, towering over me as one side of his lips quirked upwards. "Which means there's no way I'm gonna let you ride like this." Sliding the strap of my bag off my shoulder and dropping the tote between his feet, he straightened up again, handing me his jacket.

Feeling my brows furrow softly, I slowly took it, squinting up at him. "What about you?"

Azriel was standing so close he had to dip his head down to look at me, the golden specks in his eyes glimmering in the sun. "I'm fine."

My frown deepened. "No, you're not."

Az huffed, but the look he sent me lacked any heat, seeming more amused than anything else when he raised a brow at me and rapped his knuckles against his chest. "Armored."

"You run around with an armored hoodie and your jacket on a random Thursday?" I stared up at him with a suspicious frown even as my lips curved upwards and something suddenly fluttered against my ribs, and Azriel's cheek creased just a little as he looked down at me.

"Just put on the jacket, smart-ass."

Staring up at him for another second, I then grumbled softly and slowly complied.

The armor fitted into the material made the jacket pretty heavy. Slipping into the sleeves, I felt something in my chest dip softly when a wave of Azriel's scent washed over me; his cologne that smelled warm like cedar and something that was just him, deep and earthy and unobtrusively addictive.

The weight of the jacket felt strangely comforting when I slid it over my shoulders, tugging the hood of my sweatshirt out from underneath. The material was drowning me, far longer than it was supposed to be and probably looking ridiculous, and when I raised my head, I just caught Azriel's eyes flickering over me. He blinked, then he took a step forward, and my heart swerved sharply when his chest almost brushed against mine. My eyes darted up, and suddenly, my throat felt a little dry.

Azriel's iris was piercing as it moved over my face. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body when he reached out, carefully freeing my braid from under the material, then he reached down and tugged the jacket close. His knuckles grazed my chest when he zipped it up, straightening the collar, and my heart tipped over when his rough, warm skin brushed over my skin.

One corner of his lips twitched, and gently, Azriel raised a brow.

"This good?"

I swallowed softly and nodded, because his deep, quiet voice made something thrum so heavily in my chest, I didn't trust my own.

The corner of his lips curved up a little more, then Azriel took a step back, leaning down and picking up my bag to stuff it into his backpack. Taking it when he handed it over, I slid the straps over my shoulders. It wasn't too heavy, even with my things inside as well, which was a bit strange, considering I knew he must've had quite a few lectures today and had definitely needed his laptop -

Azriel stepped towards me, and my heart stumbled again when his hands closed around the straps, tightening them until the backpack was sitting snugly against my back. I tried to keep my breath from hitching as I looked up at him, the strand of hair still stubbornly curving over his forehead as he dipped his head to check the zippers of the jacket again.

Azriel threw me a look, and there was a light crease to the side of his lips, then he blinked.

"Alright." He pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket, looking over my head when a car rolled past. "Put these on."

"You just happen to have another pair of gloves?" I felt my lips curve into a slow, incredulous grin as I raised my eyes to stare up at him, simply because this was getting ridiculous, and Azriel threw me a glowering look that made me beam.

Azriel's lips curved a little, then he turned around, and I slipped into the gloves. They were quite big, and I had to pull the velcro strap tight over my wrist so they wouldn't slip. Then I raised my head, and my breath hitched when Azriel swung a leg over the bike, sitting down on the leather seat. I could see his shoulders shift even under the loose hoodie as he picked up one of the helmets, holding it out to me.

Stepping forward, I took it and carefully pulled it over my head, the feeling a little strange as I shuffled it in place. Trying to tighten the strap under the chin, I furrowed my brows in frustration. How on earth was I supposed to do that with these huge gloves o-

Fingers slipped under my jacket and into my belt loops, and my eyes darted up, my breath hitching and stilling when Azriel pulled me forward until I bumped into his side.

My heart did a backflip before tilting, and Az reached up to gently pull the strap tight until it rested against my skin. His fingers brushed over my throat, causing a soft shuddering tingle to travel down my spine, then they slipped down, checking the jacket, the straps of the backpack and the gloves. I felt my heart beat into my throat as I stared at the focused crunch of his brows, then I blinked when Azriel raised his head.

"Alright, I already set up the comms, so you'll be able to talk to me even with the helmets on."

I nodded, flexing my shoulders as my heart started fluttering in my chest, and Azriel's gaze moved over my face, his iris looking like molten gold in the sinking sun. Then one corner of his lips quirked.

"Ready?"

I exhaled softly, shaking out my arms and nodding, feeling my heart skip, now in nerves and excitement. "Yep."

Azriel straightened and looked over his shoulder as I stepped forward. Just sitting upright on the bike, he was still tall enough that I had to actually raise my arms up to grab his shoulders as I placed my right foot on the rear footrest. Azriel's hand came up, closing around my elbow to steady me as he looked back at me, and my heart skipped a beat when his amber eyes settled steadily on my face.

"One, two -" His hand squeezed my elbow, and I pulled myself up onto the seat behind him.

A soft, breathy giggle left me, and I thought I felt Azriel's shoulders vibrate in a quiet, amused chuckle. Then he looked over his shoulder, and my heart rose when I saw the twinkle in his eyes. "You good?"

I nodded, my hands slipping over his back as I shuffled until I was comfortable, then I raised my head, and Azriel arched an eyebrow. "I'll need you to hold on tight and stay close, okay?"

I saluted cheekily, something under my ribs suddenly hopping with excitement, and Azriel huffed, but I saw the curve of his lips as he turned back around.

I drummed my fingers against Azriel's back as he put on his helmet, the giddy feeling in my chest expanding when he slipped on his gloves. Then he looked over his shoulder, and I almost jumped a little in surprise when I heard his voice clearly in my helmet.

"You ready?"

Quickly wrapping my arms around his middle and squeezing, I nodded, and even though I could barely see the outline of his face under the dark visor, I was sure to see Azriel's lips curve. Then he turned back around.

"Then let's go." He started the engine, and my breath hitched when the bike sprung to life, vibrating a little. Azriel leaned forward, and I followed his movement, slipping my arms tighter around him as my body curved into his back and my heart fluttered in excitement. Then Az pushed off, and I buried my fingers in his hoodie when we turned in a wide arch, the rumble of the engine causing my spine to tingle giddily as Azriel headed for the exit.

The golden sunlight illuminated the streets, its rays falling through the red and yellow leaves and reflecting off windows as the cool wind brushed over my ankles, sending happy shivers down my spine as I held onto Azriel and looked up at the buildings zipping past as he weaved through the early evening traffic. I could feel his muscles shift under my arms wrapped tightly around him.

"You okay?" His deep voice vibrated through me even forwarded by the comms, and my breath hitched when his right hand slipped off the handle, reaching back to gently close around the inside of my knee. Even with gloves on I swore I could feel the warmth of his skin seep through the material of my jeans as he squeezed lightly, and something swerved in my chest.

I nodded quickly before realising he couldn´t see it, and my heart skipped as I called back, a wide, beaming smile spreading over my face: "Yeah!"

A soft chuckle vibrated through Azriel's body. For a second, I could feel his hand linger, body relaxed as I buried my fingers in his hoodie, then he slipped it off and looked over his shoulder, and I leaned to the side a little so he could see past me, squinting into the sun as Azriel switched lanes.

#azriel #az #azriel drabble #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel/reader #azriel x female!reader #az x reader #az imagine #az/reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar drabble #modern!roommate batboys series #modern au #lalacliffthorne #drabble

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historiaxvanserra · 5 months

Note

Yes, I do understand that feeling, friend. 2. Would love to hear your headcanons about what being Tamlin's mate would be like!

Dark Bloom | Tamlin's Mate headcanons

I'm so sorry anon that this has been sitting in my drafts for maybe about 6 months! This is super long, not very well written and totally unedited but I've been thinking about Tamlin a lot recently! so consider this the product of my brainrot! I think

I might make this into something that is actually proper prose and not just my random incoherent thoughts at some point! I really want to add some more!

In my mind Tamlin meets his mate when he's at his lowest. I guess sometime after acosf. The Spring Court is still more or less in ruins.

He's sent everyone away, all the staff and courtiers have gone, sent back to their own estates in the country or to their villages.

Tamlin is in complete isolation, he spends his days locked away in his apartments wallowing in self-loathing and anger and without a productive way to channel all of that anger he spirals further.

Eris Vanserra, newly made High Lord of Autumn seeks to make alliances with Tamlin but having received no response for some times Eris decides to take matters into his own hands and visits the Spring Court with one of his most trusted advisers to help Tamlin rebuild his court.

At first Tamlin is incredibly hostile, much too prideful to ask for help and much too ashamed at what he has become.

For that reason the first few months working with Tamlin are difficult, he's uncooperative and disinterested. He had once been a boy; foolhardy and blindly optimistic, both unprepared for the role of High Lord and terrified of becoming like his own father.

After the way he treated Feyre, too blinded by his own trauma to recognise his abusive behaviour, he didn't trust himself to be around anyone.

Your High Lord sends you to The Spring Court to act as his emissary there and to oversee the re-building of the court.

Those first few weeks are hard. Tamlin remains for the most part in a very dark place. He spends his days locked away in his private chambers, with the shades drawn and no one permitted to enter.

He spends his nights walking the grounds alone. What he does no one is truly sure but you see him some nights when sleep does not find you, pacing the rose gardens or sitting near the fountain, looking at the sky.

Some nights he reads long into the night until the first golden slivers of sunlight bleed across the sky. Other nights the gentle lilt of his music drifts through the solemn silence of the Manor.

At some point Tamlin reenters court life;

He rises with the first of the shadowed sunlight and works long into the night. Only finding rest when the moon begins to sink into the horizon.

In those few hours he gives himself leave to dream again; at first he is plagued with dreams of his lost love, and in his dreams it is his fathers face he sees staring back at him.

But before long it is your face that he sees when he drifts into that velvet abyss.

