#idk what this is but my brain made me write it

[yvesssssssss]

HAIII I love ur writing sm it tickles my brain heh...could i rq blue lock (anyone it's ok!! but heh..kaiser kunigami, sae and bayou are my favs) x manager reader that's usually blunt forward n quiet but she actually got the warmest smile ever when she smiles??? idk if u have seen when life gives you tangerines but oh my gosh park bogums smile on the series Geniunely had me having a heart attack everytime he was on scene

Blue lock x manager! Reader

—Michael kaiser, sae itoshi, barou shouei, kunigami rensuke

Thank you so much! The way I wrote this is honestly so cringey, but I tried. T_T Still, I hope you like it💞

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser wasn’t used to being ignored.

Not when he walked into rooms like a spotlight followed him. Not when his smirk had fans screaming and cameras snapping. And especially not by someone who worked with him every day.

You were quiet. Not shy—just efficient. Calm. Blunt.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Kaiser asked one day during training, jogging up to you with that usual glint in his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re picturing how fast you could bury a body.”

You blinked. “Depends on the soil. You done flexing?”

His teammates wheezed behind him. He was left blinking for once.

You were the team’s manager—always showing up before the players, organizing their chaos into something functional. You gave out water bottles and brutally honest feedback like it was part of your salary package.

Kaiser thought you were amusing. And annoying. And kind of hot in a terrifying way.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

What got to him the most, though, was that he’d never seen you smile. Not really.

A twitch at the lips when Isagi tripped over a cone. A raised brow when Barou called himself royalty again. But never a full-on, warm, heart-hitting smile.

Until one afternoon.

The team was clearing out after a grueling match, Kaiser sprawled on the bench, shirt off, absolutely done—but watching you. As always.

You were checking gear, murmuring thanks to a junior staff member, and then—you turned slightly, eyes crinkling, lips curling—

And smiled.

Kaiser actually dropped the energy drink he was holding.

It was blinding. Soft and rare, like a dawn over war-torn fields. Your entire face lit up—calm, warm, kind. Not sarcastic. Not forced. Real.

It wasn’t even aimed at him, which made it worse.

“Who the hell was that for?” he demanded, walking up to you like a man betrayed.

“Huh?”

“That smile. The one that looked like it could end wars.”

You blinked at him, back to your usual deadpan expression. “You want one?”

He opened his mouth.

Paused.

“…Yes.”

You tilted your head. And slowly, like the sun peeking from behind storm clouds, you smiled again—just a little. At him.

Kaiser’s ears went red.

“I—uh. Okay. That’s illegal,” he muttered, pointing at you like you were a loaded weapon. “I’m gonna sue. Emotional damage.”

You were already walking away.

“Then stop acting like a victim.”

His heart actually did a backflip.

“…I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered under his breath.

Kunigami rensuke

Kunigami never minded blunt people. In fact, he appreciated them. It was better than the fake smiles and flattery he sometimes got from media staff or fans. But you? You took blunt to a new level.

“You look tired,” he said one morning, wiping sweat from his forehead, trying to make small talk during drills.

“I am tired. You guys don’t clean up your trash and I’m not your mother.”

“…Right.”

Still, he liked talking to you. He liked how steady you were, how nothing ruffled you—not the pressure, not the chaos, not even Kaiser being a diva. And when you did speak, it was short, snappy, and always honest. Refreshing.

But no one had ever seen you smile.

Not once.

Until that late night at the training camp, when everyone else had cleared out. Kunigami had stayed behind, double-checking his gear. You were near the bench, organizing towels and muttering about how someone left their socks inside-out.

He looked up from lacing his shoes—and there it was.

Your laugh. Soft. Sudden.

Someone had texted you, maybe. Or maybe something genuinely made you happy for once. Either way, your lips curled up and your eyes lit from within. It was quiet, gentle, and lasted all of three seconds.

But it knocked the breath out of him.

“…You smiled,” he said, almost in awe.

You turned, expression returning to normal. “Yeah. I do that sometimes. I’m not a robot.”

“I thought you were. Or like—part ghost.”

You gave him a long stare, and he realized too late how stupid that sounded. But then—

You smiled again. Just a little. Just at him.

Warm, unguarded.

“You’re not as dumb as you look, Kunigami.”

He coughed into his fist, ears going hot. “Y-Yeah? Well—cool. Thanks. I think.”

