#but there is not a single museum out there that does not have at least one story like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brynn-lear · 2 months

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Note: these are all yandere characters I had back in 2022. I'm describing them very vaguely. I can't bring myself to spoil even minute details I find intruiging even though it's unlikely I'll make this webtoon-isekai-otome game concept come to life. Shoutout to mochi and harmony. I would've forgotten these men exist if it weren't for them lol

Yan!Butler: People kept mistaking your deceased brother's butler as a nobleman, especially with how you both appear to be best friends rather than master-servant. His butler is one of your greatest allies and critic; not once has he missed his chance to tease you in such “polite” yet convoluted ways. But you at least know his sharp tongue comes from a place of affection, and not from disdain as he would with other nobility. Your older brother took him under the family's care when his small village was brutally extinguished by unknown assailants. That butler thinks all other nobles deserve gruesome ends. There's not a single day where he does not feel paranoid. So when you feel as though the pavement you passed by in your private gardens had splotches of red… you turn a blind eye. You trust your brother and his allies. As long as you ignore that what he does is far beyond ensuring your brother's safety, you can go on sleeping peacefully at night.

Yan!Eccentric Immortal: You honestly thought it was so weird for a wandering pink-haired tourist to wear red shades and a short-sleeved shirt with tons of hibiscus printed on it, but whatever floats his boat. At least, that's what you thought at first before you struck a conversation with him out of pure boredom. No matter how… “modern” he looks, he was dejected enough at the time to confess that he came to see how his hometown looks— only to discover it is practically unrecognizable. He kept pointing to business shops, claiming some used to be parks, a small forest, his favorite bookstore, and a place his old buddy used to have a successful shoe factory on. And then it hit you. This man you're with… is one of your ancestor's mayor turned revolutionary best friend who struck a contract with the devil. There's one small problem... You're involved in said contract.

("Oh, so he's immortal, huh… no wonder he was burying his face in his mushroom hat when we were walking around in the museum. On one hand, impressive that he was the first man ever photographed, but he's also the first photobomber ever. He was just cleaning his shoes and got in the way…")

[More descriptions utc]

Yan!Crown Prince: He is your childhood friend crown prince, who was once a quiet and lonesome kid. You belonged to the very few children who properly befriended him, but in each playtime, he always clung to you tightly. The adult nobles in your life had always made it a point to remind you to be wary of his lineage. “The royal bloodline’s first love is their last— and such obsession reigns supreme.” There is also a legend of how the first king confessed to his tactician after the war. However, he dismembered & hid her limbs when he faced rejection. The royal family has been plagued with unrequited love and unhappy marriages since then, yet you don’t believe him capable of perverse and violent thoughts. He harbors a hopeless puppy-like “one-sided” affection on another childhood friend of yours (THE main female lead) but he takes it “like a champ”, you're sure of it!!! Plus, the prince has grown so mature and independent, always asking for your counsel on politics more than personal affairs. You haven't met a man who enjoyed his duties as much as he does. If anything, he has distanced himself from you… Right?

Yan!Doctor: As a child from a loving noble home, you had remained firm in your stance on committing acts of kindness. When an injured kid your age was starving outside your estate, you did not hesitate to order your brother's butler to fetch food and drinks. Since he was nameless and you weren't one to gloss over a book of baby names— you gave him one that sounds like a dog’s. Years later, you've fallen gravely ill. No physician across the continent could help you despite your philanthropist reputation. But there was one who had done the impossible. The doctor cured you in under a month, and when you tried to cover his services, he said everything was paid with “three glasses of milk and a box of biscuits.” Honestly, you should've remembered who he was sooner, considering how strange his name was. Despite such a grand revelation that he apparently owes you his life, there's unbridled hunger beyond his “kind” eyes. Something lonely and unhinged.

Yan!Ex-Hitman/Politician: There was a boy you've always seen each time you went to church. You see him every week that you both watched each other grow up. Apparently he came from a noble bloodline just like you, but despite being the eldest, his parents greatly favored his younger sibling. Deciding he had no talent to best him, the boy went to the monastery to practice the word of God instead. You always thought he was an ambitious and good-hearted person— especially since it's not exactly common for someone in their late twenties to aspire for the position of prime minister and appear so incredibly wholesome. On your quest to find someone to help you solve the mystery behind your older brother's death— you found out that the kind mint-eyed man who often carved wooden toys and sewed plushies for the orphans was the notorious hitman who killed plenty of corrupt nobles in his prime. Could he be behind your brother's death…?

#yandere OC #yandere butler #yandere assassin #yandere prince #yandere hitman #yandere immortal #yandere doctor #yandere x reader #$ a vague realization

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ghostchems · 7 months

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bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav (part three)

you set foot into raphael's kingdom without a chaperone to retrieve the hammer he's promised you.

author's note: read part one/two. sorry for taking so long with the next installment. 4.2k words! there's lots in here. haarlep makes an appearance (of course). cunnilingus, face sitting, blowjob, rough sex, overstimulation. ao3 link.

You only caught a glimpse of the House of Hope when Raphael whisked you away during your first meeting but now you’ve nearly been through it top bottom. Yes, he told you to come here and go straight to the boudoir to retrieve the Orphic Hammer but were you really going to give up the opportunity to go through all his stuff? Of course not.

His house floats in the desolate hellscape of Avernus, yet he has no allegiance to Zariel as far as you’re aware. It’s moody and dramatic, two key adjectives for Raphael himself. The archive is overflowing with infernal knowledge, bookshelves from floor to ceiling and his prized possessions on display as if it’s a museum. The dining room is just as grand as you remembered it but with a hint of unease due to the rotting food. He knew he was having company - shouldn’t he have at least cleaned up? You attention is pulled from statues of devils to portraits of himself to the grapes and wine and hookahs seemingly strategically left throughout the house. You fine yourself drawn to the many balconies that oversees the green souls keeping the house afloat. You wonder what would happen if you fell. Will your soul be dammed? Will your bones turn to ash? Will you shed your human body and be stripped down to the delicious soul you are?

You may have learned more about Raphael in the last half hour than all of your other meetings combined. Much to your companions ire, you’ve stopped to speak to every single debtor. They’re broken. Broken souls worn down to the very essence of their being, cursed to toil away in eternity in Raphael’s House of Hope. Something about it… tickles you. He’s been nothing more than “helpful” since you’ve met him, sure the threats have always been there, but seeing what he is actually capable of with your own two eyes makes you remember what he is. A devil. A cambion, specifically. He could turn you inside out with the snap of his finger. But he doesn’t. He’s touched you instead, slithered his way between your legs just as the tadpole has wormed into your brain. Does he see you as a formidable ally? Or another plaything to break down? You wonder if Raphael has already started on you — if this is apart of your deal, scribbled in infernal (a language you can’t read) on your contract.

The thought makes you shiver. It makes you want him all over again. Even if he hasn’t started trying to wear you down… you hope he’ll try.

Speaking of Hope. You didn’t know what to expect when he gave you the order to steer clear but it certainly wasn’t a dwarven cleric being held captive in his basement. She accosted you the moment you set foot into her home, begging you to help her. You smiled and told her you would, the hero that you are. It was a lie, of course. She is desperate and broken but she still clings to her namesake. You can understand why Raphael would keep her — she rebukes his every advance and won’t give up her optimism. She believes she can be saved, and maybe she’s right but your hands are tied. Still, the thought of him having her here to continue to torture when he could be focusing that energy on you. You decide to at least bring it up to him the next time you see him, which has yet to be “scheduled”. Part of you wants him to be waiting for you in the boudoir, hammer and a glass of wine in hand.

“For all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place I really feel quite at home.” Astarion chirps, tearing you away from your thoughts in an effort to get you back to the task at hand. He’s far more understanding than the others and at this point you’re not sure what you would do without him. You offer him a small smile and start to lead your merry group of companions to the boudoir. A crowd, certainly. But this should be easy — pop in, take the hammer which is the salvation for all of Faerūn and then have a pint at Elfsong (and maybe a visit from a certain devil later that evening).

The boudoir is expansive and you can see why it is held in such high esteem by the debtors. There’s a large, steaming bath surrounded by more grapes and wine. You fight off the urge to dip a toe in. There are several desks with journals, quills, books all stacked on top and large canvas paintings of hellish scenes and dark portraits. If these walls could talk…

You see sparks out of the corner of your eye, your head twisting to see an empty space where you companions once stood behind you. A trap. This is a trap. Your chest tightens and you swear to yourself, you should have known something wasn’t right. Anger boils within you and a readiness rises to swing your blade at the next living, breathing thing that comes into your eye line. You keep your hand firm on the handle of your sword and move deeper into the spacious room. Are you a fool to have fallen for Raphael’s trickery? Or is he really that good? Even in the face of potential betrayal,

“Raphael?!” You are bewildered, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. The devil gives a delighted laugh as he slinks to his knees, his wings stretching out behind him. You blink a few times, overwhelmed just by the sight of him — displayed in all his glory in a leather harness, even though you are sure this is some sort of trick. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. You suck in a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus.

“No, no, love… has he not told you about me?” Haarlep bares his fangs in a sinister smile, creeping closer to you at the edge of the bed. His tail slithers back and forth behind him, dangerous yet playful. You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off — “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, mouse.” Warmth blossoms in your chest. He talks about you? Haarlep swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lifts himself to his feet, his body becoming the only thing you could possibly focus on. He lingers in front of you and eyes you as if you are a delicious meal, his tongue wetting his lips and a low hum rumbling from his chest. “A pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“I… no, he hasn’t told me about you.” Confusion. Utter confusion. And, is it… is it hot in here? You’re sweating — you can feel it on your brow. “I’m here for the hammer.” Back to business. “We made a deal and he said it would be here.” Your voice strains, a mix of frustration and being so completely lost in the situation.

“A shame.” Haarlep purrs and leans in closer, leering over you with a sharp smile. “I am not too surprised though — how does one bring up having their own personal incubus who takes their form in casual conversation?” A claw runs along your jaw, the tip of his nail giving you goosebumps. From your adventure in Raphael’s house, it was easy to come to the conclusion that he has a plethora of kinks but this — this is something else. “You’re here for the hammer, that is correct, my dear, but you are also here to play.” His tail starts to slink up your leg and warmth starts to pool in your core.

“B-but Raphael —”

“You have his permission, mouse. And, fun fact about me using Raphael’s likeness — he’ll be able to feel everything we do. He’s expecting it, in fact, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Haarlep’s claw closes around your chin and forces you to gaze into his familiar burning eyes. Black holes. You feel their pull. “Perhaps he is conducting business right now — could you imagine? Him trying to make a deal while being able to taste you on his lips?” A jolt of arousal rushes through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Haarlep’s lips twitch into a devilish grin as you fall right into his grasp. The image he’s painted for you is beyond tempting; having Raphael be helpless to your touch while he’s off doing his devilish duties, desperate to conceal his erection. And, well, you have his permission, don’t you?

Haarlep lets go of your chin and swishes by you, his warm bicep brushing your shoulder and his tail flicking against your ankle. Your eyes trail after him, catching a glimpse of his toned back and his wing joints, veins bulging from the taut skin. You wonder if Raphael’s looks the same. It dawns on you that you haven’t seen much of his skin, in fact, you haven’t even seen his cock yet despite him spilling his seed inside you. You swallow thickly and take a step back, the backs of your knees hitting the foot of the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, mouse?” Haarlep moves in closer to you, the heat radiating off his body making your chest flush.

“No.” You answer sharply before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your palms and spreading your legs wide. His eyes rake over your figure, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You say nothing but Haarlep understands and sinks to his knees in front of you with his head settling at eye level. A hand rests on his chest, coarse hairs underneath your fingertips as you start to wander lower. Haarlep’s arms curl around your back, the tip of his nose just about touching yours as his body makes your legs spread even more. The heat between you is palpable and only continues to grow while you start to stroke at the ridges along his hips. It’s unusual for Haarlep to get this sort of attention, from both guests of the House and Raphael himself.

“You do not deserve to call such a man ‘Master’.” He can’t help it, locking eyes with yours. His words sting but the feeling is quickly washed away by his tongue slipping into your mouth. The breath leaves your lungs, sinking into the hellfire that is Haarlep. Nothing matters but how he tastes you in a deep kiss, his claws pricking at delicate skin beneath your sleeves. You top is gone in a matter of seconds and whether your helped him take it off of you or it disappeared with magic is beyond your at this point. All you want to do is feel. He breaks the kiss and brushes his lips along your jaw, his teeth nipping right where it meets your earlobe. You pull him closer by his harness until he is flush against you. Haarlep trails kisses further down your neck and your collarbone, sucking and biting enough to draw gasps and hums from you. He gently guides you to lay down on your back, his entire body enveloping you until he starts to move his mouth lower and lower.

Each kiss is like an explosion of sensations along your skin, buzzing and burning yet feeling so deliciously blissed out. You’re melting into the mattress, melting into him, each touch of his taking more and more of you. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his mouth then closing around your nipple. His tongue flutters around your hardened peak, making you tip your head back as you give a breathy moan. His hands are somehow everywhere all at once; Fingers feather through his hair and then settle at the base of his horns while he continues his descent. You feel him mouth around your navel with light scrapes of his teeth, his hands slinking down to tug at your pants. He takes his time, pulling them down inch by inch, lavishing kisses across your hip bones. You wriggle out of your pants, growing impatient but not wanting to order him.

Haarlep tongue lazily traces your clit and a ragged gasp escapes your lips, a jolt of pleasure rocketing through you. He laps at your slick folds, groaning at the taste of you and presses his face into you, his nose settling just at your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens and you can’t stop yourself from giving it a sharp tug as you squirm and huff. His claws curl around your thighs, the tips of them digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. You’re seeing stars, his tongue pressing into you so deeply while he grunts and laps at your juices. Your back arches off the mattress, your mouth hanging open and spilling hoarse moans. It’s devastatingly sensuous, your temperature rising to a comfortable simmer as your mind starts to clear. This could be forever, couldn’t it? You could stay here with Haarlep’s head between your thighs, devouring you until nothing else matters.