Your laugh that blooms like roses in his chest. Its a slow manifesting ache at first. A strange pull between his body and yours.

Tamlin suspects that it might be the beginnings of the mating bond; he reverts to the male he was in those first few months after you came to his court-- to the male that had been more beast than man.

But he can't escape you-- every thought, every minute, every day-- it always leads back to you.

He finds himself seeking you out, promising that he won't get too close. That he will love you from afar. That way he can never hurt you.

Even if it physically pains him. Even if he feels like his beating heart is being torn from his chest.

The rest of the season he spends by your side, riding horses through the meadows and lounging in orchards, surrounded by the sweet smelling fruits and blooming wildflowers.

He realises he's in love with you on one of those lazy afternoons; you're saturated in the leonine yellow light of the sun and he thinks that you might be the closest thing to a goddess that he will ever get.

The sharpness in his chest bursts and goes taut and you smile at him and then all he knows is love.

Still, he doesn't make any move to express his feelings for fear of your rejection. He doesn't know that he would survive it a second time.

Months pass and his waking moment is devoted to his court and to you. His days are spent attending court duties but his afternoons and his nights are yours.

Calamnai comes round once again and the thought of being with anyone but you makes him physically ill.

But he is High Lord and he had obligations to his lands and his people. He failed them once before and he will not fail them again.

He makes plans to complete the Rite, hopes that you might return to your home court for the night.

But the night comes and you're there, dressed in a rose coloured dress, so gossamer thin that he swears he can see the outline of your thighs when the lantern light soaks you in the golden glow.

And then there is the matter of your scent -- fucking hell.

He's a man starved; aching and feral and when you meet him in the grove there's nought he can do but surrender himself to the carnal instincts that live within him.

It's a feral and desperate union; aching and tender yet savage. All teeth and claws as you come together

The feverish heat of his breath as he trails wet kisses down the column of your throat. The drag of his teeth over the pulse point.

He sinks into you with a growl so deep and fervent that it feels like a prayer of devotion as it hits your ears.

Tamlin fucks into you at a savage pace that speaks of his aching need to have you in all the ways that you might allow and, if come morning, you wish to be rid of him, he will have memorised the sweet sounds he draws from you like the melody of an old song.

To comfort him in his loneliness.

But as dawn breaks you're still pressed against him whispering words of devotion into his skin as you're wreathed in the first light.

Another gasp tears through your and Tamlin feels the bond in his chest tighten and contract.

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest and he prepares for the worst.

That is until you take his head in your hands and card your delicate fingers through his unbound hair and whisper, so gently against his bitten lips, 'my mate'

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin acotar

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bettyfrommars · 2 months

Text

Welcome Back to The Nightmare Factory

Steve's Version Part 1: When the Night Comes

m a s t e r l i s t

Nightmare!Steve x fem!Reader

word count: 2.2k

18+ONLY, lurking monsters, night terrors, star-crossed lovers

Author's Note: Hi, I've missed you. Until now, we've only explored this world with Nightmare!Eddie, but it's time to throw Steve into the mix. Different reader, of course, and I plan to jump around to random scenes as this progresses; it shall not be a linear experience. Nightmare Steve is a biker Steve hybrid that will often cross over into the world of Hawkeye that I created for my biker!Steve au.

Also, you do not need to have any knowledge of the original Nightmare Factory or biker Steve to enjoy this xoxox

You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting on the bench under the bus stop awning, but the sun was sinking on the horizon and the air vibrated with the promise of rain. A drizzle dotted a few fine pinpricks on the sidewalk, yet you could feel a damp chill seeping in through your bones as if you were already soaked.

Across the street between monochrome, saltbox roof houses, stood an old brick building. A flickering neon sign out front had the outline of a purple hand on it, palm out announcing Psychic Readings in a mustard yellow that rivaled the melting sun beyond.

You looked down at your wristwatch, only to realize you weren’t wearing one, and then checked up and down the empty street. Just when the thought occurred to you that there were no other humans around, the flutter of a curtain in one of the houses across the way caught your eye.

Maybe the buses stopped running at dusk and you’d missed the last one. But then, how would you get…to wherever you were going?

“It’s never on time,” a voice next to you spoke up, making you jump.

You were certain that there had not been anyone sitting on the bench with you a second ago.

“The bus, it’s never on time,” she repeated. The woman had short, dark blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a restless smile tugging up the side of her mouth. “There is always a lot of traffic at the factory on Fridays.”

“The factory?” You cocked your head, trying to understand.

The last offering of fuchsia in the sky flickered and was gone in a blink, erupting a sudden fear in your gut at the loss of light. The fresh blanket of cold made your toes cramp, as if they’d met with one of those icy pockets in sunless, concrete corners.

The woman kept the side of her face to you at all times, never turning to look at you straight on. You had this crazy notion that perhaps the other side of her didn’t exist.

The sight of a motorcycle approaching warmed your heart and your guts for some reason, and you hoped that the bus was not far behind. The rider inched to a halt at the curb in front of you, stomping one booted foot down to steady himself, engine grumbling. In the amber glow of the single streetlamp, you were able to get a look at him.

Wearing sunglasses at night, he raked a big hand through his head of thick, unruly hair, and reached up to light the smoke that was held between his lips. The lighter’s flame let you see the square line of his jaw and that the tattooed lettering on the knuckles of one hand spelled LOVE. He wore leather and denim, with a red shirt, and he tipped his chin to you before turning to the other woman on the bench.

Behind him, the neon psychic sign blinked furiously as the bus in question crawled into view.

”Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the other one on the bench, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Of course,” she stood to button her coat. “Beers are on you this Friday.”

“Remind Eddie if you see him, I might be running late again.” He hadn’t gestured to you, but somehow you knew that you would be the one to make him run late.

The bus rattled closer; it was filled with blue light and odd, dark shapes.

“Are you ready?” The man on the motorcycle tossed the smoke to the pavement and extended his hand to you. “Jump on.”

You got to your feet and hesitated, trying to figure out where you knew him from.

“But I’m waiting for—-”

At that, the air brakes on the lumbering passenger vehicle hissed, coming to a stop, and a cloud of fog billowed up around it.

“You were waiting for me,” Steve tipped his chin at you. "I made a promise."

At another glance, you saw through the windows that it was crowded in figures wearing black shrouds, shuffling forward at the sight of you. They were moaning with unspecified longing that somehow translated into the creepiest sound you’d ever heard. Gasping, you took his hand, and he pulled you close, urging you on the seat behind him.

“I got you,” he whispered.

On the bench, Robin filed her fingernails with an emery board, blowing a pink bubble with her gum like she hadn’t a care in the world.

You held onto Steve’s leather jacket to swing your leg over the bike, zipping your torso flush to his warm back.

Behind Robin stood an endless sea of the same shrouded creatures, clustered dead still in the night as if being actively born from it. Some had antlers, some had hunched backs, and others were impossibly tall and thin. Lining up front to back and shoulder to shoulder, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, collectively withering one long, low growl.

You hugged him frightfully close, squeezing your eyes shut to bury your face in the back of his neck. He smelled like warm summer rain, damp earth, campfire smoke, and a zest of vanilla spices. Safe, I'm safe.

He revved the throttle and told you to hang on tight, but you wavered, checking to find that the army of faceless ghouls were right there—they’d been yards away, but now they were within arm's reach, hovering.

But then you were in the wind, head forced back by the velocity, choking on a scream, whimpering unintelligible pleas into the leather of his jacket.

He shifted gears and it felt like you’d entered some type of warp speed, engine humming between your legs. Eyes shut tight, you swore you felt sharp swipes of skeleton hands at your back and heard the shrieking wails of defeat as the masses lumbered to catch up.

The flap of enormous wings sounded as a few took to the sky, but Steve shifted again, lowering his head. “Don’t look,” he begged. “Soon they won't be able to touch us.”

Back at the bus stop, the door to the bus squealed open, and Robin did not look up from picking a piece of skin from her cuticle.

“Good luck with the next one, Dickie,” she said to the driver who hulked in his seat like Mothman, one clawed hand clutching the wheel.

Dickie looked from Robin to the road ahead and back a few times, trying to understand what was happening, before sinking his wings with a sigh.

“Do you need a ride, sugar?” His voice was usually deep and bellowing on the job, but just then it came out in a comically high-pitched southern accent.

—---

The first time you met Steve, he’d been waiting in the corner of your bedroom.

Waiting for you to go to sleep.

But you were up late watching Ewoks: The Battle for Endor on the small, VCR combo TV that was perched on your dresser. The violet crescents under your eyes hinted to the lack of sleep you’d been getting the past few months. You’d been having a bad rash of nightmares, and if you didn't know any better, you’d think you'd been specifically targeted somehow.

This was not the first time you’d unknowingly had a movie night with shadow Steve, but it was the first time you’d felt his presence. He was nothing but a dust mote of a glimmer, but still, you stared right at him, and asked if anyone was there.

Had he made a sound? Had he accidentally snickered a bit too loud at the giddy Ewoks? Or were you starting to sense him though the cosmic barrier that kept you in different worlds?

It made his heart stall for a second, mouth agape, and a hand outstretched, ready to come clean. To let you know that he wasn’t just some creep off the street, that he was just doing his job—but of course you couldn’t see him. If he ever got the chance to explain it all to you, he’d let you know that the two of you were on different channels of reality. Like switching stations on a radio, he could tune into you, but you didn’t know how to tune into him.

So, there was no way that you could…

“Back again I see,” you hummed, turning to face the screen from where you sat propped up against the headboard in your pajamas. “Where will you be hovering tonight? On the ceiling or at the foot of the bed?”

Were you talking to him? As far as he could tell, you were the only two in the room.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, defiantly.

Did you really mean it, or were you trying to convince yourself?

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” but even as he stepped forward, he knew the effort was fruitless.