You chuckled—low and genuine—and went back to folding towels.

He stood there a moment longer, staring like a man hit by divine revelation.

God help him, he wanted to see that smile again. Every day. Forever.

Tomorrow, he decided, he was getting up early. Earlier than usual. Maybe you’d smile at him again.

Maybe, if he was lucky, you already liked him a little.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

Sae itoshi

Sae didn’t pay attention to most people. He had no reason to. Most were too loud, too fake, too eager to get in his space for the wrong reasons.

But you were different.

You were quiet. Not shy—just observant. Efficient. When someone forgot a jersey, you had a spare ready before they noticed. When the coaching staff missed a scheduling error, you were already fixing it. You rarely spoke unless necessary, but when you did, your voice was calm. Unshaken.

And your blunt honesty?

He respected it.

“You looked bored out there,” you told him one day after practice.

“I was.”

“I could tell. But if you're going to half-ass it, at least make it look convincing.”

He’d blinked. Once. Then laughed under his breath.

After that, he paid more attention to you.

You never hovered. Never smiled for no reason. You just worked—always a step ahead of the team, always unbothered by chaos. But you had this quiet way of looking out for people. You noticed when someone was limping and handed them an ice pack without a word. You stood in front of rookies when reporters got too pushy.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

But it was kind.

One day, he stayed behind after drills. Not for any real reason—just sat on the bench, watching the sky go soft with sunset. You were nearby, cleaning up the med kit, checking supplies.

“You always work this late?”

You didn’t look up. “Someone has to.”

“…You like this job?”

You paused, then glanced at him.

“I like helping people who don’t expect to be helped.”

He looked at you properly then. Not just the usual glance—really looked. You weren’t just efficient. You cared. In that quiet, unnoticed kind of way most people overlooked.

Then, for the first time, he saw it.

You smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But warm. Real. The kind of smile that slipped out when you weren’t thinking too hard. The kind that made your eyes soften, just a bit.

Sae didn’t react outwardly, but something in him stilled.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” he said.

You blinked. “…Probably.”

“You should do it more.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched again, like you were holding back another one.

“Then try being less boring.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Fine. I’ll work on it.”

And he did.

Not for the cameras. Not for his reputation.

Just maybe—for you.

Barou

Barou didn’t like being managed. Or ordered. Or reminded to hydrate like he was a child.

But you didn’t treat him like that.

You were quiet, direct, and didn’t waste time. If he forgot to stretch, you’d just say, “Your hamstring’s gonna snap,” and toss him a band. If he got too heated during practice, you handed him a towel and said, “Chill. You’re scaring the interns.”

You didn’t hover or nag. You weren’t afraid of his temper, either. You were… calm. Unfazed. Like you’d seen worse than a guy yelling about meat buns and “kingly” training schedules.

He respected that.

One day, after a particularly frustrating scrimmage, he kicked a cone halfway across the field and stormed off. The team gave him space. So did the coaches.

But not you.

You followed him to the locker room, carrying a wrapped rice ball.

“You didn’t eat,” you said, holding it out like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I’m not hungry,” he growled.

“Then be angry with a full stomach.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. You weren’t sarcastic. You weren’t mocking him. Just… offering him food, like it was obvious. Like of course you cared, even if you barely spoke half the day.

He snatched it from your hand, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t look away.

And then—he saw it.

You smiled.

Soft. Barely there. But it hit like a punch to the chest.

Not because it was perfect or dazzling. But because it wasn’t. It was quiet. Warm. Like it wasn’t meant to be seen. Like it slipped out because, maybe, you cared more than you let on.

“You’re not as scary when you smile,” you said, tone casual.

Barou blinked. Scowled. Looked away too fast.

“Tch. Don’t say weird stuff.”

You turned to leave.

He glanced back at the rice ball in his hand. Then at your back.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

You didn’t stop walking, but your voice carried:

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”

[gazstations]

I’m going to get sappy, is that okay with y’all?

TW for actual irl depression and suicidal thoughts discussions (not explicit). This is about me (sorry).

Three years ago, I quit writing completely. Like genuinely wanted to vomit instead of use my brain to word. It put me in deeeeep depression because I felt like I wasn’t myself. I felt separated from half of my soul honestly. I even struggled with suicidal thoughts because I was so disconnected. It scared me quite honestly how disassociated I was simply because I didn’t write.

