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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴

the deets — in which you, a quiet healer in the tribe, have the biggest crush on the upcoming leader. sometimes you think the feelings could be mutual. until one night in the glowing forest shatters that.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — like 7.6k (jesus h. christ)

the tags — idiots-to-lovers (it's teyam, he's the dummy), childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining (reader is a softie).

the warnings — language, a lil kithy kithy, neteyam's emotionally constipated, but he redeems himself! reader's kind of a pushover, but it comes full circle!

the notes — first post for avatar & i'm really excited but a lil nervous bc like ??? i haven't written fanfic in SO long. i imagine neteyam & reader to be a few years older in this fic (eighteen or nineteen), but at the same time the circumstances could fit their current age as well. finally, this is written in a heinous blend of second / third. don't know how to explain, but i think it flows okay? if you like it please leave a request or let's have a chat! (also barely proofread oops).

YOU AND NETEYAM HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN DISTANT ORBIT. Many would argue the two of you are cut from the same cloth; quiet, noble, mature, but you couldn't feel even more disconnected from the tribe's golden boy even if a chasm would crack the earth between you.

It's why you think it's silly that you'd develop such a yearning, your heart thudding like a war drum every time his amber eyes flit to yours. There's never any weight to his gaze, just fleeting glances among frequent observation, but you can't help but stare.

It doesn't help that his youngest siblings cling to you like a second and third skin, chattering excitedly about whatever piques their immediate interest. You just listen and hum your acknowledgements, a comfort to the two as you move through your studies.

Oftentimes he's sent to fetch his siblings, clearing his throat outside of the tent's flaps to announce himself, then wiggling a few fingers through the opening before peering in.

He's always in a hurry, never biting when you offer him opportunities to linger. You understand, how busy it can be when the whole clan begins to rely on you. So you bask in the short-lived moments in his space, skin scented with salt and the tang of the foliage.

But there are moments when you truly think he sees you. When you cross paths during clan meals, and the smallest of smiles twitches in his lips when you cut fruit and he's the first you offer to. When it's time to train to shoot your bows and he adjusts your form with a brief brush of his fingers on your elbow. When all of the older healers are unavailable and he shyly peeks his head into your tent for a quick patch up.

Nevermind the small tells stored in your short-term, but the little slivers of time when you were both growing into yourselves. When you were seven and he'd carried you to the elders when you hurt yourself. When some of the older kids in the clan would pick on you for keeping to yourself and he'd tell them that it was unbecoming and cowardly to pick on someone weaker than them. When he picked a flower during a group excursion into the deep depths of the forest and stuck the glowing stem in your satchel.

You had fallen so hard for Neteyam and your only hope is that he'd be at the end of the fall to catch you.

“You're not listening, ________!” Tuk whines and you look up from the scrolls you unfurled from the basket moments before she walked in.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I have a lot on my mind.”

There's a small giggle from somewhere else in the tent and you peer from Tuk to Kiri who beads an anklet on her own.

“Yeah, like big brother,” Tuk teases, turning her attention back to her own beadwork.

Kiri's face splits into a grin.

“You've been lost in thought a lot more recently,” she observes. “Could Tuk be correct?”

You don't bother to deny it, the obvious flush in your cheeks a dead giveaway. Kiri's always been perceptive and the more you fight her on it, the longer she'll draw it out.

“I think it's worth a shot,” Kiri says. “Neteyam’s always had a soft spot for you.”

It's a million degrees hotter in the tent.

“You don't have to do that,” you say quietly, slouching in your seat.

“Do what?” Kiri challenges.

“Pretend I have a chance.”

Kiri makes a face.

“You do!” she argues. “Neteyam's just shy.”

You're silent for a moment, fingers twitching over a tear in the scroll. You want to believe her, tell her that you think it could be worth a shot, too. But you scent him before you hear him, and then you hear him before you see him.

Four blue fingers wiggle in the tent's opening before Neteyam is poking his head inside.

“Tuk? Kiri?” his voice rumbles. “Ready?”

Kiri glances at you as she stands to her feet and begins gathering her things. Her eyebrows do a little dance, eyes widening as she tilts her head discreetly to her brother.

“I'll see you,” you say quietly, patting Tuk on the back of her leg as she drops her finished anklet in your lap and giggles at you.

You follow their movements as they exit the tent through where Neteyam holds the flap open for them patiently.

He simply lifts a hand as a silent greeting and you wait until they're out of sight and earshot to expel the breath you'd been holding and slump down on your pillow.

In hindsight, you should have been more careful. Neteyam was a skillful hunter, the tribe's best warrior after his father. It's only normal that he'd be in the dense forest when you were plucking flowers and herbs for your salves, speaking quietly to Eywa about your concerns.

“Please, Great Mother,” you whisper, the woodsprites caressing the skin of your arms. "Please give me a sign, any form of motivation to be brave about my feelings."

The grass below your toes lights up and tickles the pads of your fingers as you pluck the glowing flowers.

There's a trail of them, purple and pink, and you pluck and pluck and pluck until you're led to the mouth of a clearing.

Something salty and tangy circles your figure and like usual, you scent him before you see him. When your gaze latches onto his lithe figure, you grin a little, lips parting to announce yourself. This must be your sign, of how vast and great the forests are surrounding your looming home tree, it must be fate that you stumble upon him at this hour.

But his name dies on your tongue when he shifts and you see the silhouette of another pressed to his side.

It's another Omaticaya girl, pretty and tall. You'd know her anywhere, the waves of her thick hair, the tinkle of her dainty laugh. But she is fierce all the same, far from perfect, but gritty enough that it doesn't matter.

Te'feyra draws a bow and one of Neteyam's hands come up to adjust her front grasp, fingers closing over hers and the arrow.

“Steady hands to make up for the recoil,” he says softly and your heart is in your throat.

He's engulfing her as she takes her aim and sends the arrow flying through the air.

Somewhere unknown to you, the arrow sticks its landing and Te'feyra jumps excitedly, pressing her lips to Neteyam's briefly.

You back away from the clearing, eyes burning as you fist the flowers so hard they wilt in your hands. A twig snaps underneath your weight and from your distance, you see the glow of Neteyam and Te'feyra's eyes through the brush.

You take off running without a single word, and despite your stomach tearing itself to ribbons, you thank Eywa for the clarity.

“Something's wrong,” Kiri says to you days later.

Instead of the tent, you two are sitting on opposing branches of a thick tree, observing the flora and fauna of your corner of the forest. You decide that you need some time away from the bustle of the clan's circle and venture off into the opposite side of the woods.

“Why do you say?” you wonder, scribbling onto one of your scrolls.

“You're naturally quiet, I get that, but the past few days, I feel like I've been in the presence of the dead,” she sighs, staring down at you from the branch above. “And Ewya's given me the feeling that all may not be well with you.”

You lick your teeth, then roll your lips nervously.

“I told you Neteyam didn't like me,” you admit.

Kiri's eyebrows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw him,” you sigh, fiddling with your pen. “In the forest with Te'feyra. She kissed him.”

Kiri curses under her breath.

“This is stupid,” she huffs. “He's just being stupid. Neteyam likes you and I'm going to prove it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kiri's already jumping down from the branches of the tree and dragging you with her through the darkening forest.

“Kiri, this isn't necessary,” you finally pipe up. “It's okay if the feeling isn't mutual, I never expected it to be.”

Kiri stops in her tracks and her pinched face softens, braids swinging by the set of her jaw.

“________, we all grew up together,” she says softly. “I know my brother, and I know you. You two belong together, I feel it.”

You swallow around nothing, allowing her to drag you through the forest and back into the clan's main circle.

“Hey, Kiri! ________, where are you two headed off to in such a rush?” one of the elders calls from where they're working on tools.

Kiri smiles politely.

“Very important business,” she replies quickly, fingers tightening around your wrist to pull you across the grass.

You stop in front of their family's hometree and Kiri guides you through vines and steep inclines before pausing in front of their family's tent.

Lo'ak's voice sounds from within, whiny and irritated.

“Bro, are you being serious right now?” he squeaks and Neteyam grunts, obviously bored.

“Frankly, Lo'ak this has nothing to do with you,” he says.

“Dude, yes it does,” Lo'ak argues. “You've inadvertently involved everyone in this affair because you won't get your head out of your ass for three seconds and just admit that you like her.”

“I don't like, ________,” he says simply and Kiri freezes in front of you.

You chew the inside of your cheek, fingers twitching in Kiri's loosened hold.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lo'ak moans. “You're really going to commit to Te'feyra even though you have no interest in her?”

“Te'feyra is a great huntress,” Neteyam says simply. “She's well-loved, a strong leader. What's there not to like?”

“________ is all of those things,” Lo'ak says. “She's a talented healer, always patches you up when you get yourself in trouble. The clan loves her, Tuk and Kiri love her, Mom and Dad love her.”

“The clan barely knows that ________ exists,” Neteyam says and you wince.

Kiri makes a move to infiltrate the heated conversation, but you put a hand on her shoulder and shake your head.

“Dude, that's low,” Lo'ak scoffs in disbelief.

“________ is a sweet girl, but she's weak. She's hollow and does what she's told. I wouldn't want to spend my life bonded to someone so passive,” Neteyam says plainly and Lo'ak lets out an exasperated hiss.

“You're kidding right? ________ is amazing,” Lo'ak challenges. “She's quiet, but she's caring. She's resilient and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be bonded to someone like her, your stupid ass included.”

“Maybe you should focus more on training for your rite rather than trying to play matchmaker,” Neteyam says, showing the first signs of annoyance.

“You just won't admit that for the first time you're scared,” Lo'ak finally says.

Everything seems to still and Lo'ak presses on.

“Everyone loves you, you're the clan's golden child and you can do no wrong. You like ________ so much, but you're afraid that you'll let her down,” Lo'ak says fiercely. “But you don't realize that being a pussy about your feelings is the ultimate let down!”

“You'd know a lot about being a let down, wouldn't you,” Neteyam grumbles.

There's a split second of silence before Neteyam lets out a loud grunt of pain. The flap to their tent flies open and Lo'ak freezes before you and Kiri.

His eyes meet yours and his gaze softens before stalking past.

Neteyam stands stunned in the middle of the tent, lip bruised and bleeding. His gaze swings to the arch way, face falling when he finds you standing behind his younger sister.

“Wanna go swimming?” Tuk asks you the next evening, after dinner.

You smile down at her weakly, heart melting when she pets your hand. You can't deny her, nodding gently as you stand from where you're sitting on the outer circle of the scattered clan.

“Carry me?” she asks sweetly.

You heave her up with a grunt and she grins at you, playing with one of the braids in your hair. Her small fingers caress the skin of your cheek and you blink when she ghosts over your eyelid.

“Pretty,” she whispers, head nestling on your shoulder.

“I think you're prettier,” you tell her, readjusting her growing form as you walk through the brush, towards the rush of the waterfall.

You don't realize that there's a set of eyes on you, watching as you disappear through the trees with Tuk.

The cliff that houses the waterfall towers above you two in a semicircle, the water rippling gently as Tuk squirms from your grasp and splashes through the shallow pool.

“Stay close, Tuk,” you coo, toes wiggling through the pebbles washed up on the tiny shore.

“I've been practicing!” Tuk tells you. “Wanna see how long I can hold my breath under water?”

“Stay in shallow waters,” you advise her, wading into the pool until you're waist deep.

Tuk dramatically inhales and then sinks down under the surface. Something cracks in the distance and you glance around, met with the stillness of the forest and the chirp of bugs.

When you turn your attention back to Tuk, you smile fondly as you wait for her to emerge, counting the seconds diligently to report to her chubby cheeks.

Fifteen pass, then thirty. Your smile begins to fade as your arms feel around in the water around you.

“Tuk?” you call out, chest tightening when you're met with the subtle rush of the glittering cascade from the waterfall up above.

You push forward in the water until your chin touches the surface.

“Tuktirey!” you shout, thrashing around the pool, searching for her tiny frame through the illumination. “Tuk!”

Your toes lose purchase as the water deepens and you begin to panic without the youngest Sully in sight. You turn when you hear a splash, Tuk giggling on the shore.

Your stomach churns hard and Tuk's face falls when she sees your panicked expression.

“Tuk, I-I can't swim well!” you cry out, legs flailing as you splash through the water. You try to dig your toes in the earth below, but you're just shy of the mark.

Tuk looks scared on the shore, fidgeting as she looks around desperately.

“You're too deep, ________!” Tuk whines, voice laced with tears.

Your legs ache, head lolling under the water for a moment before you emerge with a splutter.

“Get– Go get help!” you instruct her, feeling your calves begin to burn as you try to keep yourself afloat. You don't know how long you'll be able to tread water. “I'll be okay, little one. Hurry!”

Tuk turns, picking up her satchel as she makes way for the path you took. When she's out of sight, you fall slack, chest heaving as you try to use your skinny arms to paddle at the water.

Meanwhile, Tuktirey runs through the forest, tears spilling down her rounded cheeks as she trips over sprawling roots and nudges low-hanging vines from the pathway.

She skids to a stop when Neteyam, who had finally worked up the nerve to excuse himself from dinner, comes into view.

He turns when he hears her wailing, face scrunching when he registers his youngest sibling's anguish.

“Tuk, wha—”

She grabs at his hands, tugging him towards the path to the waterfall.

“________ needs help!” she cries. “She can't swim!”

Neteyam's ears prick at the mention of your name, scooping up his youngest sibling in his arms before breaking into a sprint through the brush of the brightening forest. The woodsprites begin to emerge and he barrels into the clearing of the waterfall breathlessly.

It's still, like it's been untouched and his heart hammers nervously in his chest, eyes searching the pool for any sign of you.

He's setting Tuk down quickly before splash desperately into the water.

“_______!” he calls.

He ducks underneath the surface, eyes open wide as he searches for you. And there you are, body slack as you sink slowly to the bottom of the rocky pool.

He dives forward, lungs burning as he cuts through the waters with lean arms. His fingers circle one of your wrists, the other hand winding around your waist as he propels you two up above the water. He chokes on a breath, hand coming up to touch your face.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes shut as Neteyam holds you close.

“Neteyam!” Te'feyra calls from the shore, having followed him after being rebuffed during dinner.

Kiri and Lo'ak are close behind, eyes wide when they see their eldest brother wading quickly through the waters with your unconscious form in his arms.

“Neteyam,” Te'feyra repeats, hand coming to grasp his bicep.

“Not now,” he grunts, tugging his arm from her grasp to march through the brush of the forest.

Woodsprites surround you two as he takes you back to the village, a silent plea to the Great Mother not to take you away weighing heavy on his lips.

You awake to a shining sun and a wet towel on your head. You squint against the beaming light and sit up abruptly as the prior night dawns you like a swift strike to the gut.

“Whoa, wait, slow down,” a thick voice rumbles.

You scent him before you see him.

Neteyam's hands are on you, guiding you back to rest on the pile of pillows that had propped you up before.

You shoot up again anyways.

“Where's Tuk?” you ask anxiously.

“Tuk's fine,” Neteyam says. “She's eating breakfast with Kiri and Mom.”

You lean back in relief, eyes squeezing shut as you wheeze out a sigh.

His hands are on you again, gentle, warm as he takes the towel from your forehead and wipes your face to refresh you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, hesitantly.

You pause a moment, but then nod.

“Yeah,” you affirm hoarsely. “M'fine.”

Neteyam just stares at you, yellow eyes unblinking and you know this isn't like one of those fleeting moments. He sees you and it makes your gut churn hard.

“I'll be okay here,” you say quietly. “You may have...someone, you know, waiting for you.”

Te'feyra's name is a silent implication and Neteyam doesn't look amused.

“I told them I would look after you until you're fully well,” he counters, wringing the towel into a bowl that sits next to the mound of blankets your rest on.