The sound of a barely audible whisper made you turn the volume on the tv down.

Okay, before you’d been bluffing, but that time you really heard something.

Flinging the covers off to jump out of bed, you spun around, wielding the remote out in front of you like a weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing. No one. Just you and all of the nightmares you’d been having about paralysis demons pinning you down and sucking out your soul.

A horrifying thought occurred to you then that maybe they’d followed you out of your dreams and into the waking world.

You tossed the remote back onto your bed, spinning around to address the room. “If you have something to say to me, do it now. Don’t be a fucking coward and wait till I'm asleep.”

Your declaration was met with nothing but the garbled conversations on the TV.

It took a while for you to finally get to sleep, but once you did, that’s when the rattling on your closet door started. It was just a few scratches at first, coming from the inside, but then the doorknob wiggled.

Steve stepped out of the corner and walked—nay, floated.---around to the other side of your bed to act as a barrier between you and whatever was coming out of the closet. The beeping on his watch told him you were entering a deep sleep; he’d also draped an invisibility layer down just in case you did happen to wake up during the confrontation.

The closet door creaked, opening an inch, just enough for three long and meaty, hairy fingers to curl into sight.

“Wrong room, genius,” Steve said curtly.

The door propped ajar just enough so that one big, milk white eyeball could peer out. “Steve?” A garbled voice whispered. “I thought you were at the abandoned hospital with Hopper tonight?”

“I was,” Steve answered. “But now I’m here, asking you not to bother with this one.”

The big eye twitched, blinking a few long blinks. “Whatever you say, dude. I’ve got better places to be.”

Whispers tickled at your ears, as if someone was having a conversation nearby, but not close enough to fully comprehend the words.

You heard the name Steve.

So then you muttered it outloud: “Steve?”

Shocked, he spun around, staring at your parted lips. But then a snore escaped from the back of your throat, and he eased back.

“I won’t let them bother you,” was what he said, and you believed him. Whatever that meant.

—-----

The motorcycle began to slow, and you took the opportunity to check behind you, slumping with relief to find that the highway was empty. Lined with evergreens on either side, the road shot straight out behind the two of you into ominous, smoky oblivion, as if there had never been a town or a Psychic sign or a bus stop.

Steve knew he was cutting it close, his time with you would be over soon, but he wanted to take you out and show you something cool, maybe even impress you. He’d told you about the crimson-colored lake before, about how you could see Mermaids and all manner of sea creatures. It didn’t make sense that they were all in a lake, but still, there it was.

“Have you ever seen a mermaid in real life before?” He asked over his shoulder, shouting above the wind.

You hadn’t, not that you were aware of, anyway. Everything felt so real, it hadn’t even occurred to you that perhaps you weren’t even in the real world.

“Well, don’t talk to them, and don’t look at them for very long,” he warned. “They’ll bite your face off as easily as wink at you.”

You nodded, taking in that information.

“I want to show you where—-”

But then the road dropped off at an abrupt cliff edge that appeared to jut straight down into a sea of stars. It was like a reflection of the sky above.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—” Steve yelled as the bike caught air.

You were going down, falling into the ether of nothingness, and you couldn't tell if the blood-curdling scream you heard belonged to you or someone else.

You clung to Steve while you plummeted down through the infinite space of some unknown universe, about to crash and burn.

Was this it? Is this how you die?

In bed, your eyes flew open with a jolt, clutching a pillow to your chest like you might’ve once held onto a boy for dear life. The pillow smelled like warm summer rain, campfire smoke, and vanilla spices.

After a few blinks, you realized that was the first time you’d slept all through the night without being forced awake by terrors in a very long while.

-----

Thank you for reading, and much love to those of you who have enjoyed this world from the start. Now that I'm writing again, I'm working on a very special chapter for Nightmare Eddie as well that I can't wait to share with you.

#Nightmare Factory #nightmare!Steve #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fluff #Nightmare Steve #biker!Steve #nightmare!Eddie

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wilbursoot-updates · 11 months

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Lovejoy Take the Indie Rock Scene by Storm

Lovejoy is in this article!

Formed in 2021, Lovejoy is one of the newest and hottest bands in the indie rock world, building their name around their snappy lyricism, captivating melodies, and overall playful personalities. Comprised of lead vocalist Will Gold, guitarist Joe Goldsmith, bassist Ash Kabosu, and drummer Mark Boardman, the English quartet has already built quite the following through the releases of their three EPs. Their most recent release, Wake Up & It’s Over, came out in May this year, debuting at No. 5 on the UK album charts. Their schedules have been packed, as they did their first US headline tour this spring, topped off by a performance on the main stage at New York’s Governors Ball Music Festival. I had the absolute honor and pleasure of catching up with the guys after their performance at GovBall to discuss their recent successes, unexpected influences, and their hidden abilities:

To start off, let’s discuss your performance earlier today! How was it getting to play at GovBall and see all of your fans?

Will Gold: It was really, really fun.

Ash Kabosu: It was really cool. It’s like the end of a long-ass tour. It was a really nice endcap to everything we’ve been doing in America. It was cool to play New York again. We were here in December last year, and New York crowds are always really cool. I always fucking love this place!

WG: GovBall’s been absolutely incredible so far. Our set was really fun, and it’s always a pleasure to do any sort of main stage or any big stage that we get to perform our songs. It’s always a bit of a blessing.

Joe Goldsmith: We’ve done quite a few festivals, and I think we’ve played the best that we’ve played at any festival. We’ve done four, and that was the best we’ve played.

AK: Actually, we’ve done five! We played Manchester twice.

JG: I’d say that was the best we’ve performed. It was really fun.

Are there any artists that you’re hoping to catch while you’re here?

AK: A ton! I want to see Oliver Tree, Snail Mail

JG: Kenny Beats, Suki Waterhouse would be cool.

AK: Suki is fucking great; we’ve seen them at a few festivals now, and they’re really nice.

Are there any artists that you’re inspired by that fans might be surprised by?

AK: It is only basslines, so you don’t really notice, but I take a lot of inspiration from Idiot Pilot. They’re a small band from back in the emo days. I really like Loathe; I think they’re incredible. They’re just a completely different genre, and you wouldn’t really notice if I didn’t tell you just now.

WG: I get a lot of rhythms from Japanese math rock.

Mark Boardman: A lot of my style of playing comes from bands like Northlane and all these metalcore bands, like Thornhill. Even old stuff from Bring Me The Horizon, that’s the stuff that got me into double kick and stuff. Northlane, especially with the cymbal placement and the double kicks, the space, I love it.

JG: Sometimes I get some weird guitar influences from shoegaze bands, like DIIV or Slowdive, bands like that. It’s stuff like that but also random Japanese city rock from the 80s.

Japan is always living in the future!

JG: Yeah, it’s so cool!

WG: Specific bands that I really like are tricot, Chon, things like that.

I love that you guys mentioned these other influences and how they play a role in your current creation! Are there any other genres that you want to dabble in or draw inspiration from in the future?

JG: I really want Mark to do a jungle drum breakdown at some point in a song because jungle drums are fucking so catchy and boppy, and they’re so fun to groove to. I think we could pull it off, so I think that’s going to be a challenge for Mark.

MB: That’d be really sick. We’d get to experience playing around with a lot of different sounds because it’s a whole lot of cymbals and shit, so that’d be really fun to do that. We’d have to see where it fits though. We’ll get it done.

Which song of yours do you think defines your band the most?

WG: That’s kinda “Call Me What You Like.” Or “Portrait of a Blank Slate.”

AK: We’re still kinda figuring who we are, so it’s difficult to kinda pin it down. I think the songs are just different periods of our development, so I guess it’d be the most recent ones.

What was it like forming your band over the past few years and getting to tour the world so quickly in your careers?

WG: Different. I don’t know if it was more or less difficult. I feel like bands that form and grow on the Internet seem to have a lot of scrutiny for bands that grow the old-fashioned touring way and vice versa—bands that tour and go through that tend to have a lot of scrutiny for the Internet bands. I feel like we could all learn something from each other. I feel like there’s a lot of crossover and important things we can learn. We definitely haven’t done it perfectly, but we’ve done it our way, and that’s what matters.

AK: I feel bad for the bands that are forced to make TikToks all the time. That shit sucks, dude. Just let them make music; that’s what they’re good at!

WG: I like making TikToks.

AK: Yeah, but that’s us: we’re Internet-brained.

If you could switch roles with one of your bandmates for a day, whose role would you want to take on?

WG: Probably Ash.

AK: I’m very happy being me.

It’d be just for a day!

WG: Oh, I’d be the bassist.

AK: I’d be Mark just so I could understand how his brain works.

WG: Oh, we’re being in the other person’s brain? I thought we were just switching instruments.

It’s just switching roles, not bodies!

AK: Oh, okay! Well, not Mark. I would fuck that up so bad.

MB: I want to be Joe and do a guitar solo, slide on my knees. I’d be lead [guitar].

AK: I also want to be lead [guitar].

JG: I’d sing. Nobody wants to be drums.

If you could devise a conspiracy theory involving your band, what would it be?

JG: We're not real.

AK: Yeah, we’re actually AI-generated. We were an earlier iteration of ChatGPT that actually fabricated itself into human beings. It’s very advanced; you’ll probably see this roll out in the next 4-5 years. There’ll be loads of AI bands—we’re the first.

WG: Mine would be that we started the Spanish flu. You remember that pandemic 490 years ago or whatever it was? It definitely wasn’t rampant civilization and technological booms and livestock.

If there were band member Olympics, what events would there be?

MB: Hot dog eating.

Do you guys do a lot of hot dog eating?

MB: Oh yeah, we’re glizzy munchers.

WG: Do we?

MB: Me and Joe don’t eat meat, so yeah, lots of hot dogs!

WG: Don’t ask Mark any more questions! 100-meter, discus, archery, let’s just have the full shebang! I don’t know how we’ll do it, but I just want to see how we’ll do.