I don’t want to point fingers, because a lot of it was my stupid little brain. But I’ve been writing fanfic since I was 13 and I’m 25 now. People engaging is what made me thrive. It’s the reason why I got a degree in English and Creative Writing. Back 3 years ago, people stopped engaging and it crushed me. I felt like I put so much heart into my works and no one acknowledged it. I felt maybe I was writing too poetically or just wasn’t interesting enough. I tried so many different fandoms and not a single one landed.

So I quit. Literally left all my unfinished works and just dipped the fuck out. Which is a shame because I had a lot of ideas that will never be on page.

And then back in March, I got a little happy juice all of the sudden, and I decided to start writing for the cod fandom. The one place I never tried, and I’ve been in the fandom since 2007. I have felt so loved since then, and I even cry to my mom because I feel like my soul is back together. All of you people that have followed my little brainworms have made me excited to open a blank document and write again. I started working on poetry again because of it.

So thank you for your support. I’m not the most followed one out there, but I love my little community 🥺

If you’re unsure of whether or not to tell an author you love them, please do! Interaction makes brain go :D

Idk why I wrote this, but heck, I will always show my appreciation for y’all

[pyonpurin]

College Drummer Bakugo Katsuki

THIS IS A WEIRD BRAIN VOMIT PLEASEEEEE ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

don't expect tew much or i'm gonna cry

drummer katsuki x fashion designer reader

genre fluff

omfg idfc it's a brain vomit FFS

none hero au, just plain plain 'ol college students! katsuki is 21 on his 3rd year of college and reader is a year older fresh graduate, back in the country and is trying to make an independent clothing line!

──────────────────────────────

Weird prompt that i'll never write so is it really a prompt? anyways, i still need to get it out of my head!

⚠ SUPER DUPER many typos and please do excuse my english it's not my first language lololol ⚠

Okay so, college drummer Bakugo with his band mates (BakuSquad is what we would call duh) always practice at Jiro's garage (let's just imagine that Kyoka's parents are rich as hell because they're like some famous singers or in a band thus why she has her own house even tho she's just a college student yeayeayea!) one day Jiro's old childhood friend (reader) just came back from college somewhere out of the country and crashed at Jiro's place.

Bakugo left his motorcycle keys on the garage couch without noticing until he sat on his motorcycle and (reader) went to him and gave him his keys, introduced herself because they haven't properly introduced each other, told him reader just graduate that's why she's suddenly back in japan blablabla all that jazz, asked each other what they major in and reader proudly tell him that she studied fashion, Katsuki basically said that's dumb (i feel like he would never but this is for the sake of the plot kay) and then reader explain how important fashion is starting from influential campaigns, controversial runways, and how political fashion is and oh suddenly he's hooked by your smartass, i mean he thinks you're pretty of course but he thought you're just some fashion bimbo or something till you pulled up an Elle Woods on him.

Anyways.. reader asked back what he majors in and he majors in music idk what you guys call it i have to search it up, and reader was like oh! duh! he's in a band that makes so much sense! anyways reader gave him her business card, made it herself, colorful and many many cute doodles, the way she smiles, laugh, the way she brings herself up as this cheerful girliepop is so so fun.

Kay he went home wondering about shit, it's not like he never had a girlfriend or anything but this felt different, she was fun to talk to, easy, like it's so natural, but whatever right? he went to sleep, and the next day he goes to class and stuff, and on his way back he's thinking of crashing at Jiro's place to practice his set, texted her that he's coming, he has her keys and stuff (they're that close i suppose!) and just immediately get in, open Jiro's door to see you and Jiro arguing about some sketches reader made of Jiro's outfit that reader volunteered to make for her upcoming performance, Jiro wanted sequins but oh my god the fabric itself will already be sparkly, what? she wants to be a disco ball up there? (it was an all fun and giggle argument tho! and i do believe while Jiro's outfit is kinda plain on the series, i'm a fancy kyoka truther!) and so Bakugo chimes in, and once they agree on something reader rushed and gather her sketches, take her bag, and said she wants to immediately buy the fabrics and stuff! and Bakugo who just arrived weirdly volunteered to take her saying he has to run some errands!

"Thought you were gonna practice your set-"

"Shut it ears. C'mon fashion freak, i don't got all day."