You fiddle with your fingers, fully disheartened because even in times like these, he remains the diligent leader-in-training that he is.

The air in the tent is think and you can't breathe.

“I'd like some air,” you whisper, crawling from the soft mat to climb to your feet shakily.

“You need to rest,” Neteyam says crossly, seemingly annoyed at your persistence to put as much distance as you can between the two of you.

You don't respond and finally he seems to burst.

“You can't swim and yet you still went after Tuk,” he calls after you like an accusation. “Why?”

You pause.

“Tuk is like a sister to me,” you say quietly. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

You make a move to exit the tent, but Neteyam's voice stops you in your tracks.

“You could have died,” he says quietly, and you can't place the emotion in his voice.

“I'd do it again,” you admit, craning your neck to face him. “I'm not that weak.”

Neteyam's face falls and you duck from the tent.

Neteyam becomes restless after that moment. He loses his focus, agility taking a hit as he hunts one on one with his father.

He goes to shoot another arrow, but Jake stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Neteyam, I know I can be hard on you,” he starts. “But I’m always here.”

“Yes sir,” Neteyam nods.

“Something’s bothering you,” Jake observes. “You’re not yourself. You’re losing focus.”

Neteyam swallows.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, head hanging.

His braids form a curtain around his face and Jake gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Son?”

Neteyam swallows again, head tilting up to look is dad in the face.

“I don’t want to be with Te’feyra,” he admits quietly.

Jake's lips twitch.

“Well I could have told you that,” Jake scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a soft smile. “You look about as dead as a washed up fish when she’s around.”

Neteyam recalls the kiss she’d given him nights ago and how he'd internally recoiled, body stiff under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Jake prods.

“Because I know Te’feyra is who the clan wants me to be with, who is my most suitable match,” he says. “I just— I don't want to let you down.”

Jake gives him an impish grin.

“Neteyam, let me give you a word of advice. There are things in this world that are suited well for each other; you and Te'feyra are one of those things. But your heart and your mind are the two most powerful things about you,” he says. “You will not be punished for giving into your heart.”

Neteyam thinks of you. He thinks of your face, the lines of your timid smile, the idents that dimple your cheeks. He thinks of your touch when he's wounded, gentle and expert, warm against his skin. He thinks of your voice, airy, soft, a low rasp.

He thinks of when he'd called you weak. Of your face, wounded and hurt. He's stricken in this moment as he realizes that strength doesn't have to be audacious. It can be quiet, small acts that become mighty.

Tuk had told him about the waterfall, how she'd wanted to pull your leg a little. You'd accepted your fate if Ewya deemed it time, you'd even sent the youngest away in the chance you wouldn't surface.

You were far from weak. Your strength ran nearly as deep as the roots of Ewya herself, yet you'd taken the criticism in stride. Let Neteyam paint you as a coward, a pushover with no spine.

“I think there’s someone you need to clear the air with,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “She should be in her tent.”

Neteyam's hands are clammy. It's been nearly a week since he'd last seen you. You'd reserved to spending time inside of your tent to brush up on your studies and refine your work. He'd catch glimpses of you, but you were used to blending in the background and Neteyam's used to overlooking you.

Was he being presumptuous? Maybe you only admired him as a warrior. Or perhaps it was a duty to the clan to revere him. He feels sick to his stomach thinking of confronting you. But Lo'ak wouldn't try to convince him of his own feelings if it wasn't mutual, would he?

And when had the feelings become mutual? He's recently began to think that perhaps he'd always liked you because you were the only one who didn't actively vie for his affection. Who only saw him as Neteyam, an equal, not Neteyam, the Olo’eyktan's son.

Maybe it was whenever he'd see you wandering in the forest during his hunting trips, murmuring to yourself as you picked herbs and flowers for you studies. Or maybe when he'd spot you still high on the branches of the lofty trees with a tablet of paper and ink. Maybe it was when you'd smile at him shyly when he'd adjust your form during archery and it'd melt his insides. Or when you two were little and he'd plucked flowers for everyone and you were the only one who'd smiled at it sticking out of your satchel.

If he recalls correctly, it's pressed to a scroll hanging in your tent and that alone makes his heart race.

Maybe you two are inevitable and he'd only prolonged it because of his own fears.

“Neteyam!”

Te’feyra steps in his line of sight, standing before him and the hometree that houses your tent. He glances away when she stops in front of him.

“Te’feyra,” he greets cordially.

“I haven't seen you since the incident with ________,” she says. “Are you alright?”

Neteyam nods.

“Never better,” he says simply.

“After dinner we should–”

He spots you, satchel thrown over your shoulder. You glance his way momentarily, but scurry in the direction of your tent when you lock eyes with him.

“If you will excuse me, please,” he says politely, extricating himself from Te’feyra to follow after you.

He catches up to you right outside of your tent.

“________!” he calls.

You freeze almost imperceptibly, but continue on your way, climbing the flattened incline spiraling around the center of the hometree.

“________,” he murmurs, fist closing around your skinny bicep.

You jolt to a stop, golden eyes razor sharp as you glance down at him. Your fist is wrapped tight around the strap of the satchel, knuckles stretched taut.

“Neteyam,” you reply softly. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that his tongue weighs heavy behind his lips.

“If you seek help, there are elders available for healing,” you inform him, making a move to remove your arm from his grasp.

He instinctively tightens his grasp and you shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, pulling away. “I just want to speak with you.”

A few beats pass as you blink at him.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he swallows. “Can I come in?”

You turn to face the flap of your tent before craning your long neck over your shoulder to nod.

“Sure,” you agree, holding the hide open to let him in.

You step in after him, table scattered with mixtures of finely-pounded dust, scrolls of research and bundles of materials.

You set your satchel down and begin unloading your finds from you excursion.

Meanwhile, Neteyam paces nervously, trailing the circumference of your tent, eyes flitting every which way to take in every piece of you.

A thick silence envelops you and you clear your throat when the satchel is empty.

“You wanted to talk?” you ask, watching as he stops in front of a scrolled tacked to one of the beams.

It's the pressed flower he'd given to you all that time ago as children. It's central in the room, catching the sun so beautifully and Neteyam uses this as the last bit of courage he needs to continue.

“You kept it,” he says, voice shaky.

“Of course,” you say simply, picking through your different finds. “You gave it to me.”

Neteyam turns, looks you head on and he feels his resolve crumbling.

“You like me,” he says bluntly, afraid that if he beats around the bush, he'll cop out.

“Everyone does,” you deflect.

Neteyam's jaw locks.

“No, ________, you like me,” he repeats.

You feel small, sorting the petals by color, fingers nimble against the soft grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Presumptuous,” you hum, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“________,” he presses.

You bite your lip, tears clouding your vision as your fingers begin to trembling through the sorting. He's being so unfair and he doesn't even know it.

“Why?” you ask shakily.

“What do you mean why?” Neteyam counters, voice taking on the same edge he did with his brother days prior and he'd interrogated him about you.

“Why are you doing this?” you croak, and he hears the tears in your voice.

He's across the floor before you can blink.

“Are you crying?” he asks, shocked.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” you choke, poor petals strangled in your vibrating fist. “Is it not enough? To know that I yearn for you silently? That everyone pities me because my heart belongs to someone who's already spoken for?”

Neteyam is stunned.

“I like you, Neteyam. I always have,” you say, voice raw with emotion. “It's my biggest defeat to say I always will. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your eyes are tinged red and his throat feels stuffed with cotton.

“I've always admired you,” you say quietly, between hiccuping breaths. “But I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Neteyam winces, every word he’d practiced earlier, completely obliterated from his short term. He knows he should just tell you, tell you that his heart yearns for yours, too. That he'd been too blinded by his impending duty to feel the full effects of what a first love could be like.

“You should go,” you say when he's silent.

You brush your tears away and pat your cheeks dry with the back of your hands as you carefully set the wilted flowers the the edge of the table.

“I–”

“Neteyam, spare me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” he finally says.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes swollen as you gaze at him unjaded. Who he believed to be so stoic and passive now baring every possible inch to him.

“You're–”

“I don't want to be with Te'feyra,” he finally spits, fists clenched. “I won't be with her.”

Your gaze softens, lips parting to ask what's gotten into him, but he cuts you off.

“You,” he answers firmly, before the question clings in the air. “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

"Stop," you whisper, shaking your head furiously. You take a step away from where he's quickly closing in on you. “Don't–”

He pauses mid-stride and the expression on his handsome face is absolutely devastating. His chest rises and falls shakily and you take a moment to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before,” he says desperately, “I was scared and didn't fully realize it, but I do now.”

“That’s unfair,” you hiccup. “This isn't just on your terms. You can’t— you can’t just tell me you like me and expect me to be with you.”

These passing moments are the most he’s ever heard you speak, and he’s afraid that he's severely underestimated you. It doesn’t taste so sweet now that he’s faced with the reality of things.

“You will be the future leader of this clan,” you continue. “That is a great responsibility that you've prepared for your entire life. Who you decide to be with is a permanent fixture that cannot be undone.”

“I know, I know,” he assures you.

“You find it in your heart pity me, Neteyam,” you breathe quietly. “But do you really want to be bonded to someone passive and weak?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you've squared your shoulders, stomach caving and expanding with a deep breath. You turn to your prior task.

“You should go,” you repeat. “Duty calls.”

“What do you mean you need help?” Kiri asks incredulously, eyes widened at her older brother.

“________,” Neteyam says. “She's icing me out.”

Kiri's face melts in relief and she scoffs a laugh.

“Do you blame her?”

“Kiri!” he pleads.

Kiri stops her movements, falling back on her haunches to meet Neteyam's desperate gaze. It's so unlike him, being uncertain, nervous. He's picked up the habit of fiddling his fingers and Kiri snorts to herself.

“Actions,” she says simply.

“Huh?” he vocalizes.

“Words mean nothing to ________ if your actions don't support them,” she says. “This entire time you've acted so lukewarm towards her. Of course she won't believe you when you decide to acknowledge that you love her.”

Neteyam's throat bobs as he stares down at his sister.

“And how will I do that?” he presses.

Kiri shrugs.

“Not so mighty warrior now, are we?”

As the days progress, you begin to grasp at finally coming to terms with the tattered remains of what's left of you and Neteyam's frayed relationship. Your heart hasn't stonewalled him completely, but the yearning for him has dulled to a slight ache.

His eyes are piercing every moment you share the same vicinity. Kiri would even try to argue you that it's longing, but Neteyam's a slave to his honor and you aren't convinced.

“You should pity the poor boy,” an elder tells you as you cut up ingredients for the evening's dinner.

You pause, fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. You roll your lips together before briefly meeting her gaze, warm under firelight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, clearing your throat.

She laughs, peeling a purple fruit.

“Neteyam,” she says forwardly. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off you in who knows how long. Will you continue to let him suffer?”

You want to argue that it's you who's suffering. That the heart that beats inside the hollow of your ribcage feels like it'll tear in two every time you recall the venom in Neteyam's voice when he'd called you weak.

“I doubt his suffering has anything to do with me,” you say instead. “We are only acquaintances.”

The elder laughs again.

“Is that why he's been pestering the elders for input on how to sway your heart?”

Your head shoots up from where you've focused on the fine cuts of vegetables.

“What?”

“He’s been slacking on his duties, instead poking around the elders and villagers trying to pry information about you,” she says. “Heard him muttering about what kind of flowers you like.”

“It will take more than flowers to sway my heart,” you mumble.

“So you admit that there's something there, hmm?”

Your cheeks heat, caught like a fish in warm waters.

“I–”

“I'd argue that Neteyam’s liked you longer than you've liked him,” the elder says simply.

You bite.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's always asked Eywa for courage, and it seems like she gave you as an answer.”

The elder climbs to her feet, leaving you near the open flame. You open your mouth to call out to her, but the scent of salt and leaves envelops you before you can say anything.

You crane your neck and find Neteyam a few paces from you.

“Do you have a few moments?” he asks politely.

You want to say no, tell him that you'd offered him an infinite amount of moments that he'd spent building bridges between the two of you, but if he's a slave to his honor, you're bound by heart.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, abandoning your task.

He holds his hand out for you to take and your fingers slide across his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Once he secures your hold in his, he tugs you along.

You don't know where he's taking you, or what he could possibly want with your time, but you feel a thousand times more nervous than ever now that the tangled web of your feelings drapes the both of you.

After a few moments of rugged silence, climbing through bushes and brush, he punctures the quiet.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer after a moment. “You?”

“Truthfully?” he responds, pausing to face you. You realize his hand still engulfs yours. “No.”

“No?” you parrot shakily.

“No,” he affirms. “I've been hurting actually.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“You should seek help if you have an ongoing–”

“Here,” he says, the hand still caught in his being guided to lay flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage. “It hurts here.”

You swallow, pulling away from his grasp when you realize his insinuation.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He breathes a shaky sigh before taking a step towards you. He's corded muscle and warmth as his palm comes to cradle your jaw. Your bottom lip twitches as you stare up at him.

“It’s always been you,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your chin as his eyes map every curve of your face. “I think I’ve always known it deep down, but...”

Your hand comes up to meet his, gently prying his touch away.

“Neteyam,” you sigh. “Had the last few days unfolded differently, I don't think you'd been saying this now.”

“Maybe not now,” he agrees. “But one day, I would. I know I would. Because when I recall every fond moment, you’re there. No matter how close to the background you get, you’re always there.”

You look skeptical, and Neteyam knows he's losing you. So he digs in the small knapsack he has slung over his broad shoulders and pulls out something thin.

When he holds it up with shaky fingers, your breath catches in your throat. Strung through the taut brown of tree vine is a line of beads identical to the one that he wears on a braid tucked behind his ear. Upon closer inspection, you notice the blue and purple beads formed to create your favorite flowers.

“Wha—”

“Until you decide you want to be mine,” he says, voice trembling nervously as he takes your arm and gently slides the band up until it fits snuggly around your bicep. “So that you remember I'm always yours.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as he brings your fingers up to his lips.

“I won’t push you,” he says when he realizes your words have evaded you. “But I’ll wait for you.”

“Neteyam–”

He simply smiles at you, golden eyes shy as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. He seems satisfied, triumphant, when you eye the band but make no moves to remove it.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats, giving your fingers a squeeze before running off.

“He did what?” Lo’ak shrills a week later.

The younger three Sully's had hunted you down and brought you to the clearing dedicated to archery training.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and elbow to turn your arm to examine the band with wide eyes.

You can’t help but smile gently to yourself, watching the way the sun catches the reflection of the pearlescent beads and reflects them brightly.

“I knew that dummy was planning something,” Kiri grumbles. You bite your lip when she meets your gaze. “Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, arm still in Lo’ak’s grasp.

He twists playfully and your laugh glitters in the air.

"Are you going to put my knucklehead brother out of his misery or what?" Kiri hisses, arm drawing to shoot a arrow that stabs the target about a centimeter too left.

Tuk giggles as she runs up to the target to examine the damage.

“Yeah, please do, he's in love and it's disgusting,” Lo'ak grumbles, still eyeing the cuff.

Your heart skips at the mention of love, cheeks going warm when both Kiri and Lo'ak notice how you've gone quiet. They begin laughing, dealing you playful punches.

“Stop that,” you scold, swatting their hands away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Oh, get real!” Kiri huffs. “You are so in love, you know you'll say yes.”

“Please put me out of my misery,” Lo'ak moans. “I'm tired of being his therapist because he's a little bitch.”

“Lo'ak,” you warn, eyes narrowing.

He giggles and Kiri stifles a laugh as you flounder, cheeks blooming under the siblings' teasing.

“You are both so awful,” you say petulantly, arms crossing one over the other. “How are you so sure I’ll return his feelings?”

It's Kiri's turn to groan, eyes rolling.