AK: I’m not really good at any physical capacity-

WG: Bobsled.

Don’t they have video games now in the Olympics?

JG: Esports type shit! I was thinking skating, as well.

AK: I’ll do some longboarding then.

JG: I’ll play some Tetris for a gold medal.

Any messages you’d like to send your fans?

JG: You’re the best. We appreciate everything that you say and give to us, except for Steve. We don’t care for Steve.

After our quick chat, the guys huddled around a tree in the media area to take portraits, which immediately escalated into a climb up the tree to pose for a few photos. Even in our short time together, all of them were incredibly gracious and took every opportunity to let each of their personalities shine, whether it be through silly facial expressions in their individual photos or laughing along to one another’s goofy mannerisms. Although they were one of the opening acts of the Saturday lineup, their fans came out to show their support, screaming along to each song as if Lovejoy were headlining the main stage. One other photographer mentioned to me that a fan told him that they were only at GovBall to see Lovejoy play, which is true commitment.

Since their GovBall appearance, the band has since played Glastonbury Festival in England and Open’er Festival in Poland, topped off by a headline spot at Belgium’s Rock Werchter. For a band in their earliest years, it’s evident that this is not the last you’ll hear of Lovejoy as the band continues to grow and tour the world. The massive support that they’ve garnered over the past few years is also a testament to their talent and their potential to be one of the biggest names within the indie rock scene as a whole. If you haven’t already hopped on the Lovejoy train, there’s no better time than the present, as there’s no telling what they’ll achieve next!

#lovejoy #wilbur soot #ash kabosu #mark boardman #joe goldsmith #governor's ball #articles

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chronicowboy · 11 months

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every atom of me was made for you | 3.6k

Eddie hates it when his and Buck's shifts don't line up. It's a rare occurrence these days, but every now and then the scheduling gods frown upon them. And, look, Eddie knows he and Buck might be a little co-dependent, but that's not the reason he hates being separated from his partner on the job. He can get through his own Buck-less shifts fine. Sure, he'd prefer having Buck at his back, never wavering in his trust for the person at the other end of the line, never having to look over his shoulder in a burning building, never waiting for more than a few seconds for the right tool to be pressed into his hand. But he can handle a shift with people he knows at a professional level. It's when Buck is the one at the firehouse with an alien crew that Eddie can't handle being apart.

B-shift is a few people down after a pretty bad three-alarm fire downtown took three firefighters out with varying levels of severity—Santiago got a concussion from a falling beam, George broke a few ribs when she fell through the floor, Kent's ankle is fractured from an unfortunately timed crumbling wall—so there's a scramble to cover the absences. Normally, Eddie would volunteer immediately, needing the extra money to pay for Christopher's camp this summer. But camp is a week away, and he only has a few more days to soak up his son before he leaves him for two whole weeks. So, he lets himself be selfish.

Buck, of course, does no such thing. Eddie shouldn't have expected it, but he'd kind of thought Buck would decline the offer too—after all, he's spent the past month complaining about Christopher's impending departure too. So, Buck volunteers to cover along with Hen who takes any opportunity for more money with her new little girl at home and Chimney who has a wedding looming on the horizon. And Eddie feels a little better about Buck having two very capable and trustworthy people with him.

But the uneasiness doesn't fade completely. It never does. Ever since the lightning—and realising he's madly, deeply in love with Evan Buckley—Eddie has had a difficult time settling whenever he can't see Buck. It's wholly irrational, and he's working through it with Frank, but it doesn't stop him from turning nauseous with worry every time it takes Buck more than a few seconds to reply to his texts or pick up the phone. It's ten times worse when Buck is at the firehouse without him. Eddie spends the whole shift waiting for Bobby's name to light up his phone screen with some terribly life-altering news. But that doesn't happen. Instead, it's Buck's name flashing on his screen above a text containing a random fact, or a call about the ridiculous scene they'd just wrapped up or a FaceTime to prove that Eddie does in fact own an extensive collection of DVDs in this day and age.

(Each time he sees Buck's name, there's still the lingering fear that it will be a goodbye of some sort; a hastily typed text, a voice message, a shaky phone call.)

He's getting better at handling it, but he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop worrying about Buck like this. It's just part of loving someone so much. So, he does his best to keep himself distracted until Buck texts him at the end of his shift to let him know he got back to the loft—not home—safe. Except today, when Christopher is actually asleep in bed and not playing Zelda under his blanket, there's a knock on the door that has Eddie's hackles rising instantly.

It's a trembling breath that carries him to the front door, a thousand reasonable scenarios of what could be waiting for him on the other side forming in his head. And then, he finds a haggard Bobby stood on his porch, Captain's truck parked just behind his truck, and all reason flies out the fucking window.

"Bobby, what—"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late," he sighs apologetically, a furrow to his brows as his eyes drift off somewhere to his side.

"Bobby," Eddie pleads, heart contorting in his chest. "Bobby, Buck, is he—"

"Oh, Eddie, no." Bobby's face turns a little sheepish as he reaches off to the side. "He's fine." Bobby drags an unsteady Buck into the doorway, and Eddie takes in a gasping breath of ice cold relief.

(OR: buck head injury fic #1 where eddie spends his day off worrying about buck and buck doesn't think that best friends worry about each other the way they do)

@danielsousa @binickmiller @jamietarts @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @buddstiel @organizedstardust @theoneandonlypigeon @anatargmova @alyxmastershipper @buckley-diaz-rules @blazeturbo102 @panbuckley @slowlyfoggydestiny @thatnamewill-probably-change @compactdiscmp3 @batgrldes @scattered-winter @prince-buck-diaz @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy

#sami rambles #silly little men!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#just something small and light after my last few fics :)#911 fanfic #911 fic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic

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levmada · 6 months

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So, I got this silly but sort of cute idea and I can't really express it as well as I'd like, but I'mma try.

Imagine Levi in his early years in the Survey Corps seeing a rainbow for the first time with his assigned second-in-command. It's reader's birthday and they're kind of excited for it this year, thinking it's going to be the perfect day...and then it rains, a lot. So you could say both reader and Levi's mood is not the greatest.

They have a chat in Levi's office while he's drowning in work to tune out the storm when the sky suddenly clears and the sun's shining again. So reader immediately gets up and eggs Levi on to come with them to "show him something cool".

Cue to Levi watching in amazement and reader dancing in the rain.

I tried, this is the reason I only come on this app to read lmao

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME LITERAL AGES IM SORRRYY😭i loved your idea, i hope i did it justice a lil<3

➥ pairing: Captain Levi x gn!Vice Captain!Reader

➥ about: Your birthday has been a gloomy one, but not all is lost.

➥ c/w: established relationship, canonverse, levi and his acts of service love language🙄, fluffy, slight hurt/comfort

➥ wc: 900

What a disappointment.

You'd been looking forward to that trip for the last week, even more than Levi had caught onto by the way you're still sulking there, sat at the side of his desk.

You’re trying to keep it to yourself, but there’s no one who knows you better.

It was supposed to be a ride on horseback through the countryside, specifically east of Quinta District. There are a dozen resorts in the area and even tours—that's how gorgeous the scenery apparently is.

But the rain ruined everything. The downpour just wouldn't cease coming down like bullets.

So he had snuck away to brave the weather earlier, and came back with your favorite sweet from the bakery in Trost nearby.

That might be why you're sulking. You told him you felt guilty about it, as if he didn't make that choice all on his own.

This annoyed him more than what it was worth because nothing went according to plan. And now what?—Do paperwork? On your damn birthday?

"I'm sorry about earlier," you sigh at random.

He looks up from his cup of tea to frown at you. "I'm not the one who deserves consoling."

He reaches over and plucks the quill from your hand, then rests his hand on yours. You haven't written anything down in the past fifteen minutes.

Your gaze lifts to his. "But I want you to know I appreciate you."

"That’s redundant."

You smile a little with a small huff.

He traces your knuckles with his thumb as he takes another sip. He plans to get up soon and make you your favorite meal, no matter that it’s too early for dinner.

“It sounds like the rain is letting up,” you muse.

You glance at the curtains. The dimmest grey glow of sunlight is trying to penetrate.

You stand up, and go over to slide them open.

"…Levi, come look at this!"

He startles and looks up. Your lips are parted. "Huh? What's wrong?"

"Just come look!"

All the sudden, you bolt for the door and rush out.

Levi stands and throws a glare out the window at first, but no one out of place has showed up; there isn't even a messenger. He doesn't think he's wrong, despite the fog that's settled low to the earth.

Annoyed, he marches after you, closing the door firmly behind him.

A few sets of stairs fly by. He catches up to you at the short set of steps outside the building.

As soon as he opens one of the double doors, the cool air, fresh and sweet from the rain, washes over his face.

He isn't winded. You're almost doubled over standing on the wet ground, but the second he appears, you point at the sky.

"Rainbow!"

What? he almost asks. What does that mean?

He follows your finger, and his eyes go wide.

Following a grand and perfect arc shape, it protrudes from taller buildings blocking the horizon—more than a few completely different brilliant colors joined in a column. He's never seen so much color in one place before, and never did he think he would see it decorating a grey sky, standing out so starkly, only just slightly blurred at the edges. It seemingly penetrates a patch of grass relatively close by, but he gets the feeling if he chased it, such a marvel would snap out of existence as impossibly as it appeared.

He stares up at it in pure amazement, hardly thinking. Over time, he should’ve gotten used to seeing the sky, any sky—muggy grey to crisp blue. But apparently, he doesn’t know anything. He hasn't felt this way, since... he went outside the Walls for the first time.

Does everyone else know about this and didn't tell him for some reason? Is this common knowledge? He forces his eyes to dart to the courtyard for a split-second. A few are standing around, but in moments resume whatever they're doing, wherever they’re going.