You gave Jiro a look that says "Um what the fuck?!" but oh you be grinning ear to ear, and she gave you a "Tell me how it goes!" look, i mean? riding a hot drummer's motorcycle? SIGN ME UP! aaaaaaaaand that's about it i'm fried lol!

waaaaaaaaaaaait this is so fun to vomit out omgomgogmgmgoggm

songs and shit that inspired this :

Elle Woods (my fav girl), my dream major (fashion), the school festival obvii, Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE, Lovers by Anna Of The North, EARLY DEBUT TWICE SONGS!, She by TYLER THE FREAKING CREATOR, Still Into You by my goat Paramore, Confident by Justin Bieber, yeaaaaaaaa that's about it i guess! when i wrote this i kinda got reminded of this webtoon called to you who swallowed a star (must read!)

ty for reading this was so fun to write!

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Never Too Late - Part One: The Awakening

This is something entirely different from the things I've written before. I don't know what made me want to write this beyond hearing one of Adar's lines from S2E8. For those who stick around for this ride, thank you in advance. I know this might not be everyone's cup of tea, but here we go nonetheless! Things will begin (I hope) to make more sense in the second chapter.

Disclaimer: I know this is not how the Maiar or the Valar or any of canon works. I do not care. This writer is playing in a sandbox.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Adar (RoP) x Maia!Reader

[A/N: There will be smut in future chapters, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: An exploration of Adar's origins, discussions of the first Elves, Elf x Maia romance, he falls first, feelings of unworthiness, fear, Morgoth's manipulation (discussed further in later chapters), brief mentions of pain, regret.

~*~

The whisper of the wind in the trees was hypnotic to the Elf with no name. He was among the first to wake. He'd tasted the sunlight as it spilled across his lips in gentle caresses for the first time. Warmth had trickled into his limbs, and soon he'd found himself wandering happily, joyfully through a meadow full of flowers.

For a time he continued in that manner, exploring the world around him, lying in the sun on a riverbank, tasting the sweetness of berries as they hung ripe in the sunlight. Occasionally he would encounter others who looked like him. Other Elves who did not yet have names. Though they did not know it, they would earn them in time.

A small group formed together, giving each other names and forming a small community in the newly-made world. In time, he found that he enjoyed crafting words into set structures, playing with them as one of the other Elves toyed with carving wood, and as another painted pictures.

As he tinkered, he found that the name given to him was not right. It did not fit him correctly. The meaning was not how he saw himself, but he did not argue it, choosing instead to string more words together. They could know him however they wished, but that name was not how he knew himself. The land, the light, and the beauty of the world inspired him to create stories and poems. After a time, however, he found that the flow of his words had slowed in favor of simply experiencing that which he found so lovely.

So, when the thought struck him to walk along the riverbank he favored so much and listen to the birds singing in the trees, he did not hesitate to strike out. Familiar sights and scents surrounded him, wrapping him in a veil of contentment.

Then a different sound met his ears: the gentle whisper of fabric amongst the breeze. The Elf's green eyes opened curiously, and he looked around him for what could have made such a noise. His own clothing - brown leggings and an off-white tunic - were too silent to have done so.

That was when he caught a glimpse of her for the first time. She seemed to glow of her own accord, despite the brightness of the sunlight streaming down upon them. A dress that seemed to glimmer in the light adorned her, translucent and bright. But it was her eyes that drew him to her. They met his for barely a moment, but in that glance, the Elf felt as though she called to his fëa.

She gave him a small smile, and flitted back into the trees as quickly as she'd appeared. So amazed was he by the appearance of such an ethereal creature that he could do no more than follow mutely in her path.

But, he did not find her that day, nor the next. For nearly a fortnight, all he had to remember her by were the dozen-or-so poems that had poured forth from his mind the night after spotting her. He read them aloud to himself by the riverbank amongst the swaying sage blossoms as he tried to perfect them. She - whoever she was - had captivated him and deserved no less than the most perfect tribute.

The way she'd smiled at him made him long for more. To see her laugh, to watch a sunset with her, to feel the rain dampening his skin as he held her in his arms. Undoubtedly, this was something important. He'd seen other Elves feel this way about each other, but never about one who was so clearly Other. Granted, their existence was young, but without a precedent, the Elf wondered what he was to do about these feelings.