“Sure enough that I know if I let you in on a little secret, it'll light a fire under your ass,” she says seriously.

Your spine goes rigid, arms loosening as you wait with bated breath.

“Neteyam may choose you, but if you don’t choose him back quickly enough, someone could swoop in and claw that chance from you,” she shrugs.

Te'feyra's name is an ugly insinuation and something green coils its way into the pit of your stomach as you recall the chaste kiss she'd pressed to Neteyam's lips all those nights ago in the forest.

“Gears turning?” Lo'ak lilts.

They definitely are and suddenly you feel small, digging your big toe into the dirt to drag lines through the forest floor. You nod hesitantly, band suddenly tight around your bicep.

In your ruminating, Lo'ak and Kiri pass a knowing glance.

“Well?” Lo'ak prods.

You fidget, rattling with nerves.

“I suppose...”

Lo'ak sighs and his hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you squeak.

“To put everyone out of their misery,” Lo'ak huffs.

The forest seems way more alive than usual, glowing so bright it almost overpowers the sun. Woodsprites gather around as Lo'ak nudges you through the thick foliage and you can't help but think about the sweet smile that curled on Neteyam's lips as he assured you that he was yours. All yours.

The fire crackles in the distance and you know that the morning meal is in the works when voices roar quietly meters away.

Neteyam sits near the center, surrounded by elders and the dreaded girl.

Te'feyra's obliterated every single centimeter of space available, nearly melded to his side as the elders talk animatedly over the two.

You want to turn back, uncertainty vice-like, but Lo'ak squeezes your shoulders as a silent plea. Not even a moment passes before Neteyam peels himself away and begins putting distance between them.

When Te'feyra gives him a curious glance, he gives her an uneasy smile.

“Be courageous, ________,” Lo'ak encourages. “You're one of the strongest people I know.”

With a final pat on the back, he pushes you towards the circle and the sudden movement catches everyone's gaze.

“________,” one of the elders calls fondly.

You smile and bow your head, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Hello,” you greet quietly, eyes swooping hesitantly to Neteyam who rises to his feet, already watching you intently.

That's when you notice it, the choker fastened around his throat. The vine is identical to yours, but it's strung with a line of beads that mirror the ones woven into a singular braid at the nape of your neck.

You hadn't realized that he'd noticed it all this time, but it's the ultimate confirmation that Neteyam sees you. And when he notices that you notice, he smiles softly.

The elders notice as well, drawing the link between your arm band and the necklace that Neteyam wears, now that you two stand opposite each other.

“May I borrow Neteyam for a moment?” you ask politely.

The same elder you prepared with the evening prior gleams a wide smile when Neteyam takes a step towards you, fingers brushing delicately with yours.

Te'feyra remains seated, lips twitching as her gaze flits between the two of you.

“By all means,” one of them says. “Take your time.”

You bow your head again, heart thudding when Neteyam's fingers twine with yours and he lets you drag him out of the circle and deeper into the forest.

When you deem that no prying eyes or ears surround you, you stop, Neteyam bumping softly into your back. The hair on the back of your neck bristle when he makes no moves to extricate himself from you, simply moving your braids from your face to reveal the string of beads tucked near the nape of your neck.

“You needed me?” he whispers, fingers still ghosting the skin of shoulder.

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you relish the moment. Your fingers are still locked and for a fleeting second, you pretend that it's always been like this, the two of you.

“I am nothing extraordinary,” you start, and Neteyam's fingertips pause at your elbow.

“I'd argue differently,” he responds.

“I value time alone and I get overwhelmed often,” you continue.

“We all have our moments,” is his rebuttal as the hand covering yours squeezes gently.

You sigh.

“I could—”

Neteyam turns you and you're met with the the choker, beads glinting under the light. Your eyes drag up the column of his strong neck, flit past his soft lips and finally lock with his searing gaze.

“You can try all you want to run me off,” Neteyam laughs quietly, cupping your jaw. “But I'm not scared anymore.”

Your expression is skeptical and Neteyam decides to bite the bullet. He's closing in on you and your heart pounds violently in your chest.

“Neteyam,” you whisper weakly, hand coming up to his chest.

He traps your fingers against his heart, lips slotting between yours before you can protest some more.

It's like the forest comes alive around you, grass tickling between your toes as you melt under his touch and lean up into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere at once, branding your cerulean skin as he kisses you like it's your last moments. There's no hesitation, no feeling it out, just his warm breath and his soft lips as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I'll take you as you are at any moment,” he says breathlessly between kisses. “You just have to say you want me back, ________. Please.”

You nod, nose brushing against his as one of his palms splay at the small of your back and the other grabs your chin, pulling you back to plant another burning kiss on your lips.

“Say it,” he begs.

Your eyes begin to mist as you nod again eagerly, parting for a moment to whisper the words.

“I'm yours,” you hoarse, hands on either side of his neck. “I'm yours if you'll be with me.”

Neteyam simply kisses you again, a satisfied hum rumbling from his built chest.

“Fucking finally,” a whisper sounds from the brush.

A LIL' BONUS

“You think they would have figured it out on their own?” Lo'ak asks, wolfing down his food.

Kiri shrugs, feeding Tuk a piece of fruit from her wooden plate.

“Maybe,” she says, unable to suppress her proud grin. “Maybe not. They're both stupid."

“I think so,” Te'feyra laughs watching you and Neteyam fondly from across the fire. “They were a long time coming.”

an – thank you SO much if you've made it this far! again, leave a request or let's chat hehehe. up next is lo'ak so stay tuned! :)

#neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water

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elizabethemerald · 11 months

Text

Don't Sneak up on People with Swords

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 made a prompt about Danny sneaking up on Jason Todd and @sky00asara made a comment in the tags about what would happen if Danny did that to Talia. So here is my version of that! Enjoy.

Talia al Ghul watched her beloved from afar. He was out, again patrolling his city for those he considered wrong doers. Her son was by his side. She scowled at how Damian’s fighting style had changed, softened in the company of her beloved. Despite her love for the man under the cowl, he had a tremendous ability to take even the most ruthless of killers and change them to spare the undeserving. He had even tried it with her.

She was hidden on the roof of an abandoned tower nearby. The tower had succumbed to fire and was now condemned until the city got around to destroying it properly. For now it made the perfect place for her to observe her beloved and her son work undisturbed.

“Excuse me?”

Talia whirled, drawing her blade as she spun. Her blade moved fast enough to almost cut the air itself yet the small shape ducked under her stroke and back-pedaled quickly to move out her range.

“Jeez! Why is everyone in this city so jumpy!”

The voice more than anything made her realize that the person who had somehow snuck close enough was an actual child. Their black hair and blue eyes made her wonder if this was another of her beloved’s adoptees. Except surely this boy was too young to catch Bruce’s eye?

“Well maybe you should not sneak up on people?” Talia hissed, her voice soft yet stern. To say nothing of how a child who couldn’t be older than five had snuck up on her at all.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t brood on the roof of my home!” The child snarked back, just like one of the Bat’s brood would, completely unafraid of the blade still in her hand. Talia raised an eyebrow at him then looked around at the burnt skeleton of the building they were standing on.

“This building is not fit for human occupation.”

“Neither was the last place I lived.” He said dismissively. “This place hasn’t even killed me yet, so it’s practically a paradise.”

She was tempted to take the child’s words as sarcasm, yet something in the way he spoke made her think he meant it more truthfully.

“You’ve died before?” Talia asked. She relaxed her hold on her blade, allowing it to rest at her side.

“Oh yeah, I die all the time.” He said, then he looked at her curiously tilting his head first one way, then another. “You’ve died too, huh?”

She nodded, now examining him closely, looking for the signs she would recognize. She could see the hint of a scar on the boy’s palm that might have caused a death.

“What is it with this town that so many people have died and come back?” The boy asked, apparently rhetorically as he didn’t let her answer. “First the stabby Robin, then the stabby Batgirl, then Batman, and even Red Hood. It’s like everyone I run into is contaminated.”

Talia’s eyes widened.

“You can sense those who have utilized the Lazarus Pits?” She would have to inform her father about this child. He could put the entire League of Assassins at risk. The child before her just shrugged.

“I have no idea what that is. Red Hood mentioned some kind of pit as well, but I’ve never seen anything like that. I just know y’all are contaminated with ectoplasm, though not enough to make a core.”

“What is this… ectoplasm?” Another name for the Lazarus Waters? Had there perhaps been a Pit outside of League control? In the midwest somewhere based on the boy’s accent.

“Oh it’s this stuff.” He held his hand out and Talia couldn’t help keep her expression of shock withdrawn despite all her training as his hand filled with the glowing green light of the Pits. He held the Pit Water in his hand then tossed the glowing orb to his other hand in a half juggle as if he weren’t carrying the League's greatest secret and weapon.

Nevermind telling her father about this child, he could never learn of him. If Ras had the power this child had under his control the world would never survive. There was only one option. She needed to train this child to wield this strength. With the stealth he displayed in sneaking up on her and his power over the Pits themselves he could make an assassin like the world had never seen. He could be the next Head of the Demon under her guidance. She knelt down to the boy’s level, slipping her sword back away as she did so.

“Tell me, young one. Are you living in this death trap of a building all by yourself?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ve got it taken care of. I know I’m little, but that just means people are less likely to notice me. I’m able to steal all the food I need from that big box store down the street.”

“Oh of that I have no doubt. My name is Talia al Ghul. What’s yours?”

“Hmm. I’m Danny.” The boy seemed hesitant to trust her, which to be perfectly honest was probably a very smart thing to do, but at least she had a name for this gift of Lazarus.

“Danny, how would you like to come live with me? You won’t have to steal any more, or worry about food ever again, and I could train you how to fight even better than the Bats.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her over closely.

“Would I get a sword?”

“If a sword is what you want, then once you were trained in its use I would acquire one for you.”

Danny looked like he was about to nod, but then he froze, his head tilting to the side as if he was listening to something. His eyes widened and Talia tensed.

“Uh-oh. Fruit Loop incoming. I gotta go.”

Talia half turned as she heard the sound of one of her beloved’s grappling lines catching on the building’s edge. By the time she had turned back to face him, Danny had completely vanished. She hadn’t even heard him leave. She stood and scowled as her beloved landed on the rooftop next to her.

“Talia.” He grunted at her, glaring all the while.

“Beloved. Must you ruin every nice thing in my life?” Talia snarled back. The boy, Danny, had the gift of Lazarus at his beck and call and Batman had scared him off.

Bruce looked momentarily stunned at her fury, but quickly hid it behind his mask. However Talia couldn’t care less about her beloved right now. She just needed to lose him so she could return to find the boy. The boy who would change the world with his power.

#danny fenton #talia al ghul #dp x dc #batman #kid danny #deaged danny #talia is like this is my kid #he can be damian's brother #Danny does not want to get a new dad #a new mom on the other hand #I also had an idea where Jazz came out to check on danny #and fought talia to protect danny #and talia is like ooh two for one special #I get a new daughter and a new son #I can train both of them to over throw ras and batman

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peachsayshi · 1 year

Text

by your side.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ gojo x female reader ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

summary: gojo returns home after an exhausting two month trip away from you.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: I’m so h*rny for this man & that tight black tee of his this is my contribution to celebrate satoru gojo and satoru gojo only <3 you can find my other yan gojo posts: here & here.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; lovesick/obsessed/needy gojo; sleepy satoru; oral (f receiving); edging; dub con (ish?); pussy drunk satoru 👀; size kink; dacryphilia

“Missed you,” Satoru exhales with a strained voice, his long fingers unfastening the knot around your waist, similarly to how you removed the white ribbon of the present he gifted you earlier this evening.

The elder jujutsu sorcerers frustrated him with too many problems during his isolation period away from you, binding him with the shackles of responsibilities that he never asked for.

Exchanging phone calls, text messages and videos with you wasn’t enough enough to fill the empty void in his heart. Only now, as he smooths down the silk fabric of your robe, does Satoru understand how terribly deprived he’s been.

How did he survive these last two months without you?

“I missed you so much, my sweet girl”

His words are laced with anguish and his pupils dilate at your soft skin peeking out from under your attire. He pulls the material away from you, watching carefully as it ripples off your body like water.

Around your neck is the present that he bought for you; a string of white gold links draping down your clavicle with a heart shaped pendant resting just above your chest. He nips at his bottom lip, considering the idea of adorning you in even more jewelry.

Two sparkling studs for your ears, maybe...a charm bracelet to compliment a pretty anklet... a band that would look complete around your ring finger...

The image makes his dick twitch.

You’re looking up at him from underneath your lashes, shying away from his intense gaze and drifting down to his muscular torso looking snug in his black fitted tee. All of a sudden your bed feels much smaller with him there, and a tingle ascends up your spine when he curves his strong arm behind your waist. The force of his weight pushes you down onto the soft pillows behind you. His limbs taking up most of the mattress, leaving you pinned underneath the expanse of his chest.

You’ve forgotten how quickly he makes your heart race. You’re still adjusting to this - getting used to the status of being his girl.

He tenderly touches his forehead to yours, a reminder of why the claim shouldn’t make you feel like a frightened kitten trapped in a wolf’s den.

Those words are pure devotion now, an affirmation of his love towards you. There are many who dream about basking in its abundance, and here you are greedily indulging for free.

Being loved by him is an honor that you have been pleasantly awarded.

You tilt your chin up to brush your mouth over his, initiating the first kiss with a chaste peck against his pink lips before leaning back to look into the depths of his blue eyes.

He’s exhausted, you can tell, the bright color of his irises are muted and his mouth is twisting downward in a subtle frown. You know for a fact that he carries many burdens as the head of his clan and the strongest sorcerer, but what’s unsettling you is the sullen expression overwhelming his handsome face since his arrival.

“I thought you would be happy to see me,” you state quite matter of factly, swiping your thumb over the blush blooming underneath his pale skin.

Satoru leans into your touch, resting his cheek comfortably in the palm of your hand, and you can’t help but think how angelic he looks this way.

“I am, it’s just...I really, really hated being away from you,” he confesses through gritted teeth.

You brush off the spark of nerves reacting to the visible sickness on his face, and trail your index finger down the bridge of his nose. “You’re home now,” you coo as you circle your arms around his neck, “I’m happy that you’re back.”

His shoulders relax almost immediately, and he buries his relieved smile in the crook of your neck. “Yeah?” he mumbles into your skin. “That’s nice to hear.”

The sensation feels ticklish, but your giggle is quickly replaced by quiet pants as Satoru leaves a trail of kisses down your torso. His large palms find the back of your knees, and he lowers himself while spreading you apart so he can comfortably rest between your legs. The hand on your left leg curls around your ankle and he adjusts your position by bending your knee at a perfect angle. Meanwhile, his other hand lifts up your right leg, exposing the back of your thigh which he litters with tiny kisses and gentle nibbles.

“You don’t know...” he mumbles, “you don’t know how hard it is for me being away from you, it’s...” he interrupts once more, smooching your plush skin, “it’s unbearable...”

His feathery admission gives you no comfort. Worry twists around your belly, caught between the grips of fright and excitement. A part of you refuses to believe that he is truly helpless without you around. However, it’s battling with your ego that’s showering with pride over the fact that this man would bend at your every will.

Satoru presses his nose up against your clothed cunt to inhale your scent. The tension on his face dissipates, but his grip around your ankle tightens as he kisses you over the white cotton fabric.

“M’here, Toru...” you soothe, threading your fingers through the frosty strands framing his facing, and pushing back his hair. “Here just for you”

He releases an exaggerated sigh, “I feel so much better when we are together...” he admits, pressing his index finger up against the outline of your slit and rubbing over the damp patch that he formed with his tongue, “...when we are close like this.”

You don't believe he’s lying. As a matter of fact, Satoru is honest to a fault when expressing his feelings about you.