Are you kidding me?

They must all be blind. He walks down the set of steps one by one without taking his eyes off of the rainbow. It seems to drift along with him like clouds do.

"It seems like I'm gonna have a good birthday after all!" you laugh. You stomp the wet ground in victory.

"...Does it always do that?" he stammers.

"Well no, it's special." You pivot around and make c'mere motions towards him. "Isn't it pretty?"

It feels like he's going insane. Someone like him can't produce words to describe such a beautiful thing. He wasn't even meant to see it... Meanwhile, it seems like a common spectacle to everyone else, as normal as birds flying.

The mud clings to his boots when he steps on the earth. But in a rare moment of complete ambivalence, he lets you seize his hands and drag him further onto the mucky ground and dense rainy air as you bounce on your heels, making his arms jump and down while you giggle like a kid.

“Isn’t this great!?”

He looks away from the rainbow, and watches you instead. His lips curl up gently.

“Yeah, it is.”

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x gender neutral reader #captain levi x you #captain levi x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman fanfiction

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iamthecomet · 6 months

Text

Did I really just write 1000+ words of random slice of life ghoul bullshit that I thought was going to be smutty but really just ended up as "Dew helps Mountain with something super mundane"? yes. Apparently, I did. No warnings here. Very much SFW. Just ghouls living their lives. There's a peak into Dew's somewhat angsty thoughts, elemental magic, a kiss, and a suggestive joke or two, but nothing worse than that.

Dew tramps across the Abbey grounds. The sky is snow gray. The world washed out to hues of purple and blue. His breath trails after him in tight puffs of white. His fingers are tucked under his armpits. He’s wearing a flannel that is too thin for the weather and torn jeans. His boots are unlaced, feet bare inside of them as he hurries across the already frosty ground and tries not to slip and fall and die.

The greenhouse is a short walk in the summer–but a long one with a blizzard on the horizon. The sharp windowed peak of the roof is just visible over the crest of the hill. It sits at the base. Vegetable gardens long since put to bed stretch out in front of it. Beyond that, the livestock barn, the pens, the lake. Frozen over. Gray like the sky.

Dew descends the hill, and leaves the Abbey behind him. Sinking slowly into the horizon as he goes. Treading carefully now. Imagining slipping out of his boots, tumbling ass over teakettle (or whatever it is Copia says) all the way down to the greenhouse door. Busting an ankle, a rib or two, well and truly ruining his planned winter of relaxation.

The greenhouse is enormous. A sprawling gabled structure, made of dark metal bones and thick glass walls. A thin metal chimney rises from the far end. Dew drags his eyes up the length of it. No smoke. Mountain really must need him. The greenhouse is pretty. Dew admires the it from afar often. Looking at the scrolled metal edges of the frame, ivy leaves pressed into the metal on the corners of the glass panes. An intricately carved wrought iron and glass door. It’s a lot of work for something so functional.

Dew doesn’t often think about the Abbey before him. That line of thought typically leads to ones about the Abbey after him. And those are unwanted. He can get lost in the realization that he’ll go back to the pit someday. That this strange and wonderful life he’s somehow stumbled into, is temporary, he cannot keep it forever. No matter how hard he tries.

But he does think about these structures. Who built them. Who cared so much that the greenhouse was pretty when all it was meant to do was grow food and flowers. It’s starting to snow by the time Dew gets to the door. Big fat flakes that stick in his eyelashes. The glass is covered in foggy condensation. The plants and earth ghoul inside reduced to blurry silhouettes.

Dew extracts his stiff fingers from under his arms and blows on them a little before he reaches for the metal door handle. It’s cold, but warm pours out of the door when he pulls it open. The greenhouse smells perpetually like summer. Warm and green and humid. Dew slips into the building. Dirt soft under his feet. He shuts the door behind him.

“Quick,” Mountain hisses from the other side of the room. Crouched in front of the woodstove. It’s practically sweltering in here, so it can’t actually be that urgent but Dew hurries over anyway. Careful not to trip on his bootlaces.

Despite the impending apocalyptic weather outside, the greenhouse is cozy, warm, teaming with life. Dew cuts between rows of plants and touches his finger to a young tomato plant, thriving under Mountain’s watchful eye.

“Thought you were just trying to get me down here for something fun,” Dew teases as he reaches Mountain. The earth ghoul is kneeling in the soft dirt in front of the stove. It’s a modern addition to the greenhouse, and therefore temperamental. Dew doesn’t know shit about mechanics or machinery. But he knows a thing or two about fire–and that usually is enough to solve the problem.

The stove is designed to run constantly as long as it’s fed. If Mountain feeds it well enough tonight it will run for the next day or two with a touch of Dew’s magic to help it out. Long enough for the storm to pass without Mountain having to trek out here in the middle of it. He’ll do it anyway if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him.

But that’s a problem for another time–because right now the stove is out, and Mountain can’t get it to light. Dew can smell the frustration on him, wafting off of him in thick waves. Bitter, burnt earth.

“No. This is serious.”

Dew nudges Mountain out of the way and eyes the stove. Crouching in front of the open door. Clean and piled with kindling to get it started.

“Did you really run out of matches.”

Mountain doesn’t answer, but when Dew looks up the bigger ghoul is glaring down at him. Too stressed for this, Dew knows. Especially considering the thorny vines sprouting from around his horns. Dew sighs.

He sparks the fire to life. Easy. Then, as it grows, he feeds it with logs and little bits of his magic. Ties himself to it. He’ll know it goes out, if it gutters. He’ll know long before Mountain even thinks to climb out of his warm bed to check on it.

But it won’t go out. Not as long as Dew is watching it.

Dew stands, closes the door. Heat pours out of the stove and into the room. Dew steps away from it–too much for him. But Mountain slides closer to feel it. Dew stands on his toes and starts plucking the thorny veins from Mountain’s hair. Careful not to prick himself or the earth ghoul as he does it.

“Better?”

Mountain nods. When he glances at Dew now it’s apologetic. Dew waves it off.

“You ready to go before we get stuck in here for a week?”

“I just need to do one more–”

“Mountain,” Dew says, firmly. He grabs Mountain’s hand, laces their fingers together. “I love you, I do. But if we get snowed in because you needed to just check one more thing I will eat you.”

“Fine. Just don’t hurt the plans,” Mountain jokes, pulling on Dew’s grip just a little, enough to get over to his potting bench to start cleaning up. “I’ll eat them first,” Dew promises. “I’ll make you watch.”

Mountain gasps–false offense. He turns back to grin at Dew, bending down to kiss him softly. Bumping their horns together as he pulls away.

“Bullshit,” Mountain nips at Dew’s bottom lip. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

#comet writes #ficlet #I don't know what I'm doing anymore #Mountain/Dew #Dewdrop Ghoul #Mountain Ghoul #slice of life ghouls #I really was going to write smut tonight--I still might #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction

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nkjemisin · 9 months

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You should try to go see public works Tempest in central park, it’s really incredible and reminded me of the city we became. It’s super insane and beautiful and wild and hard to describe, so even though it’s insane to ask someone to go stand in line all day to see a play based off a random tumblr message I really think you should!

Oooh, I haven't done the line for Shakespeare in the Park in years. Not sure I still have it in me, since it requires getting up at 3 or 4 am and spending hours fighting line-jumpers and so on. But I've been hearing good things about this year's Tempest so maybe I'll muster up the energy. Thanks for the recommendation!

Since you reminded me of it, here's a deleted scene/alternate opening I once wrote for THE WORLD WE MAKE. I decided on a different opening for the final version, obvs, but maybe you'll enjoy what might have been. Cutting because long.

He's just a man standing on a rooftop. The outfit he's wearing is bespoke, by a Harlem tailor who came in second on Project Runway's last season. The jacket is rich brown suede, fine-stitched, over olive-tan pants and a piqué shirt of deepest royal indigo, and he's wearing the hell out of it. If there were anyone around to see, they'd think he was a model, standing in the kind of casual-at-attention pose that only men in magazine photo shoots ever do, with one hand in a pocket and his gaze thoughtfully locked on the cityscape horizon. The model aesthetic is reinforced by the fact that he's got a lean, strong figure and the kind of racial ambiguity that Hollywood diversity advocates love: brown skin that's not too brown, lips full enough to be either natural or recent collagen injections, thick eyebrows that are as sculpted as his cheekbones, eyes with just enough epicanthic fold to qualify as "exotic" but not in like an ethnic way.

He's not a model. He's just Manhattan, human representative of New York's contributions to the fashion, media, and sex work industries. He's not even trying particularly hard to look good. He has simply stopped resisting what comes naturally.

But he's about to be late for work -- and while New York custom permits a degree of conspicuous tardiness as a social power move in certain situations, this particular job is too personally important to him for such games. So he steps up onto the low wall that surrounds the roof, and then he steps off.

It's fine. The building is twelve stories tall; anything over five stories is required to have an elevator per city ordinance. He's been practicing, too, so all he has to do is shut his eyes and imagine, and the city's power holds him aloft in midair as solidly as if he's stepping onto flooring. (He is; it's just flooring that exists in several other iterations of his universe.) Even with this, however, he makes sure to take a step or two forward before calmly turning away from the cityscape. People don't usually stare at the back of an elevator, after all -- and verisimilitude is key. "First floor, please," he murmurs. In earlier days of the city, building elevators were a complicated luxury that required trained staff to operate. In current days of the city, many elevators run on voice activation. At Manhattan's request, there is an electronic ping of acknowledgement, followed by a very faint echo of blended, long-vanished voices: "Watch the door, please, watch your hands, going down." Then he begins to descend. It's smooth, slow; this is only a mid-sized building, not modern or expensive enough to have an express elevator. Only the fact that he's descending through thin air makes it odd.