Midway through the revision of one the poems he'd written for her, he paused his reading and scratched out a line in favor of a correction. He was so lost in his work that he did not register the sound of approaching footsteps until someone knelt in the grass beside him. The Elf looked up and–

Paralyzed by the warmth in her gaze, he was amazed to find the very woman he'd been writing about was less than a hand's breadth from him. The wind swirled around them, blowing a few strands of his dark hair into his face. Before he could fix it, however, she reached up and brushed it carefully behind one of his pointed ears. Her touch lingered for a beat longer than it should have, and the Elf felt his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Her skin was softer even than that of his own people! He could write for years about the simple sensation of being so close to her.

"Such beautifully-crafted words." Her praise was more nourishing than even the most filling meal.

"For you, my lady," he admitted in barely a whisper. "All for you. No greater beauty have I seen in all my days as a part of this world."

His voice was so quiet that he was afraid the breeze might spirit it away before it reached her ears, but she heard him. Of course she heard him. A warm smile stretched her lips, and a silvery laugh spilled from her throat.

"Oh? And what have I done, kind wordsmith, to earn such a gift?"

'Existing' was the simple answer, but he could not say that aloud. It was too honest, too forward. She would surely be offended by such a low creature's desires. He shook his head quietly.

"Wonders deserve to be praised, híril vuin," he murmured dropping his gaze to his paper.

"Then, should you not be writing about yourself?" He question drew an incredulous laugh from him, but she was entirely serious. "The light of the Valar lives within your people."

He shook his head.

"You are light itself," he asserted. "I could hope for no greater a muse than you."

They spoke for many hours that day and for many days after. Those days added up, and the pair continued to meet beside the river or amongst the trees, speaking of everything and nothing, wandering where they wished.

He did not mention having seen her to the others, but he did overhear a few of them, one night. They were speaking around a fire, taking turns speaking about the Valar and the Maiar. He paid no mind until one of them mentioned something familiar.

"One of the Maiar hides within the woods near the river," the blond Elf said. "She has been glimpsed, but none have spoken to her. I witnessed her eyes glowing from deep in the trees, but before I could approach, she disappeared."

"Why would one of the Maiar hide in the forest, much less take a physical form?" One of the others with brown hair asked.

"Who can tell? It is not our place to know the minds of the Valar or the Maiar," the blond said decisively, and at that, the group began dispersing for the night. Only the blond Elf and remained when the Elf with no name approached him.

"What does she look like, the Maia in the forest?" He asked, knowing in the racing of his pulse that it was her to whom he'd spoken and about her whom he'd been writing. It was as obvious as the leaves on the trees and the sun in the sky.

"None can see any details beneath her glow, but that is not unusual. Those who have caught sight of the Maiar say that they only show themselves to those whom they wish. They can hide their visages, only taking physical forms when they choose to do so."

When he retired to bed that night, he clung desperately to the secret of their conversations together. She had chosen to reveal herself to him and only him. Even if he did not know why, he was honored, and he hoped he could one day prove himself worthy of her trust.

As the days became months, then years, there was a particular bend in the river where he would meet his lady. Wandering for hours, sometimes days, he became as close with her two people could without delving openly into the realm of romance, though, he did harbor those feelings for her. His heart raced whenever she was near, and he knew that should he ever have a family, he would want it to be with her.

But, he was not worthy. He never would be. No matter how much he may want a daughter with his hair and her eyes, or a son who favored his mother's light, an Elf could never be worthy of one a Maia's love.

As he returned one night, musing over his situation and feeling his heart twist itself into knots over the futility of his love, he found the others in an uproar.

"What has happened?" He called as he neared the group of terrified Elves.

"Three of our number rode out earlier. They were meant to return at sundown, but it is near midnight and there is no sign of them," one of the painters said, twisting the sleeve of his robe compulsively.

"They could simply be late." One of the others said trying to calm the group, but the painter wasn't swayed.

"No, they are lost! Taken! There was something dark at work this morn. Two of the three who left expressed misgivings about the Valar ere they left." With their numbers added, that made seven so far who had disappeared. "'Tis the darkness! The shadows seek to blot out the light, even that within our hearts."

That was the beginning of his trouble. Hearing his kin speak of such darkness ignited within him a curiosity. He wished to understand why those who left chose to do so. Why would they willingly put themselves at risk when they had everything they needed here? The Valar provided for them in abundance. Why should they seek the bleak nothingness of the shadow?

So, in his attempts to understand, he began to study that which he should not. The shadow no longer seemed as dangerous to him, but a welcome respite from the perfection of the light.