Your hands close around two of his horns and your hips start to roll, tugging him with each of your fluid movements. He growls into your cunt, making your thigh and core muscles tense, a deep groan falling from your lips. You’re so far gone yet so close to the edge, his tongue laving at your core as his claws dig even dipper into your thighs. The fire in your abdomen is raging, overwhelming you almost to the point of no return with soft moans turning to deep whines. You hear a rumbling groan, one too deep to be Haarlep’s, just as your dam bursts. Your eyes flutter open and you see him — Raphael — in cambion form with his navy blue doublet and a smug expression on his face. A broken sob heaves from your chest, Haarlep savoring the taste of your cum.

“Enjoying the amenities, are we?” Oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. If you had any energy you would mouth off but all you’re able to muster is a dramatic eye roll. Raphael slinks out of view, the bed dipping behind your from his weight. He had planned for this, the bastard. Your mouth is still slack and your heart is still pounding, trying to come down from an impossible high when Haarlep grips you by the hips and flips you over, your chin nearly landing in Raphael’s lap. He grabs you, his claw nearly clasped around your entire head and lifts you so that you’re looking up at him, though he makes sure you’re able to get a nice view of how hard he is through his trousers. “You taste sweet, little mouse. It’s only fair that you taste me after how wound up you’ve got me. Allow me to assist in getting you started.” His voice is dangerously low, glee in his fiery eyes as he unlaces his trousers, freeing his leaking cock**.**

It renders you speechless, larger than any cock you’ve seen before and it’s ribbed, a pearl of pre-cum already collecting at the top. Your jaw drops and Raphael takes this as an opportunity, forcing your mouth around him and guides you down his length. You groan as soon as you taste him, his cock heavy on your tongue as you run it along the underside, feeling every bulging vein. He’s so large that you drool and gag once he hits the back of your throat, swallowing and trying to breath comfortably. Haarlep is lurking behind you but you’re too focused at the task at hand to notice — until it’s too late. He positions his head between your legs, this time underneath you, his horns flush with your stomach, hands digging into your ass as his tongue savors your folds.

A moan of surprise rumbles up your throat and your head wrenches backward. Raphael’s grip on your head tightens and forces you back down his length with a violent tug. You’re eyes are watering and you struggle to breathe with his pulsing cock shoved down your throat while Haarlep toys with your clit, pinching it between his fangs and flicking his pointed tongue. Raphael bucks his hips into your mouth, fucking your face as he growls with need. You whimper around him, your vision blurring further from the tears in your eyes and the building tension in your core. You feel helpless, used. It’s the first time with Raphael you’ve felt you didn’t have the upper hand, or at least a cool head. The devils have reduced you to a mewling mess, a toy for them to play with. You mindlessly grind you hips against Haarlep’s face and he groans into you, his nose pressing firmly into your clit. A choked sob falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the sheets and your skin buzzing.

“Your lips are so pretty around my cock, mouse.” Raphael croons and tilts your head up so he can see you. Your cheeks are flushed and streaked in tears, your lips swollen and eyes half-lidded. He would paint you if he wasn’t so preoccupied by that mouth of yours. Hmm, perhaps he could paint your face. His claws dig into the sides of your head as he pulls you off of his cock, his other hand giving himself a few strong pumps before spilling his seed on your face. You’re panting, gasping for air as you sink forward, your cheek landing on the soft sheets. Raphael lifts himself off the bed but you’re too tired to lift your head to watch him, instead focusing on steadying your breath.

“You’ve had your fill.” He sneers and pulls Haarlep out from underneath you who gives a frustrated snarl. There’s some bickering but you’re too overstimulated to listen. After a moment Raphael’s claws settle on your waist with a low hum. He says nothing as he drags his cock along your dripping folds and you give a sharp whine, scrambling to adjust yourself. Your hips press back into him, sinking himself deep inside you with a calculated thrust. Primal lust explodes and courses through your body as you give a broken sob, your legs trembling and your core tensing while you ease his size. One large claw rests on the side of your head, nearly covering your eyes with his long fingers, and he clamps down on you, your face smushed against the mattress. His hips buck wildly against your ass, his pace brutal and punishing but you are basking in it, pushing back into each of his thrusts.

You feel his devilish strength, each roll of his hips sending you forward, your face buried in the covers as you cry and whine in twisted pleasure. Raphael has you laid bare. You’re nothing but a hole to him right now, a means to get him off just as he uses Haarlep. But there’s something about it that sends shivers down your spine: the possessiveness of it all. His claw is splayed out over your head, his other one digging harshly into your hip, slicing your flesh and making you bleed. The only thing on his mind is having you, having you in his true form, exerting his strength over you until you’re a quivering mess. He wants to fill you. Raphael hikes your ass up even higher and fucks into you, the new angle making your toes curl. You moan his name and he gives a pleased purr, driving into you quicker and harder.

You body feels as though it splits apart, overcome with your white hot climax. He rest his entire body weight on you now, crushing you beneath him as he buries himself deep inside you, over and over. His hot breath fills your ear, sharp and strained. You’re shivering, tears staining the sheets. Raphael utters one last hiss, teeth grazing your ear as he spills himself inside you, his hips slowing with each pulse of his cock. He’s on top of you until he’s spent, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You can’t feel your limbs. Your body is trembling, your voice hoarse in your throat as you manage a weak protest. Raphael has you on your back in the blink of an eye, his tail slithering up your hips while he slots himself between your legs, using his knees to spread them further. His board is hard against yours, his clothes having disappeared. Your breath catches in his throat at the pressure of the top of his hard cock against your entrance. Surely you couldn’t take any more of this? You feel like you are about to melt away physically and mentally, your body limp and your brain fogged from the intense overstimulation. Raphael’s massive claws close around both your wrists, pinning them to the bed as his forearms cage you beneath him. The edge in his fiery eyes has softened and his nose drifts along your cheek, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

“A delicate little thing, aren’t you, sweetling?” He growls into your ear, his mouth hot and his sharp teeth pricking your skin. You open your mouth to answer but Raphael shifts his hips forward, the head of his ridged cock easily slipping inside you, the words getting caught in your throat. He hums against your ear and then drags his sharp tongue down the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, squeezing them shut as he gives a languid thrust and pushes in to the hilt, a loud gasp forcing its way up your throat. Arms slip around his broad shoulders, body arching into his and you feel yourself start to disappear. Raphael lifts his head and hovers his mouth above yours. A groan vibrates up his chest to his throat, his lips parted as he continues at a lazy pace. He can’t get enough of your reactions, your cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink, your lips swollen from how he fucked your face earlier and those sweet, breathless sounds that are spilling from them.

This is a stark contrast from how he had just taken you, his hips circling in slow, sensual movements that has your core twisting in arousal despite your exhaustion. His own deep moans send current after current through you, reigniting your passion and need for him. You bring your hips up to meet his with each thrust and he bares his teeth as your writhing grows more fluid. Raphael releases your wrists so that he can drag one of his sharp claws down your collarbone and along your side, leaving scratch marks. You move your hand to his hair and you realize this is the first time he’s been comfortably within grasp. Self control out the window, you touch his pointed and then bravely run your fingertips over his horns. Despite looking rugged and razor-sharp they’re smooth beneath your fingers. You wrap your hand around one of them and give it a gentle tug.

“Mouse.” The word is strained, sounding like a warning or potentially a challenge. You take the gamble and pull on his horn again. Raphael shudders, an uncontrolled moan spilling from his lips. His mouth drops open, lips curled into a blissful smile. You hum in response, feeling a deep flush in your chest from his reaction. His eyes sharpen as the feeling passes, slowing his thrusts and silence falling between you. Your breath catches in your throat, tension in your chest, your mind hurdling a million miles an hour suddenly because you feel like you’re in trouble. Raphael slowly moves his claw to curl underneath your chin, eyes locking with his. He groans, his entire body rumbling against you and leans in, capturing your lips. It’s shockingly gentle, passionate that only increases with his need to consume you. His hips jerk, tail wrapping tightly around your leg only to peel you further apart as he picks up his thrusts again. Your tongue runs along his sharp fangs and he purrs into your mouth, biting down on your tongue and lip playfully.

You’re all too aware of the way he throbs inside you, his ridges massaging your walls in a way that makes you see stars. Raphael’s growling grows deeper, vibrating through him as his pace starts to grow ragged, frantic and out of time. He gives a strangled hiss into your mouth, his body shuddering while he empties himself inside you. You’re already so full that it seeps down the insides of your thighs. Raphael breaks the kiss and presses his nose to your flushed cheek, catching his breath.

“I won’t stop. Not ever. Not until I own you completely.” A hot whisper of the clearest words he’s ever spoken to you. You sink further into the mattress, melting away as he rises over you, his red wings ruffling behind him. His obsession with you is written all over his face, his eyes taking in every part of your exhausted body, plotting more ways to keep you in his bed. He cracks his neck and his expression hardens in an effort to get back to the business at hand, though you feel one of his hands stroke at your arm.

“Rest now, mouse.”

Comfortable darkness envelopes you.

#raphael x tav #bg3 raphael x tav #raphael bg3 x tav #bg3 raphael #raphael #what do i even tag this ahahaaa #oo haarlep!#haarlep #haarlep x tav #haarlep x tav x raphael

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pookietv · 5 months

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small pause | arthurtv

requested!! an arthurtv x reader social media break up, but with a happy ending :)

hope u guys enjoyed and i loved doing this so if you have anymore requests please send them in!!

liked by arthurtv, freyanightingale and 5,278 more tagged bambinobecky

yourusername: forcing becky to take me on museum dates that she doesn't care about

bambinobecky: you stared at the paintings and i stared at your arse

↳ yourusername: sounds like a good trade tbh x

gkbarry: your haiiiiir i would kill for mine to be that thick

↳ yourusername: love you endlessly girl

sabinablair: looking gorgeous

↳ yourusername: need to see you soon! missed u like crazy x

liked by georgeclarkeey, chrismd10 and 6,839 others

arthurtv: went back to jersey for a while, sorry for the lack in uploads! wanted some time at home and with family for a bit, will be back and uploading next week :)

georgeclarkeey: come back i miss our cuddles

↳ arthurtv: you weren't supposed to tell anyone about that

arthurnfhill: looking good!

↳ arthurtv: are you flirting with me??

user1: omg him going home to feel better after the breakup, arthurxy/n heart is breaking

liked by yourusername, arthurtv and 7,208 more. tagged arthurtv

theuselesshotlinepod: had the lovely @/arthurtv on with us this week to talk UK youtube, dating, and growing up with chris md!

arthurtv: is george allowed to touch everyone like that in the workplace??

↳ maxbalegde: well we tell him not to due to HR but he just couldn't keep his hands off you x

liked by faithlouisak, taliamar and 6,302 more

yourusername: dragging the girls to come out for cocktails has become a too often occurrence (not that i'm complaining)

taliamar: ugh was so good to see you

↳ yourusername: ditto, literally have been rotting in bed so the girls was exactly what i needed

faithlouisak: ur so hot

↳ yourusername: coming from my favourite milf x

bambinobecky: what is there on this earth that cocktails can't fix?

↳ yourusername: i'll not go too deep on the main insta x

yourusername has posted on their story!

liked by yourusername, georgeclarkeey and 6,893 more

arthurtv: a silly little last min trip to greece :)

georgeclarkeey: any excuse for you to take your top off

↳ arthurtv: your mum wasn't complaining last night

arthurnfhill: literally didn't even realise you had left the flat, you're in greece?

↳ arthurtv: glad to know i'm appreciated

liked by arthurtv, bambinobecky and 6,390 others

yourusername: i went away for the weekend and thought i'd share some of the cute photos (ps: there were so many cats i loved it so much)

taliamar: literally the prettiest!! i didn't even know you were going on holiday

↳ yourusername: was a last min long weekend thing, i didn't even know i was going away until the day before lmao

username3: anyone think it looks really similar to where arthur is rn???

gkbarry: you're so hot oml

↳ yourusername: no u

bambinobecky: could have at least taken me with u

↳ yourusername: next time next time x

username1: y/n's single hot girl summer era is gonna go so hard

↳ yourusername: about that ...

↳ username2: what the fuck does she mean 'about that'????

↳ yourusername: hehe

liked by arthurtv, bambinobecky and 6,389 others tagged arthurtv

yourusername: okay so i may not have been on holiday alone

user1: oh my FUCKING god i called it

user2: mrs television is back i been waiting for thissss

georgeclarkeey: we all called it, knew it wouldn't be off for long

↳ yourusername: get lost loser

↳ georgeclarkeey: you mock but living with him in his mopey missing y/n era was no fun

arthurtv: you did me dirty with that second photo of my entire plate of beans

↳ yourusername: i mean what are you gonna do, break up with me again?

↳ arthurtv: way to kick a guy when feels guilty

↳ yourusername: being guilty is a small price to pay if it means you'll take me on holidays again :)

↳ arthurtv: i think i owe you a million holidays

↳ yourusername: i can live with that x

maxbalegde: possibly the shortest breakup i've ever seen (but i knew it wouldn't last long, arthur literally looks lost when ur not in a room let alone not in his life)

↳ yourusername: just means i'm stuck with him for good

liked by yourusername, arthurnfhill and 7,839 others

arthurtv: she only got back with me to make me take nice photos of her

yourusername: absolutely not!!! (it's also for the banging cuppas you make)

↳ arthurtv: ah, makes sense

user1: favourite couple are officially back together

#arthur frederick #arthurtv #arthur frederick x reader #arthurtv x reader #chaos crew

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mschievousx · 3 months

Text

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

epilogue

london air has never suited her. she could not put a name on it, but it was not like home—neither was her dorm, to be honest. hence, she found herself walking the streets one good morning.

she has always wanted to go to that art museum nearby but could not find the time to do so. university sucks, she gathered, but does love her program wholeheartedly. she really should not have been on this field though. engineering and astrophysics, perhaps, but they were harder to reach and unpractical. it is not to say she does not love what she does currently.

entering the place, she could not count how many times she already whispered magnificent in her mind. the structure, the artworks, the architecture—everything.

but, more than that, the girl was in love with art. she could not create her own, for heaven's sake, but she does love it.

so, she made sure to wander around to the fullest. the least she could do was appreciate others' works. of course, there were paintings she did not feel much—good thing she was alone though or else the girl has already yapped about it. she continued to go in deeper in the exhibit, admiring the genius of multiple artists. some were even hundreds of years ago.

she always found it unfair how we could preserve objects for hundreds of years but find it awfully hard to reach a hundred years ourselves. the things that are made outlive the creator. it was utterly unfair, but she thought.

perhaps, art was not meant for the present but for the future. it was made, not for the current eyes but for someone in the years to come.

in that sense, art is a form of communication through time. a kind of time travel, per se.

it was quite similar to schrödinger's cat. you could be present and absent at the same time. and that's exactly what she thought before her eyes landed on a huge painting.

she read its label, which was quite brief compared to the others, only containing the name, the artist, the medium, and the year created.

the execution of lady loraine silva

benedict bridgerton, 1815

"such a sad painting." she muttered unknowingly out loud. the girl was taken by it, intimately observing the details of the artwork.