Just above the sidewalk his descent slows, letting him drift to a gentle halt. There are a few dozen people on the street in this moment, and some of them notice as he just stands there for a moment, letting the metaphysical aethers settle and the metaphorical elevator doors open. The ones who stare are tourists. New Yorkers generally don't react to strangeness, but they do notice it, if only to shake their heads and murmur "This fucking city," to themselves before moving on. Manhattan catches the eye of one of the starers, winks and smiles, then strides off down the street.

As he walks, he hums John Coltrane's "Central Park West" -- not for power this time, but simply because he's walking along Central Park West and likes the song. It's also a beautiful day. Here at the heart of the city it is clear that autumn encroaches: Central Park is across the street, dense with color-shifting trees. Their whispers speak to the part of Manhattan that was more, once, than just concrete and cars; the island has always been here, after all, crossroads for many peoples, and those millennia of commerce were enough to form the building blocks of the living entity that it is now. But mostly, he just likes that rustling sound, and the flickers of color and movement, and the faint whiff of chemical sugars forming and breaking down within the leaves. Something about that scent, and the wind's occasional brisk sharpness, speaks to him.

There is the lightest of touches upon the part of him that is more than a man. Just a ping, to get his attention. "You wanna focus, or you gonna just keep spacing out about the pretty pretty trees, Mr. I Was Bebop Before It Was Cool?"

They've all figured out that words work better than thoughts. They are one city, the six of them, and if they ever need to, they can function as a single brain and heart and will -- but doing that is as overwhelming as it is thrilling. New York isn't supposed to be any single thing, see; the distinct characters of its boroughs are part of its strength. More personally, Manny's probably never going to be super-comfortable with letting his fellow parts of the city into his head, because he's got enough going on in there already.

But he's right in reminding Manny to focus. "Just getting into the spirit," Manny replies, waiting for a gap in the traffic before trotting across the street. Then he vaults the low stone wall around the edge of the park. It's a twelve-foot drop beyond, but he manages it easily enough, landing in a crouch in a wooded thicket already carpeted in red and gold leaves. Doesn't even make his knees twinge. Nothing can hurt New York, in New York, except New York.

Well. And one other thing.

He moves forward at a brisk Midtown pace, pushing aside the branches of small trees as gently as he can so as not to damage them. He starts finding white tendrils almost immediately. Just small patches here and there: three wigglers on a broad, still-green sycamore leaf, one on the tree's gnarling roots nearby. A patch shaped like a handprint growing atop a hooded garbage can; that one's especially nasty, positioned as it is to infect anyone who actually tries to deposit their litter in the can instead of just tossing it somewhere. "Rude," Manny murmurs. He's getting rid of the patches as he passes them, just by touching the wood or ground or metal near each cluster and letting a little of "Central Park West" riff through his mind and down his arm and out through his fingers. Earworms can be handy. Good for killing other wormlike things.

(Not so long ago, it would have taken everything Manny had to get rid of these things. He had to replace all his credit cards after symbolically buying all the real estate around a particular rock in Inwood Park. Now, however, the city is whole -- and these tendrils, tenacious as they are, are tourists from another urban locale who've overstayed their welcome. It's easy to obliterate them, but it's more important to find the bus they came in on, and deal with that.)

"Red alert!" says Padmini -- Queens -- suddenly. She tugs on the shared part of their consciousness, projecting an image onto it that is stunning in its precision: a three-dimensional and topographical map, with a moving cursor at its center and a GPS coordinate meter in the bottom corner. Padmini abruptly zooms them in on the cursor, and then she presents them with a simplified view through her own eyes.

There, jolting slightly as Padmini runs, is their quarry. To most other people in Central Park, the young man who slips down a leaf-thick hill and then scrabbles his way over a tumbled, mossy pile of bedrock is just another cross-country runner, or maybe a parkour practitioner with a greater love of natural settings than most. He's a lanky Indian-looking guy, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt -- but through the lens of Padmini's vision, Manny sees the rest. The guy's got patches of white fronds all over him, and as he runs they waft back like long hair which just happens to be growing from his forearms and shins and ass. Manny's used to this, people who look like yeti crabs, however horrible it is. Far worse is the tendril which projects from the back of the young man's neck, thick and veined in a disturbingly umbilical way, forming a long white cord which twists up and out of sight amid the trees. It stretches up into the sky, Manny knows from three months' experience, attenuating until it disappears from human eyesight with distance -- but wending southward before it does. They all know where that cable terminates.

"Mike check," says Veneza, and Manny's mental eye shifts to her view. She's standing under one of the park's stone bridges, her vision bouncing a little as she crouches to stretch out her ankles. Getting ready to run. Manny feels her excitement as the tendril-covered man comes into view, jogging over a grassy hill covered in early-afternoon sunbathers. But who's he kidding? They all enjoy this. "That's it. Come to mamãe. Drive him like a li'l doggie on the range, Queeny McQueenyface."

"I can't believe you mixed like three metaphors in ten seconds," Padmini replies -- but she zigs left, across one of the roads of the park. Manny catches his breath as she veers into a bike lane, because Central Park bikers all think they're in the Tour de France, but in the same moment he feels her latch into the bikers' sense of hurry and entitlement, drawing their power into her legs. Her pace speeds up sharply, until she's nearly flying down a sloping sidewalk, veering now and again to move around walkers and a small crowd near a pretzel vendor.

"That's the Jersey in me. Metaphors are our pork roll."

"Your what?"

"Pork roll. Look it -- wait, shit, hang on."

Tendril man has seen Veneza and stopped, halfway down the grassy hill. It's eerie to Manny how still he is. After all the running and climbing he's done, he should be out of breath, shoulders heaving, dripping sweat, but he isn't. It's just like the other cases of this they've encountered in the past few weeks; they're running on something other than human power. These tendril-people aren't avatars, however; they're more like drones, sent forth by some other malevolent consciousness and endowed with supernatural power only temporarily, and for their task. And if they don't catch this poor guy before that power gets done using him -- Well. Manny picks up the pace.

Padmini skids to a halt. (A man nearby does a double-take, then nods in a grudgingly impressed way at her athleticism.) "Shit. He's going to bolt, isn't he?"

In lieu of any reply, they all see Tendril Man bolt. He jumps off the steeper side of the rocky hill -- a ten-foot drop; Manny really hopes the poor guy was in shape before he got drafted as a spectral conduit for a hostile extradimensional essence, or he's going to feel that in the morning. Then Tendril Man takes off, moving with truly impressive speed up a paved hill-path.

"FUCK," two of them think. (Manny doesn't curse, but he empathizes.) They all take off running too.

Tendril Man is running toward a big, round building at the top of the hill. Its vendor doors are shut and there are only a few people hanging around near it, but abruptly he zigs toward a big wooden gate labeled PERFORMER ENTRANCE -- and vaults it, with the ease of a master gymnast. Manny might be able to think of a way over it too, if he gives himself a minute; surely there is some quintessentially cityish concept, like elevators for tall buildings, that he can harness to grant himself the ability to jump like that. In the fluster of the moment, however, he can't think of anything. Gotta work on that, do better at having a "jumping" construct ready to go under duress.

In lieu of leaping, however, he manages to remember the grating sound of garbage trucks barrelling down the street at oh dark thirty in the morning, usually with wonky transmissions and brakes that screech loudly enough to set off car alarms. Manny's seen several of them scrape or bang into cars without bothering to stop -- and so he draws into himself the desperate need to hurry and finish a shift, the hulking size and diesel-fueled strength of the trucks, the cheerful pragmatism of the tough workers who chuck heavy bags and kick rats with unflappable equanimity. And as Manny runs at the gate, the world blurs a little and an eyewatering stench surrounds him, and he finds it almost impossible to care about collateral damage because he's got a job to do, come on, come on, let's go...

He remembers enough of himself to dip his shoulder a little as he hits the gate. It only looks like wood; underneath, there's plenty of metal, and he sees that the gate has an electronic number-lock. Probably pretty solid. But his supernaturally-powered shoulder smashes the gate wide open, actually cracking the whole frame in half, too, and part of the fence beyond it.

Oops. Well, he'll make a donation on the website, because now that he's through the gate he sees: THE DELACOURTE THEATER WELCOMES YOU TO SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK.

Tendril Guy is running down the steps of what Manny now sees is a huge open-air amphitheater. He leaps again, a pretty impressive standing jump onto the stage -- and then he stops abruptly. There's a set being deconstructed here; Shakespeare in the Park only runs during the summer months, so someone's in the middle of stripping gigantic rolls of fake grass off the stage floor. And now, from within a huge prop built to look like a small apartment building, the avatar of New York steps forth to confront their enemy.

He's calling himself "Neek," these days -- a phonetic pronunciation of the initials for New York City. He hasn't told them his real name. Manny's not sure it matters anyway; doesn't Manny, of all people, understand that they are no longer who they were? The knowledge and joy and danger of eight million people has found its focus in Neek, and like any of their fellow great cities, this makes him strange. São Paulo was the same, whenever Manny had time and peace enough to study him: a young-old man who radiated urbane cynicism and eerie wisdom all at once. Hong Kong too. Maybe this is the difference between those who represent boroughs or neighborhoods, and those who are whole cities in themselves.

Or maybe it's just Neek. "Yo, man, take a breath," he says to Tendril Guy, as he slouches out of shadow. "Touch some, uh, astroturf. You keep letting that shit run you, won't be anything of you left."

Tendril Guy immediately turns to run, but by this point Manny has reached the other side of the stage. Veneza is in the ampitheater, trotting toward them from the other direction, and from somewhere backstage they can hear Padmini cursing and shoving something heavy aside, because apparently backstage is a mess amid the set breakdown. Unless Tendril Guy can fly -- and Manny puts nothing past the Woman in White -- then he's got nowhere left to run.

It's a dangerous time, though. In the past, whenever they've cornered one of her minions... Tendril Guy backs up, looks around, starts to get tense. Manny tries to think up a construct, and finds himself looking around. At the stage.