In his zeal, he began visiting the river bend less frequently, but his lady appeared no less glad to see him when he did make the trip to see her. On the last of such occasions - which he had no way of knowing was the last - the sun was gentle, the river babbled away happily, and the trees shivered beneath a soft breeze. Everything was sweet and lovely...perfect.

Even the way she looked at him was particularly tender. He read her his latest composition, but he found midway through that his words, as excellently chosen as they always were, did not adequately express how he felt about her. Eventually, her fingers laid atop his arm, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Darling wordsmith, what troubles you?" She asked, and he felt exposed before her. Guilt wound its way through his heart for having explored what he ought not. Would she recoil from him? Cast him from her sight forever? Instead of a confession, however, a question slipped from his tongue without his permission.

"It has been said that one of the Maiar wanders this wood. Are you she?" He asked, and she did not hesitate to smile up at him.

"I am, but you have known that for quite some time." Brushing a few strands of his dark hair behind his ear as the wind shifted, she lifted an eyebrow. "Now, what truly troubles you?"

Swallowing nervously, he caught her wrist lightly in his grasp, laying a reverent kiss upon her skin. He had never been so bold before. He had never dared touch her or express his adoration so openly.

She did not object or move away.

"I trust you have heard about the Elves who have disappeared?" She nodded her head even as her expression became solemn. "I have been considering a course of action for some time, and...I intend to seek them out."

The Elf with no name looked for the woodland Maia's reaction only to find tears gathering in her eyes and spilling slowly down her cheeks - sparkling, diamond droplets seemingly glowing of their own volition. The sight lit a spark of alarm within his breast, constricting his lungs and urging him forward until he'd gathered her in his embrace.

With a bit of adjustment, she sat in his lap with her face buried in the crook of his neck and her arms around him. He held her close, but he could not find the right words to say to her. Ultimately, he murmured to her his apologies and felt one of her hands glide onto the back of his neck. Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear, and she spoke barely above a breath.

"Should you need me, you need only call my name." She told it to him, and he could not help clutching her tighter at the sound of that word encapsulating all that she was. Eventually, she pulled back just far enough to press her forehead softly against his own. "I will always come when you call. All I ask is that you do not surrender your own light. You will need it ere long."

Her nose touched his briefly as he swore to her that he would do as she said, and grief coiled in his heart when he felt how damp her skin was. He had not meant to make her weep. Reaching carefully up, he cupped her face in his warm palms and whispered quiet comforts. She deserved more than this - every happiness in the world, in fact - but he would still give her all that he was able.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to be bound to her as her husband. An Elf could never be worthy of a Maia, but he imagined what it would be like to be entangled with her like this every day. Her tears or her laughter, soft sighs or pleasure-filled breaths - anything she chose to give him would be a gift beyond measure, just as this moment was.

She allowed him to comfort her, to hold her. He savored the contact, even if he did regret bringing her unwelcome news. They stayed there on the riverbank until long past midnight. The moonlight, gentle and cleansing, caressed their faces as they lay down in each other's arms. Quietly, he caressed her face, tracing the bridge of her nose, the curve of her lips, the softness of her smile.

When they eventually parted, it was only after she'd placed her hand over his heart, whispering words in a language which he did not understand. Her fingers had begun to glow, and that light bled slowly into his chest, floating seemingly beneath his skin until her touch retreated. He did not know what she'd done, but the determined glint in her eyes made him wonder if it was some form of protection.

With great reluctance, he returned to his home. Before the next morning dawned, however, a call trickled into his ears, rousing him from his rest. It was time. All that he ever desired awaited him. He need only seek it. Low, guttural, and tugging at his very being, the voice - if it could be called a voice - dug a tendril of shadow into his mind.

He and five others rode away before daybreak.

The journey was a blur, and when he came back to himself, he found that all six of them were in a cave. Their horses were gone.

The Elf with no name looked around him but could perceive only darkness. Only shadows writhing and dancing before him. He'd been tricked. This was not the liberation he'd been led to believe the others had sought, nor was this something from which he could save them.

"Who are you? What do you want from us?" He called into the oblivion surrounding him, and a sinister laugh curled from its depths scratching fear from deep within the Elf's heart. The other five shuddered as well, but smiles broke across their faces. Was he alone in his regret?