"with a sad story too."

a voice added beside her. she turned to the man with friendly eyes as they both stand in front of the painting, admiring it. she pouted at that, the exhibit only placed the name of the works and no description at all.

maybe, it was a well-known art that does not even need to be explained as it speaks for itself, which she had to agree it did speak for itself. she was almost embarrassed that her being uncultured is showing.

"i am afraid i do not know the story well."

the man turned to her with intrigue—not that his interest was not already piqued before he even stood beside her. his eyes shined at that. he loved nothing more than to talk about the things he is well-knowledgeable.

"lady loraine silva is an eighteen-year old who was executed along with her father's second-in-command, colonel montague, for high treason."

she looked at him as she listened, lips parting in surprise, "oh, wow. i'd have to agree with you then. that's a really sad story—at a very young age too!"

he nodded with closed eyes as he continued, "benedict bridgerton, the artist, is said to be her lover. he finished the painting just weeks after the execution happened."

"damn," she whispered, letting her sight fall on the artwork again, "so much grief on a single painting."

"this letter is written by him." he stepped forward, gesturing to the letter incased in a glass near the painting before turning to her.

she followed his lead, walking near to read the two hundred years old paper.

give me your permission and i will continue to love you in another. believe that i will run amock across the universe until i find you.

and so, when you see the world ending in the newspapers, trust that it is my work because i still have not met you again.

she pursed her lips after reading, the man beside her actively watching her reaction. it was immensely sorrowful that she could feel the torment they must have been at that time.

she did not want to lose hope though. that was not her. so, she raised her eyes at him with a shine.

"the world is not ending. perhaps, he found her already."

his eyes widened just quite a bit, lips parting by her exceptional thought before a warm smile settled on his features, "perhaps."

she grinned widely—it was almost childish.

she let her gaze fall back on the paintaing across them both, a comfortable silence between them. it was amazing, really. people are so much in tune with their emotions.

"luke thompson."

the man beside her spoke once again. he introduced charmingly, putting a hand forward.

"francine silva."

she did not think twice in grasping it—and as she did, she could almost recognise him. she could almost tell he was somebody that she used to know.

"a relative?" his brows raised in surprise followed by a chuckle as he gestured to the painting, "you cannot possibly be a descendant because... well."

francine laughed genuinely, the sorrow of the art in front of them completely forgotten, "you'd be surprised at the amount of people in the world who have that surname."

she continued, gesturing to the exhibit around them, "do you work here? you know an awful lot about the artworks."

"you'd be surprised at the amount of people who work here and don't know a thing about these all." his familiar lopsided grin showed.

he was effortlessly funny as the girl jokingly narrowed her eyes to the workers who had their backs on the two.

he chuckled as he clarified, "i am an actor."

"really? that's amazing!" her mouth was agape at that, shrugging off her earlier thoughts.

ah, maybe that's why he looked familiar earlier.

the silva pouted right after, "i apologise i do not recognise you. i don't watch much telly nowadays."

luke shook his head dismissively as if saying it was not a problem at all, "you don't have to apologise. i am in theater and plays more anyway."

she gushed at the mention, "oh, i love plays!"

he beamed at her excitement, placing his fingers below his chin as if in deep thinking, "let me guess what you do. i am quite good at this."

she laughed at him acting serious with the game he started himself as he leaned to her for closer observation, "something related with arts?"

she blew a sigh, seemingly sulking, "i still can't even paint."

he stepped back at that, crossing his arms with a teasing judging look, "well, why are you here then?"

"can't i be an enjoyer of it even if i can't do it myself?" she rolled her eyes at his accusing tone before she continued, pulling a face, "i am on a break. if i look at cells, muscles, and neurons from my textbook for another second, i will die."

"ah, medical school then." he stated with confidence as the girl nodded begrudgingly.

"well, since you're on a break," luke began with a genuine smile as he playfully blocked her view of the artwork in front, offering his hand, "francine silva, what do you say for a quick tea?"

she beamed at him, her eyes shining like how the stars did one strange night during the regency period. she placed her own hand at the care of his.

"i thought you'd never ask."

they both knew they had to exit the museum together. they did not understand it, of course, but they may have felt it.

they may have recognised each other by touch alone. now and then.

perhaps, he was indeed somebody she used to know.

curious—how many people must have been listening to music they made in their previous lives, read books they do not remember writing.

how many people must have stared at their own art in museums with no recollection of the pain they had to go through to create that.

luckily, they stumbled upon each other today, just like they had three times before.

once in eighteen-fifteen.

once in eighteen-ninety-four.

once in nineteen-fourty-five.

perhaps, their love would be a little less painful this time.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict is a fox

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junosmindpalace · 8 months

Note

s/o asking dcst characters what hairstyle do they like the best on them? (like braid, low/high ponytail, bun, hair down, etc?) some fluff :)

preferably with senku, gen, ryusui, sai and tsukasa, but feel free to change the characters if you want to ^_^

thank you very much for you request!

a/n: if the premise didn't give it away...reader is implied to have long enough hair for styling in certain ways, but i did my best to be vague ;,)

SENKU: hair tied back.

-He’s not the type to care so much as to have a preference. Consciously, at least.

-But you spend loads of time with him in the lab, doing experiments or just spectating as he performs his own. Either way, most of your time with Senku is spent with your hair tied back.

-Whether it be a headband or hair clips or a hair tie, you’ve gotta have it outta the way when you’re in the lab. So for the most part Senku is accustomed to seeing you with your hair back.

-And as everyone knows, science is his greatest love. He loves doing experiments, he loves learning about science, he loves talking about it, he loves it when people indulge him in his rants and is able to talk about it unfiltered with the person on the other end not only being able to keep up, but add on to the conversation meaningfully.

-And you do all of that.

-The connection here is weird, but bear with it!!

-There is nothing more attractive to Senku than someone who is passionate, and can keep up with him, as his general company usually cannot. Someone who takes an interest in his interests, and are capable and witty--and kind.

-And because you spend so much time with Senku doing science related activities--going to museums, doing experiments, talking about theories, spending time in the lab--that big love of science sort of becomes synonymous with you.

-He starts seeing you just a little differently during all of those times when your hair is back; when you say something witty, when you laugh victoriously at a successful or aweful experiment, when you challenge his views with ideas of your own. When you best demonstrate your intellect and curiosity, all things that Senku finds leave a stirring in his chest and when he sort of views you at your most beautiful, your hair is tied back.

-So even though on the surface he really doesn’t care how you choose to wear your hair, subconsciously, he’ll always find you at your most beautiful when your hair is back, associating it with the thing that made him so attractive to you in the first place.

“I don’t really care.”

“Can you not be difficult for once?” You deadpan from behind your goggles. He doesn’t even spare you a glance when he responds to your question, keeping his eyes trained on the various beakers in front of him as he circles the counter they were sitting on. You huff as you approach the opposite end of the counter, lowering yourself to be at eye level with his engrossed gaze. “I mean--really? You don’t have any style that stands out to you?”

“Maybe if you randomly shaved it all off.”

“So you like buzzcuts?”

“I don’t care.” He repeats back, this time finally looking up to shoot you an irritated look through a slit in between two beakers, and you huff, muttering about how he’s no fun before getting back to the experiment at hand.

But when he’s certain you aren’t paying attention to him any longer, he lets his eyes find you again, and they linger as he takes in your features.

He can’t help but think back to your question as he does so, his mind simulating various styles he’s seen you wear your hair in almost like a makeover game.

They’ve all been nice, every single one he envisions in his mind. Some quirkier and more elaborate than he personally prefers in general, but still; nice.

The simulation ends in his mind's eye and he’s back to present day you, with your hair tied back as it often is with all the experiments the two of you work on, and he can’t help but think he has a certain appreciation he just can’t describe for it. All he knows is that he likes it and that it suits you it in a way that leaves his heart skipping a beat, and if he really had to answer your question, he’d probably say that he preferred this style.

GEN: hair down, framing face.

-It’s a more modern, glamorous preference, what can he say.

-It’s pretty stereotypical, but there’s a reason why it’s so appealing.

-He likes how perfect your hair looks, as if you came out of a dream.

-It just takes his breath away; of course you look gorgeous any time, but when you go out of your way to style your hair all shiny with delicate and elaborate pieces framing your face, his breath gets caught in his throat and he’s staring a little too much.

-It’s maybe because it’s more rare; you’re not always going to have the energy to style your hair so elaborately, so it’s more of a treat that he can’t help but appreciate. It’s a good kind of different. It only enhances your already gorgeous features and he can’t help but grow warm at the sight.

-He’s embarrassing, really. It’s soo obvious he has this preference, but it’s also endearing the way he can’t stop making heart eyes at you. He’s sooo fucking smug with himself when you hold his arm when you wear your hair so elaborately, as if he’s showing off a treasure chest of gold--though not even all the jewels in the world could amount to you.

-Also likes to twirl the framing pieces with his finger. He thinks he’s so slick, he tries to be 100% more charming. You just make him so nervous with how gorgeous you look, he feels the need to make up for his own feelings of inadequacy. Especially when other people also appreciate the look as well.

“So you think I’m ugly, then?”

“I never said that!”

You snort at his horrified expression, crying out defensively when you accused him of only finding you attractive with the glamorous hairstyles he had been dreamily going on and on about since you asked him, with his answer being a lot longer than you anticipated.

“I’m kidding! But really? I rarely style my hair like that.”

“I can’t help what I like.” He replies simply, leaning an arm back against the trunk of the tree the two of you were sitting against as he leans over to tug at the ends of your hair. “It’s grown out a bit.”

“Not like I can get a proper haircut in this era; or a glamorous look.” You state frustratedly, observing both yours and Gen’s primitive clothing slightly distastefully. It could be absolutely worse, but you miss your old, comfortable, stylish clothes along with the elaborate do’s you’d get done for special events.

Gen could only turn his brows up empathically and offer you a shrug, pulling his hand away from your locks of hair. “Haaah…well, what can you do?”

He stares at you from the corner of his eye, however, a playful smile dancing across his lips.

“You don’t need it, though. You look breathtaking all the time.”

You snort again and roll your eyes at the exaggerated compliment, but lean in closer so you could rest your head against his shoulder.

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

“Oh, you wound me.”

RYUSUI: he likes them all…but likes when you accessorize your hair.

-It’s criminal that you'd ask him such a question, really.

-When he absolutely ADORES all of them.

-Each one makes you a different kind of endearing that he just can’t get enough of, from simple, lazier looks to time-consuming and expensive do’s that make you look like you belong on the red carpet--which he always thinks you do, by the way (not to mention he funds all your trips to your stylist).

-He genuinely has to wrack his brain and pick apart all of your looks if you really insist on him answering the question properly. He thinks of all the updos, all the curls and waves and straightening, all the specific cuts…and he STILL can’t pick a favorite.

-Sorry, you can’t get much more out of him than that. He can go on and explain the appeal of each one if that's what it’ll take for you to realize what you’re asking isn’t so easy to answer.

-To satisfy you, however, he does say that he particularly loves it when you accessorize your hair in one way or another. He likes the creativity, and it just suits your hair type so well. Whatever it might be--pretty hair ties, any special head accessories, whatever--, he thinks it only enhances your already incredible look.

“Ryusui, I don’t care about all that. Can you please just answer properly?”

He gets where your exasperation is coming from, truly; after all, he’s the one having the most difficulty answering your question as he illustrates in detail what’s going on in his mind as he thinks, every hairstyle having its own charm that he adores.

“But how can I pick? I love them all!”

You frown at him for a moment before eventually sighing and shrugging your shoulders, putting your hands up in surrender as you sit down on one of the benches in his workroom. “Okay, fine. If you can’t choose, you can’t choose.”

“Exactly!” he says almost relieved, pointing the pencil he was using to make blueprints at you. But even so, he follows and takes a seat on the bench beside you and continues to go through that mental list of hairstyles he’s seen you wear as he leans his head back against the wall and eyes your strands of hair.

There’s a pause between the two of you for a moment before he says, with all the seriousness in the world: “But you know…I especially like when you accessorize them.”

You tilt your head to look at him and raise your brows. “Accessorize? With what?”

“With anything. Any way you wear your hair is gorgeous, but it’s somehow even better with something in it.” and as he says this, he brings the pencil he had been twirling between his fingertips up to your face, tucking it into the strands by your temple. You laugh when he pulls away, and he can't help but smile.

Yup, any accessory.

SAI: anything with a braid.

-He is SO flustered when you ask.

-And even more embarrassed when you insist he gives you a straight answer after he meekly responds that he loves every single one of your looks.

-And it’s the truth!!!

-But you still want a singular, concise answer, so he thinks, nervous that this might be some sort of test he has to pass.

-And like his brother, he truly can’t pick one specific look that he really likes.

-But then he spots a pattern when he reflects on looks that he’s really liked and realizes they all shared a common feature: they all had some sort of braid in them.