You think it’s detrimental for a person to be this dependent, but your mind always finds a reason to rationalize his perspective.

Maybe it’s because you love him…or maybe it’s because he’s successfully bulldozed his way into your life that he now occupies every territory, making it impossible for you to turn anywhere catching a glimpse of his shadow.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

You don’t want to dissect these unsettling ideas, afraid of what your mind would reveal to you in the process.

Instead, you allow yourself to relax as your lover pulls aside your underwear to expose your pussy. He lightly rubs his thumb over your ankle, keeping you in place for him before placing a sweet kiss on your clit. You slowly massage his scalp as a gesture of encouragement, and whimper quietly when he flicks the tip of his tongue along the nub.

Your right leg lazily falls over his broad shoulder when he releases his hold, your eyelids growing heavy feeling the stroke of his velvety tongue drag down.

Satoru eats you out for his own pleasure, and the man is starved having not tasted you for months.

He keeps you in this position long enough for you to feel like the room is spinning. You’re lightheaded, delirious, with the way he softly and slowly devours your cunt and slurps your arousal. The sound of tender smacks and his deep humming moans echo around you, and your hips buck against his mouth from how sensual he sounds.

The brewing heat numbs you from the top of the head down to the tips of your toes, it’s burning so low that you’re desperate to prod the embers just to stir the flame. You lick your lip feverishly, tasting the saltiness of sweat and jab your heel into his back, but the pressure feels like nothing to him.

Satoru doesn’t waver or pick up the pace because he’s savoring you down to the very last drop, and he looks so content with your slick dribbling down his chin. He goes deeper, pushing his tongue further inside you as he compresses his nose into your clit. The added pressure makes you choke out a pathetic whine, provoking your exasperation and your thighs start to quiver uncontrollably.

You’re relying on your movements, grinding your hips out of desperation in the hopes to finally snap the rubber band of your pleasure that’s being stretched to its limit.

“mmph...t-toru?...” you mewl as tears prick your lovely eyes. “toru?”

“Hmm?” a deep voice replies, and Satoru slowly wriggles his nose as he continues to lazily fuck you with his tongue.

“Satoru, I-...ah!” you yelp, finally grabbing his attention as you roughly yank his hair.

He groans with annoyance, but slows down his movements. To your dismay, he doesn’t completely pull away and instead returns back to your sensitive clit. He languidly rolls his tongue over it, licking and sucking the overstimulated bud that the tears start to fall.

“I can’t take this...I can’t take this...” you sniffle, easing your hold as you try to push his head away. “need to cum, wanna cum so bad...”

Only then does he look up from the mess between your legs, strings of your slick catch onto his chin and you contemplate how unjust it is that he looks this beautiful, contemplate how unfair it is that you are meant to temper your sinful thoughts around a man who is Adonis incarnate.

His hazy eyes blink away his dream like trance, and you can see his senses returning back to the present. He arches his brow with slight amusement at your flustered expression but maintains an innocent tone when he replying.

“I got a little carried away...” he states before placing an apologetic kiss on your lower tummy. “Not enough for you, huh?”

You pout slightly and shake your head no, attempting to lift yourself up on your forearms despite your shoulders trembling from how frail your body feels tipping so close to the edge.

Satoru envelopes you in the protection of his embrace. He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue and over his lips. He molds into your frame and your body lights up with sparks feeling how stiff the length of his hard cock feels as he delicately ruts his hips over yours.

You moan with every calculative thrust, spread your legs wide enough to feel his impressive bulge rub against you.

God, it makes you want to ride him senseless.

You’re yearning to have him inside you.

He pulls away from the sloppy, wet kiss then eases the grind of his hips as he pecks your cheek and jawline. He wriggles down, stopping to suckle on the tips of your pointed nipples and your heart stops when you realize that he still has no intention of making you cum yet.

“Toru, please...” you beg when he returns to his previous position, a gasp following your plea as he buries two fingers inside you.

“I’m feeling much better, baby, I love you s’much...” he reassures, a wicked grin tickling the corners of his mouth as he steadily drags his digits back and forth, “I promise I’ll fill you right up…just need to make up for some lost time, kay?”

The blood drains from your face, and you realize that you’re completely at his mercy.

“s’good to me, so perfect ‘n pretty...” he praises into your glistening cunt, but you’re too enraptured by the sensation of his tongue stroking your folds to notice the way his eyes darken as he looks at you.

If you did, then you would remember the danger of nuzzling up with a wolf whose bite would bleed you dry.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x female reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojo x you #yandere gojo x ofc #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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mistydeyes · 8 months

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an undercover beach episode

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summary: You find yourself undercover again with Gaz but this time your uniform is a cherry red bathing suit and his are swimming trunks. He can't help but flirt a little especially when you're wearing his favorite color.

Part of @glitterypirateduck Gaz Fest! Please check out the tag to see other amazing works or consider participating :) Category: undercover Prompt: "You're not going out in that"

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader (codename: Genesis)

warnings: swearing, violence, the male gaze

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“Genesis, it’s almost time to go,” Price called as Gaz emerged from the adjacent room. Gaz smoothed out his swim trunks and looked at his name tag on the waistband. He mumbled something to Price about hating the uniform for this mission. “Just give me a second,” you replied as you tried to tie your bathing suit top. “God why am I always undercover,” you grumbled. Despite your technical skills on the field and being just as good of a sniper as Ghost, you someone always found yourself in some kind of outfit. It also somehow was always with Gaz. But you didn't mind being paired with the gorgeous man. “Gen let’s go!” Gaz's voice sounded through the door. “Fine but you’re going to have to tie this for me.” With that, you grabbed your sheer white coverup and put a pair of sunglasses on your head. You turned the knob to see Gaz standing on the other side.

He practically dropped the file in his hands when he saw you. You were glistening with suntan oil as you eyed him. You held the strap of your red halter bikini top, and Gaz’s eyes traveled down your fit body. The red perfectly matched your skin tone and the suit accentuated your assets. Is this heaven, he thought to himself as his gaze traveled from your chest downwards to your hips and thig- “Kyle?” you pulled him out of his daydream, “can you please tie my top? Then we can go.” He shook his head as you looked at him confused. “You’re not going out in that,” he coughed and tried to slow his rapid heartbeat. After many missions and shared safe houses, he wondered if there was a future between you too. The bathing suit was not helping, especially when he knew you were being used as bait. You rolled your eyes at his comment. “I only packed one bathing suit and plus we’re going down to the pool,” you explained, annoyed, “trust me I wish I was on holiday wearing this and not here.” He continued to stand there, dumbfounded. You tried to cover your wandering gaze to his muscular chest by feigning annoyance. “Can you please," you practically shouted and he brought his hands to yours.

Your fingertips brushed as he fumbled with the stretchy fabric. "Too tight?" he questioned as he finished and you shook your head. "Now how do I look?" you said, turning with a smirk. “Nice uniform, Gen” Ghost commented from near the balcony. You turned your body to him and Gaz took a moment to notice how the bathing suit barely covered your ass. He was glad you couldn't catch him peeking a look. “Shut up, you should be the one wearing this,” you mumbled as you glared at him. "You have a good look from here?" you asked as you motioned to the glass doors. Below sat the beaches on the Amalfi coast and beautifully striped cabanas. "Good enough," he said, lowly, "as long as you and Gaz can get the mission done then I shouldn't have to intervene." You nodded before turning back to the rest of the task force. "Ready to go, Gaz?" you asked, trying to avert your eyes from his sunscreen-covered body which looked perfect in his server uniform. He nodded and you allowed him to go first with Soap and Price following after.

After you exited the room, you went your separate ways. Gaz blended into the service bar while Soap and Price in their beach attire, took the elevator with you. "That come with more than a string, lass?" Soap joked as you descended the floors. You made sure to crush his toe in response. "Let's just get this over with," you mumbled before ignoring the eyes of the other guests and making your way to the warm sand. When you reached the cabanas, you placed your sunglasses daintily on your nose as you looked for your target. "Bingo," you whispered to yourself as you made your way to the Italian crime boss. "Mind if I join?" you flirted and he looked like a bull seeing a red muleta. "Of course, you can," he responded and gestured you into his cabana. You closed the white curtain slyly and sat on his lap. You hoped Gaz noticed you entered as you made a flirtatious conversation with the older man.

"I have a glass of sangria," you heard through the curtain and took a deep breath upon seeing Gaz with a tray. The man gestured to the table and Gaz went to put it down, accidentally spilling it on the ground and the man's feet. You jumped back with the man saying a handful of swears in Italian. As Gaz tried to clean the spill with a towel, he bent down and pulled out a syringe. The man barely had time to register the situation as Gaz plunged it into his thigh. You laid the now dead man down on the light blue couch and turned to notice Gaz's eyes on you. "Stop that," you demanded and he looked away. "I'm not the only one in a bathing suit," you joked before motioning for him to exit first. "See you soon, Gen," he winked and you hid your blush with your hands. You left soon after and pretended to say you'd be right back. With the mission successfully completed, you rendezvoused in the hotel room. Everyone was packing up their things as Gaz laid on the bed.

"What was in that thing anyways?" you asked as you fell next to him. "Lead I think?" he questioned, "Laswell gave it to me." You shared a small laugh at her ingenuity. Gaz suddenly turned to his side and you reflexively covered your exposed chest. The sheets felt cold as you felt heated at his gaze. "Red looks good on you," he smirked and you couldn't help but feel a little flush. "Really now?" you retaliated, mirroring his position, "Don't tell me it's your favorite color." Gaz couldn't hide the attraction to you and got up to avoid your interrogation. As he left you called out to him. "Maybe I can get this to be my swim uniform!"

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #gaz imagine #kyle garrick imagine #mw2 #izzie is writing

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signedeclipse · 1 year

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Signed with Love - Upper Moons

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely fem!readers! Its valentines/love letters cards from your favourites <3

Series Parts Kamaboko Squad - HERE The Hashira - HERE

Akaza

To the girl of my dreams, Happy valentines! I'm sure you thought i'd forget sorry about last year, but I've got plans and everything. Theres a light show in the city, if you want to come I'm sure we can stop for some snacks and i'll get you the best view of them. If that sounds like a plan, i'll be by your house the moment the sun goes down. Can't wait to see you dolled up, Akaza.

Daki

Dove, Free your schedule on the 14th, I won't let plans get in the way of us spending this year together after so many times of it falling through! Oiron duties always take precedent, but I'm sure I can pull some strings to spend the night with you, the "new" girl, to do some "training". Dress for the part, I know you can lie your way in. Good luck, even if I know you won't need it, 'Warabihime'

Douma

Hello, lovely! I am over the moon knowing i'll get to spend valentines with you again! I miss you more and more every day you are away... How about this year we sneak away from the cult and I show you someplace you might really enjoy, and we can pick up some treats you like to keep at the estate! Don't leave me waiting too long. You know who ♡

Gyokko

To my precious muse, This velentines marks a decade together, and I figure its about time I let you closer than ive let any other. I know I can be more conservative in sharing my art, but this year i'd like to take you into my studio and teach you some of my craft. You know where to find me. Wear something you don't mind having ruined. Gყσƙƙσ

Gyutaro

Angel, I promised i'd always ask, so I expect you to say yes when I ask you to be my valentine again. It's too risky to go out with being on the radar, so when you come back home keep low and we'll do something simple. I can't risk getting you in trouble. Don't stray too far, GT.

Hantengu

Dearest, If possible, I would really appreciate if maybe you might consider being my valentine Whatever you'd like is yours Please H/S/K/A/Uro/Z/Ura

Kaigaku

Princess, I know you'll say yes anyways, so instead ill congradulate you for keeping me intrigued for so long. Long enough to call you my valentine. I'll be home to see you the moment the sun drops, and we can spend all night hanging out. I like you better where no one else can chew on you like eye candy, so I'll bring some snacks you like if it keeps you inside, Don't get too flattered, Yours, Inadama

Kokushibo

To the most beautiful woman I know, I would be honoured if you would decide to be my valentine once again. If you are inclined to accept my invintation, know that not a drop of the night would be wasted on anything you wouldn't like. You know you can trust me. I anticipate your responce, 黒死牟

Muzan

To the only sunshine I require; With this letter is a box of clothing. It's all custom to your fit and yours now, pick whatever you like and wait outside the gates of tokyo by sundown tonight. We'll be visitng some places I know you've wanted to see, and I'll make sure it's not on an empty stomach. Don't leave me waiting, M. Kibutsuji

Nakime

My dearest lullaby I am not one to partake in holidays, however, I cannot help myself when it comes to you. I was hoping you would be my valentine; not just today, but in life as well. There is a concert hall I used to perform at, and I would like to bring you there to hear the music I was so very fond of. It is very formal, so if you need any help getting ready you have my assistance. I miss your sweet song, Nakime Otokawa

Authors Note - This took me so long ahhhh thank you for your patience darlings <3 The tags took me longer than writing this entire thing /j

Disclaimer - All characters within have been aged up to at least 18 or older, and have been altered to reflect such change as needed.

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thiswaytwoinfinity · 3 months

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color up my skies – bob floyd x fem!reader

Bob Floyd is always beautiful. But there’s something about the way the sunset makes his skin glow and the way that Montana drawl makes your toes curl that means you need to have him … even if you’re on the side of the road.

a/n: finally my entry for IBFFM is complete! This is the first fic I have actually written in months and it feels fitting that it would be for Bob, who stole my heart and introduced me to the TGM fandom. I love it here, y’all. I hope you enjoy my offering.

warnings: smut (18+ only) oral (m receiving), fingering, grinding, unprotected piv (in my mind she’s on bc), praise and breeding kink if you squint, truck sex so kind of public?

tagging @attapullman as a thank you for founding the hottest holiday ever 😉 and a h/t to @withahappyrefrain whose post about bob babbling when he gets close rewired something in my brain

Bob Floyd was always beautiful.

You could list a million instances when you felt stunned by him — when he was bobbing his head along to the music at the Hard Deck, observing his fellow Daggers; rumpled and bleary-eyed in the morning, waiting for his ancient coffee maker to hurry up; standing on your front porch and staring at you in awe, despite the fact that you’ve been together for over a year; flushed and panting with fogged up glasses as he lifts his head up from between your thighs — and still think of more.

But right now, with the pink and orange rays of the fading sunlight illuminating his beautiful cheekbones, the wind ruffling the longer bits of hair that peek out from his beat-up ball cap and those beautiful dimples peeking out, Bob Floyd is downright breathtaking.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the WSO asks, taking a sip from the bottle of soda in his hand. He grins softly as he looks over at you, reclined back on your elbows in the bed of his beloved truck. “You’ve been quiet for a while over there.”

You bite your lip, face heating up a bit as you confess, “You’re just so gorgeous, Bobby.” The tips of his ears turn pink at the praise and he takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his hair before replacing it.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, darlin’,” he drawls, his accent stronger than ever thanks to the week you two have spent back in his home town.

You had been a little nervous when Bob asked you to come with him on a trip back to Montana after the birth of his nephew. Meeting each others’ parents during their brief trips to San Diego was one thing, but spending two and a half weeks in his childhood home? There were so many ways that could test your relationship.

But eight days into your trip, you were getting to know a whole different side of your beautiful Bob.

“I mean it. Montana looks good on you,” you tell him, reaching out to caress his face with your hand. “I like this whole ‘country boy’ vibe you have going on.”

Bob chuckles, warm and deep, as he gently turns his cheek into your palm. Your thumb gently rubs over one of his dimples, a sign that he’s relaxed and happy. “If I had known that taking you to watch the sunset in my truck would earn me all of these compliments, I woulda done it a lot sooner,” he murmurs.

“Guess you should’ve. Maybe you could have wooed me properly.”