"I am Morgoth." The voice seemed to echo and twine through the darkness, through the air, and bury itself deep within his heart. The Elf with no name dropped to his knees along with his kin.

He assumed that the voice in the darkness, the being who called himself Morgoth, would kill them. Mournfully, he recalled the face of his lady, his muse, his joy. How disappointed she would be with his actions! When she visited the river next, she would not find him there. No longer would he be able to write and recite poetry for her. Gone were the days wandering through the forest with her, seeking its privacy for their conversations.

He had not been worthy of her - his current position proved that - but he still lamented the thought that his death would sadden her. Her gentle spirit would not allow the death of a friend - low creature though he may be - to pass without notice. He had seen her weep before and it nearly shattered him to pieces even as he comforted her. He would not be there to do so this time.

The darkness rumbled again, and this time, pain streaked up his legs, making him crumble to the ground as he cried out.

"Six you are, and seven have come before you. Those who survive will be rewarded, but live or die, you are mine, now."

What had he done?

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld @bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge @zoya-olenko

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[im-kinno-hello]

and if i made a comic about them making a blog for the weird demon dog they found in the woods just because they are being brainwashed by it and it told them they need to spread the word of what word they don’t even fucking know?

[invinciblevalentine]

atp i would snort reeve tuesti fic like cocaine.

if anyone knows any fics that put reeve through the blender like “Son” by She_sees_in_the_dark or “Through Another’s Eyes” by CorsairOriginal—

i need to see that man under enough pressure to make a diamond crack. For my health.

[bananaguyboi]

idk how to spark the fire within me- I truly need that spark.

My passion for writing is fading, and I want it back in my head.

[sukugo]

sukuna and gojo use binding vows for sex, taking things like orgasm denials or touch deprivation steps further, where the other is contractually bound to not be able to do certain things, like touch themselves or touch the other etc etc 

one such instance being a vow where gojo has a vibrator up his ass, but he can't touch himself or remove it, until sukuna specifically, pulls it out.  

he keeps the vibe in throughout the day, with sukuna controlling it remotely, even as they both go throughout their separate days.  

gojo goes to have his usual breakfast, and meets yuuji at the dining room, they greet and sit next to each other. yuuji is, as always, energetic and excited to see him 

they make conversation, until gojo gives a jolt and starts twitching and huffing. sukuna has turned the vibrator up all the way. yuuji worries and panics and asks him what's wrong. gojo gives a breathy laugh and reassures him. he motions low and tells yuuji about the vibrator inside him, through sudden jolts and soft whimpers.  

satoru complains about it, and yuuji advices to remove it or go and take care of himself.  

except gojo states that he can’t and yuuji puzzles.  

"it's... a pact—mmh!" 

"a pact???" yuuji's voice rises in volume, but he visibly calms, shoulders dropping into a fond sigh. "sensei, you really are..." that's all he can manage to say. reprimand is useless. gojo likes it, yuuji is well aware, he is enjoying every second of this, even as he complains.  

gojo gives a few odd jolts, undoubtedly an odd pattern of intensity from the vibe, yuuji can guess. sudden irregular ups and downs that are not taken well by the man.  

satoru clicks his tongue. "what is that guy doing?" he actually looks irritated for a moment—a look yuuji doesn’t get to see often—until it’s broken with a sigh and his pleased, calm demeanor returns, mimicking the soft waves of pleasure across his thighs. 

still, yuuji can see his hands crumpled at his sides, undoubtedly wishing to use them.  

that's when satoru perks flares up all of a sudden.  

"actually, yuuji,” he turns to look at him, grinning. “you can help me" he opens his legs and lifts the edges of his kimono, his dick peeking out the fabric. yuuji gulps at the sight. satoru motions to it, giving yuuji a wordless look. yuuji hesitates for a moment, but complies, taking his hand to the cock, and starts stroking. 

satoru crumbles under the touch, immediately breathing out his nose and muffling moans. he leans into yuuji, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, fingers clasped in yuuji's kimono, nuzzling into his hair and whining in his ear.  

satoru's sounds fluctuate in pitch and volume, making it known when his vibe's gotten stronger. yuuji keeps his pace and satoru spills in his hand. he twitches and sighs, soft breaths against yuuji's flushed ear. 

yuuji stares at the cum in his hand.  