Neek's gaze flicks to him, and the little smile on his face widens.

"Two cities," he declares suddenly, spreading his arms wide and raising his voice. The Delacourte's acoustics are perfect, of course, designed to facilitate an outdoors theatrical performance. "Both alike in dignity! In fair Manhattan where we lay our scene."

Of course the theater absorbs this slightly-fudged homage, echoes it, amplifies it, and sends back a reverberation of energy: the faint murmurs and anticipation of a crowd, a lilt of music from a nonexistent orchestra. For just a fleeting moment Manny can almost see the suggestion of bodies in the amphitheater seats, shadowy heads that turn to each other or crane their necks or flip through Playbills. Ready to be enraptured.

Manny finds himself grinning -- but then he panics a little as Neek raises his eyebrows pointedly, because Manny doesn't have any Shakespeare memorized. But Broadway is only a few dozen blocks away; maybe he can use that instead? He sifts quickly through the grab-bag of random quotes in his head. Can't think of an actual line from an actual play, but it's a direct reference, so he clears his throat awkwardly and sings: "They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. There might be city magic in the air."

Stage lights, multihued but mostly white, appear above the seats. The lights aren't real. Manny can see most of the lighting equipment disassembled and stacked up to one side of the stage. Tendril Guy flinches suddenly and violently, staggering back. Steam rises as Tendril Guy raises his arms defensively, the tendrils on him whipping and hissing wildly as the city's light begins to burn them away.

They have to keep it going. Veneza giggles and runs down the steps, leaping to a crouch as if she's acting out some play or another, and sings, "Now is the time to seize the day! Answer the call and don't delay! New York can be righted, boroughs united; let us seize the day!" In response, loose cables curled on one side of the stage suddenly come to life, whipping around Tendril Guy's legs to keep him from running again.

One of the doors on the prop building slams open dramatically. Beyond it they can see Padmini pushing aside a rack of clothing that persistently keeps trying to roll toward her. She manages it, stumbles out, and glowers around at all of them. Veneza gestures frantically for her to take up the thread; Neek spreads his hands too in the universal sign of Come on, hurry up. Finally, with a little growl, Padmini snaps, "Oh, fine. 'Immigrants: We get the job done!'" This doesn't seem to have any effect at first, but then Padmini shoves a large, heavy-looking wooden desk out of the way with ease; she's much stronger, now. Enough to get this job done.

As performances go, it's all terrible. Slapdash, random, corny; Manny won't be surprised if in the morning they all receive a clipped-out review from a theater magazine that exists only in some alternate reality, panning all of them for defiling the stage. But as a construct, drawing on the power of three boroughs and the delight of a thousand audiences, from the Delacourte to the Fringe Festival and back, it's exactly what they need.

Then, his voice muffled by his own extradimensional growths, Manny hears Tendril Guy -- or maybe the guy within the pelt of tendrils -- try to speak. "A-all the w-world..." he murmurs, his voice thick, too deep, flanged in a way that sounds like bad special effects. He's steaming all over, now. Ah, and at last Manny sees the tendrils burning away, peeling off and curling into nothingness. As he lowers his arms, Manny sees that he's sweaty-faced and visibly exhausted... but he is smiling. He turns to face the whispering, flickering audience, and all at once Manny can feel him. Tendril Guy is part of New York, again -- and he knows it, and some part of his soul rejoices with the knowledge. Probably helps that the guy is a former theater kid himself; Manny can feel that, now that the Enemy's influence has been broken. Neek grins at Manny; he can feel it, too.

So then Neek goes over to Tendril Guy, leans close, and blows on the now-shriveled cord attached to the back of his neck. It snaps free as if Neek's breathed fire onto it, uttering a faint creel of inhuman pain -- and then the cord is snatched away upwards, into the darkening evening sky. Manny catches a fleeting hint of sinuous movement against the clouds, southward, and then it is gone.

Tendril Guy, who is now just Some Guy, beams at Neek. Then he steps back and lifts a finger. "All the world's a stage," he says again -- clearly this time, in a pleasant baritone, projecting with the ease of long practice. "And all the men and women merely players! They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

He does the whole monologue then, perfectly. Not that Manny would know if he got it right -- but the Delacourte does, and as Manny glances out at their whispery audience, he sees smiles, hears soft "ahs" and giggles of approval with every precisely-enunciated line. As Some Guy finishes, applause breaks out, echoing with unreality but loud and enthusiastic. The artist formerly known as Tendril Guy beams in delight and extends his hands for Manny and Neek to take. They do. Padmini, her pique fading now that she's no longer fighting furniture, shakes her head and takes Neek's hand; Veneza giggles and runs up the steps to take Manny's. The applause goes on as, uh, Theater Guy leads them in first one bow, and then another. Someone in the audience whistles. Someone else yells "Encore!" It's intoxicating. They bow a third time. As at last the applause fades and the lights start to go dark... Theater Guy collapses, between them.

"Oh, no," Veneza says, her delight vanishing. "Please, not again -- "

"He's fine," Manny says, crouching by Theater Guy, though he checks Theater Guy's neck-pulse and breathing just to be sure. It's there, though the guy's skin is clammy with sweat.

"Close," Neek says. He's looking up at the sky, after the ugly cable that had been attached to the guy's neck.

It's only the second time that they've successfully rescued one of these agents of the Woman in White, sent forth from her bastion in Staten Island to... well, Manny's not exactly sure what their purpose is. Are they superspreaders meant to reinfect the city, and thus help her regain the foothold that she lost three months before? Are they drones of a sort, reconnoitering enemy territory? Either way, the result is always the same, if Manny and his fellow avatars don't catch the tendril-bearer and cleanse them in time: the person burns out and dies, all of their strength used up by the alien intelligence that has worn them like a puppet.

Not this time, though. "Let's get him outside," Manny says, grunting as he pulls Theater Guy up. "Easier for an ambulance to get to him out there."

"But what about after?" Padmini asks. She comes over to help him wrestle the guy into a sitting position, so that Manny can pull him into a fireman's carry. "Uff, he's heavy! But if somebody calls his family and they take him back to Staten Island, will she just take him over again? What if she's mad at him for getting caught by us?"

"It's fine," Neek says. He's still turned away from them, facing southward. There is an odd note in his voice, however, which makes Manny frown at his back. Neek sounds... distracted. "Most of the folks on Staten are fine. The ones who commute here lose their little wigglers when they step off the ferry, unless they've got one of those bigger cable-things attached to them. Grow 'em back on the after-work ride. They don't even notice."

"Remember what it was like when she was all over the city," Manny adds. "All those people she... infected. She used them if she needed them and ignored them otherwise. They became part of her, but they didn't seem to mean anything to her, any more than..." He shakes his head, to the degree that he can with Theater Guy on his shoulders. "Individual hairs on a person's head. How often do we notice when we lose one, or when it grows back?"

"We shouldn't let him go back at all," Padmini says, scowling. "We know she's doing something to all those people. He's safer here!"

Neek focuses enough to turn and eye her over his shoulder. His tone is mild and his expression neutral, but his words have a sharp point. "You gonna spring for an apartment for him somewhere? Let him go crash with ya auntie and the fam?"

"No, but -- "

"I know a good spot under the Williamsburg." Neek's relentless. "Probably still good even with all the cleanup and construction since the bridge broke. Warm on cold nights, hard to see so the kids and assholes don't fuck with you. We could dump him there."

Padmini sets her jaw. "Fine. Point made. But Staten Islanders are still people, and we should try to help them."

Veneza, who was peering into the orchestra pit in fascination, turns back to them, plainly uneasy at the tension she's picking up. "We are. But I mean, Pads... that's not really our job."

Now they all fall into an uncomfortable silence, because sometimes the truth is hard. And the truth is that the avatar of Staten Island is not here with them today because she has rejected them, and thrown her people to the interdimensional wolves by doing so. They are all of them New York... but they are not Staten Island, not anymore. Theater Guy's ultimate fate isn't theirs to make.

"Ay yo fuck that bird," Neek says, scowling at Veneza, who blinks in surprise. "Her and Squigglebitch tried to kill us, remember? Tried to eat you. Let Staten Island die."

Padmini stares at him. "Wait. What? Let a whole borough die? Are you crazy?"

"Fuck them." Neek gestures sharply, southward. "Everyone on Staten Island. Buncha racist redneck Republican dumbasses, nobody needs them. They're the reason she's still here, hanging over this city like a fucking guillotine. I'm tired of stressing about this shit! Let her flyover country ass die with the rest of them nobody-nothing sons of bitches."

Manny flinches, despite himself. That's beyond harsh. And something about this little rant feels... off. He's known Neek for all of three months, but in that time Neek has been a quiet and low-key leader of their group, unusually even-keeled for the personification of a city known for its aggression. Are you okay? rises to Manny's lips, but he refrains from saying it, aware that it could sound patronizing. He's wondering it, though.

All at once different lights snap on within the theater -- not stage lights, but all the rest. Padmini frowns at this. "Hey, we don't need these anymore. Which one of you -- "

Abruptly a piercing electronic alarm sounds throughout the theater, and the lights all turn a startling, awful red.

"What the shit?" Neek says. He blinks as if dazed, turning to stare up at the lights -- and then he stiffens. "Manny. You doing that?"

Manny can barely hear him over the noise. "No, why would I? Can't you stop it?" Neek is New York. He has better control over the city's power than any of them... but all of a sudden, the city feels strange. Sluggish and reluctant, when Manny gently urges it to shut off the alarm. It's responsive, but unreliable and slow in a way Manny's never noticed before.

And to Manny's surprise, Neek takes a step back, his very posture radiating unease. "I... can't. Nothing's happening. What the fuck." He shakes his head.