You’re teasing of course; Bob is a complete romantic, surprising you with flowers and picnics on the beach and candlelit dinners at home. “Was this how you impressed all the girls in high school? You’d take them for a ride in your truck?”

He wraps his fingers around your wrist and kisses your knuckles before gently entwining your hands together and lowering them to his lap.

“I think you’re overestimating how many girls were interested in me back then,” Bob laughs. You roll your eyes — you’ve seen pictures of your boyfriend in high school, all gangly limbs and round glasses, and you can imagine falling for him back then too. “‘Sides, they all grew up here too. These big fields aren’t all that impressive when you see them every day.”

He leans over and presses one, two kisses to your neck, right above your collar bone. A shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the early evening breeze.

“That’s why I saved it for my favorite city girl,” Bob adds, his lips still pressed against your skin. You can feel the smirk on his mouth and it makes you feel a little dizzy.

Bob loved to make fun of you for being a “city girl,” joking about how you were lulled to sleep at night by the sound of sirens instead of crickets and laughing at your refusal to learn how to drive until after college. (Okay, but Bobby, you don’t need a license when you have public transport!) He secretly loved it, though. It gave him a thrill to think about how your vastly different lives converged the day you met at Payback’s engagement party.

Bob’s not sure he believes in fate, but he’s endlessly thankful for whatever forces brought you into his life.

You giggle a little as he continues to kiss and nuzzle his face against your quickly warming skin, hand ghosting up his arm to wrap around Bob’s shoulders and pull him impossibly closer. “Bobby …” you breathe, feeling his teeth gently nip at your collarbone. “Bobby, behave. We’re out in the open.”

Your handsome Navy man just smiles and proceeds to work on sucking a bruise into your neck that will make it very obvious what the two of you got up to when you return to his parents’ house.

“Bob —“ you start again, giving the hair at the nape of his neck a quick tug to try and catch his attention, but all you get in response is a deep groan pressed into your skin. With a smirk of your own, you slide your free hand onto one of Bob’s denim-clad thighs, before giving his hair another, sharper tug. The WSO freezes in place.

“Now, darlin’ …” he drawls, his voice low and rumbly in a way that shoots directly into your core. Bob lifts his head up slowly, his eyes hooded and his beautiful pink mouth shiny and puffy from exertion. “If you want me to start behavin’, you’re gonna need to stop pulling on my hair like that.”

“How come?”

Bob’s big hands come up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so that your eyes are locked on his. Your chest is heaving as you watch your boyfriend’s eyes darken, that beautiful sky blue turning to a seductive sapphire as his pupils dilate.

“Because if you keep goin’, I’m gonna have no choice but to take you right here,” Bob explains. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to take my time with you out here. Make you fall apart the way I like …”

You let out an involuntary whimper at his words, your eyes fluttering closed as a rush of heat floods through you.

“Or is that something you want, huh?” Bob teases, his lips hovering over yours as he pulls you closer.

“Please, Bobby …” Your voice is breathy, more air than sound as you press your mouth against his. Bob’s thumbs gently caress your cheeks as he kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours as you let out a soft groan. No matter how long it’s been, Bob always kisses you like he’s just gotten back from a months-long deployment and it makes your head swim with delight.

(It also happens to have been a few days since you’ve had the chance to properly make out, which does nothing to calm the desire pulsing in your veins.)

“Missed you,” you sigh in between kisses and you feel more than hear Bob’s chuckle.

“C’mere baby,” he mutters, sliding one hand under one of your thighs and tugging, manhandling you to straddle his lap with ease.

You let out a little squeak before settling down, pressing your crotch down to feel where he’s already growing hard in his worn-out jeans. Bob curses lowly and wraps those delicious arms around your waist to pull you closer, his hips pushing up into yours unconsciously as his mouth trails from yours to your neck, down, down until he’s peppering kisses across your chest and the top of your cleavage. You can feel the edges of his signature BCGs dig into your soft flesh as Bob works his mouth along the neckline of your sundress.

“Did I ever tell you how gorgeous you look in this dress?” Bob asks after running his teeth lightly along your décolletage. “Drives me crazy when you wear it, just wanna pull it up and bend you over, doesn’t matter where we are.”

“Bobby!” you gasp, your nails scratching lightly up and down his biceps. Though he was a perfect gentleman on your first few dates — he even waited for you to kiss him first, blushing deeply when you tugged his face towards yours at the end of your third date — it didn’t take long for Bob to learn how much you liked it when he voiced all of the dirty thoughts running through his head.

It still takes you by surprise sometimes, the way your mild-mannered boyfriend can get you wet with just a few filthy comments.

And fuck are you already wet, rolling your hips against Bob’s as his talented fingers slide the straps of your dress down your shoulders so he can have better access to your chest. “Need you, need you so bad,” you keen, arching your back to push your breasts closer to your boyfriend’s mouth. “Bobby, please.”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, pulling back from your chest with a luck of reluctance obvious on his beautiful face. “Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he adds, stilling your hips in his lap. You only realize you let out a whine because of the way he’s rubbing his big hands up and down your sides, trying to soothe you. “Just wanna get you somewhere a little more private. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

You nod almost frantically, your bottom lip between your teeth to try and hold back your moans. Letting out a deep breath, you slide off Bob’s lap and hop down out of the truck bed, your thighs squeezing together when you watch the way his biceps flex as he lifts the tailgate back into place after following.

He holds his hand out to you and you grab it, practically running around to the front of the truck and yanking the door open. Bob holds back a moment, waiting for you to climb in, but instead, you turn him by his hips and push him back into the cab so that he’s sprawled across the bench seat.

“‘M I not moving fast enough for you?” he asks with a laugh, planting one leg on the floor of the car and swinging the other up onto the creaky leather as he slides towards the driver’s side.

In response, you simply grin, before climbing in after him and pulling the door closed behind you.

But instead of laying yourself on top of Bob — which he’s clearly expecting you to do, the way his arms are hanging open to make room for you — you crouch down in the footwell and reach for his belt.

“Wait, baby, you don’t have to —“ he starts, before cutting himself off with a jolt when you cup his blue through the front of his pants.

“I want to,” you insist, fingers quickly working to open his belt and his jeans. “Want you. Want you so bad, Bobby. Next time we’re not staying at your parents’ house. I can’t go this long without touching you, it’s all I can think about.”

Bob tosses his head back with a moan, his hips lifting up as he helps you tug his pants and boxers down enough to free his hard cock. It slaps up against the bottom of his stomach, flushed and already wet at the tip, twitching slightly when you reach out to wrap your hand around the base. You wait a beat for him to lock eyes with you before you lean in and wrap your mouth around the tip, swirling your tongue around it to gather up the bit of precome pooling there.

“Oh, darlin’,” Bob practically growls, the deep timbre of his voice making you moan as you start to bob your head up and down. “Such a perfect fuckin’ mouth. You’re so good to me, baby. So g-good.”

You pull off and give him a long lick from base to tip before attempting to swallow down as much as you can at once. It took a while for you to be able to deep throat Bob like this — he’s so much bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with before, thick and long and just slightly curved in a way that makes you feel so deliciously full — but Bob was patient and understanding and now you like to show off for him whenever you can.

You pull off to catch your breath, a thin line of spit connecting your mouth to him, before leaning back in working your mouth down to his base, his public hair tickling your nose. You swallow around him and the feeling of your throat closing around his cock makes Bob jump and swear, a fist coming up to hit the roof. The quick buck of his hips makes you cough and sputter and he lifts your head off of him for a second to check in.

“Sorry, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, felt so damn good I lost my mind for a second,” he rambles, chuckling softly, his thumb rubbing at the corner of your smiling mouth. “You okay there?”

Instead of replying, you just giggle and nod, nipping at the tip of Bob’s thumb before you get back to what you were doing, sucking and licking at his cock while stroking whatever wasn’t in your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bob’s stomach flex as he pants and moans above you, words of praise falling from his lips in a dazed ramble.

“So beautiful, you’re so beautiful like this, my gorgeous girl.” A loud moan interrupts his declarations, those big hands sweeping up to hold your hair back out of your face in a makeshift ponytail as you swallow him down again. “Yeahhhhh, just like that baby, good girl. God, you’re so good to me, love it when I can feel myself all the way in your throat, shit.”

You pull off to breathe before swallowing him down again, fingers cupping and caressing his balls as you hold him there, tip brushing against the back of your throat, enjoying the way Bob’s thighs shake and his hands tighten in your hair.

You repeat the action a few more times, tears staring to run down your cheeks before he suddenly tugs your head up and away from his cock.

“Don’t wan’ come down your throat, darlin’, need to come inside you,” he rambles, petting the sides of you head absently, his eyes fixed on your chest as the straps of your dress slide further down and reveal the soft satin of your bra underneath. “Please, baby, please let me fuck you, gonna fuck you so full ...”

The edge of desperation in Bob’s voice makes you surge up from the floor, climbing into his lap as you kiss him, all tongue and teeth and desire.

“Yes, Bobby, yeah,” you say against his mouth, tugging at his white tee shirt until he pulls it up and over his head. The sight of his broad, defined chest makes you rub yourself against him, sticky wet panties brushing against the hot ridge of his hard cock.

As you roll your hips again and again, the lace catches against your clit, making you moan loudly as Bob lifts his hips into yours.

“You’re so wet, darlin,’ I can feel it, I can feel how you soaked right through your panties,” he says, eyes closing briefly at the sensation, before they fly open and he finishes tugging the bodice of your dress down to your waist. He gives your breasts a quick squeeze, letting out a soft grunt before teasing and pinching at your nipples through the thin fabric. “Such a sweet girl, my good girl, and you get so fuckin’ wet just from sucking my cock.”

“Bobby, please, fuck me,” you moan, hips working more frantically against his, chasing your high as he whispers naughty encouragement to you.

“I will, baby, I will,” he promises, voice soothing despite his movements bringing your closer and closer to the edge. He sits up properly in the seat, grabbing you by the hips and moving your body against his. “Wanna see you come like this first, watch you fall apart in my lap, love it when you get desperate like this.”

Bob drops one hand to your lap, working it up the skirt of your dress to meet your soaked panties.

With a low curse, he slides his hand into them, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing in steady circles while you throw your head back and moan at the feeling of his hands on you.

“Fuck, Bob, right t-there, I’m so close baby,” you babble, hips continuing to swivel as you grind against his hand, his cock, edging further and further to your peak, nails scraping down Bob’s torso. His murmured little “c’mon, come for me,” helps push you over with a shout, your body shaking and trembling in his arms as he works you through your orgasm.

“Juuuust like that, so gorgeous baby, so good for me,” Bob says, his thumb slowing down against your clit as you come down from your high. When your eyes flutter open and you take him in, cheeks flushed and glasses slightly fogged from all of the exertion. He barely gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls your panties to the side and begins sliding his cock into you.

You give a shout that turns into a high-pitched whine as you feel the head of him press inside you. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby,” you babble, walls still fluttering a little as you go to slide all the way down his cock, needing him inside you as quickly as possible.

“Uh-uh, darlin’, slow,” he chastises, grabbing your hips to still you about halfway down his cock. “Don’t wanna hurt you, just take your time, you’re doing so well for me.”

It feels like time slows down as the two of you work to get every inch of him inside, tiny little movements of your hips helping you to take more and more until your hips meet.

You take a moment to reach behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it to the side before snatching Bob’s hat and doing the same. He doesn’t even seem to register your decision to rid him of his hat, already fixated on your bare chest, moving to suck one of your peaked nipples into his mouth with a moan.

“Love these tits, baby,” he mutters against you and you card your fingers through his hair in response. It’s a little sweaty from hiding under his hat in the heat all day, but you can’t get enough of the way Bob groans and whines as you tug at the longer strands and scratch your nails against his scalp. “Gotta move, darlin’, gotta fuck you now.”

“Yes, yes,” you say, lifting your hips until just his the tip of his cock is still inside you and sliding back down.

“Shit, baby, jus’ like that,” he encourages, words already beginning to slur together as he gets drunk on pleasure. You repeat the motion and he smirks, before tugging one nipple between his teeth to make you keen. “You wanna show me you know how to ride? Huh? C’mon city girl, ride me.”

Bob’s voice gets a little breathy towards the end of his taunt and your moans get louder as you feel him press against that spongey spot within you on each downstroke.

For a while, the only thing you can hear is the sound of skin slapping together, punctuated by groans and growls and the occasional whine when Bob pinches or tugs at your nipples with his teeth, the tiny spark of pain making the pleasure more delicious. He’s so tuned into you that he can sense that you’re getting tired almost before you do, wrapping his arms around you and adjusting so that both of his feet are planted against the floor of his truck and he begins thrusting up into you, giving your burning thighs a break.

His hips move quickly, punching little “unhs” out of you with each thrust, tip bullying your g-spot relentlessly. Your walls begin to tighten and flutter against him and Bob frees a hand to rub two fingers against your clit in a slow, steady motion that contrasts beautifully with the speed of his thrusts.

“Oh my g— fuck, Bob, feels so good. You feel so g-good, love you so much.” You’re not even aware of what you’re saying, words spilling out of your mouth mindlessly as you let Bob bring you closer and closer to your orgasm. “Need to come, Bobby, I’m so close, wanna come for you, please, please,” you beg, peppering kisses all over his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere your lips can reach.

Bob’s fingers speed up, his mouth dropping open to let out a low groan, his face flushed and eyes glassy.

“Yes, good girl, just like that,” he encourages, the bottom of his glasses starting to fog up as a result of his exertion. You moan loudly at the sight, tossing your head back and losing yourself in the feeling of Bob’s talented fingers, his cock, the tension inside you building, building. “Come for me, beautiful, please. Let go for me, so perfect, so good to me, can’t believe you’re mine – shit.”

Your boyfriend’s praise tips you over the edge and you feel that band inside you snap, your vision whiting out at the edges as your walls clamp down on Bob’s cock. You’re shaking and moaning in his arms, gushing around him as he murmurs and works you through it. “Love you, love you, yes, yes, love you baby,” pressed into your clammy skin as Bob can’t bring himself to lift his mouth up from your chest, shoulders, neck long enough to speak clearly.

You come down from your high with one last shudder, walls fluttering around him and making him moan against you. You lean back to take a look at his face - pink and sweaty, a smile on his puffy lips and looking more beautiful than you think you’ve ever seen him before - before cupping it between your hands and kissing him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you just sit there and kiss, could be seconds, could be minutes, but you’re too lost in each other to care.

Eventually, though, your hips start rolling again in his lap, causing Bob to let out little whimpers and moans against your mouth. He lets his teeth tug at your bottom lip before pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours. “God, you feel so good, honey,” he says, eyes locked on yours as you begin to ride him properly once again.

“Wanna make you feel good, Bobby,” you coo, one hand threading through his damp hair and the other caressing his jaw.

“You a-always do, so good to me, so good baby,” he rambles, breath hitching every time you squeeze around him. “Don’t know how I g-got so l-lucky, can’t believe you’re mine, dar-darlin’.”

Bob’s hips begin thrusting up jerkily to meet yours, his eyes starting to get glassy behind those big frames. Knowing he’s getting close, you gently tug on his hair, short little bursts of pain that drive him crazy and get his hips moving faster.

“Jusss like that, god, you’re taking me so well, doing so well,” he says before grabbing onto your hips and holding you in place and thrusting up into you almost frantically. “Wanna be with you all the t-time, wanna fuck you every day, every night, keep you - yeah, do that again baby, pull my hair like that - keep you full of me.”

You moan at the idea, loving the thought of Bob just taking you whenever he pleases.

“Yeah? T-that what you want? I’ll do it for you, do any-anything for you, gonna fuck a baby into you one d-day and make our own little fa - I’m so close - family,” he cuts himself off with a few more high-pitched moans, eyes slipping shut as if he’s picturing your future together.