-Doesn’t care about the style, length, thickness, whatever. Whether it’s one big one or two small ones framing your face or your entire head braided, he loves them. He loves the variety, and in general he just finds the design so beautiful.

-He doesn’t admit it when he answers your question, but he finds himself even more in awe of your hair if the braids in one way or another are accessorized. A ribbon, a bandana, whatever, he thinks it adds to the look tenfold. But he thinks just the simple braids on their own look gorgeous.

“If this is another one of your tests--!”

“I promise it isn’t! Can you please just answer?”

He stares at you expectantly, and a little bit nervously, as he tilts his head away from yours.

“I mean…” he starts carefully, still not fully convinced by your words. “I like them all…”

You give him a look that tells him you aren’t convinced by his words, and he finds himself getting irritated again from the (completely unnecessary) pressure of the question. “It’s the truth!”

“Yeah, but! Don’t you have one specifically?”

“I don’t know…”

You huff, frustrated by his lack of response, and take a step away from him. He mentally sighs in relief over being free from the hounding. “Not even one?” You try for the final time. He pursues his lips and thinks on your question again.

He likes that one time you wore your hair up; he really liked that one. And then that other time you had a sort of half up half down. And those unique buns were also pretty nice...

And as he continues to reflect on instances where he found himself doing a double take over your hair, he realizes that all of them share one detail in particular.

“Braids.”

“Hm?”

“I like…when you wear braids.”

Not actually expecting a genuine answer, you can only stare and blink at him. His face grows warmer at the blank eye contact, pink rising up his face at your lack of a reaction. “What?!”

“Nothing! I just didn’t expect that.”

But after your initial shock, you can't help but smile at how bashful he is over his answer, and he only grows even more exasperated (and embarrassed) when you now badger him about which specific braid styles he likes best.

TSUKASA: low styles, specifically hair down.

-It’s simple, but it's the simplicity that’s so beautiful to him.

-He likes to be able to touch your hair one way or another, whether by patting your head, twirling the strands or raking his fingers through the locks, and having it in an updo or some sort of elaborate hairstyle means he cannot do that. Doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like them of course! But if he were to have a favorite hairstyle, it’s a more casual one.

-There isn’t all that much to it. He isn’t one to find a specific style uglier or superior, but he likes that this specific style is so versatile; it doesn’t necessarily have to be open either. Whether it’s in a low hairstyle like a bun or a ponytail, he just likes the lower styles better.

“What hairstyle do you like best on me?”

It’s quiet in the classroom the two of you are sitting in, most of the students simply lounging and drifting around as they wait for their next class to begin. You and Tsukasa respectively lean your arm against your heads to bring them closer together, faces only inches apart as you talk lowly among each other. A little break to catch up after spending the busy school day mostly apart.

He watches you as a finger circles around a stray strand of your hair, brows ever so slightly creasing together. “Hairstyle?”

“Yeah, like…do you prefer my hair in buns? In waves? Think I’d look good with an undercut?”

He glances at the hair curled over his finger and framing your face, thinking to himself for a moment as he mulls over the question in his head. “I like your hair right now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like it down.” he mutters with a small smile, twisting the soft strands between the pads of his fingers, reveling in the sensation and watching the curl it creates bounce.

“You don’t like waves, or a cut of some kind or…?”

“I do. But you said to pick one, right?”

And with all the love and attention he’s showing your hair as he delicately cards his fingers through the strands, you can’t help but smile and hum in validation, satisfied enough with his answer. Enjoying the relaxing sensation of your hair being played with, you rest your head down on the desk, and he smiles at your content expression.

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azulock · 19 days

Note

hii, how are you doing💗? can you please write an aiku fulff, cs i have a feeling he would be a good bf if he REALLY tried😭😔🙏 (let me be delusional)

Oh nonnie, I'm a big believer that someone can be a slut but also turn into a good partner when they really want it. I've seen that in my life so I know it can happen. Here you go!

Oliver fluff headcanons

⊙ Get yourself a man who has range, he can do over the top corny flirting, he can do smooth and sexy, and he can do goofy and silly. He also knows a lot of the time the silly rizz will get him further, so he can be pretty goofy, esp when in a relationship. At that point he just drops the suave, smooth persona and lets himself be full silly - even borderline annoying.

⊙ Big guy isn't a good match for people who aren't comfortable with physical contact cause he is needy for touch, very much an overgrown koala - and that includes PDA. He is the person who decides when the hug ends, cause he is like 2 meters tall and heavy enough to trap even a grown man under him.

⊙ Wants to sleep cuddling every single night, no exception. If it's hot you'd better turn on the AC, but when it's cold this guy is a space heater, there is no cold with him under the blankets. Will totally be the big spoon most of the time, but does enjoy being the little spoon sometimes too.

⊙ Likes holding hands when you are walking together. No matter if you are going somewhere near or far away, he will have his fingers laced with yours, rubbing your hand with his thumb or squeezing it when you stop somewhere. But again, he doesn't care if it gets sweaty, so you better not care either.

⊙ Will wash your hair if you show him how to, but also wants you to wash his. He likes caring for you, but also wants to be pampered himself. Can get quite dramatic if you deny him that, but come on, he deserves some pampering.

⊙ Loves taking you to new and different places on dates. Having dinner and going out dancing is fine, but then next time you gotta go have brunch by the sea and visit a museum, and the one after that you go to the theatre and eat at a bar, and so on. He is always on the look out for new things to do too.

⊙ Likes sitting by your side when you are out so he can always have a hand on you, or an arm around your shoulders or waist. This way he can keep his body closer to yours and have easier access to kiss your lips too. It's an all around winning arrangement.

⊙ Sends you cute animal pictures during the day, either ones he saw somewhere like twitter or ig, or of animals he saw while out and about. Also always has cute animal stickers, gifs and what not to use when texting.

⊙ Can be quite the gentle giant at times, with surprisingly soft touches and caresses. Also melts if you just touch his face gently. And if you scratch his jaw he will almost purr, such a big man and so easily gives into a caress. One of his favorite caresses is rubbing his nose against yours, he loves doing it.

⊙ If he is at home during a rainy day, then it's a lazy day. He will have you both spend it under the covers, cuddling together, watching movies with snacks and drinks - he will let you choose what to watch, for the first movie at least. He will also order you both comfort food, including dessert. And if it isn't rainy but you are kinda down when he is around, that's the exact same move he will pull.

#Ask and you shall be answered #Anonymous #aiku oliver x reader #oliver aiku x reader #aiku x reader #oliver aiku

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knight-a3 · 5 months

Text

Now we're getting into the realm of OCs. To preface, I was strongly inspired by THIS COMIC. I was also playing with an alternate face design for Random in a couple of these.

Anyway, this is Smokestack!

More below.

I started drawing @mfdragon 's OC, then kept making my own alterations until he became mine. I researched steam-powered locomotives for this y'all. I'll explain in a minute.

Final tidbit of context: I was playing with an alternate design for the Random face, just so it matched the other two a bit more. How I feel about it goes back and forth. I like Random's OG design, but it's just so different from the others that is doesn't quite fit in.

Okay, ramblings and train info dump under the cut. Get ready to learn stuff you never cared about.

So basically, the idea is that an allspark fragment brought some old abandoned steam engine to life. Like in the comic, it used Blitzwing as a blueprint, so Smokestack is the first naturally occurring triple changer. Which also means he doesn't suffer the same mental instability as the previous triple changers, he's just naive in a similar way that Wreck-Gar is. He is neither Decepticon nor Autobot. He's too sweet to be a Con, but he's too loyal to his "Dad" to be an Autobot. He's also full of train facts.

Time for trains info dump! Disclaimer, I'm not at all an expert and I am simplifying.

In the steam era, each locomotive was custom-made, so there weren't any industrial standard models or anything. Different companies had different classing systems at different times. I tried to figure it out once and gave up. Instead, steam engines are categorized by their wheel arrangements. There are leading wheels, driving wheels, and trailing wheels. The driving wheels are the only required ones cuz those are the ones that move it. The leading and trailing wheels are for stabilization and weight distribution. Different arrangements were better for different things, such as freight vs passenger. I don't know the science behind which ones were good at what.

The kind of trains that built the transcontinental railroad were 4-4-0 configurations, commonly called "American Standard" due to their prevalence during the westward expansion. They had two sets(four total) of leading wheels, two sets of driving wheels, and no trailing wheels. Like: <••⊙⊙]▣□□□ They're little guys.

The single most produced type of steam engine was the 2-8-0 "Consolidation". <••⊙⊙⊙⊙]▣□□□□ It was a good multi-purpose design. So I chose to make Smokestack 2-8-0 because it gave me the most wiggle room for when and where I wanted him to originally be manufactured and in service. By making him a random abandoned one, I didn't have to think about what museum pieces could be in the Detroit area (Nobody but me would care, but I got hung up on that for some reason).

Anyway, when he only has one vehicle mode, Smokestack is his original 2-8-0. Once he upgrades to having two alts, he becomes a 4-8-8-4 "Big Boy" <••⊙⊙⊙⊙-⊙⊙⊙⊙••]▣□□□□, which is LARGE. 16 driving wheels, which are at least as tall as a person! The purpose was to have enough power to handle the steep grades in the Rocky Mountains and similarly difficult terrain with heavy loads. These days, rail companies will just hook up multiple diesel engines to the train to get the needed power. There is only one currently functional Big Boy type train, which occasionally does tours. It came by my place on the anniversary of the transcontinental railroad in 2019, but I didn't understand trains enough to properly appreciate it.

Next, I'll be getting into drawing other characters, and making human designs.

#transformers #transformers animated #tfa #blitzwing #tfa blitzwing #oc #transformers oc #smokestack #trains #a3 art #fanart #traditional art #sketches #Train boy and friends

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oh-snapperss · 1 year

Note

so indebted to you for cuteguy etho god bless

just for u.... i give u the accidental beginning of a cute guy fic in my drafts. it's pure crack and unedited btw

words: 1169

warnings: none

has like one line of implied shipping lol

“Etho, Etho!” Bdubs waves frantically, as if the two were greeting each other after a long few weeks apart, rather than a single day.

“Oh, hey Bdubs!” Etho walks over, barely noticing when the door slams shut behind him. There’s plenty of other customers around, most wearing headphones and sitting at the tables, lost in their work. This morning, there’s no line, and Etho heaves a sigh of relief. He’d been up way too late, and he’s ready for a pick me up.

“Have you seen the news?” Bdubs asks as soon as he’s at the counter. Over by one of the cabinets, a muted television plays, showing a broken window at one of the museums. Etho tears his eyes from it quickly.

“Ah, you know me! I never do!”

“Someone broke into Cub’s museum last night!” Bdubs’ eyes are wide, gesturing at the TV anyways.

Etho blinks, pushing down his rising horror. “No way.” He doesn’t know…surely….

“Yes way!” Bdubs leaned in conspiratorially. “They say that the Cute Guy outfit was stolen!”

Etho’s grip on the strap of his backpack tightens. “That so?”

“Yeah! I mean, who would do that, right?” Bdubs pushed back from the counter. “You want your usual, right?”

“Yes please.” Etho draws out the ‘please’, as always. “Don’t forget the heavy whipping cream.”

“You know you’re the only reason I keep this in stock, right?” Bdubs rolls his eyes, bustling around the coffee shop. It’s a quaint place, smelling so strongly of coffee Etho is sure that he’ll be smelling it the rest of the day. Nonetheless, it was the best coffee shop in the whole city! Least, that was what Bdubs said. And if Etho ever said otherwise, he’d have his head gone by morning, probably.

“Ah, come on! Best part of the whole coffee!” Etho protests, flicking parts of his napkin at Bdubs whenever his back is turned.

“You’re disgu–stop flicking the napkin at me–you’re the worst! Don’t even know why I serve this to you, it’s gonna give you diabetes, you’re gonna die at the ripe age of however old you are, and then what’s ol’ Bdubs gonna do?” Throughout his ramble Bdubs flits around the coffeeshop, making Etho’s coffee regardless. It’s a simple enough order, just black coffee.

…okay, and just as much heavy whipping cream.

“I’m not gonna die! Takes a lot more than that to kill me!” Etho giggles, although he shifts from foot to foot. What does it take to kill him? He’s tempted to check and make sure his backpack is securely zipped up.

“It does not take a lot more to kill you.” Bdubs glares at him, sliding the cheap disposable cup across the counter towards him. “Four dollars.”

“Wh–it’s three-fifty!”

“Yeah, but I need financial compensation for when this kills you.” Bdubs says smugly. “Pay up, sweetheart.”

Etho’s not blushing at the endearment. No sirree. He would never, especially since he’s ninety percent sure Bdubs calls everyone that.

“Etho?” Bdubs stares at him, unimpressed. “Just cause you’re my favorite customer doesn’t mean you get out of paying for your coffee.”

“Ohhh, favorite customer, you say?” Etho grins, all thoughts abandoned in favor of teasing. “If I’m your favorite customer, can I get a disco-”

“No.”

“Okay.” Etho laughs, and finally pulls his usual wad of cash from his pocket. “How much again?”

“Three fifty. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the–”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Etho slides the money over, before hiking his backpack up his shoulder again. “Thanks, ‘dubs. See you around?”

Bdubs barely even glances at him. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Or maybe at the grocery store? Oh wait, you’re too short–”

“Get out!” Bdubs flicks another napkin at him. “You’re the worst!”

His grin says otherwise, and Etho matches it with his own clear out of the shop. Once out, though…

The streets are crowded, the sky overcast with light grey clouds. Shoot, he should have checked the weather before he left–if he gets stuck in a drizzle without a jacket, he’ll never hear the end of it from Scar, or Bdubs, or anyone else.

He walks down the street, glancing around. iBuy seems particularly busy, and so does False’s fashion shop. He slips through the crowd, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. It’s a miracle no one has noticed his routine yet–get coffee, walk down street, duck into the alleyway entirely non suspiciously, and slip in the back door to his new job at HotGuy HQ.

Insane, right?

The second he’s through the backdoor, the alarms go off, as usual. It’s a simple matter of yanking a wire from the alarm system to turn it off, and then he continues forward as normal.