"Yo, uh, we should go," Veneza says, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "If that's a break-in alarm -- I mean, we did break in, but -- "

The Delacourte sits the middle of Central Park, in one of the city's toniest neighborhoods, and is the site of one of its most popular attractions. "Out," Manny snaps, when it becomes clear that Neek has been so thrown by the situation that he's not reacting quickly enough. "Now."

Veneza's already moving, running to the edge of the stage. Manny follows her as quickly as he can with Theater Guy, and Padmini grabs Neek, dragging him along when he doesn't move fast enough. "Cover your faces!" she cries -- and, yeah, if the city's magic suddenly isn't helping them anymore, that's a good idea. But Manny can't, unless he wants to drop Theater Guy, who's been through enough.

There are people milling around in front of the Delacourte, mostly looky-loos reacting to the continuous beeeeeeep of the alarm, but Manny sees how many of them have smartphones in hand. It can't be helped. He crouches and carefully sets Theater Guy on a patch of soft grass, and catches the eye of an older lady who is staring at all of them. "Call 911," he says, with as much urgency as he can. They can't stop people from filming them fleeing the scene of an apparent break-in, but maybe the sight of someone in distress will distract most of the onlookers. "This man is hurt and needs an ambulance. I don't know what happened to him, he just collapsed."

The lady gasps and starts punching at her phone. Veneza grabs Manny, tugging so he'll leave Theater Guy there on the ground. He doesn't want to. If the cops arrive first, there's a strong chance they'll arrest Theater Guy for the break-in. If he could just make sure the paramedics arrive first, and that the cops think the alarm is just a mechanical error... He touches the ground next to his knee and reaches into it, groping for the feel of city power --

He finds echoes of old audience frustration and annoyed staff and prematurely shutdown vendor services... but these energies will not move in response to his will. What's there feels different from all the other times he's ever used city power -- clotted, somehow.

"Dude," Veneza says, giving him a hard yank. They can hear sirens outside the park, coming closer. "Come on, man, I ain't doing Rikers for you!"

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Manny lets Veneza pull him away. They book it for Central Park West again, zigging southward first since there are woods and rock hills in that direction that can obscure their route for anyone trying to put them on TMZ.

In their wake, the Delacourte's alarm blares until sirens drown it out.

TWWM Deleted Scene 1 by N. K. Jemisin is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

#the world we make #the great cities #deleted scene #answered asks

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tigressaofkanjis · 8 months

Text

Transformers Games That Should Exist

Transformers - Social Simulation (Based on Animal Crossing/Palia/Dreamlight Valley)

Synopsis: Traveling from afar, you (Bot or Human unknown, job: professional mechanic) find an abandoned space bridge in a remote region and repair it only to summon notable Autobots, Decepticons, and many others. As you create and mold the region to your liking, you build relations with the Cybertronians you encounter and make them comfortable living in the region with you. Hunt, gather, harvest, and document all the region has to offer from various colored Energon crystals growing in the wild to cybernetic species unleashed. Work together with your Cybertronian friends to maintain a world of your design.

Like Animal Crossing: New Horizons, you can venture into parts of Cybertron and some colonies to find certain Transformers and bring them to your region.

Region will be an Earth-based open world (could be another planet entirely) with plenty to explore including secrets of the past, up to eight different environments to unlock to roam among which will have cybernetic animals of all types you can interact with and document (possible organic animals may be included, some can even become mounts). Shockwave and/or Perceptor would have the most rewards for discovering animals and substances respectfully (they are unlocked as companions by completing that section of your guide).

Quests will be available from many Transformers, and when your relations with Transformers have built up to certain levels, you can either have them follow you as your companion or ride on their shoulders and control them to navigate your world but be mindful of certain limitations with each type of Transformer.

There is no timer on how you wish to approach Transformers or on their quests. The only thing that might cause delay is Transformers may return to and from their worlds so if you can’t find them in the overworld region, look in their respectful areas on their planet.

You can destroy the environment with your Transformers (it’ll grow back in an hour, don’t worry) and build activities for them to do to keep them and you entertained.

Various skins (G1, TFP, TFA, etc can be unlocked)

It is somewhat stylized, a mix of cartoon blending like Dreamlight Valley and Animal Crossing combined but in a ground level 3D space like regular games. Cues were also taken from Paleo Pines.

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Transformers – Survival (Ark: Survival Evolved, Raft, Don’t Starve)

Synopsis: Stuck in a world unknown filled with Transformers, you must gather resources, survive on the land or suffer imminent death as the environment takes its toll, and the Transformers are not your friends. Tame them to use their abilities or kill them to utilize their parts to conquer your hell or succumb to it.

More resource heavy with little to no story and multiple challenge maps.

Will consist of different Transformers to either kill or tame for your benefit. Talking interaction is nonexistent, however, as specialized devices must be created to tame them as they will otherwise attack you. Most Transformers encountered will be generic Seekers, grounders, Predacons, Dinobots, etc and randomly spawned in the region, can be spray paint customized or modded with certain unlocked kits. Any Transformer of this kind killed in an area for parts will be replaced after a certain period of time in the wild with a randomized other respawning.

Main Transformers characters (i.e. canon characters) will have to be discovered and earned in the encounter. If option is chosen to kill them, the main characters you know will NOT respawn, but their resources are far more useful and will not break. The only way to get canon characters back once dead is to restart the survival mode or go to a previous save if appicable. If tamed, they come with their own unique features that can be utilized not just for various tasks and resources but killing other Transformers. Tamed main characters cannot be altered by their primary color visually but can get upgrades and can have colored designs added.

Will have an online mode where you can hunt and survive with friends. Dying is permanent until the party restarts. Will have revive feature with medical kits built unless dying health bar is depleted.

Transformers can swim…don’t think you are safe.

Battle modes are available with tamed Transformers, including canon characters both online and in single player challenge settings.

Transformers can be mounts but certain sizes and vehicle forms are better for certain resources and against certain Transformers than others.

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Transformers – Action-Adventure Open World (Legend of Zelda, Immortals Fenyx Rising, Horizon Zero Dawn/Forbidden West)

Synopsis: In the world of Autobots and Decepticons, you (a formerly neutral bot) must find your place among them and survive all their trials and tribulations. Explore Cybertron like never before, unlocking old mysteries with the Allspark as your guide, see past and present through the eyes of many, and learn what it takes to be a hero under the command of Optimus Prime and against the forces of the malicious Megatron.

DLC items would include an Earth story against Tarn and others. Faction DLCs would be available as well: choose between Autobot and Decepticon and roam through Cybertron with your fellow bots in different, isolated stories of past and present.

The Allspark Trials will earn you specialized Energon and resources unfounded to boost your stats and powers.

Mounts of neutral Predacons and Dinobots as well as other cybernetic creatures will be available to discover.

Don’t worry, the Nemesis means you no harm…yet. While you roam your world of Cybertron, you may see the Nemesis and Darkmount lingering in the distance. You can explore to your heart's content battling Decepticons in your own time as you see fit but do be warned. Megatron can occasionally cause havoc during your adventures from unleashing dastardly enemies like the vicious Predacons under his command to sending armies to scour the land for you. Hope you brought your A-game.

Unlock and upgrade weapons, obtain new chassis gear and colors to really stand out among the crowd. You can even earn your wings, literally. Make yourself the hero you want to be.

You can interact with cities and their bots from both sides that may request things from you. Be wise how you approach them as some interactions may not go as smoothly as you hope.

Hunting down commanders and lieutenants of the Decepticons in your journey is crucial in progressing but they can be anywhere, so be prepared when you find them. You are in for a devious fight ahead as you make sure Megatron cannot conquer Cybertron.

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Transformers – Survival Horror (Resident Evil, Outlast)

Synopsis: You (human) find two ships on a wayward island, crashed and decimated. Not only are they beyond repair but the entire region has been destroyed and infected with the Energon spilled. But not everything is as it seems. On Cyber Island, you are trapped there by malevolent robotic aliens, deranged and broken, and creatures of unknown make as they aim to kill you. Fight through the forces of both Autobots and Decepticons, or this isle will be your tomb.

It is your job to outwit and escape the clutches of the Cybertronians and the residents of the isle that have been mutilated by the toxins of Energon exposure. If you don’t, well, you’re just another dead body they can use.

It’ll be a boss run mostly against both Autobot and Decepticon canon characters by playing their greatest strengths and weaknesses against them. You have no allies; you must survive with limited ammo and resources.

Look for notes and other hints of characters’ pasts and how it got up to this point. Decipher the mysteries of the monsters that you cannot allow off the island.

All canon characters are sadistic, messed up versions of themselves and you will encounter them as such. No, you can’t save them. They are beyond repair.

Possible DLC would be playing as Autobot or Decepticon and seeing all the madness unravel before crashing on the island.

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Transformers – Kids Apps/Cozy Apps (Cooking Games, Coloring Games, Puzzle Games, Basic Sports Games, etc.)

Synopsis: There technically isn’t one. But hear me out…

Just fun little games with Transformer themes. We rely so heavily on action stuff that sometimes I wish there was a little game like a cooking app or something where I can just have my favorite Transformer character as a muse, or they are my instructor.

Also, it wouldn’t be bad for kids too, you know? I wouldn’t care if the characters are Chibi or stylized to the environment. I would love a Transformers game where I can relax and not have anything to do except maybe play a few cheesy games with them as the mascot. Kids would probably love it.

If they came out with a bubble blast game with Megatron and Optimus just being there on the screen with like two motions total, I would love it. If Shockwave was just making simple little projects in a kid's science app, I would love to see that.

A Feed Grimlock app, a Talking Transformer app, a coloring app featuring unique Transformer designs from all the continuities, something, man.

Transformers don’t have to be all about war or if you do, reinvent it kind of. See, we don’t utilize Transformers as we should!

#transformers #farm sim #social sim #open world games #video games #survival horror #survival games #optimus prime #megatron #grimlock #shockwave #transformers animated #transformers prime #transformers g1 #transformers lost world

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