The idea of being with Bob, having kids with him, settling down and spending your lives together, hits you like a freight train. You don’t think anything has ever sounded better to you.

“Want that, Bobby, want to be with you forever, wanna have your babies, please, Bobby,” you babble, hands running all over his hands and shoulders to pull him closer, hold him tighter.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, anything you want darlin’, oh my -“ he comes with a shout, eyes squeezing tightly shut and fingers holding onto you so hard that you will probably have bruises on your hips later. (You hope you do, you always wear all of the marks Bob leaves on you with pride.) You feel him twitch inside you, liquid heat making you feel impossibly full. He gives one, two little half thrusts as he finishes, before loosening his grip on your skin.

Fully panting, Bob takes a moment try and catch his breath before opening his eyes slowly. The look of pure adoration on his face almost knocks the wind out of you.

“Well,” he starts with a chuckle, pressing a few chaste kisses to your shoulder. “Nothing like that ever happened to me in high school.”

You bark out a surprised laugh, giggles spilling out as you watch Bob grin and then duck his head. The sun has almost fully set by now, pinks and oranges fading into purples and blues as the two of you laugh in Bob’s truck, faces flushed and glowing in the dusk.

In a minute, Bob will clean you up and help you get dressed, gently kissing you with each item of clothing you wrangle back on.

He’ll give you a look of confusion and then surprise when he realizes that his hat is somewhere underneath the seat and he’ll run his fingers through your hair to help you tame it before settling into the driver’s seat. He’ll rest one of those big, warm palms on your thigh as he drives you both back home, looking over to smile at you at every stop sign and red light.

You’ll both giggle, cheeks warm and eyes downcast when Bob’s mom asks about your afternoon over dinner and he’ll mentally start picking out engagement rings when he watches you bounce his nephew on your knee when the family gathers in the living room afterward.

Later that night, after you’ve both shyly admitted that you were serious about the promises you made to one another in the truck, Bob will smile as he watches the moonlight illuminate your sleeping face.

But for now, you two just enjoy this perfect moment, wrapped in one another as the crickets begin chirping outside. And neither you nor Bob think you’ve ever seen the other look more beautiful.

(Are we still doing readmore sacrifices?) Either way, please reblog or comment if you enjoyed!

#international bob floyd fucks month #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #my beautiful husband bob floyd #bob fucks

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neverchecking · 11 months

Note

Hello!

May I request a Yandere! Sky x Female! Reader? How she tempts him away from Hylia on Skyloft? Plus with a 18+? 😉😄

Have a wonderful day/night! Stay safe and healthy!

By July-Angel-Wings

You absolutely can, Darling! Stay safe and healthy as well, drink your water too!

This is such a delicious idea. I'm ngl, this kinda got away with me bc I got on the idea of Sub! Sky whimpering and just being total putty during a good all sloppy toppy and I just- yeah.

I'm tagging all NS*W on this blog as #Cindersins in case you all were curious!

There is 18+ smut so MDNI!

Smut CW: Blowjob, Sky Whimpers, and cries. Just a little. As a treat.

He had seen you in passing a few times. A few times seemed to be all he needed. Because those few times were all that was needed for him to fall absolutely head over heels for you. Call him a hopeless romantic, because that was what he was. Hopeless, for you.

It wasn't hard. He found himself comparing you a Loftwing at times. Dastardly evasive when you didn't want to be found, bright and exuberant when you did, and gloriously beautiful. Full of life and the spark freedom that he sometimes saw in Crimson's own eyes. Perhaps you were a Loftwing's spirit locked in a Hylian's shell. It would make sense.

What made even more sense with that analogy was the fact that Loftwings were soul partners. One part of his, admittedly, shattered soul. Sky had seen a lot of things in his travels, things that wore him down to his core. That broke him apart into pieces, free for the taking by the right person. One would always reside with Crimson, but the others? They were yours. All yours. Free for you to pluck and give as you saw fit.

All of them were for you.

Always for you.

His problem lied, however, in where he resided. Skyloft was where he was born and raised, trained to be a knight, where Zelda and Groose and those he once saw as relevant lived. You lived down below. Among the trees and wildlife, scaling mountains as if you put them there yourself. Hiding among caves and dwelling near rivers with the softest patters of feet. You were of the Hylians below, he was not. But he would fall for you. Jump from the edge of Skyloft, leaving everything behind for you. In a heartbeat. You were tempting him with your luscious curves and fluttering lashes, eyes that reflected the stars and moon above you. He would tumble from grace, from the position of Hylia's chosen hero, if it meant you would look at him that way he saw you looking at the night sky.

Full of nothing but pure innocence and awe.

He ached to just hold you, cherish you, sings your praises to the Golden three themself just so they could see you in half of the same light he saw you.

Perhaps that was why he found himself gently easing forward. Sun had warned him of the Earth dwellers. How they were to be of no use to him, not when she could have everything up in Skyloft. Up with her, Hylia incarnate herself, but she was a damned fool to not see the worth you provided. How your natural glow, just soft enough to create an effervescent halo around your form, was more than enough for him for a thousand lifetimes. It was soft and comforting, like a dimming fireplace in a cabin as the occupants lie in each others arms, content with each other's presence. Rather than Sun's own. Her's was bright and intruding, something you would have to shield yourself from before taking it in. Like a sudden crack of lightning, hot and sudden. It was one of the many things that differentiated the two of you. One of the many things he favored and reasoned was something worthy of eternal damnation.

Honestly, he simply couldn't help himself when he saw you out in the open. Nothing but gentle movements and anoetic simplicity. Of course, your eyes landed on him right away. Of course, he offered his name, introducing him to you in a way that would paint him in such a way he couldn't be a threat no matter how one looked at it.

And it worked. It took time, so, so much time, but he got close. Close enough you could sink your perfect little claws into and drag him into whatever depths you deemed suitable. And he fell. He fell hard.

Right into your hands, exactly where you wanted him.

A whimper left his lips as your hands toyed with his shaft, gently dragging up and down as your drool dribbled over the ruddy head of his cock. It gleamed with both spit and pre-cum, which bulbed out in clear pears before you were lapping it up. He couldn't even begin to describe the sensation of your tongue, firm and sure, swiping around his dick before you were enveloping the tip with your mouth.

Sky jolted with a start, hands flying to your hair, weaving between the strands as pure euphoria shot through his system. Igniting his nerves in a hit of pure adrenaline as every one of them sang in delight. His toes curled within his boots as they kicked and dug at the dirt, aching for some sort of traction as you refused to part. He yelped low in his throat, trying to swallow his cries when you bobbed further. Every part of him curled in a tight coil, curling tighter and tighter, nearly snapping before you popped up with a lewd suck. You licked your lips, tongue darting out to wet your plump lips, painting them with a shiny sheen as you stared him down, eyes narrowed like a pure temptress.

The hand returned, squeezing right above his balls and cooling any premature bust. His eyes burned at the lose of control, but not for the reasons you may have thought. No, they were tears of pure, unaltered adoration. His fall may have been great, but it was worth it. To have you, his newly crowned Goddess, on your knees before him, deeming him worthy enough to bless with your presence. What he wouldn't do for you, to you, with you. You merely had to ask.

You returned your mouth to his leaking cock, starting from where your fingers continued to squeeze and leading back up to the head of his cock. You pressed a final parting kiss to the head, looking up at him through your lashes.

He cried out in agony, bucking into your hand against his own wishes. He wanted to paint your pretty face a divine white. It was otherworldly as it was, and to mark it had to be a sin beyond simple punishment, but to have it marked with something screaming that you were his and his alone was to tempting. Too much.

Tears pearled in his eyes before leaking over in fat pearls over the apples of his cheeks as his fingers curled tighter in your hair. Your fingers remained steady around his aching cock as it bobbed along your lips, which parted just enough for your devilish tongue to dart out and kitten lick the head. Just enough to have it bounce back against your tongue and for you to repeat the process.

The tears didn't stop as he curled over your form holding as close as you would allow. Eventually, you felt he had earned your mercy, loosening your fingers and sucking harshly on the head of his dick, cheeks hollowed as you gave a silent demand in your eyes. While it wasn't highlighting your features, he was more than happy to obey your whim this way, pulling your head close enough your nose brushed along the plain of his stomach, dumping your hard earned prize down your throat-- which constricted around his length every time you swallowed. A strangled whine left his throat, something he wasn't even aware he was capable of, as his back arched.

When he pulled away, eyes stinging and red as he stared down at you.

His fall was great, but he would do it a million times over, re-shatter his soul, brand his being with your mark, do it all should you demand, if only to keep you this close to him for the rest of time. He would slaughter kingdoms if you so pleased if just to see you smile. He would orchestrate Hylia's own demise should you ask. All for you, you, you.

His free little bird.

#lu Sky #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #loz x reader #loz #legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda #sky whimpers #and cries #just a bit #as a treat #to me #Cindersins

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annymation · 19 days

Note

Could you write an agnst scene inspired by this sketch please 👉👈?(no pressure of course)

ALED YOU’RE SO EVIL!!!

I’ve taught you well >:3

And yes I will GLADLY write something extra angsty for this! Hope I can make the illustration justice!

TW: Blood, character death.

It was cold.

The atmosphere was chilling in the deep dark woods of Rosas, but it wasn't the common weather of the night, there was something different. It was quiet, ominous, even the animals could feel something was coming, and perhaps that's because of the wishing star currently hiding from the evil sorcerer king.

So far, all Aster's attempts of stealing the magic staff failed miserably, at this point, the star boy is getting quite frustrated, and so was the king.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting quite fed up by this game of tag, little one" Magnifico sensed Aster's presence nearby, he didn't even raise his voice, knowing the star could hear him. The king chuckled darkly as he walked through the woods "So how about you just come out and fight me like a man?"

Aster was hanging on a tree, far away from the king's line of sight. They smiled, for that comment just gave the star an idea on how to get under the king's nerves some more.

"I'm not a man though" Aster chimed in from the tree tops, his voice echoing all around.

The king didn't know where the voice was coming from as it seemed to come from all sides, but he could tell by the overconfidence in the star's tone that they were trying to throw him off his focus

"Well, yeah I know Bu-"

"I'm a star" Aster interrupted with a child like playfulness in his voice

"... Sure- But that's not my po-"

"This whole gender thing humans have going on is so weird honestly"

Magnifico could practically hear Aster's smirk, which peeved the evil king even more

"Listen here boy-"

"Not a boy heh eheheh" Aster giggled

"SHUT UP! UGH YOU ROTTEN BRAT!" The king was on his last nerve, much to Aster's delight

(Fun fact, this is a deleted scene I wanted to include in KOW to emphasize Aster is nonbinary (He/They). But the scene didn't fit, so I'm glad I can recycle it here)

Aster smiles victorious, but the king's next statement caught him off guard "You think you can beat me by vexing?! HA! This is not a battle of wits, lad! It’s a battle of strength, something you clearly lack!”

Lack strength? Why? Because he can’t hurt others? That’s not a weakness, Aster knows that, to inflict pain on others doesn’t make you strong, it just makes you cruel. Aster knows very well that strength comes from many places, and he’d NEVER be “strong” the way Magnifico is.

“I’ve got plenty of strength, actually” Aster claimed wisely “I’m strong in the ways that matter. Strong to care, to keep trying, and to trust my friends even if all odds are against us…” a smile grows as Aster thinks of yet another remark to throw at the king “Also, you’re one to talk hehheh without that magic staff you’d be as strong as any average nobody”

Oh, Magnifico was officially pissed off. He wanted to wipe that smile off the star’s face in any way possible… And Aster’s comment about “friends” just gave him an idea

“Oh yeees, your friends, of course… All 7 of them huh?” The king had an wicked smile as he casually brought up the 7 teens

“Yup! All sev-“ Aster stops himself onde realization hit him like a truck… “W-wait… How did yo-“

“If I were you, I’d be more careful with who I place my trust” Magnifico’s eyes scanned the trees above, trying to spot any glimpse of yellow light that could be Aster hiding. His wicked smile only grew as he noted the star’s silence, that was exactly the reaction he wanted “For example, trusting that the son of my most loyal knight wouldn’t spill your plans? Tsk tsk tsk not very strategic~”

“… Simon?” Aster muttered in a shaky whisper

The king and queen knew their plan?… So that means-

“Asha!”

Aster quickly jumped from the tree branch he was hiding, revealing his location to the king. But Magnifico had no time to capture the star, no, in the blink of an eye Aster was already flying towards the castle, leaving the sorcerer all alone in the dark woods

“……….. *sigh* Cursed be my monologuing mouth” Magnifico sighs in frustration as he began flying with his magic, back to the castle he calls home.

Aster flew faster than the wind itself, the usual optimistic star had his head filled with worst case scenarios of what Asha and the others could be going through. What if Magnifico set up a trap? Or what if the guards caught them?? Or even worse, what if the QUEEN caught them???

No no no. Aster can't think like that, Asha has a magic pencil and her sketchbook after all, she can handle herself without him just fine... Right?

Aster reached the top of the tower, and upon entering though the window, he was met with a shocking sight

Asha and Queen Amable were dueling with swords, Asha using a hand drawn one, while Amaya used one made of metal, that was strikingly sharp.

Aster instinctively called out to her

"ASHA!"

Aster doesn't know why they just did that.

Neither of the two women had noticed his presence before that scream.

Aster could've disarmed Amaya.

Aster could've just moved Asha out of the way.

There were so many things the star could've done...

But he chose to scream.

Making Asha lose her focus.

She took her eyes out of Amaya for one second, turning to the source of her lover's voice.

One second was all Amaya needed.

S L A S H

Asha didn't even have time to speak a word...

The piercing blade cut right through her heart.

The star did not move.

It was like time itself had stopped for him, and deep down, Aster wished it'd stay frozen. They didn't want this nightmare to keep going.

But it kept going, once the queen swiftly pulled the sword out of the girl, her wide smile was reminiscent of a crescent moon.

Once the sword left her body, Asha fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Aster finally felt movement return to their limbs, as he caught her in his arms just before she hit the floor. His protective embrace was so firm it was like he was trying to keep her from falling apart... She didn't hug him back.

"A-... As-ter" She croaked in agony, barely able to breathe and let alone speak, as she felt her body grow weaker and her mind become hazy.

"I'M HERE! I-IT'S OKAY! Yo-you're okay!" The star's panicked screams made Asha flinch, with everything sounding even louder in her head. Aster realized that, and with an wavering voice they try to comfort her "I'm sorry... I- I'm here with you now, just keep breathing-"

Aster's soothing words were muffled by the queen's sickening cackle, followed by an heartless rebuttal of the star's whispers

"Oh something tells me she won't "keep breathing" for much longer, dearie" there was no sign of pity or remorse behind those eyes, just sadistic mirth as she watched the girl's violet dress slowly turn crimson.

If only looks could kill. Aster tear filled eyes glared at Amaya like he wanted her to catch on fire, much like the burning flames that was set ablaze on his forever moving hair.

But even with all that rage, the star tried to ignore the older woman. Asha needed him now. They turned to look at her face and-

...

Her eyes no longer had that spark Aster fell in love with...

There was no glimmer of light...

No sign of life at all...

She was gone.

...

Aster just kept staring at Asha's vacant expression, his eyes wide and pupils shrunken. The star held onto her lifeless body carefully, shaky hands still caressing her hair as if she could still feel it.

Amaya just walked away from the two of them, a victorious smile plastered on her face, as she admired her own reflection on the now blood stained blade in her hands. She sat on a comfortable velvety chair in the study, to wait for her king's return.

She was not at all afraid of the literal star in the room, after all, her husband assured her they were harmless, a being literally incapable of hurting or killing anyone. So she was eager to just sit and cruelly watch and make fun of the boy's misery.

Aster was oh so aware that he couldn't hurt her... But he wanted to.