“Scar?” He calls out, glancing around. The HQ is quiet today, not even a receptionist at the front desk.

“You mean Hot Guy?”

Etho spins around on his heel, to discover Scar standing at the top of the stairs. He’s fully decked out in his superhero outfit, each muscle outlined and complemented by his shirt.

“Scar, it’s just us. Do we really need to call each other–”

“Never call each other by real names, Cute Guy. You never know who could be listening.” Scar lowers his head, so that the light shining behind it outlines each impeccable feature in shadow perfectly. “Our identities… must be kept secret. Forever.”

“Ooookay.” Etho sighs. “Why’d you call me Cute Guy?”

The light behind Scar goes out, leaving Scar blinking at Etho in confusion. “Because that’s… who you are?”

“What do you mean by that…?” Etho stares back, horror swirling in his gut. “Sca-Hot Guy, I just did you a favor by breaking into that museum. I’m not becoming Cute Guy, that’s someone else’s job–”

“What do you mean?” Scar grins. “That was your final test! To prove your strength, your valor, your bravery!”

“I’m pretty sure those last two words mean the same thi-”

“Did you get it?” Scar descends the steps, his bow clutched desperately in one hand. “Have you succeeded?”

Etho sighs. When he’d signed up for Hot Guy lessons, he’d thought maybe it would help him pick up some flirting tips, not this! “Yes, S-Hot Guy, I got it.” He slings the backpack off his shoulder, tossing it to Scar without much fanfare. “I’m not wearing that.”

The bag is caught easily, although Etho doesn’t miss the look of horror when it’s thrown. “You can’t just throw the Cute Guy outfit!”

“Sorry.”

Scar ignores his apology, unzipping the bag eagerly. Each part of the costume is pulled out eagerly, before being dropped on the floor in favor of the next piece. Pink skirt, pink jacket, fishnet tights, pink crop top and are those cat ears?

Etho decides not to point out the irony of half the costume being tossed to the floor after being scolded for throwing the backpack. Besides, he really needs to head on out anyways, he’s running late for work at the redstone department of iBuy–

“Try it on.”

“What?”

#etho #ethoslab #goodtimeswithscar #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft #my fics #i have no excuse for this we don't need to talk about the fact i wrote another 1k that's unposted #ethubs #but barely

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supercorpkid · 7 months

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Powergirl Should Die - 2

Supergirl, Powergirl, B!D. Kara Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Alex Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Lena Luthor, J'onn J'onzz.

Word Count: 2840.

Part 1

Kara is the sunshine. It irradiates through her skin and you don't think there's a single soul that would be able to deny that. Your sister is always bringing good light wherever she might go. But you-

You were born to rain clouds. Always almost but never enough. Power, yes. But never Super. Even back in Krypton, you were always blessed in her shadow.

And that was fine, for most of your life. You didn’t care to hide away behind her at school. Didn’t care that when she moved to National City, you had to follow her too. But then she got you inside a skin tight suit, gave you a superhero name, and that was a little too much for you to bear.

Because now you are sleep deprived, too tired to function properly. Haven't rested a bit in days. Patrolling the city, watching everyone's step, listening to every heartbeat and shaky breath. Waiting for the worst.

It's not even that you can't rest because you don't have the time, that is only partially true. You have to go to the Museum and work. You haven't let anyone patrol the city ever since you saw that flash of red in Lena's surveillance camera. Even so, you would still have a couple of hours to nap, if only you could. If only you wouldn't wake up drenched in sweat from your nightmares.

All of them are about what's happening right now. You watch from afar seeing her blonde hair and red cape flying behind her while she writes the words that are now rooted in the depths of your mind.

Powergirl should die. Why won't she die already?

"That's enough!" J'onn stops the arguing. His deep commanding voice is enough to make everyone shut up, including both of your sisters that had been yelling at you until a minute ago. "You are in a government space and some of you are public figures. I expect at least a little bit of decorum, and if that's not possible then the three of you should go talk somewhere private. Preferably at home."

"Fine by me." Kara says, hardening her jaw. "We're all going home." She speaks almost out of greeted teeth, only one eye blinks, so laser focus on you, it sends shivers down your spine.

She picks Alex up, ready to fly away, but looks back at you before she does so, almost daring. You don't want to go home with them. All the previous yelling already made clear what their point was. You are getting obsessed with this 'Powergirl should die' thing. You're getting fixated, absorbed, borderline manomaniacal about it. Throwing blame around, wary of the people who are there to help you, snapping at your own flesh and blood.

Yeah, yeah. No shit.

"Y/N, would you stay behind for a second?" J'onn says, and Kara furrows her brows at him. "She'll catch you in a moment, Kara. You and Alex can go."

"Alright." Kara leaves, but it is clear it wasn't ok by the way she said that.

He starts walking and you follow him silently throughout the corridors of the DEO, and only stops in front of a lead covered room. "For privacy." He explains, pointing inside and you agree with your head walking in. "Would you like to tell me what the problem is?"

"Besides someone wanting me dead?" You snap. You can't really control how you sound right now, even though you wish you could. You're tired, scared, and suspicious of the very one person you should rely on the most. That makes everyone around you untrustworthy by default.

J'onn agrees with his head. And you bite the inside of your mouth to keep you from spilling the truth.

"Seems enough of a reason to me."

"You think Kara wrote it." He explains it further, saying what you've been thinking. At least someone had the courage to say it out loud. You sigh, looking down.

It's wrong. Thinking your sister is the one writing all these terrible things about you. But what else would you think? It’s the only lead you have. The only one you need.

"It's a pretty big accusation."

You can't look him in the eyes. Even though you haven't directly said it, he could read all the messed up thoughts you were having about it. "You didn't say I was wrong."

"I didn't say you were right." J'onn counters, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You're going to end up doing something you regret if you don't rest. I'm not going to argue you on this, Y/N. This is not a suggestion, it's an order from a superior. I am not giving you a shift tonight, and I hope that means you won't be on duty."

"What if the writing comes up again?"

"Then we clean it."

"What if something more than the writing comes up this time?" You can't help the watery eyes when you say that.

He gives you a long pause, "Then we fight it."

Alright, well. You can't argue with that logic. And you also can’t argue with the fact that you are so tired, you might end up doing something stupid.

So you agree that you won’t patrol tonight, trusting him on this, and leave the DEO. You are well aware that your sisters are waiting for you in Kara’s apartment, ready to tell you what to do. So before you face them, you send Lena a text.

You: Hey! You, me, Love Actually and Thai food tonight?

Lena: Yes, please. All of it sounds perfect ❤️

You smile at her text. Your heart doing a small loop inside you. Alright, now onto the hard part.

You fly in through the window and the second Kara notices your presence, she picks up the conversation from where it was left.

“How long has it been since you've slept?” She asks, crossing her arms and Alex mimics her action right after. They look like two angry parents, and it makes you even more annoyed. They are not your parents. Your parents exploded 20 years before you even stepped foot on this planet, so.

“I don’t know.” You mutter, knowing they wouldn't like the honest answer and having no energy to fight them.

“If you would just let me take over for you, mini me. I could patrol the city tonight. I promise I'll call you the second I see something suspicious and –”

“Yeah, ok.”

“What?” Kara and Alex stare at each other.

“I have direct orders from my superior to stay put. And I also have a date – I mean, a movie date – a movie thing with Lena tonight, so yeah. If you want to patrol the city, you do it.”

“Oh.” They stare at each other again, confused about your approach to this. You’ve been very demanding the past few days about how this is only about you and that no one else should get involved, and just one conversation later, you're quick to give up that control? Sounds weird. But they're not going to fight you on this, since it's exactly what they want. "Great! I'll do the patrolling and you do the date."

"And sleep." Alex adds. "Don't forget you need to sleep."

"Sure thing, mom." You force a smile then fly out of Kara's living room, and go back to work.

It’s a lot later that night when you give Lena the empty container of your already eaten Thai food, and snuggle up on her couch, throwing the blanket over your legs and trying to get as comfortable as possible. “Mmm, just FYI I might fall asleep during the movie.” You warn her. “I haven’t had a good night in a while.”

Lena hums her agreement from the kitchen, but soon she is back to her place next to you. “Something’s been worrying you?”

“I guess. But I don’t wanna bore you with that, it’s not something fun to talk about.” You smile when she gets under the blanket too, body so close her warmth irradiates through her skin.

“You couldn't bore me if you tried, honey.”

“Au contraire, darling. I think everyone at the Museum would say I’m the most boring person alive.” You give her a side smile.

Lena shoots her head up, comically fast. She blinks at you, head clearly going one thousand miles an hour. She is thinking so hard, it's almost loud. You furrow your brows in confusion, while her mouth drops with a 'oh' sound.

"You're ok?" You pat her leg.

There's no verbal answer. Lena's shaky hands make their way to the collar of your shirt and you sit up straighter trying to understand what's happening right now, and trying to predict what's going to happen next.

“Lena?” You question her movements when she undoes the first button of your shirt. You swallow. It's not like you never once imagined this happening, but not like this. Not without love confessions and a whole lot of prior conversation.

“Lena, what are you doing?”

Lena doesn’t answer, doesn’t blink. Hands still shaking, but decisively making their way to the second button.

“Lena, please.” She undoes that one as well. And that's when it hits you. You are always wearing your supersuit attire under your clothes, so it's faster when you have to run out from work and such. Panic shoots through your body as you realize that if she unbuttons one more, she’ll be able to see your supersuit. You hold her hands to stop her. “Lena,” you try to smile even if your mouth is completely dry and your breath is stuck in your lungs. “Darling, shouldn’t you kiss me first, before trying to get me naked?”

Lena finally looks back at your eyes, a smile dangling on her lips to match yours. And then she gives you a smirk. “You’re not naked, though. Are you?”

“Under my clothes? Yeah, I’m naked.” You lie with a fake chuckle.

She untangles her hand from yours, places it behind your neck and brings your face closer. You hold your breath. Widen your eyes. This is happening. It's happening! You and Lena, it's finally happening!

“What’s going on with you tonight?” You stare down at her mouth. “I’m not complaining, I’m just confused.”

And that’s enough of a distraction for her to move her other hand and unbutton one more. Lena looks down at the white of your supersuit and the little bit of gold from the House of El crest. And you? You panic.

"I, um, I can explain." While your heart beats strongly into your ribcage and there's a loud buzz inside your ears. How do you explain yourself?

Lena seems to be inside her own little world while both hands now make all the way down undoing all of your buttons, opening your shirt to have the House of El crest staring at her in all its secrecy.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, one tear rolling down your cheek. Because there's no explanation, really. Nothing you can say for yourself to stop Lena from hating you now.

She finally looks up to you, eyes tearing up as well, mouth agape to her recent discovery. You can see it all playing out in her eyes. She has the most expressive ones. Betrayal and anger, sadness and confusion. And then, a few seconds after two tears drop from her eyes, she raises her eyebrows at you. Eyes widening when something hits her.

"Powergirl should die." Lena whispers, swallowing deep. "Oh my God, Y/N. Someone is trying to kill you."

She launches herself onto you, holding you tight. Her hand entangles on your hair, holding your neck strongly.

"Oh, darling." She whispers, her body even closer now. You feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, while you seek comfort on her arms, face buried on her neck. "No wonder you've been so careless."

"What?"

"Au contraire, darling? Please, Y/N, I've never heard anyone say that except for you. And Powergirl, apparently."

"Lena." You whine, embarrassed. Can't believe you made it that easy. You guess J'onn was right, you were about to do something stupid from the lack of sleep. "Someone wants me dead." You try to justify, earning a smile from her.

"You really are tired, huh?" She brings you closer again, kisses your temple. "You thought I was trying to get you naked, honey."

"Lenaaaa." You whine harder, face burning red from embarrassment. God, you're such a loser. "Can you please ignore everything I said tonight? I haven't slept an inch in four days."

Lena smiles fondly at you, while she strokes your cheek delicately. She plants a kiss there, then a light one on your lips. It's so soft, it holds no sexual implication. Just pure comfort. "Come on, Powergirl. You need a power nap."

"Oh God." You complain again, but soon Lena hugs you tight, and with your head on her chest, and Love Actually playing in the back, you're fast asleep. You don't even care if the writing shows up all over town tonight. There's no other place you'd rather be.

You wake up from your place on Lena's chest. Sometime last night she laid back on the couch and you curled yourself around her, not ready to let go. It was the first night you haven't had any nightmares.

You hear a few knocks on the balcony door, and you and Lena raise your heads at the same time to the intruder on the other side. Kara. She is smiling and waving, then she widens her eyes and turns around quickly. X-ray vision. You look down to Lena's body under yours, and your leg slotted between hers.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry." You get up in a flash, shirt still hung open with a clear view of your supersuit. "Shit, fuck."

Lena gets up as well, trying to look less disheveled to your sister's eyes. And after you button up your shirt, you finally open the balcony door and clean your throat, so Kara can look back at you.

"Hi!" She tries with the biggest, most awkward smile ever. "Just, um, wanted to say that there's nothing new for me to, um, report?"

You look back at Lena who knows exactly what Kara is talking about, but is looking down pretending she doesn't.

"I didn't mean to interrupt –"

"You didn't." You both are quick to say.

"Oh-kay?" Kara raises her eyebrows, a smile reaching her eyes, and you know exactly what she is insinuating. And sure, you thought the same thing last night, but you're both wrong.

"Can I get a ride?" You ask and Supergirl eagerly agrees. You turn back at Lena. "Thanks for –" You bite your tongue. You don't want to say anything in front of your sister. "Lunch later?"

"Lunch." Lena agrees with her head. And you smile before letting Kara pick you up and fly out of her balcony with you.

When you're out of sight, you untangle yourself and start flying next to her. "So no writing last night, huh?"

"Nope. Not even a kitten to rescue to keep me entertained." Kara grins devilishly at you. "You, on the other hand, was well entertained last night."

"Yeah, well. I slept for the first time in four days and had no nightmares. I'd say I was very entertained."

"Nightmares?" Kara stops flying, and you have to fly back a little, so you can talk face-to-face. "You haven't had nightmares in years."