"you can wipe it on me,” satoru tells him with a breath that's calmed much too fast. “my clothes are already soiled anyways". and yuuji feels bad for it, but he obeys nonetheless.  

satoru takes a hand to yuuji's chin and turns his face to him and gives him a kiss. short and sweet.  

"as a reward." he smiles at yuuji. the boy surprises but takes it happily, cheeks warm and eyes softened, albeit a bit timidly. a tinge of disappointment colors the edges of his face. 

"you want more?" satoru brings his face to yuuji's again. the vibrations have reached a slight plateau, so his voice is steadier.  

yuuji’s face widens a bit, but he nervously chuckles, pulling back from gojo's face. "no, it's alright," he lies. "i don't want sukuna to kill me" 

but satoru’s already pulling into him, breathing into his lips. "i won't let him <3"

"that's...actually reassuring......" yuuji’s eyes flutter shut as satoru's lips meet his again.  

and with that, they're kissing and slowly the vibrations and gojo’s twitching start again. satoru moves atop yuuji's lap to straddle him, and while they kiss, yuuji takes his hand between them and jerks him off again. satoru moans and gasps into his mouth, each jolt mirroring the pulses against his prostate.  

they separate for gojo to bury his face in yuuji's shoulders, arms hugging his neck. he humps into yuuji's hand until he comes against him again. 

he pants and huffs atop the boy, catching his breath. yuuji's gentle arms hold him, fingers rubbing slow circles at his back.  

satoru's breathing calms against yuuji’s neck. 

"yuuji, u're such a good boy."  

yuuji's heart and dick swell. 

[ganondoodle]

i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo

[vacantgodling]

i really can't fathom people that only work on one wip at a time tbh. like whenever you need a break from your main wip what do you do?

[wackywatchdotcom]

i think what i NEED to do is stop drawing character standing #437 and i need to slow down on comics and i need to make a deeply symbolic piece for this show that i spend 10+ hours on

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

mcdonald goodsir talking scene but its like an hour bc i just would like to see them talk more

[johnslittlespoon]

ok 1. these are my tough and sweet drafting docs, i have never been this insane about outlines in my life this is what getting on adhd meds does to a man. someone sedate me (i have also Never drafted out a fic until i started writing for this fandom jfc) (also sry i forgot to mute spotify b4 making the vid and i cbf to reexport)

and 2. i think i've mapped out the whole storyline for TAS gahhh my heart already hurts. i'm pretty set on an ending and it's gonna rip my heart out to write (in the best way) but leaves space for a long epilogue (or possibly even a second fic lol we'll see if my interest holds, i either fixate for a few weeks on an idea or i'm locked in for a year). as of now the fic will be set from july 2005 to june 2006 + the epilogue aughghgh but i gen have sm more i could write if i were to do a time skip and write a second fic, i just have so many other aus i wanna write if i can prove to myself i can commit to chaptered fics like this so :')

all the major events are plotted, most gaps in between are filled with the scenes i've been brainstorming in my docs, but i'm sure i'll come up with plenty more as i go knowing how i operate rip lol. esp going thru asks, i still have so many to get back to regarding tas i'm sorryyy!! honestly sometimes i read them and have to go straight to my doc to plot and then i forget to respond to the actual ask lol y'all are cooking <3

this fic is gonna be sooo long, def longer than yadiym. i'm thinking minimum 12 chapters if i end up sticking to this stupid long wordcount per chapter but the story/plot keeps expanding as i write so i'm probably gonna eat my words and idm as long as i can keep myself fixated/inspired lol :')

also don't mind me i'm just yapping to myself atp bc it helps me to post my progress somewhere other than in my notes app so i can refer back easier and also bc it makes me hold myself accountable if i speak it into the universe lmaoo i'm peer pressuring myself xoxo

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

pov you’ve just reread the yi city arc… except that clearly wasn’t ENOUGH because of course your analysis brain had to take over and search for parallels, so you have to go and reread and save the most depressing WWX scenes right after…

i’m fine :))

[skunkes]

unsure how to word this but there is something about having ocs with unsavory events happening in their past where it's like. talking about it, even when asked, seems almost gratuitous and inappropriate. and i'd much rather describe it through the oc themself and/or draw Them saying it. which is like. fitting for the subject matter? like of course its weird to talk about somebody else's business...!

and falls back into humanizing em/exploratory writing and development where u consider the impact of words said/words unsaid/HOW those words are said etc etc