The young star could already hear the stars above, calling for him. They were watching through the open window, urging him to just leave, go back to the sky, accept he failed to save Asha but he can at least save Rosas by not letting the king capture him... But Aster didn't want to run.

He recalled an old song he heard once, a song that old stars sang when they were on their last dying breaths. The other stars always said he should never repeat that song in his young age, otherwise he'd be a danger to those around... But that's exactly what Aster wanted to be right now.

And so... Aster began to sing it.

(........... In case you don't know what this song is about, hi, welcome to the madness that is my rewrite, and HERE is a blog about some AUs I made. Go read it and skip straight to the "Aster turns himself into a blackhole" part to learn what this is all about, cause' I'll actually skip the whole Aster morphing into a blackhole bit, sorry, but basically same thing that happened in that AU blog happens here: He sings, slowly goes crazy and creepy, Amaya has her soul sucked out of her yaaaay let's move on)

Magnifico was pretty much sprinting on air as he used his magic to make himself levitate to the castle, it was a shame that his magic limited him to only fly as fast as he could run.

"*huff* *puff* Ough I'm too old for this" The king was panting as he reached the tower's window, his head lowered as he attempted to catch his breath, but he still chimed in to cheerfully call his wife "Darling I'm home~ heheh I trust you've given our little star a warm wel-"

The king shuts up with a gasp stuck on his throat. For once, he was speechless.

Asha's body was laying on the ground, that was to be expected, it's by far the least shocking thing in the room for him.

What truly made his world shatter was witnessing his queen laying lifeless on the floor, it was clear she was not breathing. The pain in his blue sky eyes ran so deep one could even feel sorry for him, but there was no one in the room to care about his tears...

For the only living thing in the room had no mercy left to give.

"So, your highness" the former star uttered the tittle with sarcasm, as he walked around Amaya's corpse, his pitch-black eyes stared at her almost as if they were admiring their own work. And he kept not making eye contact with the king as he asked "Is this strong enough for ya?"

It was cold.

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

Very proud of how this one turned out, thank you @uva124 for the inspiration!

@gracebeth3604 @emillyverse @signed-sapphire @oh-shtars @rascalentertainments

#wish rewrite #wish reimagined #kingdom of wishes #ask #angst

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youcouldmakealife · 6 months

Text

Liveblogging the End: Jared (103-105)

Okay, I am back to liveblog the end now that we are ACTUALLY approaching the end several...years...later.

Previous parts can all be found under the liveblogging the end tag in reverse chronological order.

And if you want to read along with me, the series page is here.

I am dropping the part summaries going forward, and instead you'll have random ass mini-essays on occasion, because I have Thoughts and Feelings and the like. Starting with one today, below the cut.

I paused the LBTE last time at part 102, because I realised we were, in fact, a long way off from the end, and I was going to finish the liveblog well before I finished the series. And I was…very right about that. It’s a good place to step back in, honestly: Jared’s just told Deslauriers about his relationship with Bryce (it went poorly), Bryce is about to tell the Flames about him and Jared (it will go poorly), and wedding plans are ramping up. Let’s step back to Alberta, everyone.

Here’s the thing about Jared Matheson: he’s beautiful, he’s smarter than most people around him (not all around him, as he believes, but most), he’s in the 0.001 percentile of hockey players worldwide, and he draws good, kind people around him like moths to his flame (also fellow hobgoblins, to be fair). And he thinks like a Mary Sue: ‘here I am, just this ordinary boy, totally unremarkable, why did Bryce Marcus just trip over his feet looking at me, must be a plot’ and then Bryce’s POV is ‘oh look, it’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen’.

Here’s the other thing about Jared Matheson. He’s the narrator of this story, but he’d be the first to tell you the true hero of this story is Bryce Marcus, and Jared’s The Love Interest. Of course, he’s not exactly the mute but there to look pretty and provide stakes love interest of action movies, or the longsuffering picking up after man baby partner of romantic comedies (…mostly), but he is, indubitably, the love interest of the Official Plotline. And fuck does Bryce love him.

I obviously did not know what I was getting into with Impaired Judgment (the series name that just keeps on getting more and more fitting). First off, I had zero handle whatsoever on Bryce. Jared’s voice I had pretty well from the get go — it changed, naturally, as he got older and more settled, and his ‘like’ per part ratio is down significantly at 24 versus 17 (Bryce actually uses it more than he does in dialogue, now), but I had Jared pretty well pegged.

Bryce Marcus. Holy shit man. That guy was a revelation to me as much as he was to Jared. Dude peeled off his layers like a fucking strip tease at the beginning of IJ(aoe) and then grew to be one of my kindest, most earnest, sweetest characters. What I thought was a trash son had only landed in the dumpster accidentally, and required a rescue.

I’m going to have other random little essays while I go through Liveblogging the End (actually for real this time), because this many words and this many years in, there’s obviously something that keeps me coming back to these boys every time I think I’ve reached a natural end to their story, one more step they have to take together before they’re through. But in the meantime, let’s get to the actual story, shall we.

103 - Exertion

Wedding planning feels particularly good when you’re doing it spitefully. Things Jared wasn’t overly concerned with are suddenly important. Fuck yes they’re going to wear tuxes and have the stupidly expensive catering Bryce wants. If Bryce wants a fucking ice sculpture in the middle of summer Jared would probably okay it right now, just as long as he could send a picture of it to Oilers PR.

One of my favourite things about Jared is how much spite he can inject into all his endeavours.

Bryce comes home after two hours, and Jared is given a pretty solid example of Chaz’s reports of the discrepancy between Bryce’s gloss on the phone with Jared versus Bryce in reality, because his face is a fucking thundercloud until he realises Jared’s looking at him, and once he does it gets very — neutral. The epitome of ‘fine’.

Bryce is still masking a LOT at this point in the narrative. It’s kind of crazy to me how far he’s come at this point and how far he’s still going to go.

Jared’s at least ninety percent sure people have recognised Bryce, so he keeps it low when he leans in while Bryce is taking a long-overdue water break, shirt plastered to his back, and says, “Is it weird to say you look hot when you’re punching things?”

Bryce laughs a little breathlessly. “You hate when I fight,” he says.

“Yeah, but when you’re fighting guys are throwing punches back,” Jared says. “And I kinda like your face.”

This is going to keep holding true, much to Jared’s chagrin. Well, chagrin about the fighting: he’s cool continuing to like Bryce’s face.

They do, however, fuck in their own shower — no matter how many times Jared swears they’re never going to do that again, usually while nursing a minor injury, he gets Bryce naked and wet in an enclosed space with him and things go badly. Well, they go badly for his self-discipline; they go pretty okay otherwise. Neither of them even need an ice pack after

The one lesson that is never learned in this narrative, but hey: no ice pack this time.

“Cool,” Jared says. “You still want that crazy expensive catering company?”

“I mean, you keep looking at price per person, but it’s not that much when we only have—”

“You can go ahead and book them,” Jared says.

“Hey, is mid-July too soon for the wedding? That huge lake house you thought it’d be cool to rent out just told mom they got a cancellation then.”

Jared would literally marry him tomorrow if Bryce wasn’t so aghast at the idea of eloping.

“I know we haven’t ironed out, like—” Bryce says.

“Book it,” Jared interrupts.

Their entire wedding comes together on the wings of spite and Bryce is kind of loving it, tbh.

“Liar,” Jared says.

“Mom,” Bryce complains.

“Bear, you know you’re a bad liar,” Elaine says.

One of Bryce’s best-worst feelings is when Jared and Elaine team up on him. His favourite people are united! Against him.

Erin drops the ‘I don’t know how hockey works’ b.s. while Elaine’s there, which is good, because if Jared had to tell her one more time that icing doesn’t persist during the power play, while he’s already grit-tooth watching the Flames kill it, well —

Jared should not kill his sister.

This act, which was used to bug the SHIT out of her father and brother, is permanently dropped when she gets together with Julius, and Jared and Don both have dramatic ‘I KNEW IT’ conversations with her.

“But you would have had to tell them before the wedding,” Elaine says. “And telling them affects your career more than his.”

“How?” Jared asks. “He’s the high-profile player.”

“That’s my point,” Elaine says. “There’s always going to be a team that thinks his play makes a potential scandal worth it.”

And that isn’t true of Jared. He honestly like — his dad’s been telling him that since before he was drafted, that a team might decide it wasn’t worth the PR headache, pissing off the homophobic fans. And he knew that, intellectually he knew his dad was right, it’s just — he didn’t expect it to go as bad as it did. Maybe that was naive.

Jared would self-describe as a pessimist, but he’s actually the optimist, between him and Bryce. And he’s usually the one who’s right about how things will go down, versus Bryce, who tends to fear the worst, but unfortunately that’s not always the case.

“I worried about him a lot growing up. I’m sure you can — I worried about Bryce a lot. And I don’t worry — I don’t worry about him in the same way now. And you’re a big part of why I don’t. So thank you for that.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Jared says. “Like, he kind of — it’s all him. He’s the one who did all the work, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Elaine says, reaching out and squeezing his hand, and Jared squeezes back.

This is probably my favourite Jared and Elaine moment in the entire series. The utter RELIEF it has been for Elaine, Bryce having Jared in his life. That fear has been so ever-present since Bryce was a child, the weight of it coming off was immense. She still worries about him, obviously, but before, she was Bryce’s sole support. Him having Jared is such blessing to her.

“Why’re you still up?” Jared asks.

“Waiting for you,” Bryce says, but he doesn’t protest when Jared pokes him to their room, supervises him getting into bed. Bryce gets out a plaintive “Come to bed,” before he crashes hard, and Jared gets Gatorade — blue, because Bryce earned it — and aspirin, puts them on Bryce’s bedside table in case he wakes up dehydrated and sore, which Jared knows from experience he almost definitely will. And Jared’s never played the kind of minutes Bryce did tonight. He adds an extra aspirin, just in case.

Soft shit, Matheson.

104 - Ember

Two of them are vanilla because Jared’s selfish and Bryce isn’t there, and anyway, no one dislikes vanilla, so it’s a good flavour to have.

I have been asked about the cake reversal, because Bryce has stated that he liked vanilla best when Jared got him a cupcake for a birthday very early in their relationship, and I will say this: Jared was visibly nervous he got the wrong flavour and Bryce was lying to make him feel better. Jared even pegged it at the time. Also as soon as he realised he could have a non-traditional wedding cake he got excited.

(He DOES like vanilla ice cream best, but he is a chocolate cake guy. Jared’s a chocolate ice cream and vanilla cake guy. Complementary couple.)

“I brought guests!” Bryce tells him, Chaz and Ashley walking in the door before Jared can do more than throw the nearest blanket over himself, give himself a little dignity. Not that Chaz hasn’t seen him in less hundreds of times, but context. Plus Ashley hasn’t, and does not deserve to be unexpectedly subjected to it. He twists it so it covers his chest too. He’s sure Ashley isn’t going to be scandalised by his nipples or whatever, but still.

“Beautiful blanket toga,” Chaz says.

He is stunning in his attire.

“We just got the cake decided,” Jared says. “Chocolate and vanilla, which isn’t like, totally traditional—” he pretends he doesn’t see Bryce rolling his eyes at him. “But it’s not like, a cupcake cake or whatever, so.”

“Aw, I like those little cupcake towers,” Ashley says. “They’re super cute.”

VINDICATION FOR HALLA.

Bryce eats it up, and Jared can’t blame him, considering that’s like, his first enthusiastic Matheson reception, barring Erin the irritating shadow and devoted future sister-in-law. Plus her glaring crush when he first came onto the scene. Maybe Jared will amend that to adult Mathesons — though like, his grandma’s a Murray, not a Matheson, so maybe that’s the difference. No hobgoblin gene.

Jared has the hobgoblin gene from both sides, his grandma has simply bamboozled him into thinking she’s not a hobgoblin herself.

It’s going to cost an absurd amount for something Jared will probably never wear again, except maybe to Oilers charity stuff — and even then hopefully he’ll have put on enough weight it won’t fit — and Jared almost protests and puts his foot down on getting one off the rack, despite Bryce’s obvious horror at the idea, but then he gathers all his reserves of spite and lets it happen.

Bryce continues to be very grateful to Jared’s spite in this matter.

Small potatoes is a stupid term, Julius texts back ten minutes later, ten minutes Jared imagines he spent looking up whatever the hell that meant and then trying to figure out why that was a thing, and then throwing his hands up at the English language. It’s easy to imagine because Jared’s seen him do it multiple times before.

And to be fair, it is a pretty stupid term. Like, what is it comparing the small potatoes to? Big potatoes? A pumpkin?

It literally has no defined etymology and that makes me fucking mad. A good idiom requires a root MEANING, even if it’s no longer relevant to modern life. Fuck you small potatoes.

Jared snorts, then texts Julius with a mad face. “I can’t believe you’re sulking,” Bryce says. “I’m not,” Jared says, and then sends Julius three more mad faces and a I cooked for you ALL YEAR and I get nothing. Thank you for your congratulations, Julius sends back twenty minutes later. Whatever we both knew you were a lock., Jared texts back

I love their friendship. Julius is the friend Jared deserves.

It feels vaguely unethical for them to get preferential treatment when everyone’s supposed to be equal, but Jared doesn’t want some random person at City Hall recognising Bryce, so he’s not actually complaining.

Love Jared like ‘I recognise this is the sort of preferential treatment that leads to systemic inequality which is bad…but also I appreciate it’.

“We’re getting married in July,” Jared says, just to like — tell her. She doesn’t care, she’s just telling them how long it’s valid for so they don’t have to get a new one, but it’s just. It’s cool, saying it to someone.

“Congratulations,” she says, both like she says it a billion times a day, and like she means it, means it as much for them as anyone else, no more or less.

“Thank you,” Bryce says, and it’s stupid, but Jared has the sudden urge to take his hand, follows through on it. She knows they’re getting married, it’s not like a little hand holding is going to shock her. Once again, she doesn’t bat an eye.

But then also NOT getting different treatment is meaningful as hell too.

105 - Promise

It turns out while Bryce’s celebrity was kind of handy in getting some strings pulled at City Hall, it is a pain in the fucking ass when it comes to getting an officiant. Jared figured they could get Elaine or Bryce’s grandpa or someone to get a licence for it, like he’s seen before, keep it in the family, but Alberta’s a buzzkill on that one, and they have to go official.

I ALSO figured that and was displeased with the government of Alberta. (But when am I not, you know? If I get the fucking 'tell the Feds' ad one more time during a hockey game so help me--)

Jared doesn’t want to do that. Like, for one, Bryce is going to have a speech that’s a billion times more romantic and great even if he doesn’t put any effort into it — and Jared knows he’s going to put effort in it. Jared’s is going to be awful in comparison. Every time Jared tries to talk about his feelings, it ends up terrible and often insulting. Bryce deserves better.

Look at Jared trying to make this sound like he’s refusing for Bryce’s sake. (though he is right, it is typically terrible and insulting.)

“You know, the ‘I take you, blah blah blah,’” Jared says. “She just wanted to know if we wanted to personalise them. You’re supposed to save the long stuff for the reception, you know, not drag the wedding on too long.”

Did Jared trawl wedding sites explicitly for this ammo? Absolutely. He’s even got the links saved in case Bryce asks for sources. Sources say: don’t do anything that takes over a minute, it’s a bad idea, it’ll bore your guests.

Any sources that said otherwise naturally were discarded because they did not suit Jared’s purposes.

Raf seems like the kind of guy who’d like, light candles at dinner for ambiance, and Chaz is totally the kind of guy who’d buy Ashley flowers ‘just because’, all these things Jared is totally deficient at

He’s got it backwards: Chaz is candle guy, Raf is flowers just because guy. (And for her mom! And sister! Grace’s fam love Raf so.)

lean on your teammates for help, right? If you’re weak on the point, don’t go there, let a teammate more capable have that slot. Teamwork 101.