"That's not true. I've been having them for… I guess, months now?"

"Months?" Kara's eyebrows furrow so hard, her crinkle shows. "When did they start?"

"They're just nightmares, Kara." You argue, annoyed. But she looks at you with an expression you almost couldn’t read. It's a midst of worrisome and distrust.

You furrow your own eyebrows, looking back at her. And then it hits you. The only reason you recognize this look, is because it's how you've been looking at her for the past four days.

"When did they start?" She repeats, strongly this time.

"I don't know." You lie. You know exactly when they started. Right after she gave you a superhero name and your first mission. Ever since, you haven't been able to sleep right.

"Let's make sure you don't have them anymore." Your sister finally breathes out. "Maybe you should try sleeping more times with Lena. It looks like she helps."

Wouldn't she like having you back at no patrolling so she can go back to the new way she found to be passive-aggressive and make you question your every single step?

"I'll pick up some extra shifts and I'm sure J'onn won't mind picking up some as well. That way you can rest your head a little."

You narrow your eyes at her, questioning her intentions. "Why don't you worry about your own enemies, and let me deal with mine?"

She doesn't answer and you're certainly happy you rendered Kara Zor-El speechless for the first time all your life.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #alex danvers #baby danvers #lena x reader #reader insert #supergirl imagine #alex x reader #powergirl

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multiwreckedmess · 11 months

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Kinktober Day 14

Prompt: Humiliation Pairing: nonidol!Jeongin (I.N) x olderfem!reader WC: 2k Summary: You’ve had a day. You need a drink. Alone preferably. And yet here comes the boy who has been staring you down all night.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Jeongin (I.N) or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

TW/CW Preface. Jeongin uses the word “noona” to refer to the reader. I just really couldn’t think of a better word to refer (cutely) to a woman older than you but not “mommy” and part of what this specific version of him gets off on is the power of fucking someone older than him. ANYWAY if that give you the ick, turn back now.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: fucking in a bathroom, humiliation, degradation, reader nicknames- (noona, ONE instance of “mommy”, whore, dumb slut, slut, disgusting), under negotiated kink, cum in panties, dubcon (they’re drunk, most agree that consent at this point is...well murky AT BEST), ROUGH sex (gagging, underprepped, no aftercare). Age gap *(unspecified, reader is older)

“Oh no no no,” you stopped the young man in his tracks. “You are much too young for me baby boy.” He hadn’t spoken a single word to you yet, spending most of the night staring at you from the corner of the bar as many other men had all of your life. You didn’t need to know much, his sweet dimpled face told you everything you needed to know. Old enough to drink, sure, but certainly too young for you. “Aw,” his voice sounds disappointed yet determined as he smiles. “Noona, you haven’t even let me speak, you don’t know why I’m here.” Coolly taking another sip of your drink, you look at him from the corner of your eye. “I know you’ve been staring at me all night. It’s enough to make assumptions.” “So you’re like a museum piece? I can look but I can’t touch?” He sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he smiles and winks cheekily. You let out an exasperated sigh, the line was cheesy but his audacity was admirable. Looking straight ahead you down your drink, if this was what the night was, leave it up to Bacchus, not your brain. “Do you have an elevator pitch or do I have to suffer more bad lines?” “The elevator pitch, noona, is that younger guys are the trend. You seem like a trendsetter. It seems like a great opportunity for you to increase your portfolio and it just so happens that I have availability for tonight.” “I regret the elevator pitch, buy me a drink or do you need to call your parents to authorize the charge?” “No mommy, I’m a big boy in more than one way.” He tries to wink and cringes. “That was bad. I'm sorry, I’ll grab your next drink if you let me.” Eyes wide with disbelief you weigh your options, send the kid away or see what the night brings. In reality he can’t be THAT much younger than you. You’re both here in a bar, drinking,he has to be at least twenty one years old. Unless he has a fake, the devious little shit. You’ve already spent more time with him than you’d originally intended. Before you’re able to politely wave him off your smartwatch pings and you go delving into the depths of your purse. In the time it takes you to dig the bartender is back and the kid is ordering you and himself another round. “I thought you said ‘if you let me’ I don’t recall giving you permission.” “You seemed preoccupied and if i’m being honest, a little stressed. No pressure, you can enjoy it without me, or with me. You must admit I’m at least a little exciting, I might be fun to keep around a bit longer.” Fighting your smile you nod nonchalantly to the barstool next to you. “The seat’s open.”

You don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had but it’s enough to be following him to the bathroom. Him -Jeongin, IN, Innie- he had so many names from his friends and family. It was less alcohol than you’d hoped before you’d fallen to his boyish charm. Eager, honest, and way too fucking into you to pass up. His hand is on your lower back as the two of you walk towards the back, almost as if you’re going to exit through the kitchen instead of heading to one of the three single occupancy bathrooms. Touching the doorknob you hesitate briefly, door creaking under the light pressure. Jeongin is on you before the door even finishes opening, spinning you around to face him, hands on your hips as he backs you through the door in an impassioned kiss. “What if someone sees?” You half whisper as he kisses your neck, fumbling with the small zipper of your skirt. “Then they’ll know we’re fucking,” he states simply, giving up on the skirt and yanking your blouse free. “Do you have a problem with that?” The heat of embarrassment creeps at the sides of your face and twists in your gut pleasantly. “Isn’t it…they’d know…” your tongue ties, a girlish giggle from a fluttering heart interrupting. Jeongin isn’t helping as he pushes the cups of your bra down, thumbs running over your nipples as he hurries to free your breasts. “Does that excite you? Someone walking in on you getting fucked by some stranger in a shit bathroom in a shity dive bar?” Jeongin pinches your nipples slightly, your eyes rolling as you bite back a moan. “It does.” “What does?” He pinches your nipples again. “Fucking a stranger in a shitty dive bar.” Your heart jumps, just saying it outloud feels exciting. Hearing his words in your voice feels more real. “What does fucking a stranger do?” His lips ghost over your neck as he nearly whispers, each consonant buzzing against you. Hand traveling between your thighs, the tips of his fingers rub circles in the cotton fabric of your underwear, right above your clit. “Turns me on, fuck, Jeongin!” You squeal The squish of your damp panties is proof enough of his handiwork. “And you thought a kid like me couldn’t have a woman like you.” He laughs, nibbling at the column of your throat. “So wet for me already. Can control everything but that needy cunt of yours. Who got you this worked up? Pushing the gusset of your panties aside his middle finger plays at your entrance, circling slowly, barely dipping in. “You did,” you gasp, hips canting to try to trick him into slipping further down your channel.

Gathering some of your essence on his fingers he backs off, playing with the strands clinging between his fingers. “Clean them,” he offers to you, your eyes already glazed over an unfocused as you lean into the tiled wall. You do it, eagerly. Taking his digits into your mouth and swirling your tongue around them. Sucking him clean and then some. “So your mouth is good for something,” he coos pressing your mouth open to fuck along the soft pink surface of your tongue. Watching drool pool and spill from the corners of your lips. “You’re so much hotter when you give into me. Just like this. Why don’t you put that smart little mouth around my cock?”

There’s no discussion, you simply slip to the floor, knees pressing into the cold dirty tile. “Disgusting” you mutter to yourself. Grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Jeongin tilts your head up, looming over you. “Just like you. Now open and stick your tongue out like the dumb slut you are.” Eyes wide you comply. His lips purse as he summons a globule of spit, letting it cling to his lips as it drops slowly down to your mouth. “Keep it open,” he demands, freeing his stiffened member from its confines. Using the tip he pushes his spit along your tongue, watching his length eclipse the velvety pink surface. “Just look at how sweet you can be,” he coos, “from here you aren’t so scary at all are you, noona?” Doe-eyed you look up at him and shake your head no. Holding your jaw as open as you can for him, relaxing all the way through the back of your throat as he pushes deeper. The stretch at the hinges of your jaw is almost painful as he smiles down at you, the cute dimples suddenly seem sinister when paired with his actions. It sends a shiver all the way down to your core. You’re so pent up you could scream, instead whimpering and squeezing your thighs together for relief. Guilty that it turns you on so much you can barely form thoughts as he fucks into your open mouth, hand cushioning the back of your head from the tile wall.

Kicking your knees apart, Jeongin slides his shoe under your ass as you hump blindly against his leg. It provides some, albeit humiliating, relief to your throbbing cunt. “Just what would your colleagues think? Humping my leg like a flithy slut. A professional like you getting broken down by a boy like me.” He finally pushes all the way back, breaching the ring of muscle at the top of your throat as you gag around him. Mucus and spit and tears covering your cheeks and chin, eyes glazed over. “Doing alright?” Jeongin asks sweetly, hand slowly wiping the mess across your face. “Fuck me. Please. Please. I need it so badly. I’m so ready for you baby please.” “Get up.” You wobble still half drunk on alcohol half drunk on hormones, leaning into the wall for support. “Grab the sink.” The white ceramic of the sink is cool against your overheated skin as you hold onto the edge of the basin, waiting. Blurry eyed you watch him through the mirror in front of you, like the killer in a horror movie about to claim his next victim. He looks wild while you look like a wreck, makeup running down your cheeks and hair in knots. He hoists your skirt to your waist, pushing your soaked panties to the side. “You won’t need any prep right? You’ve taken cock enough right? I’m just a young guy, it’ll be no problem for you with all your experience.” Your mouth opens to beg him to go slow, instead it feels like your gut is punched through your esophagus as his blunt head bullies its way between your walls. The stretch sudden and brutal. Sliding forward with him, hips bruising against the lip of the sink, your face smushes into the mirror in front of you with a reedy whine. “Shit, you’re tight noona. Fuck.” He grunts as he rocks closer to you, steadying for a second before he begins in earnest. Fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass he pulls almost all the way back, savoring the feeling of your walls tugging him back in eagerly. The dip of your back arches more dramatically as he thrusts forward, drawing another whine from you. Pulling you upright and tight to his chest his hand covers your mouth tightly. “Do you want everyone to know I’m ruining you? Or are you just so fucked out you don’t care anymore.” “Fucked,” you sob, spit coating the palm of his hand. “Good. Fucked.” He thrusts up again. The combination of slight angle change and the press of the sink against your groin has his tip aimed directly into the soft target of your spot. It’s overwhelmingly good as he jackhammers into you, hips snapping ruthlessly. Panting your body shifts violently between limp and clenched, unsure of how to handle the overload of pain and pleasure. “Go ahead slut, cum on my cock. You’re lucky I’m even letting you.” He sneers, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. The tickle of his breath is what sends you over the edge, shaking and gasping as your walls clamp around him. He leans the both of you forward as you vision darkens, body slackening against the mirror. Cheek pressed to your lower back you both pant as he withdraws suddenly, staggering back from you slightly.

You hardly notice he’s left you like that, only alerted by the click of the door unlocking and closing again. In your post climax sobriety you realize you have no idea if he’d even bothered to wear a condom. Slowly your hand slides over your ass, nearly gagging at the smear of sticky residue stuck to the inside of your underwear. Drifting higher to pull your skirt down, something small like a clothing tag pokes you.

A business card. “I got your tab, call me,” scrawled hastily on the back.

Sorry i’m off my groove I actually wrote this one three fucking times. One veered into A/B/O territory which is so out of my league like i don’t know what i was thinking. Love reading it, no idea how to write it.

Anyway I’m going to make my way againnnnn!

#jeongin smut #yang jeongin smut #i.n smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids kinktober #skz kinktober #kpop smut #kpop kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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mickeys-malarkey · 2 years

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Pt. 3/3: My BATDR Timeline & Plot Twist Theories!

First, I think both BATIM and BATDR take place sometime between 1978 and 1991. I already suspected BATDR was happening in the ‘80s based on the fact that card readers – which have featured in many of the environment screenshots we've seen – were invented in 1979...

…and Audrey's clothes and hairstyle look very 1980s.

Then they released the images of Audrey's office, where her chair and desk lamps also look very 1980s, and the wallpaper and flooring looks pretty 1970s…

…and @inkdemonapologist pointed out that the type of bankruptcy we see documents for in Joey's apartment didn't exist until 1978…

…and I remembered that Joey's apartment also had a newspaper whose headline took place in the future— Princess Diana's 30th birthday which, as TetraBitGaming on YouTube pointed out, would be in 1991 since Princess Diana was born in 1961. She should be two years old if BATIM were really taking place in 1963!

Maybe, at the time, they didn't mean for these two to be clues, since they seem to have rolled the date backwards a bit from the newspaper one; but at this point it feels pretty clear when BATDR takes place, to me. And I'm even more certain than I already was, after finding out that this image from the JDS website…

…is titled “museum” (good work yoinking it, @halfusek /gen 👍🏻), that we know the ink dimension's new home: Nathan Arch Sr.'s private Joey Drew Studios museum that he mentioned he was curating in TIOL (meaning it's existed since around 1972).

“Over the years, I have collected every single piece of the studio memorabilia I could find to restore it to its former glory, to create, in a sense, a private museum that gleamed with the true vision of Joey Drew…” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 2

Also, besides the fact the museum image has clearly aged, here's some more evidence that at least a few years have probably passed since Bendy was purchased: it generally takes a fair bit more time (years!!) to make movies/documentaries, as Archgate Pictures seems to have made about Joey, than it does to make shorts.

As for BATIM, I think that time has been moving as normal outside of the loop, we were just seeing a repeat of that significant day in 1963; Henry and Joey have been trapped in the ink dimension for somewhere between twenty and thirty years, and the bankruptcy paperwork and Princess Diana newspaper were pieces of the real world leaking into the memory. This explains how there seems to be evidence of Audrey in BATIM and how BATDR is still supposedly neither sequel nor prequel to BATIM despite all the evidence that it takes place long after 1963! They're happening at the same time!! I wonder if Audrey is the daughter of the little girl we hear at the end of BATIM? So, Henry's (great-)granddaughter or Joey's (great-)great-niece?

Now, onto my big theory: the plot twist.

If they handle it right, it would be really, really cool if “break the cycle” really doesn't just mean “end the time loop” but also “break the cycle of abuse/trauma” and a lot of the huge cast of not-so-innocent characters wind up with the potential to get redemption arcs. I have an idea of exactly how they might be planning on even providing the opportunity for Joey.

Victor McKnight commented this on his Artistic Hallowing music video and pinned it:

Those last two sentences. “Make sure you're watching every second! You don't want to miss any vital information. 😉” Does that not sound to anyone else like he's got insider information? Now, I want y'all to watch these music videos that either Victor himself or his brother Noah were suspiciously involved in all of (and one of which is supposedly a BATDS song but for some reason involves Audrey) and tell me if you notice any patterns.

youtube

This one seems to be a duet between Sammy and the Ink Demon, both singing to Audrey. Sammy mostly sings in the default sepiatone, asking us things like “Can you see me? Can you feel me?” (that feels so… sad… and desperate…) and telling us things like “make sense of the consequence we witnessed on that day” (Excuse me, you're telling me that there was a consequence for something on a specific, significant day that we witnessed?? 👀) The demon, on the other hand, mostly sings when the grayscale effect is on, and seems to just be playing a stereotypical villain roll until you notice “be forced to believe what I see” (why would we even give a crap about what you're seeing /srs? How the actual heck would we see what you're seeing /gen? You don't even have eyeballs, bro /j) and “be damned in this evil received” (how do you receive evil that damns you? Maybe by being abused and becoming an abuser in response?).

youtube

Two apparently-separate characters singing with the same voice but very different tones and outlooks on the situation, still both singing to Audrey, in this one. One mostly sings in the default sepiatone, again, at first seeming more hopeful, helpful, and friendly until you start noticing ominous comments like “you've made mistakes, accept the change. You will be punished too” (*incoherent noises* 🚨🚨) and “welcome to my dream . . . you still think you are safe in my dream.” The other mostly sings when the grayscale effect is on, again, and seems much more aggressive and seductive until you start noticing comments like “take up your weapons, just leave my friends be” (why is this stereotypically evil-seeming character both telling us to take up weapons, not just letting us have them, and asking us to leave his friends alone with them?).

youtube

More hints that the demon who will rise and presumably is most important to the story is linked to grayscale, in this one.

youtube

And, in this one, Sammy's asking if the grayscale-linked demon is the one who will set him free (as he claims to be in the first two videos).

Across all four of these first videos, there seems to be an overall “things change when we switch from the default sepiatone to grayscale” and “grayscale is dangerous and seems hopeless but it's important and linked to truth and freedom” theme…

youtube

…You're telling me that Sammy and his followers' past (BATIM?) selves were worshipping an imposter demon…? And the truth will be revealed in BATDR…?

Hum, hum, hum… fascinating. I'd noticed the sepiatone vs. grayscale split and imposter vs. true savior thing long before I read the books; for the longest time, I thought it meant we would be dealing with a Henry-Bendy and a Joey-Bendy, as I've been seeing people theorizing. But then I read TIOL, and discovered what I think is evidence that this info is indeed canon and was not left on the cutting room floor while BATDR was in development limbo.

Nathan makes a very strange note on Joey's story about the Sparkle Unicorn speakeasy…

“…I remember this night well. Though I remember it being at the Bee Room, gold and black, not silver as the main design aesthetic. Doesn't really make much of a difference though, I suppose.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 44 (emphasis added)

Nathan remembers that night in sepiatone, Joey remembers it in grayscale.

Now, I've seen all kinds of theories all over about how Wilson actually “banished/killed the ink demon…” “Wilson took advantage of some sort of blip in Bendy's existence that happened when Joey died,” “Wilson got rid of him by purifying him and turning him into Dapper Bendy,” “Wilson got rid of him by fusing him with either Henry or Joey,” “Wilson got rid of him by trapping him in Henry's loop,” “he didn't, Wilson's just another liar manipulating everyone,” etc…

What if we're looking at this from the wrong angle? What if the point is that, whatever happened, neither of the BATDR Bendys is the original soulless monster we see in BATIM and the books? What if, whether they share a body or are separate, there are two human souls involved here? What if one of those souls is the “new evil” in the ink dimension, not Wilson, who may have been meddling in ink dimension affairs since 1963?

Going back to the time frame I propose BATDR is happening in… Joey was born in 1901, which means that if Nathan was 18 or 19 when Joey was just turning 16, then he was born in 1899 or 1898. So, in 1978, Nathan would've been 79 or 80, and in 1991 he would've been 92 or 93. Especially considering the clues that point towards Nathan having been a smoker, it wouldn't surprise me if he's straight-up already dead in BATDR. Mayhaps for 211 days? During Loop 414…? Could this be why the BATIM loop is different, with Henry apparently not remembering anything that previous versions of himself could? The now-previous owner of their prison has died of old age and/or lung cancer? And could that be why the JDS museum has fallen into bankruptcy? Has Nathan Jr. taken over and isn't as ruthless a businessman as his father?

Itsjustjord on YouTube pointed this out in his trailer reaction, which when he said it set my Clue Radar off so that I went to the trailer again to get a closer look. And… well… *clears throat*

…Do y'all see this weird effect over Dapper Bendy? Compared to every other character we see in the trailer as well as the environment around him, does it not look as if we're seeing him, specifically, through some sort of cartoony filter? Maybe it'll only be in circumstances like this (far away in weird lighting) that the edges of the illusion will fray in-game, based on the other teaser image we have of him, but it definitely looks off to me.

Especially with what I now suspect Allison and Susie's situations were in relation to Nathan, I think that the ink creatures’ perfection vs. imperfection has nothing to do with how pure/good vs. impure/evil their hearts are as we've been lead to believe/is the conventional surface-level reading, but instead how intact vs. broken their hearts are. I think that the more horrific the ink being's appearance, the more the soul inside was abused while it was alive. Allison isn't a perfect Alice because she's a better person, it's because she obeyed Nathan and wasn't made to suffer as severely as Susie, who Nathan chose to be his next Isabel. So, why is one new Bendy (apparently created after Joey lost everything, I suspect even being made to watch his Shoulder Angel's murder before being murdered himself) so much scarier than the original (created before Joey lost everything) and the other so goshdarn perfect, proportions and all?

Maybe the banning of everything related to Sammy's demon cult and Henry under Wilson's rule has to do with his decades-old mission to keep the Creators from joining forces, as well as everyone including himself feeling like they're finally free from The Great Puppet Master?

I love Dapper Bendy's design as much as everyone else!! He's positively adorable, and it would also be a nice outcome if the baby boy is exactly what he seems and just a precious lil friend to love forever; but I theorize that Dapper Bendy is the perfectly sane, untraumatized, and truly evil one, that (assuming we actually get choices in BATDR, unlike in BATIM) his route, no matter how things seem in the moment, is the wrong one, that he's Nathan. And I think Freaky Teeth Bendy (that's been my nickname for him since we first saw him and I'm sticking to it lolol) is the damaged as heck but able to be saved one, that his route is the correct one, that he's Joey. I also think that we won't get to see either demon for what they really are – won't be able to get the True, Broken Cycle, “Joey's Redeemed & Nathan Faces Justice” Ending – unless we somehow unlock Grayscale Mode like we could in BATIM and gain the ability to see Joey's truth. Until then, we'll be seeing the demons the way Nathan wants us to see them. Through Nathan's tainted, gaslighting, sepiatone filter.

If I'm right, the fact that they did choose these color palettes is so perfectly poetic~! Sepiatone is what happens when black-and-white images have been chemically altered for preservation purposes; Nathan's altered our perception of himself, Joey, and all the events surrounding them, and his version of events is much more resilient. Meanwhile, Joey's would be more pure and unaltered but easily destroyed— including by himself, with his Illusion of Living coping mechanism… The only thing that could make it more perfect is if not only do we get to see Henry in BATDR, but when we do he's an angelic toon… *Vibrates with excitement*

Please, please, please, JDS, let me be right about where you're going with this!! Cause this would genuinely be so freaking cool…!! 🙏🏻 I hope that we eventually get to “rejoice with our founders,” as Artistic Hallowing says, when they're reunited.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, rofl. Congratulations on making it through the ramblings of a hyped AuDHD fangirl (though, I guess we already knew you were capable, if you've read TIOL. I could do a whole nother rant on evidence that Joey's basically confirmed canonically ADHD(+?), my freaking gosh). 😝

Read the Rest of the Original Analysis/Theory: Part One • Part Two • Unexpected Part Four

BATDR Analysis/Post-Playthrough Theory Revision: Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

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thefrogdalorian · 9 months

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The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter One

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 4690 Rating: General Summary: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: Hope you liked the start! My love of mass transit systems bleeds through, I think. But I hope I captured how wonderful being part of a fandom and forming online friendships can feel! Thanks to @suresnips for being my beta!

1. Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader's POV]

Spending your mid-twenties obsessing over a fictional character with fellow fans online was not exactly how you envisioned your life unfolding, but it seemed that the universe had other plans in store for you. You couldn’t be too disappointed with this outcome though, as the comforting familiarity of your favourite show and the community surrounding it was like a tight, warm embrace that had seen you through your toughest days. Just like today, when you would lean on The Mandalorian as a crutch yet again, as settling in to watch an episode would be the comfort you needed at the end of yet another miserable day.

It had been a draining day that seemed like it would never end. You seemed to be having an awful lot of them recently, where any little thing that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. Work was busier than usual, with plenty of colleagues pestering you with questions and asking for assistance on tasks, when you had quite enough of your own work to occupy yourself with. Perhaps worst of all, you had forgotten to charge your headphones. Your heart sank as you went to turn them on just before you left work, only to find that there was no charge left. It was a major inconvenience as it meant that the soundtrack of your favourite show was not there to transport you to a different galaxy as you began your journey home. Instead, all you could hear was the relentless noise of the city. The cars and the people that never seemed to shut up for even one single second.

Your feet thundered against the pavement, the rhythmic thuds helping to ground you despite the loss of comfort that your precious headphones provided. Things were finally starting to look up. Well, they were, until you felt a spot of water against your left cheek. You sighed and looked up towards the sky, noticing the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in from nowhere, and the eerily cold breeze that was suddenly swirling all around you. Rain was imminent.

To add insult to injury and make your already torrid day even worse, the heavens promptly opened. And you had not worn a coat, nor brought an umbrella in the trusty backpack you carried everywhere. Even though the sky was a little grey, it had been a perfectly pleasant, warm morning when you stepped out of your building that morning.

You muttered curses under your breath as the rain began ferociously pelting you, furious at your unpreparedness. You quickened your place, hurrying to the closest station to the museum you worked at as you continued to curse the weather with a variety of colourful language, but it had predictably done nothing to halt the relentless downpour. Even though summer should be approaching, the weather was awful. For what felt like weeks now, the weather had nothing but cloudy, cold and grey. It was beginning to grind you down. You just wanted to finally see some sun so you could enjoy the warmer months. Winter felt like it had never really ended.

Mercifully, you eventually made it into the station, after ducking and weaving through the dithering tourists that lingered outside the prestigious institution in which you worked. You shook your head, hoping some of the water that had drenched your face and hair would at least fly off and prevent you from sitting on a crowded tube while soaked to the bone. You brought your arms around you, suddenly aware of how unpleasantly cold you felt after getting so wet in the rain.

But fortunately, as you descended deep beneath the city to the platform, the temperature rose. The tunnels, far below the city, had been built long ago; with their poor ventilation, they retained all the heat generated by the crowds. Sometimes it could be stuffy and feel as though there was no air, but today you were weirdly appreciative of the quirks of the tube.

Your momentary appreciation for the mass transportation system soon disappeared though, when you finally emerged onto the platform. There was a seemingly endless sea of bodies, crowding into every available space. You took a deep breath and squeezed between them, taking advantage of several confused tourists to position yourself just behind the yellow line in a spot that you knew would be in a prime location for the doors when the tube finally pulled up.

You tapped your foot impatiently as you stood on a crowded platform waiting for the tube to finally arrive, surrounded by the terrible din of an unappealing combination of annoyingly loud tourists and stressed-out commuters. To top off your miserable day, the line you needed to take to get home was suffering from delays, a fact the irritating trill voice of the announcer kept reminding you. They were sorry if it caused you inconvenience – of course it did! The empty apologies did nothing to quell the pounding in your head.

You were sick of crowds and noise, you had endured more than enough of it for one day. Work had been so busy that at one point, you felt as though your head was going to explode from all the tedium. The gradual buzzing in your head that you felt when you were annoyed had quietly begun in the early morning and had just gotten louder and louder throughout the day. You were exhausted.

The rumble of the train finally hurtling through the tunnel towards you was for a moment, you were convinced, the greatest noise you had ever heard. You took a few deep breaths in preparation before it finally pulled up, now was time to fight your way through the sea of limbs and bodies to cram yourself inside the sweatbox on tracks that would take you to the comfort of your own home. To Mando. The man who helped pick you up whenever you were feeling down, without ever being able to know the impact he was having on your life.

It was the thought of how your heart would leap when you started the next episode in your rewatch and first saw his shiny form sauntering across your screen that seemed to carry you through the crowds you usually detested without draining too much of your dwindling energy reserves. You still winced, though, as you clambered aboard the sweltering carriage that was already likely too full to accommodate any more passengers. You knew there was no getting around it. This was just the reality of living in a major city like London. It was you who had been so determined to move here, after all. Eventually, after a lot of shuffling, you found yourself face-to-face with the dark brown musty jacket that belonged to a man who seemingly had not been acquainted with the wonders of deodorant.

You fixed your gaze on the ceiling above you and tried to imagine yourself anywhere but here. You pictured Mando scything through a group of bad guys and imagined you were as strong as him. You reminded yourself over and over that this would not last long; there were only a couple of stops to a major train station, meaning the crowd would thin and you would hopefully get some more peace far away from the man’s musty jacket. You just about held it together for the next few stops, wishing you were already at home. You visualised the euphoria of finally walking through the door to your apartment, ready to change into comfortable clothes and settle down to watch your favourite show. Unfortunately, your illusion was constantly shattered by the crowds in the carriage with you.