God I love Jared trying to hide his machinations with hockey talk, like that’s going to fool anyone.

“No,” Raf repeats. “You have to do your own wedding stuff.”

“It’s just my vows,” Jared says.

“That’s the most important part,” Raf says, sounding faintly scandalised.

Raf is more than faintly scandalized, honestly.

“You seem like a romantic guy,” Jared says to Chaz after they wrap up for the day.

“Oh fuck no,” Chaz says. “I’ve already heard like three drafts of BJ’s vows, there’s no way I’m listening to yours too.”

Three drafts? In two days? Jared’s fucked.

“I was going to ask you to help me write them?” Jared says.

“That’s so much worse, no way,” Chaz says.

And Chaz is done.

He looks up some sample vows on his phone while he’s making him and Bryce dinner that night, and they leave him red with secondhand embarrassment. He can’t imagine saying anything even close to what they say. There will be no ‘light of my life’ leaving his mouth, true or not.

Look at this dude just slipping in that Bryce is the light of his life. Two people making this relationship mushy, Jared.

Jared was always kind of, well — he was a studious kid. He got good grades. He prepared for classes. So it seems to make sense to make a list as a starting point. Sort of a ‘Pros and Cons of Bryce Justin Marcus, Except Just the Pros Because Our Wedding is a Dumb Time To Mention the Cons, Unless the Cons are Endearing Ones’.

Can you imagine this dude listing Bryce’s cons during his vows to be ‘fair’. Pro: excellent at hockey. Con: needs to work on controlling his temper on the ice. Pro: romantic as fuck. Con: romantic as fuck.

Fuck. He is not good at this. This is not his thing. The list part, sure, but not the conveying emotion part. He has a ton of emotions for Bryce, but like, saying them? Oof.

Big oof. Especially considering Jared’s history when trying to convey said emotions.

He’s definitely crazy in love to be thinking about Bryce at like, forty, having a shitfit because he’s starting to go bald, or grey, when he’s so vain about his — admittedly terrific — hair. Or Bryce at sixty, buying a convertible all over again and thinking he’s so cool, or at ninety, grin as shiny white as ever because his teeth are all fake, and still being like ‘yeah, I want that guy’.

We all know this man is due for another red convertible decades from now, Jared has resigned himself already.

Jared closes the doc — password protected or not, no way he wants Bryce to accidentally stumble onto that ridiculousness — unlocks the door to the spare room — he was maybe a lot paranoid about Bryce not stumbling in on the ridiculousness — and wanders into the living room after hiding his laptop in said spare room.

Jared treating his vows like state secrets while Bryce has already emailed Ashley like five different versions for peer review.

He’s having a lot of feelings lately. It’s very disorienting. Like, he always has feelings, obviously, he’s not a robot, but he’s having so many. Bryce always does this to him, dammit.

Thankfully ‘how dare you make me feel feelings’ did not make it to the final vows.

#liveblogging the end

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mashficolympics · 11 months

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Introducing the M*A*S*H Fic Olympics!

ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL!

Hello everyone, and welcome to the M*A*S*H Fic Olympics, a week-long fandom-wide writing festival that aims to highlight and appreciate the amazing work of writers involved in the M*A*S*H fandom!

This festival is open to all ships (and gen work, of course), and will run Monday, July 3, through Sunday, July 9.

Your organizers are Jay (Jaybirbb on AO3 and @faggothawkeyepierce on Tumblr) and Parker (AMRV_5 on AO3 and @amrv-5 on Tumblr). Feel free to contact [email protected] with questions!

request list || prompt list

HOW IT WORKS:

Each day of the week-long festival will have a specific theme. Authors will have from now until the night before each theme to craft a fic to fit and post it to the AO3 collection M*A*S*H Fic Olympics (find it here!).

All of the posted works for a given day will fall under its theme. The fics can be submitted publicly or anonymously, and as individual works or chapters of a single piece.

Works submitted to the M*A*S*H Fic Olympics collection on Archive of Our Own will be posted across seven days (the moderators will approve each fic on its theme day!). The links to the AO3 works will then be posted to this blog, moderated by yours truly.

Each day’s theme will be provided at the bottom of this post. A list of prompts for potential inspiration will also be provided.

As another fun way to engage with the M*A*S*H writing community, we will also be accepting fic requests to be filled out during the event! Find out more here!

We encourage readers to review and share the works once they’re posted so they can be experienced by as many people as possible!

The event will begin on Monday, July 3rd and end on Sunday, July 9th. Participants should submit their fics by 5 p.m. CDT (10 p.m. GMT) the night before each relevant theme (meaning first submissions are due July 2nd, and last ones July 8th!). That said, we’ll also accept late submissions—the more fic, the better!

FAQ:

"Do I have to follow the theme?"

-Yes! This will make it a lot easier for us to organize on which day we’ll post the fics. Plus, it’s the point of the fic olympics!

"Do I have to follow a prompt?"

-No! The prompts are there for you to use as inspiration, but you can change them up or totally ignore them. As long as you follow the theme, everything’s good!

"Can I submit more than one fic?"

-Absolutely! Write and submit as many works as you want.

"How should I format my fics?"

-You can post the daily fills as chapters in a single work, or as individual works; it’s up to you!

"How do I submit to a collection?"

-When you create a new work, you’ll find a menu in the “Associations” box that allows you to post your fic to a collection. Enter “M*A*S*H Fic Olympics” in the entry box, and it should allow you to select the collection and post to it!

"How do I request a fic? How do I fill a request?"

-Everything you need to know should be in this post!

"I have more questions! Help!!"

-Do not hesitate to contact us at [email protected] if you have any other questions.

RULES:

-This challenge is open to all ships, as well as gen work.

-Canon-compliant, post-canon, pre-canon and AU are all fair game!

-Each day of the week-long challenge has an associated theme. To participate, write something incorporating that theme and post it to the M*A*S*H Fic Olympics collection on AO3.

-No maximum or minimum word count.

-Please tag your work properly, so everyone’s experience can be safe and enjoyable! The moderators may ask you to add a tag to your work after you submit it. We also reserve the right to refuse fics until they are properly tagged.

-Remember to be kind! Any participants who engage in hostile behavior to other participants may be removed from participation. We’re all friends here :)

-Have fun and be yourself <3

THEMES AND SCHEDULE:

Monday, July 3 (Due July 2): Letters

Tuesday, July 4 (Due July 3): Weather

Wednesday, July 5 (Due July 4): Horror

Thursday, July 6 (Due July 5): Orange

Friday, July 7 (Due July 6): Injury

Saturday, July 8 (Due July 7): Alternate Universe

Sunday, July 9 (Due July 8): Secrets

PROMPT LIST:

If you find yourself struggling for ideas, we have a prompt list available here!

Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts! These are totally optional, and only intended to help provide some inspiration if desired!

Have fun, and happy writing!

#mash #m*a*s*h #m*a*s*h 4077 #mashblr #mash fanfiction #mash fandom #m*a*s*h fic olympics

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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Guys. I'm gonna be very real with you here. And I'm sure it will piss off a few people. So I'm not tagging it. You can rb if you want, but I'm not tagging it. This is for you to do with as you please.

Ok. Here it is. We don't know what happened behind the scenes. We don't. We truly don't. And please be real.

HCav (not using the full name because I don't want to put it in the search results) is a massive global superstar, gorgeous, rich, beloved, AND incredibly incredibly incredibly good at pr. He has legions of fans and more access to media than almost any other celebrity.

All he has to do is very tactfully, in a few interviews, refuse to compliment the writers and instead steer the conversation to his love of the books, and voila. When he leaves this show, everyone blames someone else. Like. I've seen like two people mad at him. That's it. And that is what he did. He is very very smart.

This is the man who managed to convince millions of nerdy fanboys that he is 'just like them' that he is 'one of them'. Do you know how hard that is for someone who looks like him? lol

It used to be that when Hcav was cast in something nerdy, they'd bitch. "He's too pretty" (they want to project hard onto the hero, and their ideal is a rugged man which they associate more closely with old fashion masculinity. They also always complain the opposite of the female lead...she's never pretty or hot enough. But that's a different convo.) But despite that, HCav has painstakingly convinced them over the course of several years, that he is 'just like them'. It's like...the miracle that he has pulled off is THEE pr accomplishment of this century.

I am not saying that HCav is not a nerd. I'm not saying that he doesn't work hard or take the material seriously. I'm saying that it is far too easy for everyone watching this unfold, to just call him Jesus, and vilify everyone else, all while have zero fucking idea of what happened behind the scenes.

"Yes but Des, we know it's the writers' fault, because the show writing does suck, and the showrunner herself says that Cav was always the one who tried to fit in passages from the books."

Yes. Ok. But the problem I have with the writing is never the details. It's the overarching plotlines. HCav knew her vision when he signed on. When he fought for that role. They had so many meetings. Netflix told her to carry out her own vision, that's what she said she'd do, and he knew that.

All I'm saying is, no matter what you think of the writing, he is not a passive victim here. He was not betrayed. It's just grown folks having differences. That's it! And he couldn't write that show. Him adding lines here and there is the easiest thing. Would he be able to write an entire season's worth of scripts? (It's harder than it looks. It takes years of honing that craft.) No. He wouldn't, nor would he want to. The pay cut alone would be so staggering I'm sure he would have to sell several ocean front properties.

"Yes, but Des, the former writer said that people on the show hate the books. Surely that drove him away."

Babes. The guy who said that is the one who wrote S2E2 AND Nightmare of the Wolf. lmaoooosob. I would rather have a writer on the show who critiques some elements of the books (THEY ARE NOT ABOVE CRITIQUE) but actually understands what a witcher is and what that means in context of class, and who understands their oppressions, than someone who thinks the books are perfect, but took from those books that witcher are....THAT. That Vesemir is THAT.

Secondly, again, we don't know what happened. Another staff writer implied on twitter that there was ego and abuse issues. So WE DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.

The point is, it is sooooooooooo fucking easy when you've left to blame everyone else. That's petty as shit what that departing writer did, and like...it works! It is guaranteed to work and he knew it.

Which leads us to the most uncomfortable truth here, and that is that what that writer did and to a lesser extent what HCav did, is weaponize a multitude of these racist cishet white nerdboys who harass and loathe Anna and Anya and Mimi and all these woc. These people live in a constant abusive rage online, and the root of their rage is that the witcher is diverse and 'woke'. If you haven't been on twitter or reddit or youtube and seen the relentless vile open racism in the most organized and loudest elements that attack the writers and Lauren, then I envy you. It is a cesspool.

When that departing writer threw them under the bus, he knew exactly what would happen and who he would rile up.

"Are you implying that if you hate the writing, you're misogynistic and racist."

No. Obviously not. I have criticized the writing and I will probably continue to do so on occasion.

I've been accused of being a 'book purist' but I assure you I'm not. Just give me good writing. Just give me a good story. And keep the characters true to their spirits. And if that isn't what is delivered, I might write a post with critique in it.

But what I won't do is publicly pile on people, on human beings, for business decisions and deals that happen behind the scenes, people who have no control over this, no fame, and no way to defend themselves.

This is how it works.

The showrunner decides the plot of the season. The staff writers are assigned episodes. They write what they're told to write. A lot of these staff writers and writer assistants make near poverty wages (for people living in L.A. Dear god. The cost to live there is staggering).

What I'm not gonna do is publicly blame them for driving away 'poor little hcav' lmao this incredibly incredibly powerful, wealthy global superstar who makes his own fucking decisions and whose race and gender protects him if his money and fame didn't.

Were there creative differences? Probably.

Did he also walk out on a show instead of working it out because he got a better offer? Definitely.

And was he INCREDIBLY INCREDIBLY savvy about very gently and subtly throwing them under the bus in every interview in order to preserve his fanboy following and his reputation going forward?

YES

Because these studios know that if they adapt existing properties of these past comic books and novels and then they put a foot wrong, they will have legions of these toxic racist cishet white nerdboy fuckers review bombing, harrassing, stalking, making rape and death threats to actors, and if they get HCav they know that's not going to happen. The fanboys worship the ground he walks on. The fact that he delivers that to them is a HUGE plus in his favor. And then he also delivers the straight women. (and the bis, we won't leave us out, I did think he looked great grimy in a bathtub)

The issue is, back in the day, when these adapted properties (in the broader sense) novels and comic books were being published, 99% of English language publishing was run by white men and everyone else was excluded. If we are going to adapt them today, we can choose to uphold that white supremacy by continuing to exclude every other race from participating in the projects, thereby extending that white supremacy, and becoming agents of it, or we can cast the best actor for the role, regardless of race. And when that happens the backlash is swift. Because white people think only white people can be ethereal beauties (elves) they think only white people can be seductive, smoking hot sorceresses, they think only white people pilot space ships in the future and kiss heroic leading men.

It happened with Rings of Power, in Wheel of Time, in Star Wars, and more! Legions of racists and misogynists organize and make life a living hell for everyone else. They do not want to share their toys.

Yes, there is room for critique and dislike of these properties without being racist. I'm not talking about people who have real critique. (I have critique! I'm a mouthy, wordy bitch!) I'm talking about people who complain about 'woke' properties and who spew racial epithets at these beautiful talented actresses.

HCav never once that I saw stood up for the diverse casting of his female costars (Please prove me wrong and send me some interview where he did) and he could have. Again, I'm not demonizing him. He is focused and ambitious and stays in his lane and looks out for his career. But he does not go the extra mile for them. And he sure as shit doesn't need one more person (me) deifying him, trying to suck him off, and in the other breath, throwing all these women and poc under the bus for him.

Look, for example, the difference with other properties. Like The Walking Dead. Andrew Lincoln literally never shuts up about how much he loves Danai being his 'leading lady'. And look at how Ewan McGregor took up for Moses Ingram. (not his leading lady, but his colleague) Just saying. It is possible. So.

This recast is weird.

It sucks.

But.

It's no one's fault.

It just is.

And we move on.

I got Joey Batey out of this. I got The Amazing Devil out of this. I got Madeleine Hyland out of this. I got the witcher book saga out of this. (I had only vaguely heard the names here and there but would have never read them otherwise) I got an amazing fandom community out of this that I will continue to write for and be a part of.

And I am not going to start screaming at working people in the streets for something they had little to no control over.

And lastly, "but you said Lauren has control over it, and surely she does get paid a ton of money. So surely this rich white lady isn't blameless in this. Surely she deserve the criticism she gets."

My guess is they are both grown ass adults who are fallible and are equally to blame. It doesn't help infantilizing or deifying him. And I can critique her work without vilifying her.

I can go write the Milva post I've been drafting for months being absolutely livid about her tweet saying Milva "embodies unrequited romance" without harrassing her. Please look at the difference here. IT IS ABOUT THE WORK. IT IS ABOUT THE STORY.

It is never personal. I would never make it personal. It's just different visions about fiction. And I would never pretend to know what happens in real life with real people behind the scenes.

And I know that no one who follows me on here is the kind of person who would harass her. At least I hope. I'm almost positive. So I'm not accusing anyone of anything. And if you hate the writing and the direction of the show you are entitled to that. I have done my own critical posts.

But again, I do not know what happened behind the scenes. So I'm staying in my lane. I've lived long enough now to see people get blamed and harassed for things and then we get documentaries twenty years later showing that people were totally in the wrong and just didn't know what happened behind the scenes.

So I will not be doing that.

And I will keep supporting Joey and Anya and Myanna and Mimi and all the people acting their little hearts out on the show. And I will keep talking about the books and writing my lil fics.

And when the show is over, I will probably follow Joey to whatever other projects he goes to. But I won't ever stop being a witcher fan or a TAD fan. That's a 'for life' thing at this point.

#talking twn #twn

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