Finally, though, you arrived at the stop where most crowds would depart and with the worst of the crowds having departed the tube, you were able to find a seat facing the window. Although there wasn’t much to see in the tunnels, you knew with every rattle that you were closer to home. You briefly considered the possibility that if your fellow travellers knew that sometimes, the only thing that got you through the day was knowing that you could come home and watch an episode of The Mandalorian, they would dismiss you as a pathetic loser. But you supposed that people coped in other ways, with harmful and destructive habits that caused pain to other people. You were not harming anyone with your passion and love for The Mandalorian, even if you knew it was not the most socially acceptable hobby for a grown woman.

Despite how sad your routine would probably sound to most people, the bond between you and The Mandalorian was stronger than any disparaging remarks that could come your way. Indeed, there were very few people in your life who truly understood the love you had for that show. Oh sure, there were casuals you had encountered, like your friend and colleague Tom, who was also a viewer of The Mandalorian – at least you had someone to occasionally discuss the latest episodes with.

But your chats with your workmate were nothing deeper than how many people Mando had taken out in the latest episode and whether one day he could be seen on the same level as Vader in terms of iconic Star Wars characters. It was all very surface level and you felt reasonably sure, despite your closeness, that Tom would be at best bemused by your online activity and contemplate involving some kind of local authority at worst. Better that some things were kept secret.

Fortunately, you had a community of people online who unquestionably got it. You had them to talk to about the show that had become such a big part of your life. The Mandalorian had come to you at a difficult time in your life, a time when you most needed it. Recent years had not been kind to you, as they hadn’t been for most people. With global pandemics and both man-made and natural catastrophes, there were plenty of horrors awaiting you at life’s every turn. But you were so grateful that you had the show you loved so much and the people you had found because of it to help see you through.

It had seemed that you were destined to find it at the exact moment when you did. At one of your lowest points, Mando had been there, with his deep voice and confident swagger to soothe you on your darkest days. To lose yourself for a few precious moments at the end of each difficult day and just watch the character that you loved so much flying around space, fighting bad guys and leaving each place better than he found it was deeply engrossing and comforting to you.

It didn’t matter to you that you did not have the faintest idea about what the man behind the helmet looked like. To you, The Mandalorian was the perfect sci-fi character. You had grown up loving the galaxy far far away and all things Star Wars, always keeping up with the latest releases and discussing them with your family and friends, but you would never have considered yourself a superfan who knew everything about it. It was not until you had started watching the show about the lone bounty hunter that a switch in your brain was flipped and you became completely, hopelessly obsessed with it. The musical score captured the mood perfectly and complimented the stunning visuals, the wide shots of landscapes as your favourite character travelled across whatever planet he found himself on that week, flying through the galaxy in his beloved Razor Crest. Every time you listened to music from the show – you were rarely seen without headphones, they were seemingly glued to your head – it was as though you could imagine yourself pacing through the galaxy alongside Mando. It was a way to get inside his head, imagine his emotions and how he carried himself.

You had been a little late to the party, only watching the first season after it had already aired in its entirety. But you had more than made up for lost time, completely immersing yourself in the world. You were pretty sure you had read absolutely everything about him and memorised the scant details that you knew about his life. Part of the allure of the show was how mysterious the character was himself. No one had ever seen his face nor did anyone know his real name, he was simply known as Mando. His need for secrecy was necessitated by the ancient Creed he belonged to, that followed a strict way of rules. Mando would never bend or break them for anyone, no matter how much fans fantasised about being the one to finally pull the lone gunslinger out of his shell and break through the harsh emotional walls he had put up for himself.

After you had finished watching the first season, you joined the online fandom and quickly met a group of like-minded fans who were just as obsessed with all things Mandalorian as you were. You had found your tribe; you found solace in your online friends. They all shared the same passion for the show in a way that none of your friends in real life understood. The first person you had ever really spoken to had grown to be your closest friend Ria. You still remembered how nervous you were about speaking to her. She was a popular author who wrote many of the most well-received fanfics about Mando that appeared online after the first season had aired. But after you had nervously left your username on social media in her comment section, you found that she was just as lovely and welcoming as you had hoped when you began talking to her. After all, you were both, by definition, nerds who most people would see as losers for being so obsessed with one character. There was no need for hierarchy or competition here.

After meeting Ria, she introduced you to some of her friends and you had all joined a group chat where you seemed to message each other constantly. On the train on the way to work, at lunch, last thing at night… there was always someone there to chat with about Mando. It helped that you were spread out across so many different times, all the way from Australia to Argentina and many places in between. The anticipation you had all felt for season two had reached a fever pitch before it was aired and, thankfully, it had lived up to all expectations. Speculating about what was to come in each episode with your online friends had been incredibly exciting. Not knowing what was coming next, who Mando would have to find or where he had to travel had been thrilling. After you had seen the first season, there had not been long to wait for the second season, which was released within a year. But now, there had been no new episodes for a few months as they worked on the next season. The wait was agonising, but your friends were helping you through.

Every single one of you in this group chat had undergone, at various stages, an identical process where you became completely enamoured by this same character, finding yourselves thoroughly charmed by his swagger and mystery. Each one of you, despite the distance that separated you, had found yourselves falling down the rabbit hole and becoming completely obsessed with the lone bounty hunter from a secretive warrior society, bound to never reveal his name or face to a single soul.

The casting had been perfect… because just like the character on the show: in real life, you had absolutely no idea who the actor behind The Mandalorian was. Not a single one of you had any idea who portrayed Mando. His identity had been kept a complete secret – with the most watertight NDAs in history, you suspected – which was a highly unusual move in Hollywood. You were sure whoever he was must have a good reason for it. After the popularity of the first season and the viral phenomenon it had become, you couldn’t help but suspect that the man who played Mando, whoever he was, was probably extremely thankful for his decision to stay out of the limelight. You were sure that he would have been subjected to insane levels of scrutiny from the media and fans of the show. Indeed, even without his name and face being public knowledge, there was still plenty of that.

Sometimes you felt a little sad that you would never get to hear about Mando from the actor’s perspective. Other cast members gave interviews and attended cons, but there was no way to ever get that interaction with your favourite character, the one you cared about the most. Although you remained in the dark both about his identity and the reasoning behind all the secrecy, you respected whatever reason he had for hiding it. After all, you knew for certain that there was no one else on the planet who could have played Mando as well as the actor who was portraying him. With his confident walk and deep, gravelly voice, he was already an icon without even knowing it.

Despite your respect for the actor behind Mando – you never really joined in with the speculation unless it was a joke. The trend #beyonceismando had been your favourite example of that. But sadly, most fans of the show did not share your restraint. Some of your friends could even be guilty of taking it a little too far sometimes, but you let it go. Life was too short to go around policing what other people did on the internet. Besides, you knew your friends well enough to feel confident that they could never be truly malicious.

Due to the actor’s anonymity, speculation reached dizzying levels that you sometimes worried could be too much for anyone to live up to – you had seen every possible theory online. To you, online speculation should be fun without turning into something creepy and invasive. It was a fine line. A line that you did your best to tread, remembering there was ultimately a human being at the centre of the speculation. Your friends could let themselves go a bit more, but you tried your best to reign it in.

The secret identity of Mando’s actor led to all kinds of wild theories. Some swore that he was actually a she, there was a woman underneath the suit and that was why Disney had to keep it secret. Others insisted that Mando was really an alien, with super strength and abilities straight out of Star Wars. There was also a sizable majority who believed the reason for his secretive identity was because the actor was straight out of the army and had killed thousands in real life. Speculation ran particularly wild on social media: everyone hoped that their favourite actor was somehow the man behind the helmet, even if their schedules did not line up and their voices did not match, which led to more theories that his voice was being altered somehow to conceal his identity. That particular theory meant everyone could now imagine their particular favourite actor was behind the character that had become such an iconic figure in pop culture.

Indeed, most of The Mandalorian’s appeal to the general public was the mystery and the speculation as to his true identity. Some people only watched every episode, thinking that would finally be the week he removed his helmet and their theory would prove to have been the correct one all along. Some people scrutinised every single shot, wondering if the mask had slipped for even a second. People had even tried to hack into the CCTV cameras of the studios where the seasons were being filmed.

You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t enjoy indulging with your online friends. You had spent countless hours talking to them, laughing at their attempts to piece together his identity from the scantest of information. They scrutinised the internet for images to compare his build and height compared with other known actors who were in the right age range. They were convinced that perhaps the way he held himself – the gait of his walk, the stance he took with his hands on his hips, the way he often shifted his weight on one leg – could give them clues as to his identity that they were so desperate to crack. You left them to it, laughing at how they could turn the smallest things into some kind of full-blown theory and proof. But to you, Mando was just as amazing without you ever knowing anything about who he was beneath the helmet. You loved the show and the character much more than you loved the online theories.

Ultimately, watching the speculation unfold was all good fun (at least for you) and proved to be a welcome distraction that helped you to get through the horrors of being in your mid-twenties. Like the situation you found yourself in now – having to exit the tube and make food after a long day of work.

Daydreaming about Mando and the friends you had made had passed the time perfectly, your stop was next and you couldn’t wait to finally be off the tube with all of its furious rattling. Thankfully, by the time you made it to street level, the rain had ceased. The humidity had increased in its place, though and any remaining dampness on your clothes from your earlier drenching magically evaporated in the hot air.

Only the stairs up to your apartment separated you from Mando now, and you felt the final energy reserves draining as you ascended them. You sighed as you turned the key and pushed the door open, both in relief at finally being home after such a difficult day and pure exhaustion.

There was nothing you wanted more than to sloth out in front of the TV and watch your favourite space cowboy do his thing on your screen. But unfortunately, you were an adult. No one would magically appear with a plate of food, much as you would have appreciated it. You headed into the kitchen to begin preparing your food. You wondered what Mando would be like in the kitchen (everything came back to him eventually) – did he even eat? You had never seen it on screen, at least. You wondered if he even could eat under the helmet. Perhaps you’d text Ria about that later, and see her thoughts. Maybe she’d even write a oneshot based on it and gift it to you.

As you stood there in your small kitchen, stirring the ingredients in the pan that would constitute your dinner – you realised just how this show had invaded every crevice of your brain. The Mandalorian had undeniably entered your brain in a way that made you think of it almost constantly. Sometimes, when you were walking around on your lunch break, you would imagine whether anyone you passed in the street could be the man that you were so enamoured by. You felt certain that you’d recognise Mando’s broad shoulders anywhere, even if you were right next to him. But it was a fruitless task, one that you knew deep down you would never get answers to. It wasn’t like he was just going to magically appear next to you one day or anything.

With your dinner plated up, you made your way to the front room to eat in your preferred position – on the sofa, in front of the TV. Sure, being an adult was hard sometimes but it meant that you got to indulge in little luxuries like this. Your family would probably freak out if they saw how you ate – hunched over on the couch, squealing with a mouth full of food over scenes you had watched dozens of times before – but you didn’t care.

As you flopped down on the couch, ready to watch another episode of The Mandalorian while eating your dinner, your phone buzzed with a message from one of your best online friends. You had met Ria shortly after you had felt compelled to make an account after finishing the first season of The Mandalorian, but you had yet to meet in person. That was all going to change very soon, though: she was flying in to attend a convention with you next week. The promise of not only finally meeting your best friend, but also getting to spend time surrounded by others who loved The Mandalorian just as much as both of you did at the convention, had honestly kept you going recently. It was the subject of the con that was the reason for Ria’s messages:

[thisistheslay] 17:57: OMG! OMG! There’s gonna be a Mando panel at the con next week. WE HAVE TO GO!!

You tapped out a reply:

[ilovemando] 17:57: what panel? and when?

[thisistheslay] 17:58: Literally the first day at 2pm. It’s called ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’ We NEED to be there, like you don’t understand!!

[thisistheslay] 17:59: HELLO bestie, what if HE’S THERE! What if they finally unveil who he is!!

You put your phone down on your lap and let out a small laugh as you rolled your eyes. Ria was constantly convinced that Mando was finally going to reveal his identity. It was based on pure speculation at worst and half-baked rumours at best. It had been an ongoing debate between the two of you throughout your friendship, you doubted that Mando would ever reveal himself. He had left it this long, why would he choose to reveal his identity now? But it was all in good fun, after all. You knew how much Ria truly loved the show and Mando. Just like you, for Ria, this speculation was all a bit of fun. She wasn’t one of the toxic people who said they would never watch another episode if the actor who played Mando turned out to be ugly. Yes, unbelievably, that was something that you had actually seen people write publicly online, for others to see. Maybe even the man who played Mando himself. It made you feel sick, they didn’t deserve him or the show.

You texted back:

[ilovemando] 18:03: oh i do, but not like you. yeah we’ll go… don’t be disappointed when mando doesn’t show tho

[thisistheslay] 18:04: No he’s going to be there! I can just FEEL it!!

[ilovemando] 18:05: ok sure, whatever u say. gotta eat but i’ll message you later

You really did have to go. No distractions would come between you and an episode of The Mandalorian, especially not while eating your dinner. As you sat back and watched the episode you had seen dozens of times before – in this one, Mando was tasked with hunting down a group of rogue mercenaries on a prison ship – your mind wandered back to Ria’s messages. You knew she was just being her usual ridiculous self, losing it over crumbs in an exaggerated, ironic way… but you couldn’t help but wonder about what you would do if her words came true. What if you did, one day, come face to face with Mando? What would you say? Would you even realise when he was in the same room as you, would it be an obvious, earth-shattering feeling? Or something far more subtle?

It was a ridiculous topic. But despite yourself, it was one you spent the rest of the evening ruminating over. The prospect of attending the con was nerve-wracking already – it was going to be a large, crowded event with many people in an unfamiliar environment. That was already setting your nerves on edge, even without the prospect of Mando being there. But thinking that there was perhaps the smallest chance that you could be about to lay eyes upon the man who brought your favourite character to life…

Well, that was a whole other level of nerves.

Next Chapter

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian fanfiction #IT'S OUT THERE NOWWWWWW lets GO!!!!

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